Home alone [impostor redacted]

I have the house to myself for two weeks. This happens occasionally, during the summer, when I'm living at home. It'll be a confrontational time, facing myself and some fanciful contrivances.

One. Freedom. Remember Lord of the Flies? I'm an infant, and, despite my frequent disdain for the sometimes infantile demeanor of larger society, am largely incapable of operating a fruitful civilization of even one. Autonomy is me least free.

Two. Friends. Remember disdain for larger society? The usual story: repressed, self-involved, neurotic, skittish and irate. Lots of closed doors. This has not prevented me from imagining that I have friends, or could have friends. The fact is that I hate everyone, including you and me. Party over here!

Three. Family. Major component to the intricate blend of cognitive dissonance that is my life. I am often frustrated by the inanity of daily routine at home. Or resentful when my own impish desires conflict with familiar expectations. Capable of vicious abandon during imbroglios with unwavering ego at stake. Being home alone sheds a stark light on the source of my projections for frustration and failure. C'est moi.

. . . . .
One hundred years of solitude and ninety-nine new year's resolutions.

Vodka grapefruit

Kettle One vodka, grapefruit juice, lemon wedges, club soda. Shake vodka and juice, pour over rocks, add club soda and lemons. Around the table: Charles & Ray Eames book, Grey Goose shaker, Lindemans Bin 40 Merlot, Wii remote, jigger, Jameson coasters.

The show

FRIDAY | JULY 10, 2009 | WILMINGTON, DELAWARE | FRAWLEY STADIUM



WILCO



WITH VERY SPECIAL GUEST CONOR OBERST & THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND

Yes.

Ghost town

I watched this movie on a flight a few months ago. It was dreadfully cliché: Greg Kinnear is dead and Ricky Garvis Gervais (British Office creator) is the only one who can see or hear him. Et cetera.

. . . . .
Two nights ago the same terribly obvious plot was my nightmare; a sinking suspicion that no one could see or hear me. I wandered tentatively at first, careful to avoid confirming the fear. Having fully lapsed into that thoroughly unenjoyable state, I approached someone I used to know. All of my senses palpable, but I was invisible. Untouchable. Trapped.

Maximum duress, I awoke. What a curse! To be stranded in the realm of consciousness with no way of interacting, of being felt.


The desire to rearrange, expressed even in limited-flailing capacities, is purpose. The ability to communicate, to interact, is blessing. Reach out, optimize.

Parable on folly

Bloggy muddied waters, internetworking in murky streams of consciousness: this one's from Kurt Vonnegut by way of sim d's journey east.....

THE BOOKS OF BOKONON

A parable on the folly of pretending to discover, to understand

I once knew an Episcopalian lady in Newport, Rhode Island, who asked me to design and build a doghouse for her Great Dane. The lady claimed to understand God and His Ways of Working perfectly. She could not understand why anyone should be puzzled about what had been or about what was going to be.

And yet, when I showed her a blueprint of the doghouse I proposed to build, she said to me, "I'm sorry, but I never could read one of those things."

"Give it to your husband or your minister to pass on to God," I said, "and, when God finds a minute, I'm sure he'll explain this doghouse of mine in a way that even you can understand."

She fired me. I shall never forget her. She believed that God liked people in sailboats much better than He liked people in motorboats. She could not bear to look at a worm. When she saw a worm, she screamed.

She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he can see what God is Doing.

[writes Bokonon]

Hello there

Conflict in our Hearts, disparate Desires desperate surge.
Whose Way? So you say.....wellish Wills wanton shake:

WANT! TAKE!

Because it's us/them night, and we paid to see a fight.

STAB! BITE!

hide Hyde, run like Hell

One who understands

one who understands | paul klee | 1934

Seven rules

Last night I caught the second half of I'm Not There. First saw this flick about a year ago; admired the non-linear storytelling/fragmentation of Bob Dylan into several distinct personae. There's a nice interplay between the spliced narratives, the height of which occurs during this scene.


Seven simple rules for a life in hiding:

1. Never trust a cop in a raincoat.


2. Beware of enthusiasm and of love, each is temporary and quick to sway.


3. When asked if you care about the world's problems, look deep into the eyes of he who asks, he will not ask you again.


4. Never give your real name, and
5. if ever told to look at yourself, never look.


6. Never say or do anything the person standing in front of you cannot understand.
   And.....


7. Never create anything. It will be misinterpreted. It will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life. It will never change.

Big time

.....And I will walk through the front door.


mycenae, by demost1967. anyone else catch this song in the spelling bee broadcast?

Metropolitan Museum

click here to view full slideshow.

Three laws

Ripped from a link in recent BLDGBLOG post, although I did encounter the third law cited in this year's Golf Digest equipment issue:

1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.



2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.



3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
   
   

These laws asserted by Sir Arthur Clarke, noted author (2001: A Space Odyssey), inventor, and futurist.