Airport bars

While reflecting on the sad nature of airport bars, where the impersonal meets the $8 beer and joins the interminable wait for a flight, a silver lining: it's a place where no one expects anything of anyone else.

Sure..  The TSA has expectations. And the bartender expects to get paid. But these people around here? They are only here for the moment. No harm, no foul, just do your thing, whoever, and move on.

who am I to do such things...

An unstructured night leads to A Bourbon, then Another, then a musical browse, then a walk down memory lane, searching for a photo.  Wondering if I actually took a photo of that place where I realized my mortality, where I realized "oh shit, I could have easily died (cold ,dark, and alone) as a result... but for that moment, just by chance, by reflex, that turned the other way".

And it turned to a photo browse that took me further, to nostalgia.  Thinking of friends far away, wanting to share with them.  But a particular photo, and a particular friend, who in the years since has seen...  well... change.  Distance, time, life, family, career.  I hold the memories from then as happy ones for me, and precious.  But it's been a while, and change happens, ever and again.  I recognize that, regardless of how lucky I am to have met her when she happened to be here for that short while, she was unhappy here, for many reasons. And now, years later, with a wife, and a son, and a gleam in her eye, that part of me that wants to share "remember back then?" loses the fight against "who am I to remind her of that time when she was so profoundly, chronically unhappy when she was here?"

I can't do that to her.

I mean... who am I? My experience was different - I was blissfully moving through days.  And while I knew that she hurt, I didn't *understand* until later. And that was years ago. Time has passed.  Life has gone on. She is away, I am here.  Water has flowed down the river in the meantime, and the space of miles and years are in between.

 In the end, regardless,  I look back with fondness and love for a friend now far away, and am happy for what she has made for herself - going forth, seeking and finding.

Bananas

In the grand tradition of the great variety of "I like my women like I like my _____" sayings, if it please the court, I humbly add to the body of work the following...

     I like my women like I like my bananas: lightly freckled and slightly twisted.

... and there, in that moment, standing next to the sink, eating blue cheese and olives with a fork at 11:00pm... I realized that I had somehow become my father. Not through intent, and not in every detail.

But in a shape that was recognizable - by the time of day, location, choice of snack, and attire.

Parallels

It sort of became clear today at the office that there is quite the parallel going on between my youth and work.  The experience that many children have when they are the children of high-functioning, non-physically-abusive, alcoholic parents.

It's a thing that wasn't clear until I started to come out decades ago as having an alcoholic father. It became clear when I would, in casual and public circumstances bring up as a matter of fact, or as a way to set context for something else I was going to say: "so, having grown up with an alcoholic parent..." or "as the child of an alcoholic...".  The peripheral result was unexpected... a quiet acknowledgement that you could see in the eyes of others, and then would sometimes be cautiously, quietly, and-in-a-way-that-only-those-on-the-inside-recognize, spoken of... "Yeah, me too". 

One of those things that is hard to explain to those that haven't experienced it, is the notion of constant irrational and unpredictable threat.  When you live, as a child/adolescent, with an alcoholic parent, it is sometimes never clear what will happen next.  For me, it was luckily only after the hours of 6pm when this happened (see above: high-functioning). 

The Dinner Table:  What I learned was... it made no sense what came next, or why.  The ranting and raving did not require logical consistency.  That it was impossible to respond *correctly* to a question, because sometimes the question from him was just about picking something to argue over, and the answer didn't matter.  So I learned how to not answer.  To answer the minimum.  

To do what?  to ... not move... 

not a muscle.

not an inch.

This may sound strange to some, but when a rant and raving is going on, and a fight is being looked for, the simple act of leaning back, or forward, or turning to look, or look away, or even... anything... draws attention.  It's base primate something-moving-on-the-horizon type of shit, but it's amazing how true it happens to be.  

So learning to not draw attention becomes a survival skill.  If one engages, one is signing up for something that might last longer than one expected - so engagement in a topic means taking on risk.  

Thus, I developed the ability to not move.  Sit at the table, and stare at the placemat.  Trace patterns with my eyes... "But listen, listen carefully! For thou might be called on at any moment!"  

Yes, one need be vigilant.  One also needs an active response as a form of disguise... like the Kung-Fu master who uses the opponent's energy against them.  When a threat approaches, respond, bend, deflect, bounce back... and if you've done it right, it sends the the threat back off in another direction without work or damage, and (phew!) you are safe.

So how does this come full circle to the office?  Well, we have these company-sponsored lunches each week, that are essentially a version of Corporate Communication.  While the first half-hour is bland kibbitzing and "fine weather we're having!" with co-workers over a free lunch, the second half-hour is the head honcho holding court... talking to a captive audience, and occasionally calling on individuals to hear what they have to say about what they are working on, or calling on them to agree with the premise that has just been floated..  And during this (and other sessions like it), you look around the room and you can see a room full of people, quiet, not sure what to say, and hoping not to be called on.  

You see, the head honcho reminds me of that alcoholic father of mine... who goes on and on, jumping from topic to topic in his head.  You're not quite sure if he wants you to respond or not to respond - it's just too ambiguous.  And if you respond and have an opinion of your own, suddenly that makes it your responsibility.   Or it makes you a target.  Or... hell, you never know what might happen...

So we end up with a room full of people, who I can just imagine their internal voices in a chorus: "don't call on me... don't call on me... don't call on me"  

Because you never know what might happen.

There's no visceral, existential danger... but there's no upside to it either, so why bother?

Don't move.  

Don't speak.

Sometimes I wonder....

If *this moment* is in the midst of that luxurious amount of time.

Put yourself in their shoes...

(Caveat: this all work productivity/career related)
There are times when one (me) loses sight of where one is. And suddenly look up to find myself at a point where I look around and think "what do I do now? What was I supposed to be doing? What am I supposed to be doing next?"  Usually this after an extended period of one topic/task, or in some cases, bouncing frantically from one to the next.

So the thought comes "ok, now what?"

I've come to the resolution that the correct response to this situation is to

--------------------

Bwaaahahaha!  Funny thing, I found this as a draft.  And now I can't remember what the hell I meant to say.

Obviously, I was interrupted, either by something, someone, or myself.  It just seems so... meta... for a post about distraction to have been interrupted by distraction.

It's elephants all the way down...

roughage

Berf.

(go ahead, sound it out)

It's what seems to come to mind.  I've apparently been an on-again, off-again blogger, and life has gone on in the meantime.  I'll not bore you with protestations that "I'll be better, I'll write, I swear"... but I've been sensing lately that I've got mental blockage lately - something is stopping up the works, so best to clear out the pipes, and maybe exercising the narrative muscles will help.  The inevitable have passed in the meantime: time, death and taxes, gravity. The entertaining have visited as well: sex-drugs-rock-and-roll, art, the big wide world.

So much to chronicle, so little attention span.

The most pivotal, momentous, life-shift? I accidentally listened to reggae today during some tedious work stuff, and it didn't annoy me like it usually does.  It was weird.  I'm not really sure what it means.

So anyway, in the interest of blasting them out as markers, for elaboration later, the following topics in no particular order:

• Death - Uncle, and more recently, Jeff's mom.
• Genealogy
• Autoimmune patchiness
• Fear of Forty
• Toxic workplaces (and whether I'm just too much of a grumpy curmudgeon)
• Hair, a broken car, and a messy apartment
• The merits and detriments of secret blogs, and the utility as diary
• Craft Beer In Michigan

In the meantime, I continue sorting photos...

Dear Diary...

I feel like shit.

No, it's not a guilt complex or anything, just simply I am not feeling right. Tired, headachey, brain being slow, and it seems to be continuous. How to snap out of this? How to come back to refreshed, calm, clear, and on the front of the beat instead of the back of it? (the beat being the existential music of the day/week/month)  Is this just the sad state of 21st century human fatigue? Is whatever it is, whatever reason for running on fumes, on the edges of the desirable envelope, worthwhile?  Ah, that's the existential question... is it the edge of the envelope, or is that just current perception...

Perhaps I should consider sleeping regularly instead of irregularly, eating sensibly, getting some exercise.

It couldn't be that simple, could it?

Agreement somewhat...

Said Edward abbey: "Never before in history have slaves been so well feed, thoroughly medicated, lavishly entertained - but we are slaves nonetheless. Our debased popular culture - television, Rick music, home video, processed food, mechanical recreation, wallboard architecture - is the culture of slaves."

While I'm a little turned off by calling it slavery, I find myself having both agreement with and resistance to the notion... because I am both a critic of it and participant in it at the same time.

A good way to resume

There it is... that old feeling that has resumed.  Work taking me into the midnight hour, but working something that I enjoyed rather than developed a feeling of hate towards.  I've known it before, I know it now again.  Tiring but a seemingly meaningful thing... 

And lately I've been reading Coding Horror.  As an internal consumer of the product of software developers (i.e. I'm not a professional coder, but I know how it works, and I work with them closely... for better or worse), there are things all too familiar in what he writes.  I won't get to over-statey, but there's a lot of "yeah, ain't that the truth" in what he has to say.

On Positivity

It has stuck in my head in different ways recently, this phrase:

Democrats are the party who want to says Yes, and Republicans are the party that wants to say No.

Of course, it's politics, and I think it was from an episode of West Wing, but it has a personal and local feel these days regarding engineering and technology.  The difference between a positive outlook and a negative one, and how it shapes creativity.

Over the years I've found myself in the position (and I'm there again) where someone non-technical will present an idea, and then ask "can it be done?"  I've been on the edge of the performance envelope and seen things go weirdly (technically) often enough that it's a real and legitimate question.  But when on the edge, there's a lot of grey.  When it's not a simple question, or topic, it can swing either way, and how it swings depends on how far you're willing to stretch into the unknown, or take a risk, or come up with something new.  I mean, when you're in The Undiscovered Country, how do you really know one way or the other?  Can you say for certain?  No.  It's a guess, a judgement.  And thus comes the personal interpretation and where attitude features prominently.  I'm recognizing, as I look at myself and my responses to such things, that I'm leaning negative.

But nothing is perfect.  Especially when it's in development.  Is the lack of a feature or property a stopper, or is it an opportunity to invent?  Because it's not known doesn't mean it CAN'T be known, just that it isn't known right now.  I've spent many an hour over the years banging on something to get it to work - struggling with limited tools, or understanding... and sometimes it was just that I didn't know it and it took time to get there, and sometimes I was on the edge of the envelope, and it would never work - I was just wasting my time.

To use more TV/movie analogies, there's the figures of characters like test pilots and astronauts... where the plane was built a certain way, and then they put it into the hands of the test pilot/cowboy who takes it and pushes it beyond where it was designed to go, and makes it happen regardless.  The time when I played snooker for the first time with Bill (whatever his name is) and made this shot that I now know to be low probability, and when someone watching said "holy crap" and Bill said to them "well, he doesn't know that he's not supposed to be able to make those shots"... and in these cases, ignorance of The Envelope is a benefit, because you ignore the assumptions and limitations others have taken on and, in that ignorance, stretch the limits of The Possible.

But I seem to have become jaded in the intervening years.  Cynical maybe.  And my default impulse has become to say No instead of Yes.

Is it fear?  Is it risk aversion?  Or is it just an easy giving up to say No?

I think there should be some wisdom in how to approach these things, these topics.  To have a firm and realistic (dare I say "wise"?) interpretation of the possible.  But at the same time I want to have that childlike ignorance...  to ignore the assumed boundaries to push them outwards.  I want to be right (everyone does).  I don't want to fail (no one does).  But without a certain amount of daring, progress is not made... it becomes  just the same thing over and over again.  How do you venture into the new with a healthy ignorance of limitations (to push them) but without the foolish ignorance of bad decisions?

This, alas, is my task.  To stop trying to say no and start trying to say yes.

changes

A change comes.

Reflections and whatnot abound.  Out with the old, in with the new.

And so I'm here, reading about what used to happen, and what I had to say about it, and what it meant, in retrospect.  And it was dry writing then, and clearly, I'm writing fairly dryly now.  I miss the record of what happened and when.  There's a whole raft of things that have happened in the meantime.  Changes in my world, changes to myself, time moving on.  And while they are somewhere here, now, within whatever memory I have, this 1 in 7,000,000,000 skin-bounded bag of mostly water, they feel somewhat lost to time.  And I regret that.  That they aren't out there, recorded somewhere to review and rehash.  Is this a renewal?  A return?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Only time will tell.  But there's this, right here, and there's that.

Found it.

Well, in the Grand Ginger Beer Quest, there's progress, courtesy of the Ypsi Food Coop and whoever introduced me to it by bringing it to Burn's Night. It's got the smack-a-dack to the tongue that I've been looking for all this time. Not the Gigantor version that I still seek... that Jamaican stuff that I bought that fateful lunch break while working at the bike shop in high school. You know, that Ginger Beer of Legend (GBoL) that was too boo-coo (beaucoup, whatever... think Full Metal Jacket - or was it Platoon?) and took 20 minutes to sip through - it being that powerful in The Ginger. Anyway, I'm a little worried that I might never get back to the GBoL, but I'm willing to continue the quest.

Minor Recipe note: When making a cocktail such as a "Dark and Stormy", stay the hell away from spiced rums. You see that label in the back - Captain Morgan's "Tattoo"? Well, how do I say this... How about: Fuck. That. I've had me some "acquired taste" and novelty liquors/spirits in my day (Moutai, Unicum, Jaegermeister, stinky Islay single-malts), but this is one I'm not ever planning to buy again, even as a joke. It's just not worth it.

([nostalgic waving] Hi Moutai! I miss you! You and your gag-worthy moldy-sweat-sock taste... [/nostalgic waving])

the quest continues...

I thought I had it... the Ginger Beer of Prophesy. At $10 for a 4-pack, the legendary Fentiman's.

It had to be the ginger beer I have long sought - a ginger beer to smack the smirk off my taste buds, to force me to sip it like a peaty scotch, to go slow and appreciate it for who it was.

But it wasn't. Tasty, but too much sorrow for the ginger beer I wished it to be.

I now know that the GB for me will that one from the Ypsi Food Co-op, the one from Burn's Night... if only I could remember the name. I just hope they still have it.

A wee bit of purging...

Well, I haven't really been too excited about brewing mead (meading) lately, and I seem to have not have any batches running right now, and the supply of good stuff has run pretty low. All that's left is a bunch of the crappy stuff that hasn't improved with age... So I'm pitching it. Farewell crappy mead, hello reclaimed shelf space.

Foolishness

Is there a difference between arrogance and foolish arrogance?

I mean, I think of the confident end of the spectrum, with there being those who are confident (assume rightfully so through competence), those who are arrogant (though competent), and the those who are foolishly arrogant (where their impression of themselves goes beyond their competence). It's these last ones I think of and how their arrogance blinds them to what they aren't seeing. Bumbling along, blindly assuming they're right and everyone else is wrong.

But is there a difference between the last two? Can one be arrogant without being foolishly blind? I dunno, maybe... It's riding a fine line though.

Connecticut Hulu

I'll admit to being a little bit re-addicted to TV lately. I've been watching episodes of this and that on Hulu for, oh... well, let's just call it about a year.

Anyhoo, I just get a kick out of it every time I type the url in, seeing as how if you put a CT before the HULU you get Cthulu.

starts with popcorn

Since I've been making use of the popcorn popper a lot lately (I can't figure out whether it's an excuse to eat popcorn, butter, or salt), I've been looking at the popcorn a bit.

I'm pondering this popped shape and that popped shape, figuring out which ones I find appealing and those that aren't as appealing.

So of course with the magical power of teh intarwebs, I go on a search for high speed video of popcorn popping. Along the way, these nifty compilations (I like the propane ballon and water ballon on the face best. The karate chop gives me the woogies.)

Who was it that said "the only person who can make you feel inferior is yourself".... ???

'Cause today, I'm amending that to "the only person who you can trust to decide what is and is not bullshit, is yourself." It seems I've grown tired of taking people's word for it on this or that in work-related important stuff.

Skeptical of promises, I am.

Trust my own bullshit detector more, I will.