AIRGUN DIARIES

Take Away

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 09:14:00 +0000

Tonight, I had an unbelievably difficult time picking up a takeout order at a fast food restaurant. My friend and I had ordered over the Internet, got a confirmation, and a specific time to pick up the order. I drove my car to pick up the order. But when I got to the restaurant, the order was nowhere to be found.

The next twenty minutes became a symphony of frustration, from the restaurant running out of the ingredients for our order, to what could have been construed as incompetence on the part of the restaurant workers in filling our order properly. In one case, I noticed a worker having difficulty even reading the written order.

During the drive back from the restaurant, I was angry. But the anger quieted the more I thought about the worker who couldn’t read.

My friend and I are able to read. We are both competent writers. If you ask either of us to write you a sonnet, we would be able to do it. If you ask either of us to draw you a picture, or make you something from our imagination, we would be able to do it. Would the worker, with whom I was so angry, be able to do the same?

I told my friend this, and she mentioned that that worker may not have had the same opportunities that we had, that that worker may not be lucky enough to go to the same schools and get the same education. We both agreed that we are very lucky to be gifted as well as be able to cultivate our gifts through education.

At one point, I blurted out, “I keep thinking that if I am not humble with my gifts, that God will take them away.” My friend agreed.

Tomorrow, thousands of people will protest the passing of Proposition 8, which denies gays many benefits of marriage that are available to heterosexual couples. To many, homosexuality is aberrant, abominable, and a sin. To many, homosexuality is a lesser form of partnership. Many, who are blessed with the gift of a happy heterosexual marriage, regard gays as being unworthy of sharing in that gift.

I don’t have any gay friends. I don’t understand why they are who they are. But there is a gift out there, and they are being denied that gift.

If someone else becomes a brilliant pianist, this act does not diminish my skills as a piano player. If someone else writes an amazing sonnet, this act does not diminish my capacity for writing my own amazing sonnet.

I have voted against Proposition 8. This is my support for those affected negatively by its passing.

If I act to deny another person any gifts that I already own, I would think that God might someday take them away from me.

Barack Obama's Speech at Grant Park, Chicago, November 4, 2008

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 07:36:00 +0000

Some people are cynical about speeches. They say that speeches are simply promises that are often not followed with fulfillment. They are words given by those who don't have much else to give.

I woke up this morning, the morning after Barack Obama was declared the next President of the United States, with his speech still on my mind. I drove to the post office and noticed that the sun was blinding. I noticed how some streets have been cleaned. I noticed how my car was running smoothly today.

My mind felt new. The day felt new. The country felt new.

Soon enough, we'll know if his was only a speech or an actual contract that can be fulfilled.

Barack Obama's Speech at Grant Park
Chicago, Illinois
November 4, 2008

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voices could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled - Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Senator McCain. Senator McCain fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him, I congratulate Governor Palin for all that they've achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both more than you can imagine, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House.

And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight. I know that my debt to them is beyond measure. To my sister Maya, my sister Auma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support you have given me. I am grateful to them.

To my campaign manager, David Plouffe, the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the best political campaign, I think, in the history of the United States of America. To my chief strategist David Axelrod, who's been a partner with me every step of the way. To the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics - you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you. It belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to the cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy, who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep. It grew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from the Earth. This is your victory.

I know you didn't do this just to win an election and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime - two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for their child's college education. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created, new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term, but America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you, we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for two hundred and twenty-one years: block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers. In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people.

Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party of the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, and individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values that we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

And all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear the world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

That's the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She is a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election, except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time. To put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids. To restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace. To reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes We Can.

Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

Episode Six

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 05:15:00 +0000

During the climactic scene from the movie Return of the Jedi, the Rebel Alliance made one last push toward the Death Star, the most powerful, oppressive weapon in the galaxy.

The first group of rebels began by destroying the deflector shield on the forest planet Endor, to expose the vulnerabilities of the massive space station that it had been protecting. A second group led the frontal assault toward the Death Star, using small ships assembled from a dozen oppressed planets. A third group, led by Admiral Ackbar, a squidlike creature, engaged the Empire’s Star Destroyers to divert their attention away from the small rebel ships.

Luke Skywalker, having chosen not to kill the injured Darth Vader when he had the chance, was attacked by Emperor Palpatine. Palpatine then gave Luke a choice of either joining the Dark Side or dying for his beliefs. Luke chose to die for his beliefs. Darth Vader at first watched in confusion as Palpatine inflicted repeated lightning bolts of pain upon Luke. But ultimately, Darth Vader decided that saving a life is more important than controlling the universe. With the last of his strength, Darth Vader overpowered the Emperor and cast him into the bowels of his own terrible machine.

During this great battle came a poignant moment. The smallest of the rebel ships, an A-Wing fighter, careened toward the massive superstructure of one of the biggest ships in the Empire’s fleet, a Super Stardestroyer. The A-Wing crashed through and destroyed the Super Stardestroyer’s command tower, causing a chain reaction that inevitably led to the Empire’s flagship crashing into the surface of the Death Star. Moments later, the Death Star’s own power reactor imploded and collapsed from its own weight and power.

Watching the little A-Wing take on the Empire and overcome a seemingly undefeatable enemy, Admiral Ackbar, feeling that the long struggle was finally over, sighed and leaned back in his chair, quietly relieved.

Tonight, I felt like Admiral Ackbar.

Just A Reminder

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 23:21:00 +0000

My Response to "Socializing" America

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 19:11:00 +0000

This is me being sarcastic and over-the-top to get a goddamn point across.

Redistribution of wealth will not solve any problems and will just prolong the survival of those who weren't meant to survive in the first place, or at least force them to stop being lazy and fend for themselves. All existing social programs, including welfare and social security, are disguised versions of the idea of redistribution of wealth, since it takes money from people who've earned it and know how best to maximize it, and gives that money to those who don't or can't.

It would be simpler if we just cut all federal support for stupid poor people, get rid of welfare and social programs, and let Darwinism take its course. Let capitalism be totally deregulated so that it will be pure, and there will absolutely be no hint of socialism, ever. Shrink the government down to a minimum so that it doesn't interfere with competition, even monopolies (because curtailing a monopoly will hinder a capitalist from reaping the total benefits of his hard work). Let the strongest survivors, those who know how to make money and contribute to the Republic, keep all their money and reward them for their contributions, and let those who have no idea how to make money or contribute to society, like gangbangers, drug addicts, and the mentally ill, die over the course of several generations, just as nature would. Money spent for rehabilitation would be better spent to reward those who already know how best to use it. After all is said and done, America will be a stronger country because of this.

I know this is a very radical approach, but any other approach will continue to have aspects of socialism, and will continue to be nitpicked in terms of its degree of capitalist or socialist qualities. Either it's purely capitalist or it's purely socialist, or else any mix of the two will cause future problems. One capitalist will support 100% survival of the fittest, and will label another capitalist, one who, for example, supports government subsidies to the mentally ill, as being a socialistic cause, and will call that second capitalist, a socialist.

I believe that we should help those who cannot help themselves by giving them some of our money, and that government programs are best suited to distributed that money. But I'm sure there's someone out there who is an absolute pure capitalist, who doesn't trust the government, and who would rather distribute the money through his own means, whether or not he knows how or where to distribute the money. And that person, upon hearing me say, "I don't mind letting the government distribute some of my money" will label me a socialist. And with his limited knowledge of who I am, he will be correct in his accusation.

The ironic part of all of this is, as a business owner, if I ever earn $250k a year, by that point I will have figured out how to minimize my taxable income through shelters, etc. The more money I earn, the more I will figure out how to keep more of it, whether or not the government raises my income tax to 39% or 85% or higher. At that point, I'll hire the same people that rich people hire to help them keep more of their money "legally".

Obama can do his best to socialize this country. It's never going to happen, for the same reason that communism has never been sustainable. Because greed and pride and envy and lust for power (all of which point back to GREED) overcomes any collective humanistic qualities, companies and politicians who are paid by companies will figure out how to keep the free market alive. This dark part of the human condition is the best insurance for capitalism.

There's an inherent quality in all of us that makes us feel good when we feel as if we're better than someone else, and that's what capitalism is all about. It's one of the basic fuels that keeps us going. That's why we love to win arguments.

Investments and Dividends

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 10:46:00 +0000

The bottom line is the “I” in me is very strong. It makes me want to mold the world to fit my comfort level. It makes me want to surround myself with people and situations that agree with me. It makes me want to run away from anything that will reveal my flaws.

I will vote for Barack Obama. That is my investment. I’ve taken the time to know about him, his plans, and his policies, similar to the way I’ve taken the time to research stocks, clothes, and professional basketball teams to spend time rooting for. At a certain point after having done my research, I make a choice.

If that choice turns out to be unprofitable (according to my own definition of “profit”), I will regard the research as wasted time and will be unhappy. Life is about pursuing happiness. If I am unhappy, that is not about life.

There is no such thing as not making a choice. Even when I refrain from choosing, I have chosen not to choose, which is also a choice.

And so when I do choose, I make sure to safeguard that choice. Just as I avoid driving on roads that are full of potholes so as not to expose my car to unnecessary damage, I do the same with sheltering myself from damaging information regarding that choice.

Now that I have decided to vote for Obama, I will probably subconsciously avoid roads with potholes, to save my emotional tires. I will not watch Fox News, even though they may show information against Obama that is factual and verifiable.

Will I ever turn my back on truth, or go against my natural instinct? Will I ever support an idea that I know is wrong?

In the past, I have driven my car when I knew it was too dangerous to drive because the transmission was broken. Because time was inconvenient and money was short, I kept driving it. Because I couldn’t afford to accept what needed to be done, I pretended that everything was fine.

Verbal

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 04:12:00 +0000

In the ninth grade, Mr. Krulic, our english teacher, wrote this on the chalkboard:

“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”
-- Abraham Lincoln

You betcha.

Give or Take

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 10:21:00 +0000

Einstein's formula, E=mc², says that energy (E) is equal to mass (m) multiplied by the speed of light (c), multiplied again by the speed of light (c). Within each atom is energy that can be released.

We are made of atoms.

Within the width of a single human hair, a million atoms exist.

About 2/3 of the human body is composed of hydrogen atoms.

According to my calculations there are
4,700,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000
hydrogen atoms in an average adult body, give or take.

The potential energy of the hydrogen atoms in an average adult body is 6.4 trillion joules of energy.

6.4 trillion joules of energy is equivalent to 48,000 gallons of gasoline.

When unleashed, the body is capable of this.

So is the mind, when unleashed.

Nonpartisan

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 02:45:00 +0000

During tonight's Vice Presidential Debate, Senator Joseph Biden paused very briefly when he talked about the time when his wife and daughter were killed. He very briefly talked about how difficult it was to deal with that tragedy, and how he, in an instant, became a single parent. For a very brief moment, he was quiet. I'm sure this moment will play and be magnified with the news in the coming days, but for that moment I appreciated it as being genuine. I really hope that it was genuine.

And then it was Sarah Palin's turn to talk. I had hoped that she would have said something about this moment, just like people do in the movies. I had hoped that she would have said something like this, after pausing and looking at Senator Biden, whom she had earlier asked if it was okay to call him "Joe":

"You know what, Joe, I'm sorry that that had to happen to you. I know we're up here to one-up each other, to try to show how one candidate is better than the other. But some things transcend politics, and family is one of them. I'm sorry that you had to go through that, and I respect and admire you for having the courage to forge through as a single parent, and to get to the point where you are now. We may disagree on many things, but the importance of family is not one of them."

It would have been nice to hear that, but I'm sure this conduct would not have been within the parameters of the rules of debate.

Antihistamines

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 11:12:00 +0000

There wasn’t enough of the day to complain about it. The weather wasn’t more special than usual, the mail came in on time, and I didn’t have to wait too long in any line as I completed my errands. I even got a haircut.

But I’m still recovering from yesterday’s allergy attack, and the lingering tickle-itch inside my head, in a place I could not pinpoint, made me want to find something in the world and regard it as negative.

Even though the bed was made, the laundry folded, and a project finished, it is a frustrating thing to pass twelve hours of existence without oscillation.

Most of the day was on autopilot mode, with thoughts that randomly skimmed the surface for originality, settling on what my mind’s lazy net was able to catch, and serving it up during conversation. I have a feeling that I spoke at least three times in cliches, but am now not able to remember.

Days like this, when it ends, I feel cheated.

But at least I have this written, and I can go to sleep knowing that I did my best to stay awake when I should.

The Sum of All Fears

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 11:33:00 +0000

I still do, but much less so now, although that isn’t an excuse, think very long about what I wear in public. If I am blind to the world’s scrutiny, I dress for comfort. If I am blind to my own welfare, I dress for style, which is almost always slightly painful. When I was younger, I almost always chose the pain of style, as opposed to the mental pain that I would inflict upon myself if I perceived that others may think less of me if I weren’t well dressed and mannered. The process of guessing what others thought of me was, and is, inherently flawed, almost always erring towards the more unfavorable regard. But then again, I had nothing else going for me, or so I thought. Nowadays, I still believe that I have nothing else going for me, but I have neither the energy, time nor disposition to do anything about it. And so, on any given day, I will find myself in public, more or less dressed as if I were to consider myself invisible.

During an interview, Craig Ferguson, the late night talk show host, pointed to his guest’s, the comedian Russell Brand’s, pants zipper. The zipper was unique in that instead of running vertically, it ran diagonally across the crotch of his pants. When asked why, Russell Brand said, “It’s on an angle like that to draw attention to itself.”

Distillation

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 08:33:00 +0000

Why I vote:

I vote to justify my past choices, whether they were on purpose or accidental. I vote to secure my future choices, whether they will be on purpose or accidental.

I vote so that I will have to find information on what to vote on. I vote so that I will automatically have topics of conversation for the next cocktail party. I vote so that people will have one more reason to talk to me.

I vote hoping that the world that I want will happen. I vote against those whose world I do not want.

I vote so that I can keep what I have and get what I want.

I vote to gauge how much my beliefs are in agreement with others. I vote to see my choice among thousands who are the same.

I vote so that I can choose a side, because not choosing a side means that I am weak.

I vote so that I will not be alone.

I don't want to be alone, so I vote.

Paths of Least Resistance

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 10:37:00 +0000

August 29, 2008. It is now settled that the Republican presidential ticket will be John McCain and Sarah Palin, and the Democratic contenders will be Barack Obama and Joe Biden. CNN and every other news channel have dozens of analysts analyzing this new scenario. For the next two months, regular everyday people will be discussing the upcoming November election, me included. We will be strong with our opinions, resolute with our convictions, and will show deep concern for what will happen, what might happen, and, God forbid, hopefully never happens, if either McCain or Obama wins.

When I was in high school, I was afraid that if Ronald Reagan became president, that the world would end in a nuclear winter. He did, and it didn’t. Years later, when I was an intern at an oil company and made $11.25 an hour during Reagan’s second term, I had forgotten that I was afraid that Ronald Reagan would end the world.

During the Internet boom years, I joined the public in morally being ashamed of what Bill Clinton did. When the Internet boom died, I joined the public in missing his economic growth policies.

Next January, we will have a new president. Will it change my life significantly? Unless he blows up the world, probably not.

Will it make me change jobs, or alter my career decisions? If the past is an indication of the future, probably not.

Will it change the food that I eat, or the clothes that I wear, or the places that I visit?

Will it change the way that I choose my healthcare provider, my bank, my church, my movie theater, my bookstore, my fast food restaurant, my concert, my sports stadium?

Will it make me go to my local library on a regular basis? Will it make me give to charity less, or more?

Will it make me stop to write, seal, and mail one letter of protest or support? Will it make me stop to make a political phone call? Will it make me sacrifice a month of my life to fight for what I deem a worthy cause? Will it make me sacrifice a week? A day? An hour?

Will I spend more time worrying about the election than I will doing the laundry, or driving to appointments, or shopping for DVD movies, or surfing through Digg.com?

Will whatever happens two months from now make me happier than I already am, or sadder than I already am?

For years I’ve known about Tibet’s struggle to become an independent nation from China, and China’s reported oppression and suppression of Tibet. For years, I watched news reports and documentaries that showed physical, cultural and economic atrocities against the Tibetan people. Less than a week ago, I was glued to the TV set watching the Beijing Olympics. Less than a week later, I don’t even think about the Beijing Olympics.

I will debate you tooth and nail for what I believe at this moment. Unless there’s laundry to do, or I’m driving to an important appointment.

Jazz, Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 23:49:00 +0000

Whenever I want to take an unencumbered breath, I think about jazz.

One of my friends is very much into the music scene, and maintains his own industrial music web site with a group of friends. I asked him recently if he knew of a web site that provides a comprehensive amount of information about the local jazz scene in the Los Angeles area. He responded with, “You know what it is about jazz? There’s so MUCH of it that it’s difficult to organize and categorize, even define.”

I have spent at least a hundred hours, surfing the Web before going to sleep, trying to find a decent L.A. jazz web site, one that has a schedule of upcoming shows, as well as mentioning what kind of jazz will be played. One doesn’t exist.

I have spent another hundred hours surfing through my favorite jazz musicians’ web sites, hoping to find their show schedules, as well as the musicians that they will be playing with that night. Nine out of ten times, I am unsuccessful.

I have never been to a jazz performance that was sold out.

My favorite jazz is hard bop, music from the fifties and sixties, played by a quartet (sax, bass, drums, piano). The best performance I’ve ever seen was given by four musicians (Dale Fielder, Greg Gordon, O.C. Davis and a bassist whose name I have since forgotten) who, until that night, have never played before as a group. Until that night, I have never heard of any of them before—I just took a chance at going, not expecting anything. Neither the group nor the individual players have an album that can be bought on Amazon.com. Their performance of that night was never recorded. None of them are mentioned in the tabloids.

This is my experience with jazz, and I hope it will never change. I hope to continually stumble onto brilliance, instead of having it spoon-fed to me through corporate channels. I hope the jazz that I like never becomes so popular that I have to wait in line, that I have to dress a certain way, that I have to plan my whole day around one event. I hope the jazz that I like will forever be slightly elusive.

On a different note, the Burning Man, which is an event that describes itself as based on radical self-expression, radical self-reliance, art and participation, is going on right now in the Nevada desert. They have a web site. They have a theme for the event. They have a Mission Statement, First Timer’s Guide, complete schedule and directions, a Resource Guide, art galleries, updated news bulletins and a Global Regional Network directory.

If I’m lucky, on any given night I will stumble upon four jazz musicians playing to a half-empty audience, making shit up as they go along.

The Ghost of Me

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 22:38:00 +0000

Although I've dreamt of nightmares
Hover deep and frighten me,
And though they keep the wonder,
Always hoping not to see,
I'll close a pair of living eyes
And stay them tight, til the sun has come--
For nights are used to hauntings
Of people never done.

I vaguely know the smell of them,
But deep, to thoughts, they sink.
And memory betrays the young,
When at night it makes them think
Of ghouls and goblins, all the sorts,
And truer things, that do live, and breathe,
And walk among the living,
And wake only when they die.

But I sometimes know this feeling
From the other side -- the sight
Of a child who's now lying
Near the place where I died of fright.
I can see him cower, look away
From the windowpane, where stares a face
That's sadder than terrifying,
Who, before, feared children nights.

And I'll stand outside, still watching,
And wait for him to die
As he lets them go, his childhood fears,
When he starts to fear true life,
And endure the empty darkest nights
That soon, will seem just the loss of light.

For soon, the boy must simply see
That a man's the ghost of me.

I wrote the above poem years and years ago, when I was a young adult. If I remember correctly, it was during a time when I was about to begin a job that I didn't really care about, and I was doing it simply because I needed a job to save face and to end the scrutiny of my peers and my parents for not having a job.

I quit that job after four days. One of my friends had told me to stick it out with the job for 6 months, then I can decide if I should quit. I'd told him that if I'd stayed with that job for 6 months, I'd have died of a heart attack or some kind of cancer. A day after I quit, I wound up working freelance for a design company, and I've been freelancing ever since.

Years and years later, I look at this poem and am beginning to understand it. I think what I was trying to say back then was, It seems the difference between children and adults is that adults have accepted the fact that they will never be able to fulfill their dreams or finish a really cool project, because they're mired in the day-to-day activities of being an "adult". As an adult, there is no more listening to your inner self because your job, external responsibilities, and social circles are too loud and overwhelming to allow you to do that. As an adult, you become a ghost, a shell, of what you used to be, which was a free-thinking, free-moving, free-breathing child.

There's an old Twilight Zone episode, where a young, happy woman, one day while riding on a horse, is chased by a screaming, bitter old woman also riding a horse. It turns out the old woman is the young woman's older self, warning the young woman that if she doesn't follow her heart, she will ultimately become a bitter, old woman. Maybe that's where I got the idea for the poem.

This is what made me think of all this today:

Breaking Free from Social Programming

The Joke

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 11:04:00 +0000

There is a scene in the movie The Dark Knight where, in the middle of a fundraising party, Bruce Wayne goes outside by himself and tosses the champagne from his glass over the side of the building. Later in the same scene, the Joker crashes the party and also tosses the champagne before drinking from his own empty glass. It seems both men do not drink while at work.

Also in the movie, Police Commissioner Loeb is poisoned while having a drink from a liquor bottle stashed away in his office desk drawer. Seconds later, Judge Surrillo is blown up in front of her home as she sits inside her Mercedes Benz. Using the luxury car’s large emblem on the steering wheel as the background, the camera shows Judge Surrillo taking out a piece of paper from an envelope and reading the word “up” before her car explodes.

Bruce Wayne’s most effective use of his Lamborghini is to intercept a truck that's about to ram another vehicle, using his sports car as a shield and destroying it in the process.

Somewhere out there, not in the movie world, a man is working eighty hour weeks so that he can save up for a Lamborghini. A woman is losing weight and making friends with people she doesn’t really care about so that she can be invited to parties to shmooze with the rich and popular. A group of people is spending an hour discussing champagne.

There is a gleeful absurdity with Heath Ledger’s character that, as viewers of it, takes us one step away from our slavish lifestyles of dues, duties and conformities. The Joker openly mocks and disrupts a system that we are unable to mock and disrupt ourselves, because we are bound to the judgments and preconceptions of our environment. The Joker picks environments that he ultimately wants to control, while we pick environments that ultimately control us.

One night a year, on Halloween, adults get to hide behind masks, get to hide behind alcohol, and get to pretend to be what they really want to be every day of the year, if only it were socially acceptable. On all the other days and nights, we hide behind our own version of a Mercedes or a Lamborghini, an office suit instead of a batsuit, a fake smile instead of a prosthetic one, a diplomatic handshake instead of a knife.

I am thinking of being the Joker this Halloween. I did some quick research on YouTube to see how others have done it, how they dressed and how they spoke. Some aped Heath Ledger’s delivery line for line, pause for pause. Some mimicked his makeup and costume down to the stitch. To emulate the Joker and recreate his words of anarchy, they copy him exactly.

I am short and stout and do not look anything like Heath Ledger. I do not match. I am unable to copy. It is impossible for me to fool anyone to think that I am Health Ledger’s Joker.

All of the above reasons are why I am thinking of being the Joker this Halloween. Or not.

* Eight hours after writing this, I looked up the exact definition for "slavish" and was surprised to read #2:

slavish
adj.

1. Of or characteristic of a slave or slavery; servile: Her slavish devotion to her job ruled her life.

2. Showing no originality; blindly imitative: a slavish copy of the original.

The Dark Knight

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 06:59:00 +0000

This is not a review of a movie.

The idea of “insight” has been revisiting my mind lately. I read an article about it somewhere, about a month ago, and I’ve been thinking about it since. The word has made me pause wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, and has forced me to pay attention to exactly what it is that I am currently committing myself to. The word reminds me that no matter how trivial I think my current actions are, no matter how little repercussions I think they might have, they are still, after all, commitments.

Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight is two and half hours long. I think it needs that much time for the cement to cure and harden. If the movie were shorter, there would be an imbalance of too much action versus too little thought. There would not be enough time to examine the repercussions.

The movie’s storytelling style isn’t typical of a superhero movie, where the beginning and middle serve to build up pressure for the big battle in the end. Instead, the movie introduces a purpose, acts according to the needs of that purpose, and then takes time to reflect on what action was taken. Just as in real life, each action has consequences. Just as in real life, most of them are not heroic.

Last night, while listening to a presentation on the Internet, I heard someone boldly say, “America lives in a state of anesthesia.” Most blockbuster movies are just that way, relentless and consuming, building a momentum that doesn’t yield to any moment of pause or reflection. The momentum is the drug, the ignorance the anesthesia.

The Dark Knight did not give me the drug I was looking for. It did not give me the mindless action or the prescribed storyline. It did not tell me whom to root for, and whom to boo against. It did not force feed me the meal that I too often expect.

And so I hungered during the movie. I hungered for sameness. I hungered for an easily digestable understanding of the characters’ motives. I hungered for the Batman to be the hero, for the Joker to be the villain. I hungered for an easy way out.

The movie kept reminding me that when there is insight, there is no easy way out. It is much harder work to think, act, and then reflect, than it is to simply act. It is much harder work to not follow. It is much harder work to be alone in your convictions.

Throughout the movie, the Batman is trying to undo his own importance. A week ago, my spiritual big brother said a similar thing about his job. “The more easily replaceable I am, the better,” he said.

Many ideas have been running through my mind lately. Sometimes it takes time for the cement to cure and harden.

Dancing

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 19:54:00 +0000

No movie I have ever seen has made me as happy as this four and a half minute video.

Here's the YouTube link with a link to the high quality version:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY&feature=user

About Matt Harding and the video:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/08/arts/
television/08dancer.html?_r=1&8dpc&oref=slogin

The lyrics to the song were written by Rabindranath Tagore, from his poem, "Stream of Life":

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Tagore, the first Asian to win the Nobel prize, is also quoted as saying, "Every child comes with the message that God is not yet tired of the man."

Right Happy Elbow

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 09:34:00 +0000

From what I know, there are dozens of things to pay attention to when trying to hit a golf ball properly, from keeping your lead forearm straight through the back swing, to connecting with the turf just a smidge below the ball in such a manner as to make that perfect sounding “thump” at the moment of impact. Over the years, I’ve tried to figure out what exactly to think about when taking a swing, or if I should not think at all.

I went to the driving range today, after not having hit a golf ball for a year. I expected nothing from myself. I expected nothing from the visit, except for a bit of space and quiet. Luckily, it was 2pm on a Thursday, so hardly anyone was around. The day was just warm enough to sweat a little, with a light breeze to cool the sweat.

In the past, I would get at least a medium bucket of 60 balls, and more often a large bucket of 80 balls, or more. I would force myself to hit every single ball, until my aim and composure was gone from exhaustion. I would force myself to keep hitting with the same club until I got the swing memorized, near perfect. I would force myself to keep hitting until my hands hurt. Only when I perfected the swing using the same club would I go to the next.

Today, I got a small bucket, 40 balls. I took my time stretching. I watched two young brothers with matching junior golf bags and same-colored shoes follow their father to the first tee. I heard children walking home from school on the sidewalk next to the street. I didn’t hear birds. I didn’t hear cars. I noticed that some tree branches were partly obscuring the California flag on the right pole, and that all three flagpoles were at full mast. I realized that a significant American figure hadn't died recently.

After fifteen minutes, I decided to hit the first ball. It felt good. The ball went straight. The ball went far enough to be good enough.

During that first swing, I noticed that my right elbow was happy. It was happy because it was in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing, and so was the rest of my body. My right elbow was happy because I didn’t go too fast, or too slow, didn’t swing too hard or too soft. My right elbow was happy because I enjoyed the scenery. And I had turned my cell phone off.

And so before each of the next 37 swings, I focused on my right elbow. As I was swinging, I would ask it, “How are you feeling during this swing?” When I paid attention to my right elbow, a good swing happened. When I didn’t, a bad swing happened.

Out of 38 swings, I listened to my right elbow 30 times.

With two balls left in the bucket, my right elbow told me that it wanted to go home. And so I did. On the walk back to my car, I again noticed the tree branches partly obscuring the flag. A white truck with four golfers backed into a parking spot. I didn’t hear the birds singing not because I wasn’t listening, but simply because there were no birds singing. A light breeze blew past the left side of the back of my head, and cooled me.

Artisan

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 20:56:00 +0000

I took the Keirsey Temperament Sorter test at www.keirsey.com. Here's my report:

Custom Keirsey Temperament Report for: Gerardo

Your Keirsey Temperament Sorter Results indicates that your personality type is that of the ARTISAN.

All Artisans (SPs) share the following core characteristics:

* Artisans pride themselves on being unconventional, bold, and spontaneous.

* Artisans are excitable, trust their impulses, want to make a splash, seek stimulation, prize freedom, and dream of mastering action skills.

* Artisans tend to be fun-loving, optimistic, realistic, and focused on the here and now.

* Artisans make playful mates, creative parents, and troubleshooting leaders.

Artisans are the temperament with a natural ability to excel in any of the arts, not only the fine arts such as painting and sculpting, or the performing arts such as music, theater, and dance, but also the athletic, military, political, mechanical, and industrial arts, as well as the "art of the deal" in business.

Artisans are most at home in the real world of solid objects that can be made and manipulated, and of real-life events that can be experienced in the here and now. Artisans have exceptionally keen senses, and love working with their hands. They seem right at home with tools, instruments, and vehicles of all kinds, and their actions are usually aimed at getting them where they want to go, and as quickly as possible. Thus Artisans will strike off boldly down roads that others might consider risky or impossible, doing whatever it takes, rules or no rules, to accomplish their goals. This devil-may-care attitude also gives the Artisans a winning way with people, and they are often irresistibly charming with family, friends, and co-workers.

Artisans want to be where the action is; they seek out adventure and show a constant hunger for pleasure and stimulation. They believe that variety is the spice of life, and that doing things that aren't fun or exciting is a waste of time. Artisans are impulsive, adaptable, competitive, and believe the next throw of the dice will be the lucky one. They can also be generous to a fault, always ready to share with their friends from the bounty of life. Above all, Artisans need to be free to do what they wish, when they wish. They resist being tied or bound or confined or obligated; they would rather not wait, or save, or store, or live for tomorrow. In the Artisan view, today must be enjoyed, for tomorrow never comes.

There are many Artisans, perhaps 30 to 35 percent of the population, which is good, because they create much of the beauty, grace, fun, and excitement the rest of us enjoy in life.

While reading my results, I kept focusing on the word freedom.

State of Grace

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 21:49:00 +0000

My friend once told me that when I wake from a dream, and I try to remember what the dream was about, that I should pay less attention to what happened in the dream, and more attention to how I felt during the dream, and how I felt as soon as I woke up.

Every day, we deal with things—the alarm clock, the morning coffee, our clothes, our hair, the cellphone, the radio, what we ate for lunch. Most of the information on the Internet are about things, and I think most of the blogs have to do with things. Things are evaluated, discussed, and purchased according to their ratings on Amazon.com and Epinions. After they are purchased, they are discussed some more, compared, further rated after a certain time of use.

The other aspect we very often talk about are occurrences, what happened during which we were able to use the things that we acquired. Where did one go, what did one do over there, who did one socialize with, what kind of drama happened, did anyone meet anyone special, did anyone fall in love, did anyone get angry at someone, did anyone break up with whom, and how all of this changes the social structure of any given system.

During the acquisition and consumption of these things, and during these occurrences, our attitudes change, our feelings change, our regard for others as well as ourselves change. During any given day, any given moment, our states of mind are the results of things and occurrences. During any moment, our states of mind are at the whim of that moment. Are they?

My dream was in a chapel, and in the dream I am at the age I am now. We sat in the front row on the right side facing the altar. I sat next to my mother and father. I am an only child, and when I was young, whenever we went to mass, my father would sit on one side of my mother and I would sit on the other side. In a sense, the men protected the woman. We sat like this in the dream.

The chapel was bright, with the sunlight streaming in from the lightly stained glass windows. Near the front of the altar sat the church keeper. I don’t know what else to call him, but he reminded me of Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies. This church keeper, I’ll call him Hagrid from now on, also dressed in rags, but was skinnier and closer to the height of a normal human being.

In his hands and arms, Hagrid cradled a bouquet of gray, flat pasta. During the mass, he would take small handfuls of the pasta and eat it like chewing tobacco. The way Hagrid ate the pasta, it looked like it was delicious.

Halfway through the mass, during the time when offerings are made, Hagrid stood up and walked to my mother. Shifting the pasta so that he cradled it in his right arm, Hagrid reached into his left jacket pocket with his left hand and took out a large handful of cut pasta, which looked like communion bread, but square in shape. He placed the communion bread into my mother’s hands and told her, “Give this to the people.”

He then turned to me, and with his left hand, now empty, reached into the bouquet of cradled pasta, and took out a small handful, and gave it to me. His small handful of the gray, flat pasta became a huge handful as he placed it in my hands. He then told me, “This is for when you need it.”

As he walked away, I took a small bite of the pasta. Instead of a taste, I felt a feeling. The feeling was calm and full, overwhelming but controlled. After taking the smallest bite of it, I felt like I would never need to eat anything again. I felt fulfilled.

One of my dogs, Dixie, a black pomeranian, died recently from complications from old age. Within two weeks, and numerous doctor visits, her internal organs finally failed her. While she was alive, my family and I spoiled her with attention and treats, and never hesitated to spend whatever time and money were needed for proper medical care. We were hoping that at her death, she remembered us as doing our best to care for her while she was alive.

In the same dream, Dixie appeared to me. This time, she was blonde, like her younger brother Jazz, who is still with us. In the dream, she was a little younger and lot more active, barking and jumping like a wind-up toy, with a big smile on her face.

Maybe it’s not true, but I’d like to think she visited me in the dream, and told me that she’s okay now, and wanted to thank me and my family for taking care of her.

Although I do my best to be pragmatic, practical, I woke up from the dream one step closer to knowing that God exists. I woke up from the dream feeling invincible. As if all the things and occurrences and drama of every day life are just what they truly are, temporary. I woke up knowing that the only real constant worth striving for is a state of grace.

Revelation

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 09:54:00 +0000

When I was eleven years old, I heard Billy Joel’s “Just The Way You Are” on AM radio. For the next fifteen years, I would do my best to sing just like Billy Joel—his tone, his inflections, from his ballad tenor to his growling rock and roll voice. My practicing how to sing like him changed my own voice, even changed how I talked.

I was born in the Philippines and came to America when I was almost eight years old, bringing my Filipino attributes, including a very heavy accent, with me. Over the years, I would do my best to sing like Billy Joel and talk like an American, gradually destroying my native accent, as if it were a wrong thing to have.

Today, the latest Journey album, Revelation, came out. Their new lead singer, Arnel Pineda, was born in the Philippines. He’s been living in America less than a year. He has a very distinct Filipino accent. And I can sometimes hear it in the songs of the new album.

But his incredible voice makes me forget, or at least forgive, the accent. His near-impossible vocal range overshadows his American-imperfect pronunciations. By the time I’m finished listening to the album, I’ve not only come to accept his accent, I’ve realized that it is NECESSARY. It is as necessary as every other minute detail of his vocal essence. It is what makes him unique, and true.

And then I realized something else. Once the songs of Revelation get played over and over on the radio, little kids will start singing the songs. They will do their best to sing the songs exactly as Arnel sings them. They will sing the songs with a Filipino accent. And it will be totally fine.

Listen and watch Journey with Arnel Pineda sing the classic Journey song, "Faithfully":

I Never Heard My Father Say “I Love You” to My Mother

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Tue, 20 May 2008 19:07:00 +0000

(I originally wrote this back in June 2005, but I think this is a good time to show it again.)

I’ll tell you about my father:

He is a quiet man, too shy for his own good.
Too shy to say out loud what he’s thinking inside.
Too shy to complain, to call attention to himself.
Too shy that he will quietly add the extra buck when settling the dinner tab so the waiter doesn’t get stiffed.
Too shy that he sometimes smiles awkwardly instead of speaking.

And I’ve never heard him say “I Love You” to my mother.

Instead, he will bring his family to America.
Instead, he will work three jobs.
Instead, he won't drink, or raise his voice, or raise his hand.
Instead, he won't join the other husbands when they make fun of their wives when they’re not listening.
Instead, he will put the bigger pieces of chicken on my and my mother’s plates during dinner. Instead, he will pretend that he’s already eaten.
Instead, he will never want a gift during Christmas so everyone else can get a better gift.

And he will be too shy to want to read this poem
but he already knows that I am capable of writing it.
Because I am his son, and he has taught me well.

He taught me that endurance is stronger than force.
He taught me that achievement is stronger than amazement.
He taught me that humility and silence is the best surprise of all.
He taught me all of this without saying a word.

And I’ve never heard him say “I Love You” to my mother.
He never had to.

Alchemy

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 22:14:00 +0000

A good number of years ago, while I was having a benign cyst removed from my back, my doctor asked me, "So, how do you see life? As a glass half empty, or a glass half full?"

The question took me by surprise, especially since he was in the process of scalpeling the hell out of me at that moment, as well as the local anesthesia beginning to work. I answered, "Uh, I...dunno." At this point, he had already opened me up and was starting to slice and dice the golf ball-sized cyst, located very near the surface of the skin, so that it would be more manageable during removal. Once the anesthesia fully kicked in, the whole thing felt like a back massage. A really bloody, squishy-sounding back massage.

The doctor continued to talk. Even though the half-glass theme is well known to a lot of people, only at that moment did I really start to think about it. Am I a glass half empty or glass half full kind of person?

For a long time, I always thought that I was somewhere in between, because some days the glass seems half full for me, and some days the glass seems half empty. Some days nothing is good enough and some days everything is fine. Because of the nature of my job, I am both a creative type and a salesman. Angst seems to be a good catalyst for creativity, while a positive attitude is one of the best tools of a salesman.

As the years went on, I've since approached the question differently. I no longer depend on the glass of water being there, waiting for me to make a choice. Now, I think about how to make a glass of water appear out of nowhere. I think about how to make other things appear out of nowhere. When presented with a half-poured glass of water, I should like to be able to represent with a bar of gold.

Why do I do this? Because there are too many moments in life where it seems as if all the available choices suck. There are too many moments where no matter what choice I make, I'm going to hate myself for making it.

And so I choose not to choose from the available choices. I choose to create my own choices. I choose to write an essay instead of simply filling in A,B,C or D with a #2 pencil.

My direction is made up of many leaps of faith, guided by instinct and a careful ear to what the universe is trying to tell me. To do otherwise would be to confine myself to a glass container partially filled with water. Sometimes I am thirsty for other things. Sometimes I am not thirsty at all.

Indra's Net

noreply@blogger.com (GERARDO SAN DIEGO) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 14:21:00 +0000

What if:

One day, we get a very short message from outer space, coming from a planet a million light years away. They tell us that they are building a virtual pipeline in space that will allow them to tap into our Internet, fluently translating our languages, images, and sounds. They would like to learn more about us. They would like to know who we are and what we're about. Because they are so far away, we will never deal with them directly, nor will we ever trade or conduct commerce with them.

But their only access to us is the Internet. And in one year from now, they will be finished with their pipeline. In one year, they will be able to view every bit of information that exists on our Internet. One year from now.

Knowing this, are we the type of civilization to change what is currently on our Internet? Will we spend the next year putting on a more favorable face for another civilization to see? How much effort will we spend to make ourselves look better? Will we resort to lying about how we really are?

And if yes to any of the above questions, why aren't we doing this now?