Author: Brian

At Backspace surfing. Tall thin guy on a couch across from me is approached by a tall (hard to judge but she’s wearing flats and seems 6′ tall from where I sit) short-haired brunette, thin and muscular, in a skintight black T and jeans, with tats up and down her arms and peeking out from various bits of flesh here and there. They start talking about programming – the guy mentions something about Ruby Cocoa, which pegs him as a Mac OS X programmer.

The girl hadn’t heard of Ruby Cocoa but she was aware of the implications. She’s a programmer, too. Or at least hardcore geek. They’re apparently waiting for more people so they chat.

The guy gets a phone call and takes it on his generic non-smart non-PDA phone.

However, my already burning curiosity gets some kerosene tossed on it when the girl pulls out an iPhone. She plays with it for a bit while the boy is on his call.

I lean over the top of my laptop. “I’m trying not to covet your iPhone,” I say.

“Oh, no, that’s perfectly understandable,” she says, almost embarrassed.

“So if you feel waves of attention from over here, it’s me,” I say, along with waving my hands in her direction to indicate said waves.

She chuckles. “It’s the only thing I have going for me, lately.”

I hope that the look on my face reflects my complete astonishment at this ludicrous statement, but knowing how well I hide my feelings it probably didn’t. Let’s see: she’s brainy, geeky, tall, hot, and she loves amazing design and ease of use and sexy sexy technology, and yet still modest enough to apologize for it all. I don’t remember what I said, exactly, but I think I just nodded.

She talks about how it’s the most amazing thing she’s ever owned and that she’s completely OK with how much it costs. She must get asked that a lot, but doesn’t she see that I’m surfing on a MacBook Pro? Don’t worry, milady, I get it.

I mention that I’m waiting for my T-Mobile contract to expire so I can get one; she counters with the fact that she paid the early termination fee to T-Mobile to get the iPhone. I ask her how the EDGE service is in Portland and she says it’s great.

I go back to surfing while the boy finishes his phone call and plays with the iPhone.

They’re joined by another girl, also cute, but obviously lacking an iPhone. They leave for some other venue.

At least I said something. Maybe I’ll post this in Missed Connections…

I’ve had things happen to me this week, and I wanted to write about them, but after the things happen, and before I get the chance to write about them, I either needed lots of sleep to recuperate, or more things happened that I wanted to write about, and now, at the end of the week, I’ve got a mind full of great ideas for blog posts, waaaaaaaaaay more than I have time and energy to actually sit down and write.

And now I’m off to participate in yet another thing I’d love to write about… but can’t.

Sad that strangers can sometimes be more welcoming than a friend I’ve known for years. It’s a mixed-up world.

On the other hand, it’s sad to learn that I can hurt someone by relying too much on them. This ol’ life gets you coming and going, don’t it?

PS: I was right about the true thought pissing off my friends, no matter how I phrased it or tried to soften its impact.

Being right doesn’t make me feel any better, though.

Smacky has been missing since Wednesday morning. Those of you who follow my twitters already are aware; I think this is my first mention here, though. It’s very sad. I woke up Wednesday morning to find a hole chewed in one of the front room screens, and no sign of my grumpy black cat. No sign now for four days. Thursday night, when I went out for a run, I looped around the streets close to me to scout out and see if I could find him. In a way I hoped I wouldn’t because I feared he would be dead. But I didn’t find him at all. It’s not impossible that he may still return; last time he got out, he was missing for a week.

I haven’t put up posters; I waited a few days to see if he would return right away, and now I haven’t really got the energy. It’s just one more thing on top of the other feelings of depression.

And about those feelings… My apologies to the many who sang of love’s hurt, but I think it’s truth that hurts more.

I’ve had a true thought bouncing around my brain for weeks, since before my road trip. And it hurts. It’s undeniably true; it’s not a matter of perspective or only true sometimes or something one has to take on faith or based on a feeling that may or may not be true; even though the thought is about human interactions, it’s still about as true as such a statement can be.

Since the true thought causes me pain, of course, what I want most is to make it stop. My first impulse is to spit it out. Type it out here, bluntly. Maybe by speaking it aloud I can stunt its ability to cause me pain. I can try to unload it from my brain, or split it in half, lessen its power.

However, the thought is about my friends, and I know that if I were to type it out here, or even say it in person, no matter how I phrased it or tried to minimize its impact, that my friends would be hurt, too, and would likely react in anger. I believe that’s because of the truth of the statement; they wouldn’t be able to deny that it’s true at all, and yet would still feel a need to try to justify the thought, and what conclusions one can extend from the thought.

And that’s part of the problem; I already know the justifications and explanations that surround this thought. And, what’s more, I agree with them. I know that the situation is exactly as it is for many good valid reasons, reasons that make sense to me, to my friends, to society as a whole. In fact, for what the true thought says about my friends, it shows them in their best light, at least as far as society sees things. But it still hurts.

The flip side of that, though, is that the true thought can then be used as a kind of rhetorical lever against me, and my position, and my values and my value to society. This is the logical bomb that lurks inside the true statement; for while the statement may be 100% absolutely without fail true, about many things… still it may hide an untruthful thought about me. Maybe mask is a better choice of verb: it may mask a truth about me.

Because that’s the lesson I need to learn right now, I believe. The universe is as it is; it exists independently whether I’m observing it or not. And the events and objects and people and interactions all undeniably happen and exist. That’s what’s real.

What I think about that universe, those events, those objects and the people who live, act, use and interact with it all… that’s entirely up to me. Once again, the universe is unable to be changed; I’m the one who must change to accommodate its truth. In this case, the change is one of a point of view; the true statement continues to be true, about everyone but me, and I need to re-evaluate my relationship to the statement and therefore my value as a person. Because meaning doesn’t exist separately from consciousness; no, we conscious beings create meaning in our brains and then assign it to the universe.

I’m in control of the meaning of my life. That’s scary, but also empowering.

If only I can accept that power…

You’re hurt? You think you’re in pain?

Yeah, you probably are. Welcome to the human race. Just like the man said, everybody hurts.

You’ve got pain. I’ve got pain. Everybody’s soaking in it. Into every life a little rain must fall.

I’d apologize for it, this pain you’re feeling, but that’s almost like taking responsibility for it. It’s not my fault, man. I’ve got my own shit to deal with. I won’t bore you with the list. Not that you’d likely be able to hear me, anyway, what with you being in your head and me being in mine.

Wait, maybe if we figure out what it all means, that will make it better. Sounds good, right? Finding a meaning, or a purpose, for our pain is a tradition with a long and storied past.

The eastern tradition is that pain is basically an illusion. For some reason, that’s supposed to comfort you. “Hey, it’s all in your head! Buck up, pal, if you were a better person you wouldn’t feel hurt.” I must be missing something but that seems like cold comfort to me. Maybe it’s tough love or somethin’.

The western tradition isn’t much better. Pain is somehow noble. Suffering is good for the soul. Hey, look at what Jesus of Nazareth went through, and he was the son of God. Nobody gets out of life alive, and in fact, the worse off you are, the more important you must be. Again… this seems backwards to me.

But both traditions come to the same conclusion about the ultimate goal. Getting rid of pain is what we’re put here to do. Unfortunately, getting rid of pain means dying. Either in reaching samsara, nirvana, or heaven… basically, you’re gone. Not of this world anymore. Pushing up daisies. Worm food. Buh-bye.

The modern, scientific conception of pain is that it’s an alarm going off. “Hey, buddy! Wake up! Something needs changing!” Now this is more like it. I can get behind this meaning. No, it’s not a fucking trick of my mind; it’s really happening. And no, feeling this hurt isn’t going to make me a better person; I am who I am already.

The downside to this idea of pain-as-alarm is that it suggests that pain is transitory, and that we can do something about it. It doesn’t really address the concerns of the older traditions, that, like I said, everybody hurts.

It’s also a pain in the ass if the source of the pain isn’t obvious. If my arm is gone and blood is pouring out of the stump, the solution to ridding myself of the associated pain is clear; tourniquet, motherfucker, and 9-1-1, stat! But if I’m just fucking sad and lonely, and I’m lashing out in anger at anyone who comes close, and I’m eating too much or not enough and I’m closing myself up in my apartment and not doing a fucking thing at all… well, that is pain, too. But what’s the course of action? Where’s the source of the pain? It’s not like I’ve got shrapnel in me that I can remove. I’m the source of my pain.

Let me repeat that, for emphasis: I am the source of my pain.

Applying the model I’m most comfortable with, if I’m in pain, then something needs to change. If I’m the source of my own pain, then I need to change myself.

I’ve been here before. I thought I’d figured it out. I was in pain, and, worse, I was causing my family pain. But I got it worked out. I kept on in what seemed like the right direction, and got some support, and things started to break my way.

But there was always a nagging reminder of suffering. I hadn’t completely healed. And truth to tell, I’m fucking tired of changing. Changing my job, changing my habits, changing the food I eat and the clothes I wear and the friends I hang around… it seemed to help for a while, but the pain always comes back, so either I’ll never be rid of it, or I haven’t changed the right things, and I’ve reached the point where I don’t really know what I need to change to fix this.

Sorry if this is maddeningly vague, but, again, I’m not going to bore you with the details, and I’m not going to ask you to put up with them. It’s enough that you’re reading this right now.

My point is simply this: Look, I understand that you’re hurting. I’m not trying to be callous, or unsympathetic. I’m sure it hurts, and I’m sure it hurts a lot, and even if the solution looks obvious to me, I’m likely wrong, and even if the solution looks obvious to you, it may still be difficult to actually do.

But I’m in pain, too. It might not be obvious, and you may or may not think that the reasons for my suffering is somehow worth it, and the solution may be obvious to you or it may not… but, fuck it, this is my pain. As much as I wish someone could just take it away from me, as much as I wish I could just somehow wish it into receding, ain’t gonna happen. Not today, anyway.

Fucking pain. It might, in the end, just be a reminder that we’re here.

Not much happened this weekend. Oh! Except! I bought a bunch of new (to me) music.

On Saturday, I bought Bad Religion’s “New Maps of Hell”. Awesome, just awesome. I’ve listened to it straight through four times already. Greg and the guys are still on top of their game. It helps that the situation hasn’t really changed since the early 80s when they first formed… There’s still a lot of single-mindedness and political hackery and corporate greed and single-mindedness* going around. There’s still so many reasons for people to be angry. And nobody expresses that anger better and more articulately than Bad Religion.

I also bought a compilation of The Band’s best. A two-disk set. I’ve long wanted to hear more than just “The Weight”, their most famous song. And now I’ll set to sample much more. I… uh… haven’t listened to this yet. Just a couple of tracks and not with my full attention. I’ll get to it, I promise.

I also downloaded Stereogum’s tribute to the greatest Radiohead album ever, “OK Computer”. Stereogum, for the unknowing, isn’t a band – it’s a blog. A blog about music. But they decided to honor the 10th anniversary of the release of the mind-blowing “OK Computer” by asking a bunch of artists to cover each song, either a simple cover or doing it as that band would have done that song. I, uh… I haven’t listened to this yet, either. Did I mention how much of a fan of Bad Religion I am?

Then, on Sunday, even though I hadn’t even listened to most of the music I bought on Saturday, I bought even more CDs. How nutso is that? I bought a two-and-a-half-disk compilation of Elton John’s greatest hits, Social Distortion’s first album, not just one but two of Northwest punk grrlz made good Sleater-Kinney albums (“All Hands On The Bad One” and “The Woods”), some local project from a group called “Auditory Sculpture” that features my future wife** Storm Large, and Sage Francis’ newest album, claimed (by those who write the cover copy) to be his most personal album yet.

So far, of those, I’ve heard the two S-K albums. I like them – normally hard-core jangly punk just makes me angry but Carrie Brownstein’s piercing vocals have an equally energizing, but not as negative, effect on me.

And then, today, at work, I found waiting for me Cake’s latest, the “B-Sides and Rarities” CD that marks their first effort after finishing their contract with Sony-BMG. Cake, as always, makes me happy, and several of these tracks are going into my “happy playlist”, particularly their cover of Barry White’s “Never, Never Gonna Give You Up.” Me likey.

* Yes, I repeated myself on purpose.
** Not actually my future wife. Only met her once.

The following is a response to the defensive post by one Mr. Aaron Weiss of KGW, itself a response to The Portland Mercury’s post about a lawsuit against Multnomah County Sheriffs Department. The lawsuit alleges that a prisoner who was not resisting received a beating by several members of the MCSO – and the lawsuit is backed up by video courtesy by the Portland Mercury of the beating.

Mr. Weiss of KGW took offense to Matt Davis’ allegation of “influencing public opinion” – if I understand it correctly, by KGW’s choice of someone to represent the side of Multnomah County. Mr. Weiss then makes the argument that KGW is just trying to show “all sides” and, since Multnomah County won’t comment on pending litigation, KGW had to find someone to speak for them.

…which got my dander up. I hate the “fake balance” that our media irresponsibly hides behind these days. I deplore what has become of the Fourth Estate. This is what I posted on KGW’s blog, on the Portland Mercury’s blog, and here, in case it doesn’t pass muster at the other sites.

[begin my comment]
What do I see on the tape? I see those with power using it against someone who doesn’t have it. I see precious few inalienable rights being upheld or protected.

The myth that “all sides must be represented” is one of the cancers eating away at our representative democracy. It’s based on a further myth that all opinions are equally valid.

Does it shock anyone that the opinions of those who have the power are going to be used to justify and validate their use and abuse of their power? It shouldn’t be “news” at all, so why waste time on it? Why give the opinion of those in power any more validity or airtime than absolutely necessary? Why seek out a spokesman for the authorities – pardon me, an ex-spokesman in this case – at all? Anyone with any adult awareness at all can predict the opinion of the people who have been given the public trust.

But the idea that our leaders get equal time with the victims of the abuse of power has been promoted by… our leaders and those who benefit from their continued authority.

“Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable” is a better motto for the media, who likewise have been granted a public trust, but have abandoned it in favor of pleasing those in power.

Until the media puts aside the fake balance, gives short shrift to the opinions of the power brokers, fact-checks our governments actions, and begins simply reporting who has the power, for whom is the power being used, against whom is the power being abused, and what recourse is available to those who don’t have the power… our nation will continue to become a police state.

Not that I expect someone who has the power, like Mr. Aaron Weiss, to willingly and honestly report these things. Picking and choosing whose opinion gets validity by using up the precious minutes allocated by their corporate masters, while hiding their own opinions in an attempt to foil any accountability by the public, on whose behalf that trust was granted, tells me all I need to know about how KGW values that public trust.

Lately, I hate my job. I would much rather be writing.

But I often wonder if it would be worth it, financially, to be a freelance journalist? How many dead presidents could I collect just by writing?

Here’s a little shirt-sleeve math-&-Google to find out.

From last Thursday to today I’ve posted 8 times (not counting this post). Yes, I’m including “Sellwood #4” even though it was 8 days ago. If you think that’s fudging the numbers, so be it.

Those 8 posts are fairly short for me (except for “Sellwood #4”); their word count comes to 1439 (or so – word counts may seem straight-forward but there’s some wiggle room).

I found a page published by the Columbia University of Journalism, presumably for its students, that lists many local New York City area papers and what they pay for articles. It looks as though a “standard” per-word pay rate is 10-20¢ per word.

That would give me (assuming every word I wrote got published) between $143.90 to $287.80 for one week’s work.

If I assume that editors slash my brilliant writing in half, that would still leave me with 719.5 words published, for a week’s pay of $71.95 to $143.90.

If I just wrote as much as I did last week every week, and it all got published, and I got the most generous pay rate, I would have an annual salary of… $14965.60, or $1247.13 per month.

Hmmm. I’d have to have a day job. Or write more.

I can write more… For instance, if you take my Vegas week posts (Day 0.5, Day 1.5, Day 2.5, Day 3.5, Home – updates later, and Day 4.5), those add up to 4828 words. At 10¢ per word that comes to $482.80 for one week’s work, not including the freakin’ driving and eating and sight-seeing and Vegas-wandering and brothel-touring I also got to do that week. That wouldn’t be bad… But even if I did that every week, that would give me an annual gross of let’s see… carry the one… $25105.60.

I’d still need a day job. Damn.

Remember the girl on the bus who did not want to be told it was OK? I told her it was OK, anyway. Remember?

Well, I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop with another girl. The top of her laptop has a bunch of stickers on it. One of them reads:

I’m Not OK

She has bleached-blonde hair (dark roots), painted-black fingernails, blue-and-white striped t-shirt, denim mini-skirt and silver boots, and piano keys tattooed around her upper arm. Skulls everywhere: silver skull earrings, another skull on her laptop, a pink (!) handbag with a skull.

I think I’m going to pass on telling her it’s going to be OK. I think I might not be OK after telling her that.