Part Two: Missing Misty Mysticism

<p>this section involves  a meandering lead-up to hinting at present day motivations, so keep that end in mind to avoid getting lost.</p>

<p>i was put into a special program for smart kids like many of you probably were when i was 10 and didnt have to go regular school on fridays. i won  regional and state championships for Olympics of the Mind competitions and even competed in the world championships. i tested unusually high in creative application, spacial reasoning, and writing.  mentioning this relatively meaningless garbage is only to set up a comparative frame of my early history. soon after all the nerdery intensified, i was compelled to end it all. the nerdification, i mean. i stopped doing the after school young engineers club and readers society and instead chose to play sports.  this may take some explaining considering  who the likely readers of this are, but ive been thinking about it lately so it wont be too hard to write about it clearly.  </p>

<p>at the time, i liked the roughness and the exhaustion. the crashes and bumps and smell of smeared-grass. it was a smell of reality.  i liked taking my glasses off.  as anders recently mentioned, it does feel good to get exercise and the reason is simple. but for now i would like to bring up another reason why sports were appealing to my young geeky self: i liked mastering  the physics of action.   there was a degree of greatness in being able launch a projectile by hand at XX mph into your target, eluding a swinging obstacle,  especially if you could make it curve on a trajectory which tricked the eyes of, and eluded even the most precisely coordinated obstacle-swinger. theres also a shivering glory in the ability to intercept an airborne, speeding orb when you have to make a split second decision about where you anticipate the ball will be when your bat eventually comes around enough to strike it.   success here results in a feeling you cant understand unless youve grown it yourself.  controlling your body like this is a special skill resulting in a special satisfaction shrouded in a mist of special mysticism. its a time when your body and mind are working in unity. at a higher level of performance, your mind isnt sending signals to your muscles to swing!  or kick!, its your mind itself swinging and kicking,  your whole body becomes one, big, silent brain. this is the crux of what i would like to think will be a main topic of this piece of writing, somehow.  </p>

<p>incidentally, i would also like to  quickly mention, as it will probably enlighten a bunch of you, that this is how some people  are actually able to watch a baseball game and not die of boredom, a question we all ask ourselves and others from time to time. i suppose the same thing is true of golf (which is painful to admit) and, here in china, ping pong. that is to say, as we watch with an air of superiority about us and point out how silly the game is, or how idiotic the fans are for being so enraptured, we essentially generalize and assume that everyone is watching the same game that we are. but, depending on their experience, they arent. some of the observers of these sports know what it is like to have conquered action and master the properties of  dynamic movement. they have an understanding which we wont have unless weve played enough to appreciate these certain elements.  when there is a perfect pitch, or whack, or shot, they not only marvel, but they often nod and remember. in way, there is a sharing taking place between actor and observer.   this can be a very subtle and elusive idea and the fans themselves may not even be able to explain this and are thusly easy for the uninitiated to criticize.  </p>

<p>ive often wondered how it can be so easy for someone who  watches a ballet  with appreciation and awe be so critical and demeaning towards other areas of athletic performance (and vise versa) despite the degrees of similitude. these  range in everything from grace of movement, self-expression, concentration, to the utterly impressive feats of neuro-motor coordination and the grandeur of highest-level human physiological capabilities which are tied, in an essential way, to deepest-level human mental capabilities.</p> 

ive just finished writing the following TTJ entry. its long. i had some time and it was nice to put some thoughts down. its intended for the people who know me, but if you dont, youll know me better after reading on. resultant of a last-day-of-vacation-and-ive-received-a-bunch-of-emails-and-phone-calls-from-all-sorts-of-people-who-are-questioning-my-choices sort of situation, its purpose is to get people to see another side of things and hopefully inspire a little faith in my recent decision, which will be mentioned, eventually, although not in this entry.

<p>so here we go&#8230;</p>

<p>&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;-</p>

<p>Part One: Stasis Status</p>

<p>everything is just good.</p>

<p>it seems like there should be some sort of problem or struggle or stress to deal with or overcome-  but there really isnt. in fact, im so content that im frightened. </p>

<p>content with my existence, i mean. not the worlds, but mine. each and every non-relaxing but nearly perfect day.</p>

<p>this could be good or bad; seeing as this has never really happened to me before, i have no basis for thinking either.  this could be bad because i could get rusty. i could become lazy and grow to expect the easy-breezy.  in essence, i could be spoiling myself into retardation. </p>

<p>but it could be good. i feel good. im closer to feeling fulfilled and, to a degree, existing in an element that actually feels natural for me.</p>

<p>in fairness to tucker watchers, i realize that my lifestyle here, doing what im doing  (discussed later)  is not really on any sort of  path towards some ultimate career goal.  this results in  worried family and makes friends question my judgment as they (amazingly, just about all of them) move on and up to prestigious, meaningful, important, high-level, moneymaking, long-term and brightly futured employment slots.  but in fairness to the tucker being watched, ive never had an ultimate goal, just a long series of mini-goals which ive been knocking off one by one as they sprout up around my life.  eventually ill get to the make-hoards-of-money goal. it just didnt rank high enough on the list to be a priority.  however, lately ive realized  that to parents, friends, professionals and random people i meet,  i might be coming across as some sort of hopeless <span class="caps">DMA</span> (Discover Myself Abroad) hippy. especially to the chinese, who really cant grasp the idea of a liberal arts education or going to college to explore personal interests as opposed to fulfilling the req. for working at <span class="caps">XYZ</span>, i also must seem like an <span class="caps">LAH</span> (Loser At Home).  but  i can defend myself: im  accomplishing things here and i do feel like im on my way to something important.  but before i get into it, allow me to point some things out. </p>

<p>i think one difference between myself and most thraxil contributors and others whove been steered here to read this chunk of blab, is that, unlike most of you who were fortunate enough to have an interest in something which also happens to be an increasingly important, needed, and meshed aspect of the lives of every human being, my driving interests have always been located in much broader realms.  unfortunately, these areas dont really have a professional sector. </p>

    there is no industry for me, per say; 

    not a legal one anyway.

<p>this poses quite a challenge.  imagining myself  having to work for the sake of work and starvation-prevention instead of forging ahead in pursuit of my interests is hard. </p>

<p>i know what kind of person i am and i also know that there are few slots for me.</p>

<p>i do have a couple of ideas floating around for the future, so, im not a complete desert of professional ambition.   in fact, ambition itself is something i have a surplus of now. its just not for the 9-5 gig. its to explore the interests i have with all the fervor i can muster while i still can.  to mention, i am supporting myself over here, entirely. im proud of the fact that ive enabled myself to grab onto what im interested in with both hands (and feet, toes, ears, mouth, brain and strange-loopy soul) and that im officially no ones burden.   </p>

<p>im not particularly special, but i know im not an average joe.   ive had all sorts of revelations resultant of a huge diversity of comparatively rare life experiences.   that  none have been entirely steering is no ones fault, and, although causing a problem of convenience, i think its not entirely unhealthy.  i  think that typically when someone has an interest in something and it turns out that they are good at whatever that thing is they tend to follow it.  to a large degree their talents, when meshed with their enjoyment of those talents, form a guiding force which illuminates the occupational avenues to stroll down. but what if their interests and talents dont coincide? or, what if they do, but, unfortunately, theres no place for them in todays world? or what if theyre  still being pulled in different directions?</p>

<p>i guess you either role dice, or attempt to create your own, self-satisfying venue. </p>

<p>Part One here has been an attempt at bringing issues forward and dusting them off for a rousing good time of self-defensive literary posturing which probably has not satisfied the reading audience whom are now  remembering that they have better things to do than read my drivel. </p>

<p>but alas,  thy wilst blab unto thine faithful. tune in later for Part Two: Missing Misty Mysticism which will somehow involve a meandering lead-up to present day motivations, if you&#8217;ve nothing better to do.</p> 

there was a huge linden tree in my grandmother’s yard in connecticut. the trunk was at least 5 feet in diameter and it had stood there longer than anyone could remember.

<p>everytime we visit, my grandmother points out the linden tree and how old it is and how close it is to the house and how it&#8217;s bound to fall down any day now and dear god don&#8217;t we hope it falls away from the house. i always look at this huge, sturdy looking tree and figure that it&#8217;s pretty solid and won&#8217;t fall down and grandma&#8217;s just worrying over nothing.</p>

<p>well, it fell down last friday. away from the house thankfully.</p>

<p>i should go visit again soon so i can see what it looks like. the tree was such a big part of the landscape that i can&#8217;t imagine the house without it towering over everything.</p> 

the default template now validates as xhtml 1.0. the validator doesn’t like some of the characters in the posts themselves so the site won’t actually validate at the moment, but the template is clean.

<p>i&#8217;ve only got mozilla to test with so let me know if IE screws something up now.</p> 

so, today, day three of vacation, i reminded myself how truly moronic i can be. im sure all of you who know me have a little collection of memories of my bad judgments- but hopefully most of the incidents in such lists involve some degree of blood-alcohol blame. unfortunately, i have no excuse this time.

<p>as some of you can testify to, i go through phases of either having an orderly living environment, or having a heap of dirt and organic grime build up to the point that rather than clean up, i consider moving.</p>

<p>i probably should have just moved this time. </p>

<p>i spent almost this entire day today moving, scrubbing, gagging and gasping for breath, polishing and marveling at the fungal universe of my under-closet area (just had a flashback of my old jeep where i once found actual mushroom-things growing in the wasteland area under the back seats &#8211; that was infinitely cool) and also categorizing, filing, scraping, wiping, taping, screwing (with a screwdriver you pervs) (with a screwdriver on screws you pervy-pervs!) (dammit, using a screwdriver to actually screw screws into pre-drilled screw-holes you mega-pervy-pervs) (&#8230;. never mind) and other such purification of my little beijing cubbyhole.</p>

<p>and then i almost killed myself accidentally. </p>

<p>see, ive never actually polished anything besides combat boots and an ex-girlfriends bright yellow, 2002 audi S4 quattro race car.  so, ignorantly, i bought some chinese, lemon-scented cleaning polish  hoping to add a last perfection to my new, sterile abode.  i polished everything that was polish-able. the walls, the shelves, my water cooler, and the blunt message of this little story is&#8230;</p>

<p>after everything was all glimmering and nearly divine in visual (and olfactory) sensation, i noticed my tile floor was pretty much just a clean-but-regular ol floor. so i sprayed it wth polish and let the cleaning-demon continue to take over my soul.   </p>

<p>once the floor began to dry, unbeknownst  to me, it now contained a coefficient of sliding friction which approached zero.  satisfied with the glow, i took my first step on the now mirrory floor, and basically pulled and/or strained every single muscle in my entire body, probably broke my coccyx (sp?)  and i think i have a mild concussion.  after the 3 seconds of wild, physically impossible break-dancing i did, and then the final impact of 100% me-ness essentially squashing, i think my entire body actually started to slide towards my door.</p>

<p>so, one cool thing is that you can see my body-print on the floor which looks kind of like the chalk-outline of a corpse at a murder scene. another cool thing is that  i can actually play an air-hockey equivalent using boots across my floor with a friend-  ill probably be able to beat her after my body recovers .</p>

<p>so, people, dont use furniture polish on your floor. its a horrible, stupid thing to do.  i now have to crawl  across my floor for safety reasons.</p>

<p>this is all.   carry on about your business.</p> 

or anyone in the area.

<p>objective #2-a is to invite enough people to subdue the &#8220;yura effect&#8221; (which usually ends in tango lessons, russian folk songs, and things that shouldn&#8217;t happen) to a house party.  not that it&#8217;s all bad, it&#8217;s just been done&#8230;a lot.  so i am welcoming all stalkers, crack addicts, and &#8220;other&#8221;.  may 11. </p>

<p>(if anyone would actually seriously consider coming, email me.  please&#8230;)</p> 

right now i’ve got the worse case of hiccups ever. i’m dead tired but i can’t go to sleep because i’m hiccuping and it won’t go away. this is so strange.

last night, against my better judgement and in complete disregard for my health, i went down to the roseland with my friend brian and some of his friends to catch a Down show.

<p>brief background: Down is sort of a stoner/southern/rock sideproject of members of several thrash/hardcore bands (pantera, crowbar, corrosion of conformity, and eyehategod). they put out an album and did a short tour in 1995 and blew everyone&#8217;s mind. no one heard anything from them again until they released a new album a few months ago and announced another tour. for those of us who have been listening to their first album since 1995 and kicking ourselves for not catching them on that tour, this was an opportunity that couldn&#8217;t be missed.</p>

<p>before the show started, i ran into angela, a friend and fellow metalhead from Bates who was trying to scam a drink off someone.</p>

<p>instead of an opening band, they had a projector set up and played about 40 minutes of videos of all the classic rock that presumably forms the core inspiration for the band. black sabbath, hendrix, thin lizzy, kiss, etc. that was interspersed with footage of the band consuming vast quantities of alcohol and pot while recording . </p>

<p>when they finally came out onstage, phil was stumbling and obviously already wasted. as the first song started, i got kicked square in the head by some combat boot wearing, crowd-surfing maniac. i couldn&#8217;t see in my left eye for a few minutes. luckily i was so packed in to the crowd that even if i&#8217;d passed out, i wouldn&#8217;t have fallen down. that pretty much set the tone for the evening for me.</p>

<p>for a band that&#8217;s only written two albums, a two hour set list is fairly predictable. they pretty much just played every Down song that they&#8217;d ever recorded.</p>

<p>phil really was wasted. after each song, he&#8217;d sort of ramble more or less incoherently into the mic for 5 or 10 minutes about how much he hated the record companies and journalists and about how stoned he was. eventually, someone would throw a joint on stage and he&#8217;d get even <em>more</em> stoned. meanwhile, the rest of the band would stand around waiting impatiently for phil to get his head together enough to play the next song. a few times he even stopped songs in the middle so he could say whatever had popped into his mind (&#8220;wait&#8230; stop&#8230; i want them to really <em>hear</em> the ending of this song&#8230; ok&#8230; start again from the drum bit&#8230; everybody listen closely&#8230;&#8221;) by the end of the set, Rex (the bassist) was looking downright pissed at phil. don&#8217;t get me wrong; i loved every minute of it. i&#8217;d happily pay just to watch phil stumble around stage and rant for a couple hours. he doesn&#8217;t make much sense, but he&#8217;s pretty funny.</p>

<p>so despite still being somewhat under the influence of a flu with the worst sore throat ever, i found myself spending a few hours in a moshpit getting kicked in the head, crushed, screaming my lungs out and somehow enjoying the whole experience.</p> 

I had a dream about Thraxil last night. It is my first dream about anything online, and I hope it never happens again. Luckily I forgot most of it… but there was an Anders-type and a Lani-type, and I guess a Tuck and Emile or two. We were in New York. I’ve never been to New York… and it was more like New York meets Gotham City meets a glass and marble shopping mall designer’s wet dream. And we were going to a party, and we were all in a very large washroom ‘freshing up’, and psyching ourselves up. I’m used to co-ed washrooms. Then we went up to the party. I woke up realizing I had to take a pee.

<p>The question is why I would think it was New York, and full of Thraxilites&#8230; but I did. Everyone even talked like they do, in my mind. Though I&#8217;d never thought of that either. I think it was in New York because Anders was being cocky like Sienfeld (which I&#8217;ve never seen an epsiode of) and Lani sounded like &#8220;The Nanny&#8221; which is as popular in France as Jerry Lewis was, I think.</p>

<p>I hope this wierds you out less than it did me.</p> 

called in sick to work for the first time yesterday. on monday my throat was a little scratchy; then at about 11pm, i began to feel like i’d been hit by a bus.

<p>spent yesterday in an endless loop of: wake up, pee, drink some orange juice and water, stumble back to bed, fade randomly between semi-consciousness and sweaty, fever dreams, repeat.</p>