I don't know if I would sell

So I just finished watching "The Big Short," and I must say I really enjoyed it. I'm not here to lobby for it and toss out a bunch Oscar snub comments, or defend why it should have won this or that. And I'm not using this as a politically-charged post for or against any candidate or even any angle regarding the primary focus of financial criminality in the movie/book (which I want to read).



I'm here to share my admiration for (the portrayal of) Mark Baum's moral compass.

He wants to do what's right. But what resonated even more with me was that he wants to ask all the questions. He has an inquisitive eye, which many (including his wife) want him to tone down for his own sanity and overall quality of life.

But he wants to know, and not just to know, but because he wants to know why, he wants to expose how, and he wants to learn and potentially execute how things can be done more effectively and legally with the "right" people in mind.

SPOILER ALERT (but not really): What he does at the end of the film is what I figured he would, but I had hoped he would not. Would I do the same thing had I been in that position? Probably, but in theory, I would like to say I could stick to my guns and keep my integrity in the face of a man made catastrophe.

So, yeah...going back to Mark Baum...with another mention of the fact that I haven't read the book yet...

Even with the structure of the movie, using Gosling's Vennett as narrator, taking into consideration of Bale's Dr. Burry, Pitt's, Rickert, and Magaro and Wittrock as the duo from Brownfield, Steve Carell's Mark Baum was set up to be disliked early on. And I think that was part of the plan, full-knowing the general American public's enjoyment of Carell. But his Baum...his just edgy enough to be an asshole, while still hard-nosed to fit in (ish) with these financial types, but what really struck me is how he is the same way with everyone, including his wife played by Marisa Tomei.

(Sidenote: I was kind of hoping Emma Stone would make an appearance because #CrazyStupidLove)

I keep getting sidetracked...(actually, the more honest wording would be..."I keep sidetracking myself.")

Annnnyway.

What I'm trying to say is that I feel like Mark Baum sometimes. I don't ask questions to make people look bad. I don't do it for personal benefit. I ask questions and challenge and poke and prod and inquire because I genuinely want to know why things are happening the way they are. Are they right? Who are these methods serving? Who implemented these practices? Is it a hopeless case, or can it be reformed?

Everyone has their motivations for pushing ahead or even staying out (like Rickert), but what makes me sad is that Mark Baum's drive for revealing truth isn't more common. It isn't to prove self-righteousness, and it isn't even for personal benefit. It's for the masses. It's for the people. It's to broaden our perspectives as a society.

Truth is like poetry. And most people hate fucking poetry.-Overheard at a Washington D.C. bar

I know I don't have all the answers, and I will never claim to. What I can do, and what I choose to do on a daily basis is ask the hard questions. Of myself and of my environment, those around me included. A lot of people aren't a fan of this, and I'm fully aware of this. It has taken me a long time to be able to ask myself challenging, truly inquisitive questions on a constant basis, and I don't expect others who have chosen to not question like I have to instantaneously flip a behavioral shift and start doing this. This isn't an end all, be all practice, but I can say from experience, that being able to Mark Baum a few things and ask the tough questions can really open your world up. Even if you don't know how far down the rabbit hole goes, or whether you're falling down said rabbit hole, or if it's within yourself, it takes a hell of a risk to do it.

And whether you sell the swaps or not, just know why you're doing it, and that'll bring you a bigger payoff than anyone else can get you.

I Am Here and Now

As I have seen more years, I have seen more things.

As I have seen more things, I have seen more of the same things.

As I have seen more of the same things, I have begun to recognize them sooner.

As I have recognized them soon, I have still often ignored them.

As I have ignored them, I have been swallowed by them.

Here is where I learn.

As I now recognize that I ignore them, I can now more confidently take action to bob and weave instead of taking the punches blindly. I can keep my eyes clear instead of being blinded what I think is real.

Here is where I begin to trust myself.

Now is when I begin to trust myself more.

Now is when I take what I have learned and recognize that I am exactly who I should be.

For all the things that I have seen over the years, the things I have recognized and ignored, the things I have learned but have not yet put them into practice, this is where that ends.

This is where I begin.

Now is when I begin.

Here is where I am.

Exactly myself is who I am.

Facebook is like a brother to me

Facebook, you're a funny thing.

And not in a funny, humorous, "Am I a clown, do I amuse you?" kind of way, but in a fickle friend, somebody-please-give-me-a-warning-if-you're-having-a-bad-day way.

Blogging and tweeting are similar, but not in as personal a way as Facebook is.

For example, a couple years ago I remember talking to my friend about how we love Taco Bell so much and how if we were a Taco Bell menu item we would be _________.

This spurred a Facebook status post asking "If you were a Taco Bell menu item, what would you be?"

I'd say in about two hours there were 50+ comments and at least 75 likes.

BUT

When I share something about Support the Arts, or pose a question of something, dare I say, serious or (for fear of sounding condescending or snooty) intellectual, I'll maybe get three likes and people rarely comment on it to share an opinion or have a conversation about it.

Occasionally, when I see someone else's status and it pertains to something I don't agree with, or would like to learn more about, or have some opinion on in any way, I tend to keep scrolling because who likes getting into actual conversations or (the horror!) an online argument.

I totally get that, by nature, most of us are non-confrontational, but does that mean we can't have conversations through our laptops and smart phones? I know that having a round table discussion about marriage equality, abortion, vaccines, immigration, politics, or whatever can be intense for many people because of volume, interruptions, eye contact, body temperature...whatever physiological reactions may occur, but online you're safe behind your computer wherever you're typing. No one can interrupt you, and you have as much time as you need to think things out, present them rationally, and breathe through whatever nervousness you have.

I guess what I really mean is...

Why have we drifted so far away from actually talking to each other? And why have Like buttons and Shares claimed plots in our land of communication skills?

And why has social media become such a factor in sharing feelings, asking questions, relationships, jobs, and essentially every aspect in life whether it's interpersonal, individual, happy or sad, joyous or sadness?

Why is it so simple for friends/followers to Like, Share, RT or double tap for like anything devoid of emotional response or critical thinking, but when there's an actual discussion that could be had where questions could be asked, viewpoints can be shared, and knowledge can be exchanged, we clear the road like a wild west duel at high noon?

Maybe this is more a question for Facebook programmers' algorithms for News Feed sharing. How do you decide what's important to share in my friends' feeds? Is anything relating to food, sports, or pop culture highlighted? Is it based on #NowTrending topics? Or is there a filter that actually hides posts with emotional/inquisitive words like "feel" or "help" or "why?"

Facebook, you're like a brother to me.

But in the way that I know "brother" as I was raised and not as I learned to use the word brother as in "my brothers were in my wedding party" or "I served aboard a submarine with my brothers".

You're like the older kid that lives in the house with me but doesn't really talk to me. You're that guy that is  used as a model for excellence for when I screw up, and as someone who takes credit for when I succeed. I share with you in hopes of conversation, but all you really want to know is what I had for lunch, how many games of Words With Friends I'm playing, and how many other social media apps you can follow me on.

You don't really care that I have a job, as long as you know I have one. Nor do you really care what's on my mind, how I'm feeling, what I'm watching, eating, reading, listening to, or what. You don't what to know why anything is going on, but more so just what.

Or maybe this is really about people I think I connect with on Facebook.

So I'm taking back control of my life online as I am taking back control of my life in the sunlight with my feet on the ground and the warmth on my face. I'm not worried about Likes or Shares or updating my information or if you care how many firsts, or places I've been, or relationship status, or hometown, whatever.

I'm calling the shots. I write my own chapters. I ask my own questions. But if you really care what Taco Bell item I am, then ask someone else. I'm a Sonic Chicago dog with cheese tots and a strawberry limeade. I'm a fresh funnel cake with powdered sugar on top--straight up classic no frills. I'm a chocolate Frosty with fries on a summer day while you sit on the curb with sweat dripping down your calf from the back of your knee.

And yeah, if you care, I love my job as a Service and Training Manager at Old Navy. My hometown is TBD because home is home wherever it is. But I was raised in Oakland and Antioch, California. I don't specify that as my singular hometown, though. The LBC is also my home. As is VB back east. And does it really matter if I select Separated, Single, or Divorced? Because anyone that really wants to know could probably have a better conversation with me than your drop down menu.

My life is my life and sometimes I'm more raw and open about it than some people are ready for.

But the cool thing about social media--whether it's a blog like this, or a tweet, or a Facebook status--is that it's like leaving a postcard on the floor of a club. Most people will probably step on it or over it, but every once in a while, something will catch someone's eye and they may read it.  Someone may even pick it up and share it with someone.

Whatever happens to it, I got it out in the open, and for me, that makes it more real. That puts my thoughts down "on paper," for public consumption, and I stand behind what I say. That's really me. And as much as I don't fulfill the stereotype for musical-loving theatre geek...

Take me or leave me.

PBDC Day 10/31: Far Away

I love my job. I really do. There are aspects that are more challenging than others, and of those there are some that aren't directly business-related. They're challenging on a personal level. Like most folks I know, I didn't have the greatest self-esteem in high school. My self-image, at least in regards to physicality, was not very positive. In grade school I was always more comfortable around the girls. I was neither athletic nor aggressive, so those quiet ones that played off to the side by the swings with their hand games and jump ropes were definitely the ones I felt more comfortable around.

In the Navy I had the pleasure of serving aboard a submarine. That sounds more generic than I intended. I had the pleasure of serving aboard the USS Hyman G. Rickover, SSN-709 out of Norfolk, Virginia. This boat, like many submarines, had a crew without a single woman as a part of the team (or a married woman for that matter). Being in a male-dominated environment was new to me, especially being raised in a house under matriarchal rule.

The gender-role-imploding shell shock I experienced was amplified after I was discharged when I began a period of time where most of my time was spent in bars, mostly for work but also because it was a bar. I'm not proud to admit it, but in this period of time between the first time I got my heart demolished after boot camp and around when my time spent in bars was being phased out by time in the theatre, I didn't respect women as much as I could have.

I was surrounded by plenty of negative influences, but remained in contact with enough people who were grounded and just flat out nice that I finally made my way into the clear.

College helped me back onto my professional, respectful feet, and realizing how off the deep end I was as a single sailor, a traveling Army contractor, a bartender, and a karaoke DJ, it became clearer that I was finally heading in the right direction.

Once I started at Old Navy I discovered a great opportunity for improvement in my interpersonal communication: how I communicate with women in regards to their physical appearance. From a traditional background (some may call it "old-fashioned") I was raised to never ask a woman her age, weight, or anything that may require her to divulge information about her body shape, size, or general opinion about her self-image.

Today I broke through a wall.

Two woman were in the fitting room area while I was at work today, the slimmer one, "Jane" we'll call her, with a couple pairs of shoes in her hand as moral support for "Jenny," the other, as she was looking for new jeans. Approaching them to help them out, Jenny was blunt in her request, asking if she could "possibly find jeans to fit this"--at which point she turned around and lifted her sweater to show her butt (still clothed of course). She said she had lost some weight recently and had no idea as to even what size she would start with.

I admitted that I felt like guessing her size would be as awkward and possibly as offensive as guessing someone's age, but she said I couldn't offend her if I tried. Luckily, she told me that the men's jeans she was wearing were a 32 or 34, and she had no way of knowing this, but having tried on some women's pants the other day (Day 7: Fly) I knew exactly what size a 34" waist would translate to being that was my size.

I told her that I wore a 34" waist and that perhaps a 12 would be best. She cringed at the number, and without hesitation I replied, "people won't be commenting on what number they think your jeans are, they'll notice if they fit you or not." To which her friend Jane turned to me and thanked me for my encouraging words and a good point. But it's really true. Take a wedding dress for example. Say you purchase a 12, but you need it altered as the wedding gets closer, or for an extreme example, you need a new one in a size or two larger or smaller. Guests at the wedding won't be sitting out there saying, "OMG she used to be a 12, but now she's in a 16," they'll be focusing on how good you look in whatever size dress you wear. (However, if your "friends" are guessing your size and criticizing that, then maybe you need to rethink your circle of friends.)

Over the next 20 minutes or so, I brought Jenny different shirts to go with a couple of pairs of jeans I was able to strategically suggest, and without realizing it until later this evening, I got over my apprehension for constructive criticism in the fitting room and was able to help Jenny go home with some new jeans that she didn't think she would find.

My point is this--we obsess over numbers. 14, 16, 2, 0, oh, the unattainable 0, or 6, whatever you were before. Or another example, benching 150 vs 120, running a mile in 9 minutes vs 8:30, or eating four slices of pizza versus 3.

Who's holding you to a certain size? The fashion industry? Magazines? Musicians and actors who have personal trainers and spend more time working out than you do working to pay your bills? So, I ask you again, who are you trying to impress by attaining a certain size? Who's putting that pressure on you?

YOU ARE.

One of the many things I've come to realize in the last seventeen months I've been with Old Navy is something very simple and in plain sight for everyone to see...

Clothes are made in multiple sizes for a reason. And that reason is that people come in multiple sizes.

Stop obsessing about what size you wear and pay attention to how it fits you. I don't care if you could fit into an 8 in high school, you aren't in high school any more. Or maybe you had a 30 inch waist a few years back and now you're a 36.

THEY MAKE CLOTHES IN ALL SIZES SO YOU CAN FEEL COMFORTABLE IN A SIZE THAT FITS YOU PROPERLY.

I know I'm just one guy. One man. One person at an Old Navy in Indiana, but hopefully more than a few people will read this.

This scale is in my bathroom at home. I don't use it often, and whenever I do I think to myself exactly what I was saying above, "Why am I targeting a specific weight when I could be focusing on just being healthy and being comfortable with myself?"

Well, today I've broken through a wall that will help me provide better customer service to Jennies in the future. And maybe I'll mention to a few more when I notice a cringe or hear a groan whenever a size comes up. I know it isn't in my job description to help someone feel better about themselves, but it is in my job description to provide excellent customer service. If I can do that by ensuring they leave with a new outfit that they love and that she feels great in, then yes, I'll keep providing great customer service.

The numbers of sizes and measurements are there to help us find what we can use. They aren't there to trap us or make us feel bad about ourselves. I took a big step today with this, and it may only be one step, but it's a step. Maybe I can help alter the perspective of a few people here and there. Or maybe just one. I wish I could see a time when there people stop obsessing over their sizes, but that day seems so far away.

PBDC Day 8/31: In the Corner

Initial thought: REM. That's me in the corner/That's me in the spot/Light/Losing my religion

The theatre-related response: In my own little corner/In my own little chair -Cinderella

The chick-flick loving side's response: "No one puts Baby in the corner." Also see, "I carried a watermelon?"

The "How Can I Tie My Whole Day Together" response:

Our first snow was back in early November. It's now the second Saturday in March, and we were still getting new snow this morning. I got some new shoes last month (Day 21/28: Tiny) and this morning was the first time I cursed them. But it really wasn't their fault. They're great shoes, and I love em, but they aren't impervious to wintry effects on the ground. There has probably been snow on the ground on approximately 97% of the days in the last four months. Thinking today was no different, I walk outside like I do every day I go to work, and my first step outside on the snowy ground, my sweet kicks are suddenly at chest level and I'm on my ass. Ok, it's winter. I get it. So I get up, look around, and brush the fresh powder of my ass. I take my next step and I've got a panoramic view of the sunrise sky and have an impromptu trust fall exercise with the Earth, and the Earth was definitely there for me. After the first fall, I was glad no one was around, but after the second, I wished someone was there to enjoy the show. Luckily, I know how to just take a fall to avoid any injury by trying to catch myself.

I carefully made it to my car and made it to work safely, assuring myself and my bruised pride that, although I had a couple of spills to "start" my day, they were merely an opportunity to hurdle some minor adversities and not an early indication of a rough day ahead. Once at work, I discovered the printer had once again taken a day off, and I was faced with hand writing a few forms/tables that are templates which are filled in each morning for the work day. With a couple of other curve balls that I'll leave out, I'll just say that as the morning developed (and the pain started setting in from the two spills)...

I began to feel like I was painted into a corner.

But the day turned out alright, and my decision to look at each individual hurdle as just that, an individual hurdle, helped me keep my spirits up and my smile genuine throughout the day.

Back at home, still without a photo I could relate to the prompt, I kept my eyes open in the apartment for something I could artistically interpret for today's subject.

And so...today's official response.

Behind my Long Beach State jacket, against the wall on the left is a blue case. Smaller than a guitar, but small enough to wear on your back. There are actually two straps on the back to wear them on your back, but at this angle you can't see them.

It's my violin case. Same one I've had since high school. Yes, high school, that thing I graduated from last millennium back in 1999. If you didn't know, I can play the violin, but honestly, I've barely played in the last few years.  I played in a couple shows I was in in college, but other than that, it would just come with me from apartment to apartment without seeing the sun that much.

To put things in perspective, my wife has never heard me play. Well, she's heard me fiddle around once when we were working on a community production together in 2011, but she hasn't heard me really buckle down and play. I mean really play. Like close my eyes and read the music that's burned into my mind while I walk around and sway like a hula girl on a dashboard of a dusty El Camino across gravelly roads of New Mexico.

I keep it for the same reason I keep the plays I mentioned in this month's Day 1: Yellow.

I do intend to start playing again, but part of me wants to keep this very violin in case a sweet child o' mine wants to play the violin. I like envisioning sentimental future situations like that.

Maybe writing about it is the just what I needed for myself to brush the dust off the case and let the old girl get some fresh air. I actually think about that a lot. Not playing my violin, but about how me writing this blog is just as much for all of you as it is for me. That I've now typed it all out and shared a thought for all to see where I can look back to it, or you could hold me to it in the future. I've seen some folks share blogs like that. Sharing their bucket lists and 30B430 lists so that we can enjoy the journey together, and really just to say it aloud to the world to make it more real instead of just having it float around in your head, hidden from everyone.

That's really the main reason I did NaNoWriMo last year. Because I needed something, someone to get me to tell the story that's been in my head for years. And since then I've been able to just let it flow and write it out.

I'm anything but painted into a corner, my friends. I'm just getting started.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 27/28: In Love With

The first school play I was ever in was in the fifth grade, and it was a class play (meaning everyone in the class was in it). It had an educational theme to it, being set in a classroom and pertaining to much of the curriculum that year--states and capitals. Despite my enthusiasm for the production, I was not given the opportunity for a lead role since my teacher did not believe I could focus enough to learn all the lines. So I had one of the smallest roles in the show, a boy named Jimmy Johnson (maybe that's really why I don't like the Lowe's 48 #NASCAR #StandWithSmoke), and my first line in the play was, "I'll say!"

When I was in high school I landed my first lead role-with the church theatre group-and I later found out that I wasn't cast based on talent, but because I was the only male that fit the lead's character description. With my high school drama program I was cast in my first musical, Little Shop of Horrors, and although I felt my nerdiness made me a lock for the lead of Seymour, I was cast to appear onstage as an unnamed supporting role ("Wino) in the opening number, but then sat in the orchestra pit to be the voice of the plant, Audrey II. At five feet, two inches tall, and about 120 pounds soaking wet, most audiences didn't believe that such a little guy supplied the booming voice for the alien plant--but I did. Well.

Through my time at Diablo Valley College I was blessed with an array of works to perform with: Shakespeare's MacBeth, Moliere's The Imaginary Invalid, an original Greek work by Nicole Hess-Diestler and Zach Diestler called Iphigenia at Aulis. There were numerous scene studies, or Brown Bags as we'd call them, where I was given great opportunities to delve into pieces by John Patrick Shanley (Frankie and Johnny), Emily Mann (The Execution of Justice), David Rabe (Hurlyburly). And there were even a couple of musicals, Bat Boy, a contemporary rock musical, and Some Enchanted Evening, a Rodgers and Hammerstein revue.

At Cal State Long Beach I played a cholo (Los Lobos de la Noche), an Indian boy (A Chance, an original piece by Chetan Sanathara), a Shakespearean father (Gentlemen Redux), and a gay man (Our Lady of 121st Street).

With the shows that I have been fortunate enough to be in, I've been challenged and stretched and corraled and set free. And even with my tattoos (which are something many of my theatre classmates considered to be taboo or too cumbersome to have to work around), I didn't have to cover them up in as nearly many shows as I was asked to show them off. Actually, for my role in Los Lobos they actually added more tattoos. And through all of this: Shakespeare, Greek, Moliere, cholo, Indian, gay, original pieces, I never had to be naked onstage. In a piece I directed, The Big Funk, by Shanley, one of my actors had to be naked, and I mean fully naked, no socks, dance belts, or nothing, but I myself had never been naked on stage.

Being naked is a scary thing for many people. Taking a shower or bath is probably the one thing that most people can be comfortable doing naked. Yes, I omitted sex, because 1. you don't have to be completely naked (#socks #shirts) and 2. being this intimate with someone doesn't necessarily mean you're absolutely comfortable with being naked.

So that leaves showertime as the singular occasion of being comfortable with nakedness.

I write quite a bit about positivity, especially in regards to loving one's self, and although it probably won't come as a surprise, I feel it to be a strong gesture to say it explicitly. I'm not always happy with my body.

In more bathrooms than not, stepping out of the shower usually places me face to face with the mirror above the sink. Nothing like starting your day with a vigorously hot shower, reviving you from your slumber, only to be slapped in the face by, well, your face...above your naked body. This is typically not the best feeling. 

But recently, I've been better about accepting my awesomeness and being happy with who I am. How much better? I took a picture of myself after I got out of the shower today.

With my hair messy and still a little bit wet, unkempt eyebrows center stage, I took a picture of myself at a time when I would normally not want anyone to see me. But today I do. Because I love who I am and I'm in love with myself. Not in a narcissistic way, but in a way that is in reply to, "If you don't love yourself, why should anyone else be?"

I'm a pretty hairless guy. Have you ever seen me with a mustache? Or a goatee with some sweet chops to frame it? Nope. And my hairless back (which I'm not complaining about) pictured above is right in line with my unmanly (by stereotypical standards) hairless chest.

This commercial was a nice reminder that every style is ok. Thanks, Genesis. #CallMe

The tattooed cat is out of the bag, and my upper back tattoos are now for everyone to see in all its bloggy glory. Kanjis for "wisdom" (Connecticut) and "loyalty" (Virginia), an anchor-inspired Sagittarius symbol (NorCal), and a modification of the Alexander Pope quotation, "To err is human, to forgive divine." (Montana).

I used to think that tattoos helped to draw attention away from parts of my body that I did not wish to show off (especially in my beach bum days when all I wore was a hat and a pair of board shorts), but I have since then refocused my appreciation for my ink as I became a curator of my own gallery. The tattoos on my skin are like patches on a cruise jacket-symbolizing deployments, missions, and battle groups.

Being on stage naked was something that many of us talked about in school, mostly in a fearful light. Just thinking about all those people and making eye contact with them afterwards knowing that they saw you in such an adulterated manner without reciprocation. But with live theatre, after the moment it's gone. With photography, that moment is frozen in time forever. 

But what good is a moment unless it's shared with others. So I wanted to share it with everyone (thanks to body positioning and framing a tasteful shot).

I am in love with myself. That's the healthiest, most fulfilling love anyone can have, and everyone should.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 24/28: In Between

You can thank me later, but I refrained from taking a picture of myself in bed. #TheSheets

And as I sat in the break room at work today I found my victim for today.

Symmetrical sandwich art, ah thankyouverymuch.

Turkey pastrami, colby jack cheese, and mustard on wheat. Pretty simple. Awesomely delicious. Filling and satisfying.

I like sandwiches. Hot or cold. Sliced bread, rolls, subs, you name it, I'm down. I'm a simple guy when it comes to many things. I'll enjoy the occasional grinder, everything on it Eat Fresh masterpiece from Subway, or Freaky Fast JJs sub, but most days I'm cool with the made at home simpleton like the one above.

It's easily identifiable, clear, and straightforward.

Far from what Anderson Cooper got from Republican Senator Melvin on AC360 tonight.

Short intro: Arizona. Senate Bill 1062 (#SB1062).

The Arizona State Legislature passed the bill last Thursday, February 20th. Governor Jan Brewer's desk met it this morning. She has until March 1st to sign it through or veto it. Sen. Melvin calls it a "religious freedom bill." Anderson Cooper (and many of the protestors) are calling it out as a bill that legally allows business owners to discriminate because of sexual orientation.

Melvin goes on to juke and jive around Cooper's questions in cringe-worthy fashion. See the full interview here.

Yes, I'm disgusted at the view that Senator Melvin has in support of this "religious freedom" bill, but as Cooper goes on to state in the clip, it isn't about having the same views, but moreso just being able to state your view and own that shit.

For me? I support equality. Gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, any of them. Discrimination is discrimination whatever or whomever you believe in.

If you're leaving someone out you're discriminating.

If you pick someone to be on your team because they're better than another, that's discrimination. If you  prefer Coke over Pepsi, that's discrimination.

If you don't like gays, blacks, Jews, Asians, Muslims, then by all means, that's on you. But when you start dancing the line like a bullshit politician who has openly stated he's running for governor, or any president or world leader, or CEO, or professor, or coach, or professional athlete, then  you're a coward. You're a classless, spineless bitch.

Own your shit. Stand up for what you believe in and tell the world that you would rather deny people that have no negative affect on your lifestyle privileges than support equal rights.

In a tweet from three weeks ago, Ricky Gervais shared, "Same sex marriage isn't gay privilege, it's equal rights. Privilege would be something like gay people not paying taxes. Like churches don't"

All these folks who are going to end up on the losing side of historical progress are throwing out "traditional marriage" and "Bible this" and "Bible that".

You know what we could use some more of from these suits that we Americans have elected? Some Phil Robertson. Back in December I wrote this post about his controversial statements.

Ducking questions pisses me off (#seewhatididthere). Own your boy's bill, Senator Melvin, Own your views. Own the fact that there is discrimination in Arizona just like there is in any other state.

I was raised in the East Bay Area in northern California. I've lived in South Carolina, Virginia, and now Indiana. I went to college in southern California. Discrimination is everywhere. In the first year that I moved back to NorCal after I got out of the Navy, I experienced more racism and discrimination in the "oh-so-diverse" state of California than I did the entire six years I spent in Illinois, South Carolina, and Virginia.

People talk about how diverse California is, and how it's not possibly nearly as racist as the deep South.  I'll give you the first one--California is diverse, but that doesn't mean everyone gets along. Chinatown. Japantown. Koreatown, Little Italy, projects, affluent neighborhoods, you think they all talk to each other? We may not have as many train tracks, but you know when you've crossed into another territory. Don't kid yourself with that shit.

So there. A little heated tonight, but that's because we're in a time where the bullshit just doesn't cut it anymore. There are no clear divisions like in my awesome turkey pastrami sandwich. The in between won't hack it for intelligent, rational folks. Pick a side. On anything. Everything. Just have an answer and own it.

Own. That. Shit.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 22/28: I See

Last night I watched Good Will Hunting. Not on television, but on a DVD, uncensored and uninterrupted by commercials. It wasn't the first time seeing the film, and it certainly won't be the last, now that I own a copy I can watch at will. (See what I did there?) As I was watching the relationship between Will and Sean develop in the therapy sessions, I said to myself, "This movie is like Fight Club." Anyone worth their weight in homemade soap from the Paper Street Soap Company would immediately recognize the ridiculousness of that last thought. Allow me to expound. Even if you don't, it's my blog, so I will.

The first time I saw Fight Club (I had not read the book yet) it was 2001 and I was living in an apartment in South Carolina. I spent more nights sleeping on the couch downstairs because that's where the TV was. One day I woke up to a particularly interesting movie with Edward Norton and Brad Pitt, so I continued to watch. Unsure of how much I had missed, I tried to piece together what I could as the film went on. Needless to say, it was a mess trying to catch up. Here and there I would catch it on TV, but again would miss parts here and there. Finally, around the fourth or fifth time I had caught it flipping through channels, I finally saw it from start to finish. And to use a cliché (that I've heard many use, but I myself do not identify with) it's like the first time I heard the Beatles. The more I watched Fight Club the more I understood a little bit more of myself. Each time I watched I noticed a little bit more about the movie, Tyler Durden, and Norton's character.

2001 was full of turning points. I got my first apartment. I learned to drive. I got my driver's license. My paternal grandfather died. I graduated from  the Navy's Nuclear Pipeline. September 11th. My first love dashed any penciled in future I had in mind and wrote us into friendzoned cells with walls thicker than the Great Wall of China. I got drunk for the first time. I started casually dating (or at least attempted to).

Fight Club became to me a sort of fireworks display when my life's sky went black. It showed me that I could still be the same nice, friendly, fun-loving kid I was in high school, but still have the stereotypical sailor side that I was finding on my own. Marlon was The Narrator and Petty Officer Deleon was Tyler Durden.

Going back to Good Will Hunting, as I was watching the young punk of a genius feign and jab at the MIT graduate from Southie, I had a pleasant sense of déja vu. As I had mentioned earlier, this was not the first time I had seen GWH, but something about this time made it click differently. Maybe it was the way Will knew exactly what to say to all the other therapists in their pre-therapy screenings. Or the way he rationalizes not working for the NSA. Or maybe it's how Sean, serene and wise to most, instills fear in the tough kid from a broken past with a single-handed choke hold against the window. Whatever it was, whether it was the theme of therapy, acknowledging the truth, pushing away others, or welcoming someone into your life so much they have no choice but to see the truth, that movie rocks me like when Fight Club's Narrator realizes the gun is in his hand.

And then I realized I have a gross obsession with stories involving drastic personality dichotomies because I feel I can relate to them.

Fight Club--Narrator and Tyler Durden
Good Will Hunting--Will Hunting and Sean Maguire
The Silence of the Lambs--Dr. Lecter and Agent Starling
Hannibal (TV series)--Dr. Lecter and Will Graham

While the rest of my Facebook feed has been filled with Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, and [insert Netflix series here], I'm like, "Hannibal! Hannibal! Hannibal!" Honestly though, I'm not generally one to follow a television series. I'll watch sports and movies if I have control of the remote. But with the magic of DVR during the show's first series, I dove headfirst into the most brilliant show I've ever chose to sink my teeth into. Everything in show amazes me. The acting by Hugh Dancy (Graham) and Mads Mikkelsen (Lecter) in addition to the strong ensemble around them, the writing, the scoring, the images, plotlines, and progressions...EVERYTHING.

They didn't pay me to write this, but who am I kidding, here's a Season One Recap if you didn't watch or if you wish to enjoy the quick trip down memory lane.

With today's photo, I showcase how I'll be able to do my own Season One Recap

When I saw the prompt for the day, my Fannibal mind immediately thought of Hobbs telling Graham to see. See the clip "See" for a turning point in Will's relationship with his psychiatrist, friend, and antagonist, Hannibal Lecter.

I know I'm one in seven billion. And more times than not it's fantastic. But there are times when I wish I was easier to relate to. To console. To connect with. To help. Sometimes I think I'm as complicated as The Narrator, or Will Hunting, or Sean Maguire, or Will Graham, or Hannibal Lecter. Or David Dunn. Or David Webb.

But then I see.

I see myself like Water.
I see myself on my own Two feet.
I see my Mind.

And more importantly. I like what I see. Well, to be more specific. I love what I see now. What I see now is very Different from what I saw nine years ago.

So yes, I see.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 18/28: Still

Bacon is wonderful thing. It's highly celebrated and often coveted. Not desired, or wanted, or thought about, but coveted. It's that strong in modern society. Almost to the point of necessity.

American Olympian and gold medal winner Sage Kotsenburg loves bacon to much he wanted his medal to be made of bacon. See here to find out if he got his wish.

In college I knew a faculty member and a manager in the campus bookstore that have little shrines of bacon, and their love for the crispy, salty treat is so well-known that many bring them gifts of porky happiness.

There are websites like bacontoday.com and ilovebacon.com that are far from a shortage of delicious praises.

There's also Kevin Bacon. And Francis Bacon.

And so if you haven't realized by now, bacon gets around. But like any other celebrity, it works hard for its fame. She works hard for the money.

Bacon sweats. Not to the oldies, though. But bacon sweats when she's put to work. And like you when you work out, sweating is not pretty, but if you sweat it out enough, you become a wonderful piece of art that is...I say again...coveted by many. What if you collected that sweat? Here's what collected bacon sweat looks like.

Like I said, it isn't pretty. There are specks of bacon that got lost in the workout. But there is plenty of bacon sweat. (Note the healthy options  in the background, mocking me and my fatty, crispy, salty treat I had with breakfast.) Here's another look at it.

I don't know if everyone does this, but I learned when I was younger to pour off bacon grease (and other used cooking oils) into a scrap jar or a bowl like this. Pouring it into the drain is asking for a clog, and pouring it into the garbage while still hot is also requesting a nasty mess. So glass bowl it is.

Here is said bowl nearly twelve hours later after I returned home from work.

(It seems that our friends the bananas are tired of living in the background, so I had one for a post-work snack.)

Back to our regularly scheduled program. Notice the difference. That's the same bowl of bacon sweat. Now opaque. What was a swirly translucent bowl of hot bacon sweat and specks of crispy goodness is now a bowl of oily cement, trapping the bacon freckles like Han Solo in carbonite. Quite a change. Much easier to dispose of, and less dangerous than its earlier form that could scald and scar.

You can agree when I say it drastically changed, yes? I would hope so, because it did. And how did it change? It didn't do that much, and I didn't do anything to it but leave it alone.

It changed by being still.

Yes, I know the physics of how it changed, and we can talk about laws of thermodynamics, and heat leaving the oil and yada, yada, yada. But, in a raw observation and understanding of what was before and what is now, it changed with zero coercion.

Shifting gears.

Extremes are interesting. X-games. Insanity. P90X. Crossfit. Veganism. Atkins. Heavy metal. Overdosing. Binge drinking. There's just something about pushing yourself to extremes that drives people. And I'm not here to promote or berate any of these, but seriously though, everything in moderation.

How much would you change by being still?

Think monks. Think meditation. Think shutting up and listening. Watching. Learning. Absorbing. Can it make you safer? Can it make you malleable instead of volatile and dangerous?

Yes it can.

So now that I've turned a philosophical corner out of one of Americans' favorite treats, give it thought next time it's sizzling on the stove. Maybe it isn't that you aren't doing enough. Perhaps you're doing too much.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 16/28: Different

Little. Yellow. Different.

Those of us above a certain age may recognize those words as a slogan from a late 80s commercial for Nuprin. (Travel back in time here.) I can't decide if I'm amazed, weirded out, or slightly brainwashed, but that is what I thought of when I read the photo prompt for today.

There is some irony in the fact that I remember a commercial for ibuprofen years before I joined the Navy, injured my shoulders, and began a ridiculous regimen that occasionally surpassed several thousand milligrams of the painkiller per day. It's like this marketing bug stuck with me almost knowing I would have a long-term relationship with the medication.

Fortunately, it has been quite a while since I've had to turn to prescription strength ibuprofen, and I'd like to think that my reconstructive surgery in 2011 has helped that, but that still doesn't drive me in a direction for the day's photography.

Thinking to myself that I need to take a picture of something different was like trying to isolate my favorite droplet of water in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Virginia Beach. So I shifted my perspective and thought that, instead of taking a picture of something different, I should take today's picture differently.

With my trusty pocket pal, the Samsung Galaxy SII, I went for the special effects.

Deciding what to snap was easy. Selfies have been a hot topic of discussion in the last year or so. With Obama getting the cold shoulder from the FLOTUS at the Mandela memorial, to the horrible trend of funeral selfies, and extreme selfies, shooting my own just felt right.

Here's one with flash.

The filter? Negative.

I don't look at myself in a negative light as often as I used to twelve, fifteen years ago, but I can say with confidence that now, even in a negative light, I like what I see. I see the highlight of light in the corners of my mouth and I think about how my braces in my sophomore and junior years of high school helped me literally mold the smile I have today. I notice the frames that frame my eyes, and think about how grateful I am to see.

(sidebar: I just searched my blog for what I thought was a post about me getting my eyeglasses in the sixth grade, but to no avail. What I thought was a blog post was a section from my unfinished NaNoWriMo book Juliet's Window.)

I see my hair and I think that, nearly ten years after separating from the military, I still prefer to keep it pretty short. If it gets long enough to touch the inside of my earlobe, it freaks me out. I see my clean shaven face, and I think of all the bartenders and servers that look at my when they card me, telling my I've got a baby face.

Spring semester, 2006, I dove into my first acting class at DVC, Beginning Acting with Beth McBrien. On this particular day she led us through an exercise that had everything to do with seeing yourself. Scanning. In the Arena Theatre, we all got out of our seats and partnered up with someone else in the class. Standing less than two feet from Mario, someone that became one of my closest friends while at DVC, we took turns scanning.

I went first, speaking what I saw. Truthfully, honestly, and openly. I see two eyes. I see brown hair. I see a nose, I see you smiling. I see you blinking. It goes on for several minutes. Observing and speaking about it has never been difficult for me. I'm observant and I like to speak my mind truthfully. But then it was time to switch. And as he looked at me, I stood there, on the stage of the Arena Theatre, surrounded by the other pairs in the class, and was scanned. He spoke what he saw, and I stood there silently. I tried to smile through it. I probably started laughing at one point. But as he continued to look and kept commenting and observing and telling me exactly what he saw, I couldn't take it. I ran up the stairs into the hallway and the flood gates opened. In a ball, sitting on the cement in the cool hallway, I was a complete mess. At first I couldn't understand what had caused this emotional outburst. We were just participating in a simple beginning acting class exercise. I kept my head down, but as my classmates walked out at the end of class, they all knew I had been sobbing. Not crying. Not weeping. Sobbing.

After everyone had left, Beth had came outside, and she had invited me back inside to talk. I had told her I had no idea why this exercise had such a drastic affect on me, and without prodding, she assured me that if something as "simple" as scanning could evoke such a high level of emotion, I held in my person such a powerful fuel that actors covet. Later on, I realized what this exercise reminded me of--hearing what someone saw in me in such a brutal truth. But it wasn't in a classroom, and it wasn't in the name of art. It took me a while to be ok with scanning, but once I got past being so defensive (usually with laughter, which was--well, still is--a defense mechanism) I learned that the simple act of seeing, observing, and sharing in a truthful, honest manner, is the most direct connection you can share with someone. Over time I learned that that doesn't just apply in theatre. Sure, theatrical acting was the focus, but it's also an integral piece of professional acting (because, let's face it, even though we aren't all thespians, we're all acting to some extent on the stage we call the workplace), as well as social interacting (you don't talk to grandma the way you talk to your favorite bartender...or maybe you do).

So yeah. I see myself. I see myself in a different light because I've acknowledged that I see myself. And a lot of that has to do with what other people see. Not to say that how I feel about myself is based entirely on how people view me, there's a balance in consideration or ignoring those views, but how I see myself has so much to do with awareness. And what I do with that awareness has helped me see myself in a positive light, whether or not the filter through which I'm being viewed is negative.

So thank you, Beth McBrien, my partner Mario, and beginning acting class for detonating the first blast in the years of sedimentary insecurities. Thank you, art, for allowing me to see myself in a way that will go beyond the theatre doors. And thank you, childhood experience, for rooting yourself so deep within myself that a simple harmless act of someone telling me that I have brown eyes and freckles on my skin could force me to run out a classroom that simply encouraged us to embrace art within ourselves.

If it were not for all this, I would be exactly the same as I was years ago. Heavily guarded. But I'm not. I'm much smarter, or rather, aware, of who I am. And I love that I'm different.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 11/28: Two.

Two. Not a difficult prompt since I live with my wife. But finding something I want to capture in a photo was a little more challenging. Two chairs. Two mini tables. Two bookshelves. Pairs of shoes. Two towels. And then I saw them. Our toothbrushes.

One blue. One pink. Objects so simple and relatively small, but powerful and indicative of what I wanted to say.

One blue. One pink. One for my wife. One for myself.

Of course there are plenty of things that are shared. Things that don't come in pairs.

One refrigerator. One stove. One water pitcher. One dishwasher. One washer. One dryer. One bathroom. One shower. One bedroom. One bed.

One husband. One wife.

And each of us have our own pairs.

Eyes. Ears. Cheeks. Nostrils. Arms. Hands. Legs. Feet.

Feet. Each of us have a pair of feet.

In one couple, there are two individuals.

For each individual, there are two feet.

So although we stand together, we do not always lean. We stand on our own. There are obviously times when I lean on her and she on me, but as long as one of us can stand strong on our own two feet, then we do not both fall. Although we are a unit together, we must not lose our identities and individuality. (Within the word "individuality" is "duality." Interesting.)

I can remember a time, a few times actually, in the Navy, high school, junior high, and even back to elementary school when either myself or someone I know would say that there's a hole in their heart or life and that they "need someone to complete them." Maybe you've thought it yourself, maybe not, but you've probably heard it somewhere. Perhaps in a movie where someone's crying in the rain saying that they can't think of life without the other. Or where someone returns from a self-inflicted absence saying they were not whole when they were away from the other.

I love love as much as the next open soul, but we need to cut that shit out.

Love yourself before you can love another. Learn to love openly before you love exclusively. Love without boundaries. Love your life that you make for yourself. Love yourself that you make for yourself.

Love yourself.

Because if you don't, love from another is almost a waste of time. Yours and theirs. Not saying they still won't, but you're simply cheating yourself of what the love really could be.

Love yourself.

Two is better than one, but to have two, you need two ones.

So become one before you can become one.

Be one in love with yourself before you can become one with someone else.

It's easy to feel appreciated by other people. It's easily recognizable when others praise you and compliment you. But how often do you do that with yourself? How often do you praise yourself? How often do you compliment yourself?

How often do you love yourself?

Don't confuse someone loving you with loving yourself. And it's horribly easy to mix up. When someone is giving you all their time, praising you, caring for you, honoring you, appreciating you, it's like you don't even have to do any work to feel good about yourself. But when it's gone. Or even when it disappears for a few minutes, you can feel it. And you become addicted because you've created a dependency for yourself. The need to feel loved by others.

Depending on who you are, feeling loved or appreciated by others can be easy to find. But the more you blind yourself with the "happiness" you think you're living in because of the compliments and free drinks and jewelry and shopping trips, the more it'll crush you when it isn't there.

Now take this out of love relationships context.

Friendships. Family relationships. Professional relationships. Any type of relationship where you interact with another person. It still applies.

Love yourself.

Loving yourself allows you to be a better friend. A better son or daughter. A better husband, wife, sister, brother, uncle, or aunt. A better leader. A better follower.

Love yourself and you release yourself of the addiction for validation, praise, and attention. Love yourself and you will see more clearly. The tasks at hand. The people around you. The things you really should be focusing on. Your safety. Your family. Your advancement.

Love yourself so there can be two.

Two ones in a pair.
Two feet on the ground.

Two sides of the brain and two hands to type collaborated to create the words that two eyes will read these words as one.

Two.

And by the way, the pink one is mine.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 10/28: Shadows

I'm one of those people in the minority that don't use their phones while driving. I like to call it--safe driving. There were plenty of opportunities for shadows today while I was driving, and of course I could have pulled over at any time, but I opted to pass on the numerous shadowy subjects during "magic hour" this afternoon and took my chances heading into the evening. After dinner and a successful first shopping trip through Whole Foods, we returned to our toasty apartment. Turning on the lamp by the patio, revealed this:

If it weren't for the street lamp across the way, this picture of the blinds at our patio/balcony door could serve as one of those optical illusions where you try to count the number of slats and shadows without going cross-eyed.

Shadows are often given a bad rap: dark and shadowy alleys, shadow time, shadow clans, the list goes on. But are they really that bad?

When is the last time you saw shadows in the dark?

Why do cartoons get into battles with the evil, possessed shadow?

How is it that shadows even occur?

Light.

Shadows occur when there is light. Shadows are produced where a light source cannot reach.

So don't blame the darkness. If it was really that dark in the alley, there wouldn't be any shadows. That shadow that follows you wherever you go? It's because you're blocking the light from getting behind you.

You are the cause of your own shadow. You are the reason there is darkness in your midst. So what is there really to be afraid of? Something you created yourself? Good job, Dr. Frankenstein, you've created your own monster.

So stand up to it. Talk it down and tell it to get out of your face, or just shine more light on the situation until it has nowhere else to run. And then continue in any direction you want since you've illuminated numerous paths for you to take.

You're in control of much more than you think. Well, depending on how you define "control." I wrote a blog a couple years back about this very topic, so feel free to veer off HERE as long as you come back.

I don't mind shadows. Growing up in California, shadows were much needed oases of relief from the blazing sun. And in the last few years, I've managed my own mischief and outgrew the shadows that used to chase me up the stairs. Sometimes they try to resurface, but since I've learned to be my own light source, it's much easier to remedy.

I can thank Chuck Palahniuk and Tyler Durden for that. Because if the gun is Tyler's hand, the gun is in my hand. #spoiler

Shine your own light, friends. Shine. Your. Light.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 8/28: Frozen

As I left work this evening, I took a second to snap the following picture of the snow blanketing the hood of my car:

Unsatisfied with the degree of detail I wanted to really share, I went for a closer look (RIP Steve Irwin). Here's take two:

This latest snow fall was different in that the larger flakes had arranged themselves rather loosely to where you could see individual flakes. Every time I brushed another stroke across the roof of my car I thought of LeBron's chalk toss.

But in going over the pictures I took today, I chose this one as my official entry for Day 8: Frozen.

It was taken before work, as I sat in my car for a few minutes before going in. Noticing the left most snowflake, I admired the fact that I had a mirrored surface presenting me with a single snowflake in all it's unique glory. As you can tell, another came to join the composition, and by the time I snapped a shot I was happy with, a smaller third one had joined in. How the three single flakes flew in, landing within the proximity for me to capture all three together, was obviously beyond my control, but I'm glad it happened like it did.

So yes--Frozen--and individual snowflakes. I thought of the animated movie Frozen (which was delightful, by the way) and how the image of a single unique snowflake was a symbol for Elsa's castle of isolation. I then heard all the scientists and mathematician's saying, "all snowflakes are unique. no two snowflakes are alike."

And that's what I'm running with today. Science.

DISCLAIMER: Tonight I head full-speed into a territory that I do not often talk except for in person/real time conversation. Why? Because written words can be taken out of context and dissected for immature reasons. And also because having rational, mature discussions is something I actually enjoy whether we agree or not. So if you're easily offended by different views, or views that are stated quite casually, I don't apologize. It's my blog. So yeah, I have home court advantage. But if you're down for Coffee Bean or a beer somewhere, then I'm down.

And now back to irregularly scheduled program...

I'm still rolling around the Bill Nye/Ken Ham debate in my head. After two and a half hours of the evolution/creation "debate" (because it wasn't so much a debate as it was two men talking about their views without as much interaction as other debates have), none of my views have changed.

I did, however, learn in greater detail the two extreme views of Bill Nye (an agnostic who lives by science, evolution, and discovery) and Ken Ham (a Christian who bases all views on the Bible).

In short: I agree with aspects of both evolution and creation.

I do pride myself on my desire to learn and listen, and the ability to question my own views in the spirit of knowledge and forward progress.

I was raised in the Catholic church, attending a Catholic private school for kindergarten, first, and the first few months of second grade (before transferring to a public school). Continuing to attend (by parental decree) I received the sacraments of First Communion, and chose to continue with Confirmation in high school. Not that I blame the Navy (because I don't) but when I moved out and left for boot camp, I made the conscious decision to not attend mass on my own accord.

In my years since then, I had still attended Catholic mass here and there (mostly when returning to where I grew up to see friends from my childhood), but also chose to accompany friends of other religions to their respective churches. I've been to a couple of different Christian churches, a Latter Day Saints...service (the official term escapes me right now), and a few others to see how they celebrate their religions.

I am no longer a practicing Catholic, nor do I affiliate myself with any one religion, but I do believe in a higher power that I'll refer to as God, and that is the central belief in which my spiritual being resides.

That being said, back to Nye and Ham.

I agree with aspects of both evolution and creation.

I won't go into every single detail, nor do I consider myself armed enough with statistics and verses as the two debaters are, but I can say this:

In line with Mr. Ham, I believe in God. For the aspects of worldly creation that science (as Nye defines it) does not have answers for (and for which he wholly admits he does not) I can only look at them as an act of God. For the evolutionary chain, the 65 billion years, carbon-dating, and the like, I side with Nye.

HOWEVER.

I do not and will not, ever take the path of complete blind belief without the respect for others to ask questions, be questioned, or allow myself room to compromise.

That is where I veer away from Ham's creation model.

Yeah, I get it, I was raised on the same story that many Bible-reading families were. Even to the point of reading the book of Genesis as a family. (Er, well, as a mother and two boys, but that's another story.) But when Ham (and many others) get to the (what I'll call) extreme belief insofar as the Bible is THE ultimate word of God and that which is included within the covers of the text are exactly, literally, and without question, the way things are, should be, and have to be, that is where I say, "Good day, sir."

So, yes. I'm not saying either view is completely right and that the other is wrong. I'm not saying I'm right, and that you're wrong. What I'm saying is that I'll always listen respectfully and reserve the right to ask questions, and I hope you'd do me the same honor.

Anytime I'm faced with the answer of, "because the Bible says so," or "that's just the way it is," then that is where I ask more questions and choose the path of discovery, learning, questions, and predictions.

Because free will. But that's a blog for another time.

Photo and Blog A Day Challenge-Day 6/28: Pattern

Being so cold on a day off is a good reason to not go outside. However, this leaves me with a smaller vicinity to find my picture of the day. In an effort to be a good husband, I wanted to get some cleaning done and cap it off by taking out the trash. (See: Dumpster on Day 4 here)

Despite the fact my face was immediately making me regret my decision to go outside and leave my comfortably warm apartment for a few minutes, I did get to enjoy the snow-covered canvasses atop the garage units being splashed with a spectrum from the sunset's palette. As much as I admired the natural art adorning the man-made structure, I did not find a pattern I wanted to capture. But when I came back inside, I saw this:

I enjoyed the way the blinds lined up in contrast to the framework on the window. And even though you can't see the detail in the picture, the screen of the window provided an additional layer of grid work to the composition. But just before I took the picture, as I admired the orangey purple of the building across the snow, the techie-geek part of me squeed.

The blinds and window frame lined up just as the guiding grid does in many cameras. I don't utilize this feature on my camera phone, but it does have the setting available if I so desire. But still, in an attempt to capture something so...for lack of a better word...simple, I've managed to drench it in 21st century tech.

Now, I'm not trying to claim to be some kind of old-fashioned hermit who shakes his head at every new device that comes out, that would be completely hypocritical. Obviously, I'm taking pictures with a smartphone and uploading them to social media sites, so I can then type an accompanying blog on a laptop using a wifi connection to upload to another social media site. So yeah, I'm pretty connected, but that still doesn't mean I can't enjoy things that aren't powered with a Lithium-Ion battery or require wall chargers.

And that's where I'm going with this. I can enjoy my non-battery-powered creature comforts, but still take advantage of modern technology in perfect harmony.

Harmony.

That's an interesting word. And it reminds me of The House Bunny. (Growls: Har-monyyy)

Earlier today I was watching the Bill Nye/Ken Ham debate and I was trying to be objective, but I couldn't help but snicker at the pure distaste of a desire to collaborate and teach in...wait for it...harmony.

I wanted to wait until I had watched the whole thing before I commented on it, but in short, here's what I'm taking away from it. Ham is saying, "stop picking on us, we're right." And Nye is saying, "prove me wrong and prove your side with real empirical evidence and I'll modify my view."

Even in that alone there is conflict. Nye is in a place of openness and listening; welcoming any attempt to show him something new. But Ham is staunchly disagreeing and focusing on minute details. I'm not saying Either extreme is wholly correct (in short, I believe aspects of both sides), but at least The Science Guy is leaving room to listen and learn.

So I guess that's what I'm trying to say today. I'll listen to anyone who wants to teach me something new, but as soon as you start telling me that everything I know is wrong and that you're the ultimate authority, know every truth, and justify it with verses taken out of context, then I'm tapping out, because it's no longer a conversation--it's a lecture.

And I don't do well with lectures. I like to respond too much. And ask questions.

Any questions?

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge- Day 5/28: On My Nightstand

Today's challenge was much more specific in a way the previous four days have not been. It demanded a certain location. Only allowing myself enough time to spring out of bed, shower, pack my lunch while inhaling my breakfast, and throw on extra layers for some light snow duty before driving to work (at a leisurely--but safe--15 mph) I would have to wait until I got home from work to take the day's photo.

Once home I was faced with a creative challenge (after, of course, changing out of work clothes into sweats because that's just part of the routine when I get home...at least during the winter months). So reminding myself of the day's prompt, I got back into bed and took a photo of where a nightstand would typically live.

True story. That's the edge of the mattress at the bottom of the picture, and there's nothing but carpet, some wall, a door frame, and the lowest few inches of the bedroom door.

(Here is where Neo wakes up from a dream where he was at the Oracle's house, and he hears the child say to him, "There is no nightstand.")

Unhappy with the photo taken, I took a more functional approach. What serves as my nightstand?

Answer: The ground. And the multi-level shelf next to it that also serves as a dresser. Pictured is my alarm clock that I've had for several years, accompanied by my cell phone charger.

And this is where the spark for the blog was lit.

I've had this alarm clock for quite a few years (I'd say at least 5) and it's obviously came with me through several moves. Unless you have the short-term memory of a pretty blue tang named Dory, you'll remember I mentioned the alarm clock's neighbor (at least in the power outlet world) the phone charger. I actually use my phone for my alarm and haven't used the alarm on the clock radio for a while. But I still keep it. Plugged in. With the current time.

And I thought, why do I still have it? If I'm using my phone for my alarm, why not toss it?

Because it still works.

So why don't I use it?

Because I use my phone.

So toss it.

But it works.

So use it...

And that's why I keep bringing it with me.

But that's a lot like life. Knowledge, stories, and memories. Whether they're useful or not, you remember a lot of them. Sometimes it's easier to recall the ones that don't really mean anything, they're just...memorable.

But then other times, you just gotta move on and let go some of the stuff you don't use anymore. It doesn't mean it wasn't important, or didn't help you, or provided some guidance or a lesson for a period of time, it just means you've outgrown it's purpose.

And that's ok.

So I've got an alarm clock that works perfectly fine, and if anybody needs one--let me know and I'll send it to you free of charge.

I just don't need it anymore, and I won't miss it, so you can have it.

Not to say old friends or memories are alarm clocks, I'm much more emotionally attached to them, but it's something that has been on my mind for a while.

I've always loved my friends, but sometimes, or rather eventually, many of them/us drift apart for whatever reasons. Many of these times it isn't malicious or for any wrong doing of either party. It's just...life.

I've moved. They've moved. Relationships. Career paths. Social circles, The reasons are endless.

But that doesn't mean I still don't love you. And it definitely doesn't mean you weren't important to me. Correction, it definitely doesn't mean you AREN'T important to me. You are. You have been before, and I still care about you now. But for whatever the reason may be, we've continued on separate paths and well, maybe you and I can be alarm clocks for other people that need that nudge every day. We're still perfectly functional and wonderful as friends, but maybe someone else needs us.

And that's ok.

Just because I use my phone as an alarm clock doesn't mean I'll forget about all the good times I had with the clock radio (read: cursing it's blaring as I drag myself out of bed), I won't. Just like I will not/have not/cannot forget you.

We'll always have those times from rehearsals, adventures, trips to Denny's, breaks between matinees and evening shows, drunken karaoke (I guess that's redundant)...well, you get the picture.

But if we get the chance to pick back up where we left off, you know I'd give you a big hug and a high five and probably toss in a thatswhatshesaid or a fart joke a few minutes in.

Well done, nightstand prompt, you've been linked to a reminiscent post about good friends that I'll never forget.

Minding the gaps and burning bridges

Will we ever get to a point where no longer default to a comment on appearance whenever we see nieces, nephews, babies, and other children so that they aren’t starved for compliments focused on their physical image as they get older?

Think about it.

Over the holidays. How many babies, toddlers, kids, and teens did you see? And how many of them did you comment on how they looked?

Oh, you’re getting so big!

I love her chubby cheeks!

Oh, you’re growing up and becoming so beautiful!

Ok, time out.

I get it. You haven’t seen someone in a while, and as you literally see them walk up, you go for the easy way out and comment on your first reaction, what you see. But look at this way…

They don’t see you often. When they do, you comment on how they look. More times than not you’re probably feeding them, giving them a second helping, or telling them to eat more and put some meat on their bones.

Before we even talk about commercials, magazines, red carpet specials, movies, music videos, billboards, ads, EVERYTHING THEY SEE EVERY DAY…the small network of people they subconsciously rely on for their safety and well being is setting them up to focus on one thing…

How. They. Look.

Maybe I should take another step back.

You’ve probably heard about the trend of the thigh gap.

I read something today about boasting a bikini bridge.

The article was shared online with a tagline referring to how there aren’t already enough ways for girls to feel bad about their bodies.

First off, it isn’t just girls that have image issues, boys to too. As do women, and men.

Secondly, Jennifer Lawrence has nothing to do with how you feel about your body. Nor does Alyssa Milano, or Jay Mohr.

You do. And whether you’re reading this pertaining to yourself, or as a parent, uncle, or aunt in regards to your favorite children, it’s still up to you.

So don’t go blaming the media for forcefeeding this impossible images into their heads. Don’t blame the fashion industry for hiring stick thin models to show off clothes you’ll never afford nor wear on any regular day when you work in your office, school, restaurant, or home. Don’t blame musicians, artists, politicians, or any of them.

How about this? Don’t blame anyone.

But start the re-education in your own home, better yet, in your own mind.

Try refraining from commenting on someone’s image and talk to them for a bit. Compliment them on their successes in soccer this year, or a science project they rocked out. Ask them about what book they’re reading, or what sports team they like, and have a conversation about why you think One Direction is to them what N’Sync was to you, or The Beatles or Taylor Swift.

Try broadening your own perspective and encouraging them with more than physical appearances, and if you do want to comment on their appearance, try something new like:

You look so healthy!

You look happy!

Or flip the perspective:

I’m so glad to see you!

I’ve missed you so much!

I’ve been missing this hug all year.

Give and show them worth in regards to their relationship with you. Not based on what you see. Because the less you see, the less they become, not just to you, but to themselves.

And one more thing in regards to weight, size, and fashion…stop obsessing over what size you are, because no one’s going to stop you and say, “oh, those 14s are too small.” Why not? Because they don’t know the size you’re wearing, they just see how it fits your body. And guess what? Clothes are made in so many different sizes for a reason. So don’t focus on fitting a size. Focus on wearing what amplifies your awesome. Show off the intangibles they can’t see, and use what they can see to make it spectacular.

UPDATE: I saw this video today (2/28/14) and knew I had to add it to one of my blogs about children because it says so poignantly what I want to drive home. So here it is...