Gaia Community: kcidybom's Blog

VIA signature strengths survey

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 01:58:21 -0000

I have been generically tagged (yes, that's right) to complete this test and post the results here. The results are normally given for only the top 5 strengths, but, since I am an out-of-control and immodest person who throws caution to the wind (see below, well below) I've decided to treat your hungry eyes to all 24 categories. A window to my ever-lovin' soul. Please consider yourself tagged.

Your Top Strength

Appreciation of beauty and excellence
You notice and appreciate beauty, excellence, and/or skilled performance in all domains of life, from nature to art to mathematics to science to everyday experience.

Your Second Strength

Fairness, equity, and justice
Treating all people fairly is one of your abiding principles. You do not let your personal feelings bias your decisions about other people. You give everyone a chance.

Your Third Strength

Capacity to love and be loved
You value close relations with others, in particular those in which sharing and caring are reciprocated. The people to whom you feel most close are the same people who feel most close to you.

Your Fourth Strength

Curiosity and interest in the world
You are curious about everything. You are always asking questions, and you find all subjects and topics fascinating. You like exploration and discovery.

Your Fifth Strength

Gratitude
You are aware of the good things that happen to you, and you never take them for granted. Your friends and family members know that you are a grateful person because you always take the time to express your thanks.

Strength#6

Creativity, ingenuity, and originality
Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.

Strength#7

Love of learning
You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.

Strength#8

Forgiveness and mercy
You forgive those who have done you wrong. You always give people a second chance. Your guiding principle is mercy and not revenge.

Strength#9

Perspective (wisdom)
Although you may not think of yourself as wise, your friends hold this view of you. They value your perspective on matters and turn to you for advice. You have a way of looking at the world that makes sense to others and to yourself.

Strength#10

Zest, enthusiasm, and energy
Regardless of what you do, you approach it with excitement and energy. You never do anything halfway or halfheartedly. For you, life is an adventure.

Strength#11

Kindness and generosity
You are kind and generous to others, and you are never too busy to do a favor. You enjoy doing good deeds for others, even if you do not know them well.

Strength#12

Social intelligence
You are aware of the motives and feelings of other people. You know what to do to fit in to different social situations, and you know what to do to put others at ease.

Strength#13

Bravery and valor
You are a courageous person who does not shrink from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain. You speak up for what is right even if there is opposition. You act on your convictions.

Strength#14

Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness
You are an honest person, not only by speaking the truth but by living your life in a genuine and authentic way. You are down to earth and without pretense; you are a "real" person.

Strength#15

Humor and playfulness
You like to laugh and tease. Bringing smiles to other people is important to you. You try to see the light side of all situations.

Strength#16

Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness
Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

Strength#17

Leadership
You excel at the tasks of leadership: encouraging a group to get things done and preserving harmony within the group by making everyone feel included. You do a good job organizing activities and seeing that they happen.

Strength#18

Citizenship, teamwork, and loyalty
You excel as a member of a group. You are a loyal and dedicated teammate, you always do your share, and you work hard for the success of your group.

Strength#19

Hope, optimism, and future-mindedness
You expect the best in the future, and you work to achieve it. You believe that the future is something that you can control.

Strength#20

Spirituality, sense of purpose, and faith
You have strong and coherent beliefs about the higher purpose and meaning of the universe. You know where you fit in the larger scheme. Your beliefs shape your actions and are a source of comfort to you.

Strength#21

Industry, diligence, and perseverance
You work hard to finish what you start. No matter the project, you "get it out the door" in timely fashion. You do not get distracted when you work, and you take satisfaction in completing tasks.

Strength#22

Self-control and self-regulation
You self-consciously regulate what you feel and what you do. You are a disciplined person. You are in control of your appetites and your emotions, not vice versa.

Strength#23

Caution, prudence, and discretion
You are a careful person, and your choices are consistently prudent ones. You do not say or do things that you might later regret.

Strength#24

Modesty and humility
You do not seek the spotlight, preferring to let your accomplishments speak for themselves. You do not regard yourself as special, and others recognize and value your modesty.

Percy, Me, and Mistress Gravity

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 19:47:05 -0000

I'd like to make an introduction today.

Everyone, this is Percy, my favorite cat of all time.

Percy, I'd like you to meet everyone. These are the people I hang out with when I'm giggling, crying or throwing up my hands in elation or despair when I'm staring at that bright window-like thing with the little mouse you like to chase around the screen ... ummm, like now. Hey! Stop!

....

....

Percy, where are your manners? What do you say?

<mrrrooooowwwww! meaaaa, mrooow.>

That's better Percy. You'll really like these people. They're the cat's meow. Oh, sorry, my bad. They're really cool. That better? Oh come back. Don't be mad. Sheesh, such a touchy disposition. Well, I'll make it up to Percy later with food, or maybe a long and languorous scratching of that spot just behind his pointy little ears that makes him go all goo-goo eyed.

Well, while he can't see what I type I gotta tell you about that "favorite cat of all time" thing. You see, he really is my favorite cat of all time, but then again I've had lots of favorite cats of all time. It's like ranking love. "Oooo, you're my favorite, mostest, bestest love of ever and ever." Nope, can't do that. All my loves are my favorite, mostest, bestest love of ever and ever. Love for cats, or people, is for me a switch, not a rheostat. Yes or no, never somewhat. At this stage of my life it's the one thing I'm absofuckinlutely sure of. Get it? Hope so.

Well, the other day Percy decided to test my love for him. He did this by getting into a fight with a neighboring monster tomcat. Now Percy is no slouch in the tomcat department even if he has been de-nutted. He's still big and muscular and fearless, but the cat he chose to have it out with was, truly, a monster tomcat. Huge, mean, eats Nine-Lives Ocean Perch, Nails, and Driveway Gravel for breakfast, with a little bit of used clay kitty-litter for a chaser.

At some point Percy decided that the better part of valor was to run up a tree, up farther than monster-tom could go, which he did. Forty feet give or take a meter. Hmmmm, is that a mixed metaphor of the third kind? Anyway, there he sat, on a big branch, for two days. I tried to get him down. The ladder I have access to was way too short. I tried coaxing him with food. I even got on the roof of the house-by-the-tree and built an aerial sidewalk out of framing lumber, old scratch pads, and rope. It was a masterpiece of improvisational construction, but noooo, Percy just rubbed his chin on it and refused to simply walk across 20 or so feet of rickety scary scaffolding to the safety of my arms. Damned favorite cat! It slowly dawned on me that big bad brusque bruiser Percy is afraid of heights. Make that terrified. How silly. It's like being an earthworm who's afraid of dirt.

Since the fire department no longer rescues treed cats ("What?" the 911 dispatcher asked in disbelief, "We'll come get a bear, but not a cat. That's on you buddy.") I only saw two options; pay for a boom truck and crew or, more reasonably, rent a tall ladder. Option two, here we go; "I'd like a 48 foot extension ladder please, with a side of fries, to go." Did you ever try to drive a little Volvo around while balancing a 48 foot ladder on the roof, tied on only with rope and hope? Fun time, I'll tell ya. Every dip in the road was a lesson in inertia, gravity, and cantilevered chicanery. I got it there. I set it up. I climbed up. Whew! Percy's not half-baked here; the top of a fully extended 48 foot ladder is way way up there and gravity is a very strict and unforgiving mistress. I used to paint church steeples as a way to stay out of trouble during college summertimes. I must have been crazy.

Percy waited, with great anticipation written on his furry face; that is until I got to within a few feet of him. Then he backed up, just a stitch out of reach, and sat purring and rubbing his chin on the branch. The operative clause here is "out of reach." It took all of my considerable feline negotiating skills, not to mention great ankle strength and gravity defying bravado, to coax Percy back to within reach, but finally the moment arrived. I didn't know what to expect. Would he go wild and claw his way even higher, would he rip my flesh like the weasels in the Mother's of Invention song, would he jump and use up one of his nine lives?

I patted his head and tried my damnedest to make him believe I was simply there to say hello and nothing else ... then I grabbed the scruff of his neck and swung him out over open space. He did nothing, nothing at all. He just went totally limp. It was like rescuing a strand of rice noodle. I only had one arm free so I backed down the ladder slowly, carefully, Percy limp and compliant. Suddenly, a few rungs from the bottom, there were some very weird noises: hoots, yays and clapping. During the operation a dozen or so people from the neighborhood had come to watch the spectacle. Once on the ground Percy took a bow. I didn't. I was too stiff and there was a gallon of adrenaline flowing through me I hadn't noticed before.

One of my daughters gave Percy his dish. He ate greedily, tongued a little water, stretched in that oh sooo catty way, and walked to a chair on the porch and took a nap. Sheesh. The gall of that little fuzzball. He never even thanked me.

Well, he does love me, in that favorite, mostest, bestest way he has, and that's thanks enough.

Oh hey Percy, you're back. 'Sup dude? Am I forgiven? Food? Sure, just a sec little buddy.........

Missing Jimi

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 00:46:12 -0000

Start with this:

I read martha's blog the other day and it got me thinking about when I was drinking beer and a bomb went off, when I learned that collateral damage can make people puke, and when I discovered stuff about politics, global culture, berets, sex, and yogurt. All because I missed Jimi's concert.

Okay, let's connect the dots.

I was in Oberammergau at the NATO school, courtesy of the US government, and a newly minted survivor of the Mekong, where I'd managed for 358 days to neither get killed or kill anyone else, at least not directly. I thought my karmic bank account was at least a little bit, a tiny little bit in the black. Silly me. A civilian friend living in Garmisch-Partenkirchen wanted me to go with him to see Jimi Hendrix at Super Concert '70 in Berlin. Hell, it's not that far, but it didn't work out. It was a military thing. Nobody attached to that NATO post could go to Berlin. They never explained exactly why, but the rule was ironclad, although they were very nice about how they told me, the Major assuming the role of Big Brother with velvet gloves I guess.

My friend got to go see Jimi and of course I was miserable at being left behind so I went with plan-B, or rather plan BS&T. A few weeks later Blood, Sweat, and Tears was playing in Stuttgart and I got tickets and made the trip, my car loaded with fellow crazies. The atmosphere was electric and the crowd eclectic. One of every kind of human you can think of. Great stuff.

During a break we went outside for a smoke - yeah, that kind of smoke plus - and in the shuffle I got separated from my friends. Hell, I was practically separated from myself. Walking back toward the entrance I happened to follow a young man. I wasn't paying him much attention until he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a newspaper held up by a weeping Fräulein (you could still use that word then - we were so innocently stupid) for all to read. The headline was plain enough - Jimi Tot - it said in large bold print. I managed to remember enough of my grandfather's German that I didn't need a translator. To be honest my first thought was "He can't be dead, I haven't seen him live yet." And in this instance you can pronounce 'live' in either of the two common ways - they both work. Then disbelieving shock set in, like when Janis died or the planes flew into the WTC or I lost my virginity. Icons destroyed, or maybe created. I stood there staring at the headline, mouth agape, numb.

The man turned to look at me, the same disbelief on his face. He was about my age, intense, coal dark eyes, thin to the point of gaunt, dressed in black and wearing a black beret with a red star pinned prominently to the front. You might think that we couldn't have been more different, his political language worn like a costume, mine still muddled by the cowardliness of war versus the courage of the expatriate. Hell, even the Champ had told me to stay alive but he had neglected to say how. The man simply said "scheiße" and then, to me, "He is gone. One of the best, I think." His going straight to English told me that I had been made; my attempt to to appear sufficiently disreputable a total failure.

Under other circumstances that might have been it, but unwanted news spreads quickly and the building was cast into a silent pall, the concert-goers into participants in a vigil. Someone from BS&T made an announcement. Nobody cared, there wasn't much happening after that. But this young German who fancied himself a Communist, a prime recruit for the then forming Baader-Meinhof Gang, just started talking. His name was Helmut, at least he said it was, and I think he eventually thought of me as a reclamation project.

I spent the rest of the weekend in his company, mostly in several very altered states at a flat he shared with another man and three women, all students at the University of Stuttgart. It was an interesting time, and a learning experience, but even that was overshadowed by the sadness we shared over Jimi's death. Americans loved Hendrix, but Germans loved loved loved him, and they told me how, and why. I think they all thought of me as a reclamation project ... talking ... talking. I drove back ... thinking ... thinking.

A few weeks later I met Helmut and a couple of his housemates and went by train to Munich (traurig, München zu meinen deutschen freunden) the plan being for him to show me around his native city. On the way we walked to the dining car and Helmut and his friends introduced me to yogurt. I watched them ladle white creamy stuff over fresh blueberries and had no clue what it was - me, a farm raised free-range kind of person, no idea at all. It was love at first taste, a love affair I'm happy to say I carry on to this day.

That night in Munich we were getting pleasantly plastered drinking at an open air beer garden, talking and reveling in the cool night air, when there was an explosion about half a block away. Loud noises in the night, especiually sinister ones, have a way of grabbing your attention, and this did. I'm not sure why, but we all ran to the source of the noise at a full-on sprint. An entire store front had been reduced to rubble. Glass littered the sidewalk and street, and two injured passersby, a middle aged man and woman, lay together in a pool of their own blood, sacrifices gutted on the alter of a seemingly different war. Helmut, my new friend who had articulated a political philosophy where the selective use of violence was pardonable if the goal was righteous, looked stricken. "Nein, nein," he said, and turned away and vomited. It wasn't the beer. A crowd quickly gathered and several of us went to do what we could for the striken pair. To everyone's amazement, especially considering the copious amount of blood on the sidewalk, the couple was conscious and speaking. A man appeared from somewhere with a medical kit and placed dressings where they would do the most good, but he left the piece of glass sticking out of the woman's thigh alone. The glass itself seemed to be keeping the blood in. It seemed forever but it was probably only a minute or two when the Polizei and an ambulance, sirens blaring in that ee-oo-ee-oo European way, arrived and took over.

I stood up, wiping bloodied bits of glass from my hands and knees, and looked for Helmut and his friends but they had disappeared. The police asked a few questions and I told them what I'd seen and then went to look for my friends some more. At some point I did what Helmut had done, only later; I found a grassy patch, bent over, and threw up. I looked for an hour but they were gone, evaporated, and I walked back to the train station alone and bought a return ticked to Oberammergau. I tried to contact Helmut a few times after that, but I never saw him or his friends again. I wondered about their flight. Perhaps they thought they'd be taken for who they were not, or perhaps for who they were. I didn't know.

But these guys got to make more music:

Listening

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 02:21:16 -0000

It put one of these in a comment earlier and it popped into my mind that I needed to listen to more and post them here. I don't know why. Here they are.

Friday Night

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 01:42:45 -0000

hey do you know my dad do you know his name do you have a telephone book so I can look him up I miss my dad so much he left me a code so I can find him anywhere he went to new york city because there's more money but I forgot the code he's a doctor and his dream is to find a cure for everything do you think i'll have brain damage why'd you wake me up at 11 pm why couldn't you wait until 8 am so I won't miss breakfast will i get breakfast in this place or do i have brain damage because you woke me up will they do surgery why were the police there i'm only kidding i've had it with this aids i've had it with this pain i've had it with this death i've had it with this brain damage god told me how to cure these things just find the rarest mushroom on earth and mix it with sand from a french beach some salt water and mayonnaise but god said the trick is to know which mushroom is the rarest i think i've got brain damage my brother hit me every day every day every day until i was 10 and my mother said it was his decision and not her decision and not my decision then i don't know why he stopped but then he wanted to sleep in my bed but i don't know about this gay stuff but he did it anyway and my mother said it was his decision and not her decision and not my decision and my dad left my mom but he didn't leave me he deleted me i called him 30 times a day when i was little and he changed his number and forgot to send me the code will they do surgery i've had it with this aids i've had it with this pain i've had it with this death i've had it with this brain damage god told me how to cure these things just find the rarest mushroom on earth and mix it with sand from a french beach some salt water and mayonnaise but god said the trick is to know which mushroom is the rarest i want to find this .....

<Do you want something to drink or eat?>

yes thank you coffee .....

<Coffee? It's 2:30 am and you said you wanted to go back to sleep. Why coffee now?>

so i can throw it in your face it'll be hot you won't be able to see i'll have enough time to kill you .....

<Well, we'll probably not be doing coffee then, besides, you're pretty young for coffee. You want something else instead?>

yes please cold sprite

<Are you going to throw it?>

no i'm thirsty

<Here then.>

thank you when i find the cure and my dad i'll have lots of money and i'll throw it in his face because he deleted me to get money why'd you get me up at 11 pm do you think i have brain damage will i get breakfast here do you have a telephone book i want to find the code can i go back now i was only kidding my brother is arrested because he had drugs he's in jail and i want to talk to him and tell him i've had it with this aids i've had it with this pain i've had it with this death i've had it with this brain damage god told me how to cure these things just find the rarest mushroom on earth and mix it with sand from a french beach some salt water and ketchup ... no mayonnaise but god said the trick is to know which mushroom is the rarest can you get me a new blanket i'm not cold but this blanket is too thin and it can't be green the sprite is good so much better than coffee thank you did i tell you my dad is a doctor they made me watch a movie about hurricanes i was so scared i wanted to run away from the movie but they made me watch it they shouldn't do that to little kids .....

.....

.....

<Are you sleeping?>

.....

.....

What is the difference between knowledge and wisdom?

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 03:07:19 -0000

I can define the word knowledge, I can define the word wisdom. That is knowledge. I can gather understanding and apply it with love. That is wisdom. I don't know if I have either of these things.

Or maybe like Stacey says - hot air and soap make bubbles. Could be either.

What is the role of art in the world?

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 02:25:02 -0000

When all the bullshit, all the arbitrary constructions of our crafts, all the provocative inhibitions of our culture, all the seedy inheritance of our occluded vision, all the proselytizing priests of whatever, when all of these are unceremoniously stripped away, there remains, at the core of cores, art, in all its forms. That's all there is to it, and art's role is manifest.

Symmetry

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 19:20:30 -0000

1 x 8 + 1 = 9
12 x 8 + 2 = 98
123 x 8 + 3 = 987
1234 x 8 + 4 = 9876
12345 x 8 + 5 = 98765
123456 x 8 + 6 = 987654
1234567 x 8 + 7 = 9876543
12345678 x 8 + 8 = 98765432
123456789 x 8 + 9 = 987654321

In your view, what life stage is the human family in?

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 18:09:48 -0000

Stage left ... in that it is amazing that there are any of us left. But what a show!

Mgaic

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 20:39:05 -0000

Adrconicg to eprxet oniiopn lses tahn fftiy pcernet of the patlpuooin wlil be albe to raed tihs, and olny twtney pcernet wtih any seped. Leartite aseltcenods wlil bset altuds. I'm gsnieusg taht the pcernetgaes wlil be hgheir hreh on Giaa. We wlil see.

I am trierlby bsuy, but usntnadred taht I am lninareg so mcuh mroe aoubt jsut how azinamg the biarn ralely is so the bdreun is bbarleae. All rghit, I wnat to aovid finyrg my own biarn so I wlil stiwch to 'naorml' lteter seuqcene. Bdeseis, my selpl ckceehr is ninareg mowdletn.

I'm in this training, you see. Orton-Gillingham. And it's a challenge intellectually, physically, and emotionally. I'm thinking of language and learning differences 24 by 7 and am in class for eight hours a day and have about that much reading and homework to do each night. I'm working with my first 'demonstration' student,' a big old Iowa farm boy who speaks with clarity and ease on complex agricultural and business topics, but who cannot read or write above the second grade level. His eyes light up when I tell him that our goal is to get his reading and writing up to the same level as his speaking. I remind him of this at the start of every class. The first time I told him he said that that's what he's always wanted and started to cry. It turns out that his public school classmates made fun of him for years and called him Dim Tim. With a WISC full-scale of 145+ he's not dim by any measure.

The fact that the 'teaching the teachers' class I'm in is being taught by an ex-partner of mine, an ex of the wifely persuasion and the mother of my daughters, is exceedingly strange. For whatever difficulties this person may have with close relationships, she is a gifted teacher of the first rank. I understand why her students, child and adult, think so highly of her. I always thought her writing was overly dense, even pretentious, but her knowledge of the language, and her ability to analyze and synthesize complex issues in this domain and come up with perfect examples on the spot, is astounding.

Three of my old group graduated the school's 'regular' program Friday, regular in the sense of wilderness, academic, and therapeutic elements combined. It was a surprisingly emotional experience. I'm beginning to understand how teachers feel when they send their charges off into the world and wonder how they'll do, wonder if they learned all they need. I'm going to miss them, and I know they'll miss me. <sigh>

On top of all that, the school asked me to do the engineering and installation of a new fiber-optic computer network on campus. I'll have help but most of the work will fall to me.

So between now and July 21, when I'm officially on the academic side of the school, all I have to do is complete the OG training, work with my demonstration student, see another of my guys graduate, and engineer and install a fiber optic data network.

Piece of cake.

I'd write more but I'm gonna go do a nap-in-advance now.

Cicada Rhythm

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 02:31:25 -0000

Thundering herds of cicadas came out this week. Millions. Well yeah, right, they don't thunder, but they do make a sound like a flying saucer landing on the White House lawn. Or maybe on the Rose Garden. Klaatu barada nikto anybody? I tried this line on a few of them but they didn't listen.

I watched them all week. It's amazing how many don't make it through the molting. Some fall prey to predator wasps who lay their eggs in the body of this bug-eyed bug. (Well, of course, what else?) The wasp eggs hatch and the pupae (larvae?) eat the cicada from the inside out. Terrible way to go. Some cicadas emerge malformed, with stunted wings or too few legs. Others fly with reckless abandon and crash into things; trees, buildings, the mouths of hungry hawks, my head. Seventeen years or so underground and you understand why they're a little goofy. I watched one crawl over the ground and forlornly poke his head into each hole he encountered, holes like the one from whence he had emerged only hours before. Kind of like some people, this thing. I say 'he' because he had noise-makers on his side, and with this species it's the males who make the noise. Many more made it though, to drink water and mate, to lay eggs on the trunks of trees, to repeat the rhythm. They aren't dumb, as bugs go. After all, they selected (kind of) life cycles based on prime numbers. Every species of cicada begins its reproductive journey a prime number of years after its last cycle. The predators never have figured this out and only stumble upon the juicy cicada opportunistically.

I don't normally eat bugs, at least knowingly, but a woodsy friend swears that stir-fried cicada are a great treat. I've decided to take him up on his cookery offer. I wonder what side dishes he'll prepare. Oh, and what wine is the correct accompaniment to cicada?

I've been very very busy lately. I miss all you Gais. Back to 'normal' in a few more weeks I hope.

What do you like best about birthdays?

Tue, 13 May 2008 18:18:14 -0000

The amazing 364 days that lead up to each new one.

Mother

Sun, 11 May 2008 16:58:01 -0000

A repost from last year. It still applies...;-)

I love my mother's endearing weirdness.

When my grandmother died she was cremated and the ashes were given to my mother. A few years later my father died and the process was repeated. My mother had said on both occasions that she was going to scatter the ashes on a high hill on the farm where I grew up. Years later I stopped by for a surprise visit just as my mother was reorganizing her entranceway closet. She said "Here, help me move your grandmother and father so I can get to the back of the closet." The labeled crematory urns were sitting on the floor, still full! She saw the surprised look on my face and said "I couldn't just throw them out, so I take them out once in a while to say hi."

She does stuff like that.

Why I Love You, My Friends of Virtual Community

Sun, 11 May 2008 16:35:37 -0000

Inside Me

Sat, 10 May 2008 20:50:11 -0000

This is what is inside me, through and through. I think this is inside you too.

A little salt and pepper on the side is an incidental thing.

Broken

Mon, 05 May 2008 02:25:16 -0000

There must be something wrong with me. I can't do this, this boredom thing, head or heart. I sat on the top of Mt Mitchell today, and tried, and tried, and tried. It didn't happen. So many people complain of being bored. I can't feel empathy. I must be broken.

Although the cartoon is cute.

Three

Fri, 02 May 2008 21:14:54 -0000

I was tagged by B.B....;-)

Three jobs I have had in my life. The most fun were:
Short order cook in a restaurant called the Hexagon House when I was eighteen. The fact that the building was actually an octagonal shape didn't seem to register on the owners, a gay-guy couple who were more male-mothers to me than bosses. One, Rodger, had an affected falsetto voice and was the first person I ever heard ask "Would you like fries with that?" When he thought nobody could hear him his voice lowered an octave or two.
Agent in a technical call-center - yeah, the same one rapunzel worked in. I got to hear customers say cool things like "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have an entire telephone company rammed up your ass?" and "My son's computer has a message that says 'You have performed an illegal operation.' I don't want him to get into trouble with the police. What the hell did he do?" and "If the history section in the browser lists tons of porno sites does that mean they were actually visited? It's gotta be either my son or my husband. My son is fifteen so that's about the right age and it's okay with me, but how can I tell if it was my husband? I mean, we have sex a lot so why would it be him?" I'll leave my responses to your imagination.
Therapeutic instructor in a boys' wilderness boarding school. I not only get to sleep out under the stars most of the time, one of my very favorite things, but I also get to work with amazing people, both clients and staff. It's an odd definition of fun, I guess, but nothing quite matches the feeling when the lights go on and one of my students 'gets it' or when their parents cry their eyes out because their son has finally started making progress.

Three shows that I watch: (I really don't watch much television, so this is just an approximation)

Six Feet Under (on DVD - I'll probably watch each episode a zillion times before I get tired of them)

House (Whenever it's on, including reruns)

The "L" Word (on DVD)

Three places I have been to poop: Ummm, come on now! It would be far easier to list three places I haven't been to poop.

In the woods - Obviously, and lots. My DNA is spattered, I mean scattered, all over western North Carolina. But really folks, I adhere to the leave-no-trace philosophy completely, so not to worry.
In a Lufthansa jet flying over the Pacific - and where, as I flushed, I knocked my glasses into the loo. Now this was an older jet, the kind with the flapper-door potty and where the venturi effect sucked all loose things immediately out into the slipstream. My glasses were goners. I always wondered...did you ever watch The Gods Must be Crazy? Yeah, I imagined a Pacific Islander minding his own business when from out of the sky a pair of shit covered glasses fall at his feet. Maybe there's a sequel here: The Gods Must Have a Shitty Outlook on Life.
In a hospital on a strange little porta-potty in the examination room after a lower GI. Ewwww....that was so weird.

Three of my favorite foods: This is one of those questions impossible to answer, at least for me. It changes every day so this is only what I'm thinking right now.
Curry anything - Lamb, tofu, oxtail, peas, potatoes, eggplant, seafood, the sky is the limit.
So spicy hot you cry anything - especially authentic Thai, Mexican, and Indian concoctions.

Marble Slab ice cream - preferably Cream with fresh strawberries or blueberries folded in.

Three places I'd like to be right now:
Machu Picchu

On a road trip with the Asheville gaia contingent visiting the out west gaia contingent.
Sydney, The Rocks

Three friends who might be cursing me if I tag them:

Albert, Peri, Dawn

Three new things I am looking forward to this year

Love, speech, lemon Italian ices, soft fleeces, warm toes, rumpy-pumpy (sorry Jon - a term too good not to use), gravel in my Keens, whimsy, sweat, sweetness, swearing, casting, skin, clouds, skinned knees...oh come on gais...this could go on forever. Oh wait, my limit was three? Hmmm. I can think of only everything or nothing, so I'll take everything. Besides, whatever there will be...will always be new, and multiple, and wonderful, no matter what.

When have you cried from happiness?

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 17:35:23 -0000

Every day.

Sometimes every hour.

I mean, isn't it all just crazily wonderful?

Isn't it all just stupendously beautiful?

How could I not?

I Love my Work

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 01:51:02 -0000

This is not my work, although I wish I could claim it. One of my students, who had come to my school with multiple diagnoses that would make the following impossible to predict no less expect, came out of his shell. I've been asking him for several weeks to write about how he feels. Late Wednesday night, softly crysmiling, he walked up to my sleeping bag, dropped a piece of paper on it, said good night, and then crawled into his bag and went to sleep. What was on that paper, a poem to a girl he has a crush on 'back home,' is reproduced here at his request, and exactly as he wrote it. Oh, and by the way, this is his first poem in English, which is his third language, one he began to learn only six months ago, and he's 13 years old.

BE FREE

WHAT HAPPEN TO ME
I'M JUST A BOY
ONLY A BOY WANTING TO BE SOMEONE
AND IF I TRY OH, OH, OH
AND IF I DREAM OH, OH, OH
AND IF I SEE MY HEART INSIDE OF ME
OH, OH, OH

LET'S GO FLYING TOGETHER
LET'S GO FLY LIKE A BIRD YEAH, YEAH
LET'S GO SKATING THE SKY
YOU HEARD MY VOICE AND YOU CRY

I JUST WANT TO BE FREE IN THIS WORLD
I HOPE EVERYBODY UNDERSTAND
I JUST WANT TO BE FREE AND FLY AWAY
AND SMELL ALL THE FLOWERS IN MY HEART
I WANT TO FEEL THE LOVE IN ME
I WANT TO GO, GO, GO AWAY

I'M FEELING REAL LOVE ONLY FOR YOU
YOU OPEN MY HEART AND I SEE THE WORLD
IT'S TIME TO LIVE OH, OH, OH
YOU CAN BE MY OH, OH, OH
AND WE CAN JOURNAL TO PARADISE

LET'S GO FLYING TOGETHER
LET'S GO FLY LIKE A BIRD YEAH, YEAH
LET'S GO SKATING THE SKY
YOU HEARD MY VOICE AND YOU CRY

I JUST WANT TO BE FREE IN THIS WORLD
I HOPE EVERYBODY UNDERSTAND
I JUST WANT TO BE FREE AND FLY AWAY
AND SMELL ALL THE FLOWERS IN MY HEART
I WANT TO FEEL THE LOVE IN ME
I WANT TO GO, GO, GO AWAY

IF I HAD A WING TO FLY
IF I HAD A TEAR TO CRY
I WILL GIVE MY SOUL
TO THE ANGLES IN THE SKY

I JUST WANT TO BE FREE IN THIS WORLD
I HOPE EVERYBODY UNDERSTAND
I JUST WANT TO BE FREE AND FLY AWAY
AND SMELL ALL THE FLOWERS IN MY HEART
I WANT TO FEEL THE LOVE IN ME
I WANT TO GO, GO, GO AWAY

UH, UH, UH
WHAT HAPPEN TO ME
UH, UH, UH
WHAT HAPPEN TO ME
I'M JUST A BOY

This boy has been a different person since he wrote this. I think good things are starting to happen.

Tribal Rites

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 04:38:13 -0000

A primal thing sometimes happens in the middle of the city in the middle of the night and a tribe is formed, if only for a wishful while, if only in a wishful place. Sometimes, that is, if you're very lucky, and the karma goddess is wantonly smiling your way and the moon is just right and the air caresses and you let your hair down far enough to tickle the small of your back. This is where it comes from, dyads and triads of ephemeral might, the tribe of them added together, dancing in an asexual ecstasy that cues the sexual, banded together against the common threat, heads bobbing, breathing like the air is too thick. We are the multitude and those who have not come to us we will represent in a voice loud and true. Do they trust us? I cannot decide.

By way of forming our tribe we prayed, first to Dionysus, then to his Bacchus incarnation, all in good time. Last and best we prayed to goddess Moon, and, I'll admit, bayed to her a bit too, we in the frenzy of bakcheia.

This modern day watering hole has a purpose not far removed from those of the Savannah, and the place itself, the guts of the building, not so different from the caves of Magdalenian art. We tribe sit on the raised deck behind, a fortunate place to watch for marauding bears and lions, and keep each other transcendent company. We kiss with words and caress with looks and dare anyone to ken our craziness. There are maybe forty of us, a goodly size, and we are in this moment the center of the universe. Many of us don't know each other, being brought together by friends of friends, but this is an advantage, the glue for our society. One, a dark and hard-eyed Wiccan of guileless art proclaims leadership, and we obey. I am shaman, others become story-tellers, observers, messengers, hunters, and priests. We are all warriors, young and old, women and men, warriors for the night.

There is music, loud, the kind you feel in your chest. I don't know the tune, but it doesn't matter, the driving beat an echo both of a mother's heart and the urgency of creation. Thump...Thump...Thump... Anton Mesmer is at work here, he of mesmerize fame who coined "animal magnetism" as a tribute to the gravity of the Newton he loved so well. Ah well, mesmerized it is then, and I am...Thump...Thump...Thump...animal magnetism...Thump... Thump...Thump...

Even in this place, in this state of my doing, I think.

It's said that if you had an imaginary childhood friend and regularly attend religious services that you are more easily hypnotized. I tried this on volunteers but don't have enough data for verification. Actually, I don't know if I genuinely hypnotized anyone, not truly, except for one. There was this man I plied with my trickery and afterward he sat quietly amidst us, disturbed in some way unknowable to me. But I envied him his belief and looking at him I thought of Jaynes' words: "We are learned in self-doubt, scholars of our very failures, geniuses at excuse and tomorrowing our resolves. And so we become practiced in powerless resolution until hope gets undone and dies in the unattempted. At least this happens to some of us. And then to rise above this noise of knowings and really change ourselves, we need an authorization that 'we' do not have." "Well then," I thought, "fuck you gentleman Jaynes, I authorize myself, I have that, I always have that." And I went back to my studies of living.

The tribe thrived for a few brief hours, and things went to and fro between and among us, weakening our fear of the bears and lions. Brothers and sisters were met and made, love kindled, flamed out, and then rekindled more times than an outsider might guess. A taxi came from out of the dark and transported a few away, the rest walked of a sort to a nearby park, there to await both the sun and the inevitable chemistry of intoxication to run its course. This is where I went, glad for the chance to see Ra with a fresh eye, glad to see Moon slide to her bed, glad to sit heads on shoulders with my tribe for a few fleeting last moments before the return to the ordinary.

It was a good night.