Curious Dichotomy...

So its late and I'm watching "The Big Bang Theory" while waiting for my pain medication to take effect so I can resume my attempts at sleep, and I had a minor epiphany. Nothing overly profound, mind you, just one of those realizations that's been lurking in the subconscious and finally had a moment of crystallization:

My life seems to be strongly demarcated between being a geek and aspiring to be a sophisticated Renaissance Man. Seriously, very little middle ground here. Growing up, I wanted to be Batman (or, failing that, James Bond) because they were both men of decidedly iron-like resolve, self confidence and sense of purpose. More importantly, I felt, they were the perfect blend of sophistication and brawn. To that end, I decided to try and learn as much about many different subjects as I possibly could in order to achieve that level of self reliance and maturity. Art, literature, music, history, philosophy, martial arts, theatre, Latin etc. (Well, to be honest, I'm only starting to try and teach myself Latin but its something I've wanted to master for many years now.)

And yet, I'm far more at home with comic book fans, videophiles and people who gravitate towards the weird and obscure. I have no idea what this means beyond some kind of Jungian childhood-related thing. My friend, Laura, is getting her PhD in Psychology and besides having an encyclopedic knowledge of both sides of my self realized demarcation is probably ideally suited to be able to shed light on what drives these two sides of my personality.

I have no interest in politics or religion and world events in general tend to escape my notice, but I'm almost always up to speed on which well known actor just joined the cast of the movie "Thor." I have no definitive idea of how many lives were lost recently in Haiti, but I can tell you the name of the only actor to portray James Bond onscreen once. *

On the other hand, I can quote Shakespeare, have a passing understanding of quantum mechanics, and for a hobby, enjoy trying to tie the murder of Christopher Marlowe to the Shakespeare authorship question. Not that I hold these examples up as a definition of smart, merely to differentiate between the two sides that I'm droning on about.

Realizing that "normal" is entirely relative, I still have to ask, "is this behavior/interest normal?" Is this merely an example of the Yin/Yang that exists in all of us? Taking that question to the next level I have to honestly look at another aspect of myself and say that despite what people might think, I do not care for violence. Yet I've discovered in years gone by that I'm good at it. I don't mean that I'm a fighting machine, only that I have the propensity to, when pushed over an acceptable line to having no qualms about inflicting violence in short and sometimes random order.

So this raises another Yin/Yang perspective: the inherent violence in all of us. Most people that know me will say that they think I'm an extremely nice (or at least affable) person and I try very hard to be so at all times. To be cordial at the very least. However, those who know me best know that I have a dormant temper. Not to say that its remarkably short, just a deeply-rooted capability to plan and follow through with various degrees of violent behavior, depending on the circumstance. I assure you I'm NOT boasting when I say that most people will tell you they have a temper, but they do NOT compare with my darker nature.

Is this normal?

Very probably, this is a direct result of my being beaten up as a child and developing a pathological hatred of bullies. I'm quite sure that Freud would say that my behavior is textbook overcompensation. But growing up I found myself, time and again being the only one to stand up to bullies either singly or in groups. As I grew older and, hopefully, matured, I learned to control my temper and to either walk away from a confrontation or follow it through verbally. This would be a nod toward my trying to exert my "sophisticated" side to win an argument or diffuse a potentially dangerous situation.

Maybe its the geek in me that ties directly into the darker aspect of my personality. Since I could relate far easier with other "geeks" growing up, I let my hatred of their natural antagonists really become a focal point for my temper. I had a friend in high school named Terry Jordan who had a very mild form of Downs syndrome (or something similar) and he was naturally a prime target of jocks and bullies. Terry and I became friends when were both teachers aides our sophomore year. After he got over his initial shyness, I soon discovered that Terry had an insatiable appetite for science and in particular how it behaved in science fiction. I will never forget him using his number one pencil (remember those from kindergarten?) to shakily draw schematics of how he felt the transporters worked on "Star Trek." This was not a dumb person, merely one with learning disabilities. I felt a kinship with Terry in very short order and joined one or two others who liked and protected Terry from roving gangs of football players who sought him out for sport and entertainment.

I wound up in the school clinic (and more often, Principal's office) a fair number of times with bruises and blood on my face. But I was content. I'd not only stood up for a friend, I stood up for someone who couldn't fight back. THAT was what mattered. That's how I was raised: the fight had to be fought, win or lose. (When trying to describe this aspect of my personality I often quote the scene in "Witness," where Alexander Godunov, playing an Amish man tells a bully that violence isn't his way. Then Harrison Ford's character walks up to the bully and says that it's "his way," and drops him.) It wasn't that I enjoyed the violence, I was just PREPARED to commit myself to what needed to be done.

Yet, I frown on that side of my personality and MUCH prefer to strive towards the aforementioned Renaissance Man. But who knows? Maybe I'm still trying to emulate James Bond's ability to be ultra suave and yet still be the two-fisted, SAS-trained assassin. I guess there's worse things to aspire to. ;-)

Okay, its amazingly late and as usual I'm trying to determine what the purpose of this entry was. Oh well, I'll crawl into bed and that'll put things into perspective for me.

(* George Lazenby)

Somewhere in the ether...

I'm not sure why it is, but lately I've been feeling more productive while I'm taking my heavy duty muscle relaxers. Or maybe productive isn't the right word; perhaps I'm fooling myself that I'm simply more inclined to create. I don't know whether its my subconscious coming out to drive or merely the "taking the edge off" effect of the medication, but I feel more conducive to sitting down and not only writing, but analyzing the ambient universe around me.

Maybe that's the sign the intrinsic creative well is dammed up: when you write about whatever is hopscotching its way across your neural pathways. Sort of a first-person travelogue of whatever the hell crosses your mind at that precise moment. Of course, give the fact that, ultimately, I'm using this blogging source as a cathartic outlet, it does rather render the point moot. Maybe its nothing more than flexing the synapses and trying not to let the mind atrophy. So, to that end, I hit the random button on not only my thought processes but on the "Ambient Music" folder on my iTunes and write about everything and nothing as I listen to things like Tangerine Dream, Tubular Bells, and Patrick O'Hearn.

So, in an effort to have a better grasp on the Lovecraftian horror that I'm intending on weaving throughout the pulp serial that I'm working on I've started reading "Supernatural Horror in Literature," by H.P. Lovecraft himself as well as "Danse Macabre" by Stephen King. Admittedly, Lovecraft's work is much more scholarly in its approach: what does mortal man fear and why? He conjectures that mankind is born with a pathological fear of what it cannot understand or "what lies beyond our ken." In a juxtaposition, King postulates that man is inherently attracted to that which scares us for the sheer, primordial rush that it gives us. He even goes on to delve into the personifications of monsters, (i.e. Vampires, Werewolves, the undead, etc.) and why we're so attracted to them. While I find this a very interesting topic, it is not as helpful as Lovecraft actually letting the studious reader understand where his head was at when he created the Cthulhu Mythos. Still I think its good to have a balanced perspective when trying to blend really scary scenarios with a good, compelling action story. I hope I can do it justice.

Okay, in the swirling Brownian motion of what's passing for coherent thought in my mind at present, I find that, toddler like, I'm already bored with my last train of thought and am waiting for something new to emerge from the wispy ether of my subconscious. Once again, I find that I'm inadvertently bastardizing Socrates' "Euthyphro," by wondering if I'm writing all this stuff down because it has value or does it have value because I'm choosing to write it down. (Were I not pretty high on 800 Mg's of pharmaceutical grade ibuprofen and Hydrocodone, I would be ashamed to admit that, for a fleeting moment, I viewed the aforementioned thought as a legitimate "conundrum.")

Damn. Has it come to this? Getting pleasantly ripped on pain medications and then jotting down whatever enters my mind?? Sad. Really. I need a girlfriend or a job. Right now, the latter is the more reasonable goal so I'll focus on it.

And, on that note, I can see that my consciousness still has enough hold over my brain to tell me that its time to sign off, and read until I fall asleep.

Tomorrow, I'll most likely print an apology for the vacuousness of this whole entry...

Good Riddance 2009!

Well, I'm back and its damn well time I was. I've let this thing slide for a few months now; something I promised myself I wouldn't do. Its now 2010, and I, for one, am glad to see 2009 slip away. With the exception of a handful of things that happened at the very end of the year, I would write 2009 off as a colossal waste.

Christmas was okay. I spent far too much time in Huntsville, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Mom was a delight, but Dad's temper is fraying badly and I'm not going through that by myself again. Next year they can come to Seattle. From a strictly material sense, I made out like a bandit this Christmas. Julie, Scott, and the folks were amazingly indulgent this year. I look forward to getting a job to where I can once again afford nice gifts for them as well.

Yes, its nice to be back in Seattle. I referred to it as "home" to my Dad and I think it made him somewhat sad. Admittedly, without Julie and Scott, I wouldn't be here, but I am feeling more and more at home here each year.

It was nice to see some old friends in Alabama though. I had a particularly lovely visit with my old college friends, Jay and Anissa Webb. Jay has started his own voice over business and so he and I compared notes and he very kindly gave me a ton of information. More over, he's inspired me to try again with dialects on demand and stay in touch with him as a sort of life line for the two of us. He's a very giving person and I'm greatly appreciative.

Next to getting the company back up and productive is getting myself back up and running. I have got to hit the gym once more despite the daunting knowledge that I'm basically starting over. Again. Oh well, they tell me life is a journey and not a goal.

Okay, that's enough to satisfy the demons of inactivity. Time for bed.

Random Thoughts...

No particular reason to put metaphorical pen to paper tonight, just felt the need to move forward with my blogging even if it is in infinitesimal amounts. Maybe going forward is all there is.

Had a very nice Thanksgiving with my friends, Steve and Carolyn. We watched "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," which Carolyn had never seen before and then I introduced them to "Castle." I think they're hooked. I feel like I've spread the Gospel. It was a lovely time and I was very grateful they had invited me.

In one week's time I'll be back in Huntsville. I'm very excited at the prospect, yet a bit leery of not being able to access everything in cyberspace there that I'm used to from my desk here. Will I be able to blog? Will I have access to Face book? I'm appalled and amazed that I ever thought these would be serious questions that I would have. It just goes to show how much I've embraced web technology ... as least in as far as I understand it.

I'm tentatively planning on staying Alabama until the middle of January or so. Of course, my planning may be moot if I land a job in the next four weeks. It'll be nice to see some of my old friends. I'm disappointed that Ronnie will be away this Christmas, visiting his wife's relatives in California. I'm used to always having him there for Christmas Eve dinner. Oh well, things change.

My sister and brother-in-law have been in India since November 19th and while I've enjoyed the privacy and solitude, I'm ready for them to come home. I know Titan is. He misses his mom and dad and gets antsy at not having more play time during the day. Well, perhaps more accurately, he misses not having multiple playmates. He's my buddy and I'll miss him greatly while I'm gone.

I bought a book on plot development that looks very promising. I'm hoping it'll help kick-start my writing. With any luck I might have to buy a small notebook to write in for the trip home. I'm looking forward to studying the book in the coming days.

Okay, that's enough for now. Sleepy.

Superheroes...

Tonight I just feel the need to write. Which, I guess, is a good sign if I take it to mean that I'm slowly making my writing a habit. (If I ever hope to actually finish writing the pulp serial I have in mind this will obviously be crucial.)
It's all about the discipline.
Now that I put the pieces together I can see a metaphorical pattern uncloak in front of me. Self-discipline; what my father has, preached, and habitually pointed out to me that I lacked. And, in hindsight he was right. If I'd had more self-discipline I'd have graduated school on time with better grades. I'd have a good career by now... I guess I just chose to exercise my will in other directions.

I'm pleased to say that I *did* come through in some cases though. After being kicked out of school I reapplied and graduated with a 3.87 in my major. I proved to myself that with an iron will I could go on a sphincter-tightening diet for 10 weeks and lose close to 30 pounds. I would suppose that the problem is that I only picked and chose which battles to see through.

Odd, now that I think about it: my strong desire to write manifesting itself in idea for a series of connected pulp-style adventure stories set in the 1920's. But, those who know me well know I've always had a soft spot for the classic superheroes or mystery men. "The Shadow," "Batman," "Doc Savage," "John Carter," "Solomon Kane," Phillip Marlowe. There was purity about them despite their human flaws. A sense of purpose and a code of conduct that I can relate to and admire. "Down these mean streets a man must go..."

I'm sure that, by today's standards, they'd be considered archaic and quaint to the point of absurdity (well, not Batman, Frank Miller saw to that) but that's why I see them and their breed as timeless archetypes for the knight errant. Especially Solomon Kane; if ever there was smoke in search in fire it was him.

* For those not familiar with Robert E. Howard's character, Solomon Kane, here's a primer to help illustrate my point. Howard biographer writes, "Kane is an Elizabethan Englishman, adventurer, privateer, swordsman, duelist, soldier-of-fortune, world-traveler, explorer, religious fanatic. He is a strange, sinister, mysterious figure; tall, lean, dour, ascetic, garbed all in black. His quests constantly involve with rescues and vengeance, and his stage is the world -- often remote and fantastic. He is the contemporary and friend of Francis Drake, of Walter Raleigh, of Richard Grenville, of Henry of Navarre.
Kane is known far and wide as 'God's angry man.' ..."

Glen Lord adds, "A Puritan, he has a penchant for righting of wrongs done to others. His superhuman efforts and energies and successes are related directly to his fanaticism. Howard paints him as a sombre, black-clad swordsman, searching for something he may never find."

My favorite Kane story is entitled, "Red Shadows," and I can think of no better way to both introduce and explain Solomon Kane than by reprinting part of the first chapter:

Kane comes upon a small French village that has been looted and burned. While investigating, he finds the body of a young woman, not quite dead.

" 'The fires of hades!' he murmured. 'A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.' The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.
'You -- who are -- you?' her words came in gasps.
'Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.' The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.
The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet. 'Tell me.' His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
'Le Loup,' she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. 'He and his men -- descended upon our village -- a mile up the valley. They robbed --slew -- burned--'
'That, then, was the smoke I scented,' muttered the man, 'Go on, child.'
'I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me -- and -- caught me --' The words died away in a shuddering silence.
'I understand, child. Then --?'
'Then -- he -- stabbed me -- with his dagger -- oh, blessed saints! -- mercy--'
Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.
'Dead!' he muttered.
Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oaths by saints or devils.
'Men shall die for this,' he said coldly. "

Now THAT is a sense of purpose. He didn't have to check his PDA to see if he could squeeze vengeance into his schedule. He didn't worry or wonder if it was the right thing to do or whether he should get involved; he simply chose and acted upon it without hesitation.

Things were simpler. I grant that this is a work of fiction, but you see my point: the heroes from the pulp era knew right from wrong and did the right thing. They had a code of conduct that they lived and died by. The sad thing is, my father raised me with a very similar code. He was raised by an old Texas Ranger and taught to shoot from the hip by an old gunslinger. Both these men imparted "the code" to my father, who passed it along to me.
The problem is that it does not fit into today's society. It's antiquated. Archaic. Like the code of Bushido, not only misunderstood by a great part of Western society, but laughed at by the ignorant: You try and behave with honor and discretion at all times. You protect the weak, avenge the abused, help those in need, take advantage of no one, stand by your friends and always, ALWAYS honor your word.
It and being a man were synonymous.
My sister calls my version of this Code "a knight complex." Smoke in search of fire. I think she feels I'm naively trying to fit the 21st century world around a 19th century system of behavior. It's certainly been pointed out to me many times before that I'm a "Superhero wannabe." It's true: I'd love to be "The Shadow," or "Doc Savage," with a simple purpose of righting wrongs and helping those in need. I've never tolerated bullies well. I've been punched out more than once while attempting to protect those victims who were weaker than I was. But the important thing, the crucial thing was that SOMEONE had to stand against the "bad guys." Even if you were outnumbered and outgunned, the getting back up was what mattered.
So, I guess, I'm Don Quixote and will have to live with it.

Anyway. It all serves to drive home the point that I need to get back to some self-discipline. The gym, my diet, getting my business off the ground, writing my serial.
Okay, I feel a bit better. Cathartic.
Time for bed.

An Old Conundrum...

So, I'm musing over the age-old question: why do bad things happen to good people? This was brought sharply to mind after chatting with an old and dear friend online yesterday and I learned of all the tribulations she and her family are going through.

If I was simply cynical, I could say that s#it happens and that's life. I could say that if she (my friend) were the average person. But she's not; she's remarkable and one of the finest human beings its ever been my privilege to have known. To use the highest compliment that Dr. Hugh Black could ever bestow upon someone, "she's a good person."

She's a Chaplain at a hospital who truly believes that she's doing the work that God has set before her: offering guidance, comfort, support and encouragement to people who are (by virtue of being in a hospital) the very definition of people in need of someone who can help provide all these things. She loves what she does even when some weeks seem to be nothing but sadness and loss. She feels like she helps even when she makes the briefest of connections.

She's a moral and upright person who always has time for her friends, is devoted to her family and even adopted a child despite already having two of her own. It might sound cliche, but she honestly has that much love to spare. I'm not trying to say she's perfect or the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, but she's a good and honest human being.

And yet, in a manner of weeks, she and her family are visited by a host of troubles: possible MS, heart problems, I could go on but won't out of respect for her privacy. So she not only has to deal with other people's pain and problems every day but her own to compound things.

Now, I know that EVERY body has personal problems as well as those that stem from work. That *is* life. But here I'm talking about the average person.

It almost seems to me that God has a new Job in my friend. And, I'm sure there are thousands of other people in the world who feel that despite their best efforts to live a good and moral life that they too are Excretus Est Ex Altitudine. *

I don't pretend to be another C.S. Lewis and really theologically "throw down" on topics like this, but the story of Job does leap to mind. For all the petty people there are in the world, why do bad things keep happening to those who spend their lives trying to do the right thing? People who thrive on business might tell you that there are no "problems," only opportunities.

Balls.

It's one thing to see a new merchandising direction because your old one failed miserably, but this comparison fails to stand up under the Halogen light of real life. Angioplasty is not simply another chance to lose weight.

It seems terribly childish of me to look heavenward and yell that it's not fair. Here I can all-too-easily hear my Father telling me that life is NOT fair. But, to be even-handed, he's also fond of saying that A) things generally work out the way they're supposed to, and B) what comes around goes around. Both viable points, but the key word there is "generally." I associate "generally" with "average." So, to my mind, this rules out the truly good people who repeatedly have cosmic deuces dropped in their lap.

Okay, I admit this was a cathartic posting; I don't pretend to have unraveled the fathomless mysteries of the Cosmos, just throwing my metaphorical hat into the ever-widening ring of people who ponder old conundrums like these ... and I scratch my head.

* ("Shat upon from a great height.")

Definitely Fall...

Well, as usual, I've fallen back into sloppy behavior and have been remiss in keeping up with my journal. I'll try and do better but it soon becomes a case of is what I'm going to write interesting and/or cathartic enough for me to make the effort and for people to want to read? I guess I'll focus on cathartic for the time being and let "interesting" take care of itself. A fair amount has happened since I last put metaphorical pen to paper:

My friends, Carolyn and Steve, got married this past weekend. October 24th to be precise. They were kind enough to invite me to a very intimate reception with some of their closest friends. I was a bit shy at first since I only knew Allison, but once we got on the topic of books I relaxed and opened up. To tell the truth I wish now that I hadn't been quite as chatty as I was; I feel like I drew attention away from the newlyweds. Carolyn was gracious enough to say that it was just fine with her, and Steve is the very definition of quiet anyway.

Carolyn was, I think, still reeling from all that happened to her within the last two weeks: she lost her father and had to finalize her wedding plans all the same. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her. She's amazingly resilient though and will be fine in time, I know. I say all that not to idly toss around Carolyn's personal business but to try and explain why I think she was glad to let me be the center of attention for awhile. It was good to see Alison again and meet the hosts of the reception too. Delightful time all the way around.

Fall is definitely here. It's cold and the leaves have gone from crackling as they shift and die in windblown Brownian motions to being sodden multi-hued masses on the curbs and driveways. It does make the fireplace that Julie and Scott had installed last year that much nicer though. Its lovely to come in from taking Titan outside to, as my sister puts it, "check his peemail," and have the fire to warm both of us up. Titan is getting a lot of mileage out his "bed" in front of the fireplace as well.

Halloween is fast upon us and Thanksgiving Day will be here before you know it. The end of the year seems to happen sooner and sooner as I grow older. Of course, the department stores are no help. They have their Holiday items out earlier and earlier every year. This year, our local Fred Meyer had theirs out in late September. Good Lord! What does that say to consumers? School's back in session ... for God's sake, do your Christmas shopping NOW before EVERY THING'S gone?!!

Last Sunday, we were invited to a celebration to honor Yussef, the newborn son of our friends Mo and Mariam. It was lovely to be invited, see all our friends, and take part in the feast and fun but I saw the pictures from that Sunday yesterday and I cannot BELIEVE how amazingly FAT I've become since the operation!! I had lost 25 pounds!!! Now I'm terrified to weigh myself for fear of what it'll do to my blood pressure. And the scales.

I had great plans to go to the gym today and start the long, hard, crawl back to some loose form of fitness, but I felt under the weather today. Maybe tomorrow. I have simply GOT to get back to the discipline. Even starting out at 10-15 minutes on the stationary bike will be a nice start. I don't want to over do it and spend MORE down time letting this mystery pain in my abdomen keep me from exercising.

Julie and Scott's trip to India draws ever nearer and I'll be alone on Thanksgiving again. I have mixed feelings about that: It'd be nice to have them there with me, but having been alone for two Christmases before this pales by comparison to no big deal. Maybe I'll buy a small turkey breast and make myself a nice lunch and not worry about the weight for one day. I'll see how it goes.

Finally have an idea for my pulp story. I'm going to try and write it as a serial. Who knows, there might be a magazine interested in it. One step at a time though; have to actually get a coherent picture from all my years of notes and create a story from the endlessly retooled opening that I have. I'm going to follow ("Doc Savage" creator) Lester Dent's formula for writing a pulp story and see if those are the parameters that will give me the guidance to see this through.

Okay, that's enough for tonight. If I'm not careful I'll get maudlin about my love life. Time to finish the latest Spenser novel and fall asleep...