Pale Fire Poem on Index Cards

I'm doing a project I've wanted to complete for a long time: write Vladimir Nabokov's poem Pale Fire onto 80 medium sized index cards, precisely as his book intended.

Creating the note cards are more than just for aesthetic appeal. I believe that through hand-copying a piece of writing, one emulates the process an author went through in creating a work and can 'step into the shoes' and get a better perspective than simply reading.

George Washington as a young boy hand copied some hundred 'Rules of Civility & Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation.' to really internalize those ideas and shape a system of morality to guide his decisions. ref. I heard his story while I was in high school, so I did the same. I have yet to be elected President, but I blame that on account of being born outside the States ... as well as my overall mistrust and abstinence towards politics.

Pale Fire is less instructive than Washington's Rules of Civility in practical terms, but has its own merits. What interests me about Pale Fire as a hand-copying project is the unique way in which the index cards structures the poem, and the ideas therein. Nabokov's immigrant perspective on American culture is thought-provoking, and Nabokov's intelligence and quirky individualism permeates his writing. 

Deer Sir or Madam

The wild deer wandering here and there, keeps the human soul from care.

Buddy, what you eatin' on?
Snacks

Above, a stag with his womens deers.

Deer are polygamous. A single male can controlling several females at at time, or accompany one partner. They separate after coitus and find different partners in the next mating season. ref

Male deer don't stay to raise the baby deer, who take a year or two to grow. I often seen families of mama, her young, and a male though. Guess he wasn't the father.

Below, a single doe with her mate (not pictured) to the right.

Excuse me, ma'am. May I pass?

Life's Plan

It's hard to say where decisions will lead. Life surprises me when things do work to plan.

Open space at Bear Creek, Colorado Springs.

Maybe life has a plan of its own, but it seems to be a needlessly complicated one.

Great Books (above)
Great Apes (below)

A thin shelf is all that separates the Great Books of Homo sapiens from the Great Apes below. Sometimes we are intellectual, and wholly rational beings. Other times our lives are bestial, and best observed as one would study natural phenomena.

Aside:
Q: Why is 'Homo' capitalized, but 'sapiens' is not??
A: Like all Latin taxonomic names, Homo sapiens is italicized. The genus name (Homo) is capitalized, and the species name (sapiens) is not. ref

An easy misunderstanding

Money speaks in every language...

One of the visitor center displays at the Air Force Academy was a replica of a student dorm, containing two neatly made beds. There were an array of coins scattered on each bed. At first, I thought this may be a staged arrangement somehow illustrative of games of chance and forbidden gambling.

Coins (bed on the left)
Dolla dolla bills y'all (bed on the right)

I asked the information lady whether the coins had been intentionally placed or if the charity was the work of visitors. According to her, some snarky visitors decided to test whether the beds were prepared to military standards by enacting the syllogism that a coin ought to bounce off the taut sheets.

... but is not understood quite the same in every culture

Her explanation made sense to me. I had heard of this piece of Americana from movies and seen demonstrations. However, I could not help but laugh at the relative obscurity of this pop culture to foreigners.

Watch this hunky, bare-chested man demonstrate (no homo)

I told the lady why this left me so amused! I had seen a tour group of Koreans pass through earlier. Less culturally-aware guests mistook the money left behind on beds as a sign of a dry wishing well, or a textile Koi pond, and deposited dollar bills!! Now that is irony!

LOL.

Student Diversity - Military vs Civilian

We are all equal under God

Thursday, 2/19/2016
I visited the United States Air Force Academy (USAFA) situated about fifteen miles north of downtown Colorado Springs.

The academy allows for visitors to drive around their northern campus, which houses the cadet sleeping quarters, athletic fields, other stuff I didn't visit, and a modern architectural religious facility. The Cadet Chapel (wikipedia) has areas for a diversity of faith-based congregations: Catholics, Protestants, Jews, and ... Miscellaneous.

Cadet Chapel, USAFA

Diversity would be a recurring theme of my visit. How well do young service men and woe-mans represent the ethnic diversity of the civilian population from which they find their way to the academy?

If it bleeds, it lives

"If it bleeds, we can kill it."
- Arnie Schwartzynayguy. Predator (1987)

Inspired by Hemingway's idea that every man must be broken, inspired by the violence and degradation inflicted upon prominent leaders during the post-Ming conflicts, by the prostitution and foot-binding and pillaging of conquered women common at the time, and by my own sexual deviance... I put together a story about a contemporary woman defying her captivity at the hands of a sadistic sexual predator.

If it bleeds, it lives

She was observing the pain, rather than experiencing it.

Some moments she doubted her resolve; perhaps she had been broken by this brutish man, perhaps her plan to feign submission was a fantasy, a subconscious excuse to give in.

When the moment came, would she be capable of exacting revenge? Was the weakness she saw in this man truly a primal calling to pounce on his throat and release the scent of blood in the water? An open invitation for savage jaws?

Or was noting his weakness a form of acceptance for her? That her tormentor was not as invincible as he acted. That she could find acceptance of her physical debasement at the hands of this vile man, because she had found a way to break through his dominating persona and expose his true weakness?

"First, I will break you. Then when you have given in, and want nothing more than to live, I will take the only thing remaining to you: your life."

He had informed this of her the first night of her capture. It was the only time he ever told her what would happen to her in advance. He never repeated those words, but she remembered each deliberate syllable spoken with steady certainty and she knew he was not blustering.

He had repeated the content of his message non-verbally to her over the five months starting her captivity. The beatings, the sex, the body mutilation, and the cold hungry desolation of her hanging cage.

She knew she could not break. That would be the end of his sadistic game. He was a cat toying with a mouse. If she failed to scream and bleed, he would lose interest. Then she would be dead.

If he by chance felt inclined, he might snap her neck with unintentional mercy before his attention on her dwindled. Or he might one day stumble upon a younger prey and simply leave her to slow, forgotten rot.

'God forbid he subject an innocent life to my dehumanization, after he has replaced me!'

She must keep him enticed, until the moment was right. She must show him she was breaking under his power, but that there was more of her virtue that his carving knife, his nails and hammer, his steel hook hadn't extracted yet.

When the opening came, then she would break down before his eyes completely. In his moment of glory, he would let down his guard and that's when she would clench all the will to survive and indefatigable opposition into her jaws. Destroy the source of lechery.

She just hoped she would not break in earnest. She could fool him, but she dreaded the possibility that she was fooling herself. She prayed she would have the strength to hold out until he made two characteristic mistakes in succession. She feared she would lack the courage to return his violence.

On occasion, he left the dungeon door open - when her pleas for water distracted him from other undisclosed fixations that he was want to return quickly to. And after especially savage thrashings, when he sensed she could put up no further resistance, he sometimes indulged himself to the use of her mouth without a dental gag.

The keys clipped to his waist by a Carabiner were within her reach from her cage during oral. Seeing as she was already confined, he didn't bother about cuffing her ankles and wrists when she was inside. All she needed was for him to be in the proper mood and identify the right timing.

One time he lay a knuckled fist across her lip, so hard she spat out a tooth. He laughed triumphantly as he made her suck him while gagging on her own blood. He knew the pain was too much for her to bite on that broken tooth. But she saw in his moment of feeling powerful, he had let down his guard.

Once more she observed the pain on her body.

The pain was good. It was keeping her alive and keeping her unsuspecting tormentor walking unmindfully near the trap she was preparing. One day, he will spring it and then she will have him.

She prayed she had enough blood left to reach that day.

Reading Notes

A search for my history

After my three-way discussion with Anonymous and Hemingway, I found another treasure among the bookshelves. A guide to understanding a part of my inherited past, the latter five hundred years in Chinese civilization.

The Search for Modern China by Jonathan D. Spence
Second Edition. 1999. ISBN 0-393-97351-4 (pbk.)

Within the historical narrative, time and again I found supporting claims to Hemingway's assertion that the World breaks all men, and those that refuse to be broken must be killed.

The decline of an empire

"Some say the world will end in fire, others say in ice... " - Robert Frost

I say they all end the same way.

"So I says blue M&M, red M&M, they all wind up the same color in the end!"
- Homer Simpson

A historical parallel

Starting around 1600, the Ming Dynasty which had ruled for about two hundred fifty years began to crumble. (How long has the States been around now, since 1776?).

Ineffectual politics/leadership

One of the catalysts of the fall of the empire was that the emperor, disgusted with the ineffectual and petty politics of his advisers, stopped holding court and left the operation of the empire in the hands of eunuchs, who swelled their pockets with wealth from bribes and corruption and power. Sound at all familiar to American politics?

"Emperor Wanli spent more and more time behind the innermost walls of the Forbidden City. He had grown aggravated by quarrels with bureaucrats about which of his sons should be named heir apparent to the throne, frustrated by overprotective courtiers from carrying out his desires to travel widely and command his troops in person, and disgusted by the constant bickering among his own senior advisers... The result was that considerable power accrued to the court eunuchs... " 15.

Politicians are just puppets in American leadership. They say what they are paid to. The real power lies in the deep pockets of financiers. Neutered of morality and altruism, these are our modern day eunuchs.

Money talks

Economic conditions of the 1600s were a strong force that began to crush the Ming civilization. The general population of farmers fell onto extreme poverty following a global climate crisis of cold dry weather that ruined crops. Along with this came an influx of wealth introduced by Spanish merchants exchanging Chinese silk for silver from the Philippines, America, and Japan.

Silver trade generated far more wealth than that of the starving farmers, yet the Ming bureaucracy failed to levy taxes on the most prosperous citizens! As a consequence, disparity between the poor and rich grew unchecked, the government failed to pay the soldiers in its army and provide for the well being of its working class.

(LOL, Remember when the U.S. government shut down because it couldn't pay its workers?? )

In addition, without necessary funding to give aid, nor showing any intention of aiding its poorest farmers, the government levied heavier taxes on its already destitute farming class to compensate for its declining tax base!

"China's trade - while never effectively taxed by the state, which concentrated mainly on the agricultural sector - was extremely vulnerable to extortion and confiscation by corrupt eunuch commissioners in the provinces, or by their agents. Government inefficiencies in flood control and famine relief led to further local crises, which, in turn, reduced the amount of prosperous land that could be taxed effectively." 20

"A string of one thousand small copper coins that had been worth around an ounce of silver in the 1630s had become worth half an ounce by 1640, and perhaps one-third of an ounce by 1643. The effects on peasants was disastrous, since they had to pay their taxes in silver, even though they conducted local trade and sold their own harvests for copper." 21

(Wall Street 'Carried Interest' tax loophole, anyone? The richest pay the lowest tax rate of all salary earners in America.

Each new administration voices their commitment to close it, the politicians all agree it's a flaw of the system - not mentioning that it is criminally exploited by the 1% - yet when it comes time to put their money where their mouth is, time and again the representatives don't show up for voting and no changes are set in motion. Why? Because the money is too powerful to help politicians win elections and keep supporters in office.)

A violent end

With every faction war and change of leadership ensued killings of the previous order. Group after group swelled their might, then were hunted down, disgraced, and executed by their successors.

"Yuan [a very capable Ming army general] was able to hold the Liao River against Nurhaci. In 1628 he was named field marshal of all northeastern forces, but for reasons of jealousy he executed one of his most talented subordinates the following year.

When, in 1630, Manchu raiding parties appeared near Peking, Yuan was falsely accused of colluding with them and was tried on a trumped-up charge of treason. With hostile courtiers, friends of the man he had killed and groups of eunuchs all arrayed against him, Yuan had no chance of clearing himself.

Instead he was condemned to death by way of the most publicly humiliating and painful punishment the Chinese penal code allowed for: being cut to pieces in the marketplace of Peking. Later scholars mourned him as one of China's greatest generals." 24.

One day hero, next day traitor. Morality is so malleable in the hands of the corrupt.

Reading Notes

Second hand reads

I enjoy perusing used books, not just because I am a cheap bastard, but because I am curious what people have bought, presumably have read, and didn't mind parting with.

It helps me get a feel for the local community, how many people are literate and what kinds of education they might possess. Not surprisingly, given the local military presence, I saw about five copies of Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six.

But occasionally I find good books - classics of literature. I delicately hope someone donated a well-written book not because they despised it, but wanted to help some underprivileged soul share in the great edification they experienced.

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

Last night at the Goodwill I pulled out a slender hardcover print of A Farewell to Arms. Someone had underlined key passages in pencil, occasionally clarifying the interpreted meaning with gentle notes.

Writing notes in books

I religiously keep my own books free of highlighters, notes, and all other markings. My rationale is that the original work speaks for itself better than my fumbling, embarrassing, and annoying attempt to neuter it of interpretation. When I see asinine comments and misinterpreted passages double highlighted by 'First Amendment'-exercising sophomores, I cringe and fear what croaks would sound from my own voice, next to the narration of the master. If I want to take notes, I mark them on a separate medium that is wholly my own.

But on this occasion, reading someone else's thoughts within a famous someone else's thoughts was rather fun. The demarcations were respectful, with a soft gentle tone. They did not blare at me with horns, shouting, IMPORTANT!!! and if I disagreed with the necessity of an underlined passage, nevertheless I was not offended by this reader's opinion.

A man who is not broken is killed

I browsed through all the pencil guides and came across this memorable line underlined:

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Hemingway's sentiment about a broken people speaks to me about the weakness of human integrity. How vast the population who fall into line and condone corruption at the threat of death! But there are certain individuals, headstrong or stubborn or perhaps foolish, who adamantly refuse. And because the vast millions condone, threats against the heads of the rebellious can be carried out.

Integrity: together we are one

But if everyone has the desire and courage to call their bluff, tyranny and intimidation would fail. As one collective voice, we answer: 'Go ahead, kill all of us. What desolate wasteland will you Lord over once we are all gone?'

"Were you there, Tenente, when they wouldn't at- 
tack and they shot every tenth man?" 

 ...

"If everybody would not attack the war would be 
over," Manera said.  

Make profit, make war

The average man is either lied into in war by fictitious beliefs, or coerced into war by real threats.

"There is a class that controls a country that is stupid 
and does not realize anything and never can. That is 
why we have this war." 

"Also they make money out of it." 

"Most of them don't," said Passini. "They are too 
stupid. They do it for nothing. For stupidity." 

War is started to serve the benefit of the very few. The supporting leadership don't make gains, just the very top of the top stand to profit. Yet scores of thousands of men die below them for sake of a few who make the profit.

Happiness is a double-edged sword

Forum topic: The worst thing about depression is...?

Reply: It hits right at the end of my finest hour. I should be happy at the eve of a personal triumph, but I'm more aware I'm missing someone to share my good fortunes with. My loneliness feels keener than ever.

I could've done nothing at all, and my lot would been just the same. Makes all my work seem to not matter. No one else cares. The voice of the Serpent whispers in my ear:

"My goal was merely a fantasy, the achievement of that goal a disillusionment. Reality dictates that my desires and psychological needs will never be met. Ultimately, my endeavors are all futile."

Welcoming happiness into my heart is a dangerous proposition, because depression threatens to slip in right after.

Broken pipeline along Falcon Trail, USAFA

Reading Notes

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, translation by Julie Rose.

Hardcover edition. Random House. 2008. ISBN: 978-0-679-64333-3

Brief review

I love this volume. The translation exudes the warmth and chubby-cheeked humanity of the author's original work.

It does takes forever to read. I'm halfway through. I began reading seven years ago when it was published - on and off. Mostly off. 1200 pages unabridged, with lengthy boring historical digressions by Hugo. His discourses put things into context, maybe if you lived in his time period, but to us, neonites, the cultural edification services are a snore.

But once you get over these historical speed bumps and hit the main plot... roll down the windows, put on your summer shades, let your hair down, smell the Surf n Turf, and enjoy a smooth cruise along the beach.

Reading Notes

My feelings toward the SciFi novel genre 

Some of the science fiction writing have interesting ideas, carried within dialogue. But I tire of most SciFi books because the oft repeated pattern is overuse of made-up languages, phony bogus technical jargon to sound cool, and people talking to each other like the author never stepped outside of his room filled with comic books and Saturday morning cartoons.

The reading experience just falls too far short of 'believablity', not because ideas are too far fetched in forward speculation, but because the dialogues between characters gets social interaction so wrong. It is not the future of our present world, or an alternate world with convincing characters. It's just childish lack of experience of how people behave.

People talk at each other like superheroes and super villains. People scoff. People are fools. Arrogance when it comes to revealing one's superior knowledge is the norm. Egos are waved around on the tip of tongues, fighting overt battles for who is the super-character of the story.

Case Study

I'm going to pick on this book, because it prompted me to talk about the genre. Not because this particular SciFi novel is strong offender; it just happened to be the one I came across and took a chance at.

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi. Night Shade Books. 2009.

A SciFi novel about a future where natural crops have failed and radically new genetically modified foods are the last remaining sustainable asset - biological organisms that can mutate into carriers of disease at any moment.

I want to share some of the cliched story elements I notice in the SciFi genre, and refer to them as 'tropes'. See http://tvtropes.org/ for an explanation of the trope concept.

To the geeks who have read and loooove the book: yes, you will probably see all that my characterizations about the book are all wrong, and defend the author to the death. But to these nuisances I employ a Laser Death Beam 4000 (scoff, no such thing can be invented. fool!) or I can distract them with a hypothetical argument about who would win in a battle: Superman or Batman (laugh. It's so easy to see who would win!)

An Impressive Education

The presence of the Master

Students at the Colorado College in downtown Colorado Springs can reserve a library desk for a 'block' semester. One of the desks had this voluminous collection of books intimidating all those who dare approach.

On the desk, someone left an amusing note remarking about the wall of education presented before her.

Loving note

The note reads: "Jake, Your collection of books is as intimidating as God Himself. In fact, I may just be feeling His presence here at this very carreL.[sic] May He bless your hardworking heart, LOL (Lots of love), Mira".

I was about to feel genuinely impressed with this Jake's hardy studiousness that I could've agreed with Mira. But then I looked at the titles of the books on his shelf.

Cabin in the Woods

Air Force Academy grounds

This was a cabin built by an early settler circa 1870. William Burgess. Some history (I have no interest in). I came across it on Thursday while hiking the Falcon Trail that loops thirteen miles around the academy. If I remember correctly, it was located around mile marker six on the northeast side of the academy grounds.

The gravestones include the names of several children. Note that little Georgie died the same year he was born. Young Bert lived to the prosperous age of three.

Cabin of the Flies

The insides of the windowsills were infested with flies. I hoped there was no rotting carcass attracting them. All the windows and doors were nailed shut. At least no homeless person was living inside.

Adult Coloring

The Penrose Library downtown had a scheduled 'adult coloring' hour today with tables, coloring books, pencils, and crayons set up.

I coloring'd'ed a boutiful Son & Sees. Look Mommy, my pitcher.

I asked the librarian if they also had a public refrigerator, where I could put my picture up. She thought it was a great suggestion! : roll :

Evenin' Diary

Sleep is for the weak

The meet and greet with the police on Sunday night left my body exhausted. The next two nights didn't fare much better for rest. I was so fatigued by Wednesday night, that I felt like I would never be able to sleep a solid night again.

One bad decision ...

Monday, I pulled a marathon gaming session from 9:30 am to 8 pm at the library, to put the previous night's anxiety behind me. For lunch, I ate a bag of peanut butter cookies without getting up from my chair.

Afterwards, I was at frayed ends but couldn't unwind and relax. Eating nothing but cookies and sweets all day didn't help my physical condition one bit. I stayed up until one a.m. feeling strained and tense.

... Leads to another

Tuesday night, I had a late night coffee at McDonald's like a dummy. I wanted my tum-tum to feel comfortable, and I thought warmth from coffee would improve my health. After four days of cold meals from cans, it seemed like a good idea.

But I tell ya, when I haven't had enough sleep, water goes right through me no matter how dehydrated I am. I don't know why. Likely a combination of things: my kidneys being lazy, excess free radicals floating, immune system exhausted from fighting germs. Whatever the reason, it's like all my body cells constantly need to take a piss at the same time.

Two bathroom trips later, I pulled the car into the Walmart lot and went to sleep. It was around 1 a.m. Not surprisingly, I woke up in the middle of the night!

Then life throws something your way

Not by my bladder, though! Once I was awake, sure enough the bladder did keep me from going back to sleep. But what poked my cerebral cortex incessantly was a loud intermittent leaf blower.

Good to be back

Moving back in

The campus police noticed my sleeping presence on Sunday night, so now I'm back to sleeping with Walmart. It's not a bad stay. I feel safe and comfortable next to a 24hr outhouse, with parking lot companions, under a protective spotlight. Plus, I've got a video gaming library down the street.

'Hacking' (not hacking at all)

The Jargon File contains a bunch of definitions of the term ‘hacker’, most having to do with technical adeptness and a delight in solving problems and overcoming limits. 
 - What is a Hacker? Eric Steven Raymond

The library has four gaming PCs in a separate room. (Teens have their own room with an identical setup, but adults are not allowed to mingle with them.) Each PC has Steam with a few games installed, but I don't own rights those games, so I can't play without extra work. I have permission to install any game I want, but anything installed or downloaded gets deleted from storage when I log out. The hour long overhead to wait, download and install a game each time is insufferable.

Instead, I hook up my laptop to their monitor instead of using their PC. I remove the wired internet from the PC and feed it into my computer. This way I can play my own games and make downloads to my laptop. From a distance, you can't really tell I've made any changes and so far, nobody has objected.

Ousted

Sunday night, empty parking lot at UCCS

I sat in the driver seat, squinting. It was 2 a.m. I had been asleep for two hours and fifteen minutes. I went to bed after watching a movie on my tablet.

The movie, Automata (2014), had filled my mind with Blade Runner style atmosphere of authority pursuing humanity to the far reaches of a dystopian world. When the police came knocking, half of my mind was still living in the movie.

The bust

'Keep your hands where I can see them'

Flashlights crossed their beams through my rear passenger window. I felt like the monster on an episode of The X-Files. The glass was fogged up from my breath, and together with the clutter of my nightstand added a dusty basement effect. I climbed to the helm of my discovered vessel.

While the policeman asked me questions, I peeled my jeans on. I had considered putting them on in the backseat, but I don't know if the police could hear me clearly and didn't want to alarm them by disregarding their instructions and rummaging around where they couldn't see what I was doing.

'What are you doing?'

"I was taking a rest."

'Rest? From what?'

"From traveling. I'm on a bigger journey from Virginia headed eventually to Oregon. I've been on the road for several weeks and I can't afford a motel room every night, so I rest in my car."

'So you're going to head out in the morning?'

I hesitate. My honest character prevents me from agreeing with his story.

"I haven't figured out where I'm going to go tomorrow. After I get some rest tonight I can sort it out in the morning. "

'What are you going to do tonight?'

"Well... I guess I ought to check into a motel... one across the street maybe. I need sleep."

He inquires again whether I will continue driving, out of town and off of his beat.

'And are you driving out in the morning?'

"I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow yet. My head isn't thinking straight right now. You've caught me at a loss ... I'm sorry, my brain is ..."

I start blubbering partial sounds that half-form words. It's a cold 31F with the window open. I'm shivering in a tee-shirt, staring off into my steering wheel

He sees I'm no violent threat, not someone dealing drugs nor planning armed robbery. He seems to be sympathetic to my story.

'I can believe we gave you a bit of a surprise there. But you know, we've got to look out for our own. You're on University property and being out here in the middle of the night is a tad suspicious.'

I think that was his guarded way of apologizing. He continues.

'If you want to stay here, I mean it's cold, but now that we know you're here we won't bother you again tonight.'

"Alright, thank you."

I take a pause to consider what he's saying.

"Yeah. I think I'll go to the backseat and go back to sleep. I'll drive in the morning."

The officer who spoke to me drove off, followed by his backup. Without a second thought, I threw my body over the driver seat into my nest of blankets and passed out.

Conclusion

I feel like the university police are younger, less experienced. Sure they're nice and likely to be lenient, but they are also the kind to snoop around asking more questions and looking into things that could lead to trouble for me.

From now on, I intend to stay away from university property after hours.

Found it! Next to Godliness

Get out of the house, man!

I've been at the University two weeks. It dawned on me that I've only been to two places: the library, and the university center. I ought to see the rest of the campus, check out the science facilities and sneak a peek at the research. Exploring paid off in a practical way.

A whole new world

The clock tower attached to the library sang as I set out to explore. A good omen. I also came across a Peaceful Tree from 1988 that apparently was replaced by a younger version in 2013. I'll count that as a win too; I'm two for two. Afterwards I wandered into some buildings.

Fortune smiles

Then I found it! I knew there should be shower facilities somewhere on campus, (for those hip young professors who commute on bikes). I just didn't know where and how accessible.

Experience pays off

On the campus of George Mason University in Virginia where I attended, I had learned to identify the look of a hidden shower. One night I was drenched in a rain storm and ducked into a Biology building for shelter. All the people who had business there had gone home, so I had plenty of time and freedom to wander around while I waited for the last shuttle of the day.

As I walked down the hallways, by chance I came across a restroom and wondered if there would be a way to dry off inside. To my delight, inside I found a shower stall. I peeled off my wet clothes, relaxed in a stream of hot water, then patted myself down with paper towels.

Being observant is an equal part intuition

Afterwards I noticed the signage and doorway had a somewhat industrial look. The additional space taken up by the shower stall as well as the additional plumbing required an awkwardness about its location. Intuition from this experience prompted me to instinctively recognize the exterior look of a hidden shower at the Colorado Springs university today.

While walking through the Science Building, one of the men's rooms next to some physics labs seemed auspiciously housed. I opened the door and Ta Da! Inside, there was a shower stall tucked to one side.

Universal Symbol For:
Woohoo! Free Shower! (top)
For Guy Sleeps in His Car (bottom)

The purity of fear

There's no passage in the Bible that says 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' - it's just an old saying, but this quote below may be the closest thing to one. I find that fear is a much more suitable Biblical message than hygiene. It was appropriate for me too, today.

“The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever.” – Psalm 19:9 NKJV

Fear of the Lord

I went to my car for clean clothes and supplies. Returning to the shower, prepared with a song in my heart and soaps in my pack, I met with a startling sight. There was a professor working in a lab nearby. His presence instilled the fear of God in my throat and I surreptitiously circumnavigated his line of sight. Then my heart skipped another beat when I noticed a grad student studying in the lounge.

Fear is hard to wash off

I know that those scientists were there minding their own work, and wouldn't pay a second thought to me. Even if they did, what are the chances would they to oust me as a smelly homeless trespasser? Nevertheless, against all reason and experience... as the Bible passage says, the fear of the Lord endures forever.

Dressing Room Selfies

Military Fatigues 

Saw a rack of camouflage clothes at the Goodwill. Having an air force academy and an army base close by means these are always in use.

My constipated/war face

I am curious why military clothing would be donated. I am under the impression that military fatigues would distributed to soldiers by the government, and need to be earned with service, rather than bought.

Response to Spotlight (2015)

The Film 

Spotlight is a movie about the Boston Globe's special investigation group named Spotlight that 'uncovered' a systemic cover up within the Catholic church of child molestation done by priests.

The broad facts I discuss are from the movie, so maybe they're not > 50% true. For what that's worth, the movie strives for historical accuracy, and the facts do seem very realistic.

Uncovering a well-known secret

I don't feel the Globe really found out a secret. Many people knew about the crimes before the group of four Globe reporters started their investigation. Victims, family, and prominent members of church and government chose to bury the disgrace rather than speak out. Victims were pressured to silence by other parishioners, by the clergy, and lawyers. Law enforcement, and newspapers assisted by keeping hush.

The newspapers were among the many organizations that knew the extent of the child abuse, but in the past chose not to run the story. Yes, this younger team of reporters may not have realized what was going on, but as a larger organization the Globe had been handed the smoking gun years ago: names and accounts of the victims, letters to the cardinal about the offending priests. Instead of writing the story then and there, exposing the widespread child abuse and tolerance by the church, the Globe played down the crimes as isolated allegations without follow-up and played its own role in burying the truth.

The greater significance of the story was that the Globe finally got around to publishing what large number of victims, priests, families already knew about the church. That it was finally out in the open.

Mistrust

It wasn't so much that people hadn't said anything. It was they tried to in the past and were hushed. So some who attempted to be whistle blowers refused to cooperate a second time, because they were disillusioned and mistrustful, refusing to be led on and betrayed again. Some became complicit with the cover-up, out of self-guilt or resignation that the corruption was irremovable. They resigned that 'the world is what it is', they switched to the winning team, and their hands wound up dirty too.

Yes, there were some who did not want to talk about the crimes for personal reasons from the start. Some wanted to preserve the good image of their community, their faith, and protect their loved ones from shame. But because the heads of the public institutions conspired to make the investigation vanish, personal silence was allowed to persist.

The Cast

Great acting all 'round. I especially like the character Mike portrayed by Mark Ruffalo, a kind of up-and-at-em, dopey but determined, go-getter newspaper reporter. Respect also goes to the quirky and unfriendly lawyer character Garabedian portrayed by Stanley Tucci, who reveals himself to be a compassionate and noble hero.

Crime and Accomplices

In one scene, Garabedian delivers two ideas I want to present/discuss.

First idea: an outsider has perspective that the member of a group does not. He is more inclined to speak out and do the right thing.

The second idea: an individual commits crime, but a crime going unpunished requires the complicit cooperation of an entire community. Are the bystanders any better than the criminal? One does the deed itself, the other cultivates a corrupt environment that allows crimes to propagate.

[The 'good guy' lawyer GARABEDIAN shares a thought with Boston Globe newspaper reporter MIKE about the child molestation cases against Catholic priests.]

GARABEDIAN
Your new editor, he’s a Jew right?

MIKE
Uh, that’s right.

GARABEDIAN
He comes in, suddenly everybody is interested in the Church. 
You know why? Because it takes an outsider.
Like me. I’m Armenian. 
How many Armenians do you know in Boston? 

MIKE
Steve Kurkjian, works at the Globe.

GARABEDIAN
That’s two! You should get a prize or something.
What are you, Italian?

MIKE
Portuguese.

GARABEDIAN
From where?

MIKE
East Boston.

GARABEDIAN
You don’t sound like it.

Mike shrugs. Garabedian shakes his head, chuckles.

GARABEDIAN (CONT’D)
This city, these people, making the rest of us feel like we don’t belong. 
But they’re no better than us.
Look how they treat their children.
(wiping his mouth)
Mark my words, Mr. Rezendes,
if it takes a village to raise a child,
it takes a village to abuse one.

Garabedian eats. Mike ponders. Oddly moved.

source: full script

Groceries and Lunch

Single Item Checkout

I buy single items from Costco, and sometimes I get surprised comments from the receipt security at the exit. (Well, one package of food items.)

So I need a witty rejoinder to compensate. Here are responses from two trips.

#1. Lady: Wow, quite a shopping list there!

• My other shopping cart is full!

#2. Gentleman: Only one item?

• My motto is "One step at a time".
  
  Gentleman: Atta boy!

"All you can eat"

I treat the buffet slogan "all you can eat!" not as a reassurance, but as a mandate.

Food porn: shrimp salad

I go to the Monday to Friday lunch buffet once or twice a week. It is a cost-effective way to get quality nutrition into my diet. Usually, I eat four plates of food over the course of one hour. I don't leave any food on my plate.

Today's haul

Today I took smaller portions and cleaned five plates with a bowl of soup.

Some of the contents in my stomach:

• Three ribs of bbq pork. (eat the cartilage, it's useful)
• Two hunks of grilled steak 
• 8 salt and pepper shrimps
• An orange, a kiwi (helps you fall asleep), four slices each of cantaloupe and honeydew melon, 
• Two baked mussels, a square of salmon (eat the skin, it's nutritious) and of sole fish.
• Mushrooms, string beans, a cheese and bacon stuffed potato
• Three sushi (for the thick avocado slices)
• Salad (dark greens have more nutrition, but have less water) with eggs, cucumber, olives, and ranch dressing.
• Two egg tarts, apple cobbler, and a cream cheese Crab Rangoon.

Of course, I leave holding a Karry-out soft serve ice cream. Vanilla is my preference.

Final price with tax and tip: $10.00 = $7.99 meal + $0.61 tax (7.63%) + $1.40 tip (17.5%)

A buffeter's guide

A buffet can be a boon or a bloat depending on how you approach it. There are so many choices, it's easy to make a bad decision and end up with an uncomfortable meal. The buffet also offers a rewarding challenge. 'Unlimited portions with the freedom to choose! Make the best of me and you will leave satisfied!'

Here's some tips and strategies I follow in my buffet regime. Before I begin let me warn you that the goal I set for myself is not a pleasure tasting cruise. I'm there to get as much food and nutrition as I can, so I don't go hungry and have to pay for it later. Remember my mandate: "all you can eat!"

Model Employee

Shane, the Walmart Worker 

I saw this a week ago on Tumblr, and it gives me a good chuckle when I think about it.

Post by Voxxmcmuffin: "My co-worker at a Walmart deli causes a lot of trouble for management"

Shane, taking Walmart to the next level:

http://voxxmcmuffin.tumblr.com/post/89939509502/shane-the-walmart-worker

Swinecraft is brilliant. 8-piece chicken, some assembly required - LOL. Extended warranties on fried chicken is a must!

Diary

Observation

i want to see normal people going about their daily lives. working. i want to be working in an atmosphere of people doing work.

university has all the facilities I need, but not the social atmosphere. it doesn't have real people living real lives doing real work. it has students who are disconnected from the outside world, from each other, and from their studies. it's a deprivation tank of normalcy.

UCCS university cafeteria

in a public library you catch tidbits of reality. a senior librarian instructing the new librarian how to do things. kids coming in from school mid afternoon. an elderly patron asking to check out a book, place something on hold, etc. librarians chatting 'cause they've worked with each other for years. people going in and out from work to home. unemployed lady using the computer to look for jobs. Hispanics learning English. Going back to school types looking to pick up a medical service degree.

at the university you have a work-study student manning an island by the exit, silently browsing Facebook. hundreds of students pass by each day, within inches, without a greeting spoken.

Journal

I found among my clothes a shirt my parents bought for me on their vacation in the Swiss Alps. It was uncomfortable and scratchy, but I kept it because they wanted me to wear it. 

 

I have zero use for it, but on Monday I geared up to go running and I put it on hoping it would be some use to me. It just made it difficult to layer clothes on top of it to stay warm, then on top of that it scratched my skin. So, I got mad and destroyed it. 

 

It represented to me how my parents want me to look and live in a way that makes them happy, expecting that it would help me, when it has a harmful effect. Below is the entry I wrote in my journal.

 

i was angry but I tore the shirt calmly. dispassionately, almost. It wasn't in the tearing of the shirt that gave me violent joy, but in rendering it useless, making it unable to cause me further harm that provided justice, relief.

the shirt was a physical embodiment of my parents pressing an image, their preference of who they want me to be, onto me. It could little be any more direct, putting on a shirt to change one's appearance, in an image that suits their preference.

giving it to someone else, donating it would be insufficient. This shirt was given to me. It wasn't simply a shirt, it was my shirt, for me, intended to change my person into another. It must be destroyed, first, before leaving my possession.

 

Reading Notes

$2.00 a Day: living on almost nothing in America.

ISBN 978-0-544-30318-8

2015,  Kathryn J. Edin and H. Luke Shaefer.

The Alarmist

introduction. 'In early 2011, 1.5 million households with roughly 3 million children were surviving on cash incomes of no more than $2 per person, per day in any given month. That's about one out of every twenty-five families with children in America... the number of families in $2-a-day poverty had more than doubled in just a decade and a half.'
[Not including SNAP food stamps. With SNAPS counted, the numbers are halved]

'Although the rate of growth was highest among African Americans and Hispanics, nearly half of the $2-a-day poor were white.'

Food stamps about $200 a month, about $7 a day in groceries. That amounts to $9 a day, which is enough food to survive. Plus if you get lunch at a soup kitchen and free bread from a pantry, that's like 1/3 of your meal cost provided for. So, no. Not '$2-a-day' as the book misleads, and likes to repeatedly mis-terminolog-ize.

I'm getting so sick of seeing this '$2-a-day' branded like a trademark all over their 'let's sell a book' book. Look at all this phony bologna self promotion of its product. It's like those pyramid scheme self-help seminars that repeat how great its results are, and that's the entire meeting, to get you to pay admission to more meetings. 

'$2.00 a Day shows that the transformation of the social safety net is incomplete, with dire consequences.'

LOL fuck you. Get outa office ya stupid Bushleaguer. And take your dire consequences Cheney with you. Fucking toxic.

Actually living on $2 expenditure a day as an adult is not possible

It's not possible to eat on $2 a day, 365 days a year. If somebody gives you food that's worth more than $2, and you didn't pay for it, that doesn't count. The worth of the food and services you receive cannot exceed $2.

Sustaining an adult with that budget is just impossible. That translates to $1.00 bread from Walmart and $0.72 can of black beans a day. I've been eating this diet and no, it is not sufficient. It only accounts for something like %50 of the day's recommended carbohydrates, 20g of protein, and 15% iron.

A can of spinach would add vitamins k, a, a meager amount of calcium and iron. But that would break the bank at $0.80 extra. Plus, that stuff tastes gross from a can.

What's more, you can't make any variation from this menu, because there is no alternative food choice when your budget is absolute minimum. You have to eat the exact same meal every day, so nutritional gaps in your diet exacerbate. You can't say, substitute your can of protein for some needed vitamins A, C, E, calcium, because nothing is available at an equivalent price!

Reading Notes

Charles D'Ambrosio. "Loitering: New and Colected Essays".

Tin House Books. Portland Oregon, 2015 printing. ISBN 978-1-1935639-87-9

Unrelated photo illustrations provided by me, a guy taking pictures from the top of a snow hill that was created by plows in a parking lot.

Essay on "Loitering"

The essayist describes a media circus at the scene of domestic violence where police respond.

"This whole aimless scene badly needs a plot, and nothing emphasizes that more than these journalists, these TV people, standing around in a parking lot scattered with expensive equipment that now waits idly for... something.

... [There is] a sense of collective anticipation, a weird hope. Really it would be a relief if that gun would go off."

"It's weird to watch what amounts oxymoronically to a rehearsal of urgent news, especially without sound, emptied of content, because this pantomime of immediacy is patently fake, a charade, a fine-tuning, not of emotions, but the reenacted look of emotions. It's method acting or something. In a curious twist, I realize I always knew TV news seemed full of shit, but I never knew it was, in fact, full of shit. Previously I thought the TV news had a certain endemic phoniness because all the reporters were sorority girls who'd majored in communications, but it never occurred to me that the fakery was intentional."

"Every time I turned around [the TV reporter] he was chatting up another secretary, then he'd rush in front of the camera and morph into the face of a slightly panicked and alarmed person nevertheless manfully maintaining heroic control while reporting nearby horrors. To look at his on-camera face you'd think Godzilla was eating lawyers off the Winslow ferry."

Those TV news gigalos and prostitutes are in the lucrative business of perpetuating a lie. That's why their hair needs to be crisp and suave, despite a downpour of rain. Why their tragedy and concern and sympathy and outrage are vapid and as interchangeable from story to story as parts are on a broadcast news assembly line.

They are paid to tell and re-tell a consistent story. A well-rehearsed and cliche script with directed intent. A story that creates an atmosphere of fear and obedience. [See the movie Nightcrawler, 2014). An alternating entertaining and unsettling narrative to keep you distracted, grateful to make money for your employers, pay your share to the credit card and the rest to taxes. Keep you scabbing ( The modern strikebreaker sells his birthright, his country, his wife, his children and his fellow men for an unfulfilled promise from his employer, trust or corporation. - Jack London) in pursuit of superfluous sensations like new car smell, a French aroma, the tactile pleasure of thick cloth napkins, a Bourbon, a potable fashion accessory to dress up your morning commute (Starbucks).

Reminds me of a student I saw recently. A yuppie-wanna-be tool board the university shuttle wearing bright yellow translucent rimmed sunglasses (Rockrimmon' y'all). He had on a half faux-leather half-polyster motorcycle jacket, white iPod earbuds, a Starbucks attached to the end of his arm like a woman carries a purse, a messy hair cut carefully arranged with product. And... OH YEAH! Of course, he's too high society to wear a (scornfully childish) backpack, so he's touting one of those wide, leather shoulder-sling bags at the mall that cost $300 for their worn down look. I wanted to let out a hearty "HA" when I saw this ridiculous consumer billboard take a seat in front of mine.

Essay on "Seattle, 1974"

"A reading list - Joyce, Pound, Eliot, et al. - that was really little more than a syllabus for a course on exile. You could probably dismiss this as one of those charming agonies of late adolescence, but let me suggest that it's also a logical first step in developing an aesthetic, a reach toward historical beauty, the desire to join yourself to what's already been appreciated and admired. You want to find yourself in the flow of time, miraculously relieved of your irrelevance."

The idea the essayist presents of belonging to an admired community is kind of ironic. The individuals who we remember in history tend to be people who stood out from their time and said the things others wouldn't, thought the unthinkable, dared the impossible. That belonging to their lot requires a detachment from the conventions, the thralls of their society, the fears and safety of belonging to their generation. It's a community of people who don't belong.

The narrator see this affinity toward great authors as a form of belonging, but it is actually an antithesis to belonging of or by their society. The following statement may be kind of obvious, not needed to be said. But membership into this admired community, does not allow one to get in a room with all the past historical heroes and share a drink. I think this pursuit of fame or praise will never be an adequate substitute to the psychological need for real social belonging.

Aftermath

University of Colorado Springs parking lot

 

Pike's Peak in the distance

The mountains appear even more beautiful after the storm.
It's like 'we're still here and you are too.
So take a look, you've earned it!'

Hotel View

View from EconoLodge at Colorado Springs, near Air Force Academy.

Surreal

At a loss for what else to do yesterday in the wake of a storm that shut down the city, I came up with enough good reasons to check into a $50 hotel.

Quotable

Ecclesiastes 9:10

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might; for there is no work, or thought, or knowledge, or wisdom in the place of the dead to which you will go.

Rudeness

This encounter occurred at Walmart in downtown Colorado Springs, Monday night of the storm.

 

A woman bruskly strode up behind me and assaulted something at my ear.

I removed my headphones.

'Yes? What's up-' I began.

'You're not allowed to hook up here.' she repeated, cutting off my greeting.

I took a moment to digest the meaning of her message. She was referring to my laptop plugged into the wall outlet. Then waited for her request or demand to follow. But that's all she said, glaring down while standing over me.

She expected me to make my move, watching me like I was a criminal in violation of a moral crime so obvious that the rule needed not be posted, nor the consequences of such a violation to be clarified.

She watched for me to make an objection, to mark any note of defiance that would betray me to be the scoundrel she sought to flush out.

Sincerity and Assistance

Sincerity

A closure sign at ESM written out of sincerity would've read something like this:

Due to inclement weather, we are closed for the safety of our staff and their obligations to their loved ones .
If you are in need of emergency assistance, pleased contact 911.
We are sorry we cannot provide you with services today.

Jonathan, you're so critical! You fault others, but did you help anyone today in this storm? What have you done?

I heard a fag lady on the radio, challenge her listeners 'When was the last time you did something nice for someone else?' I answered, 'Fuck you!' and turned her bullshit off.

Helping is not for the sake of looking good and staking a claim to virtuous superiority when you desire, but as is appropriate.

It's not about how often you did 'something nice', like exercising for a prescribed duration every day. It's not about you, and whether you did something as 'proof' that you are a superior person.

Intentions hardly worth mentioning

I don't think it's worth reporting the 'good deeds' I did today, because they were hardly deeds, wholly inconsequential, and none out of the ordinary. But this radio lady spurned me to make comment on the events, to illustrate my point.

A van was unable to climb the hill. I offered to push his van from the back. But on evaluation, we both resigned that the van was too heavy for that to be of much good use, plus it could be a danger to me standing behind a backward sliding vehicle. So I was of no help.

I was friendly and good-natured to all the service employees who I encountered today. They showed up to work during the storm when many others called out. That meant I could purchase food and find shelter indoors, their effort made my life easier. In return, I was pleasant, respectful, and showed them they were appreciated.

Kayla's Blessing

Winter Storm Kayla

Snow. Yay! Snow day. A blessing!

The storm, a blessing? Maybe not, but true blessings are only possible in the face of adversity!

The adversity

Roads are difficult. Snow robs my vehicle's tires of their traction.

Slow driving is the safest speed, yet also the most treacherous. Braking from 5 mph to zero gives my car the most difficulty and often creates hazards. Several times I ended my skid too far out into an intersection or rudely close to the car in front of me.

A heroine

Hills are often hard to gauge. I saw this unassuming climb defeat many vehicles in the afternoon, including a metropolitan bus. A lady passenger exited and directed traffic at the intersection, for the bus to retreat its along course in reverse. A heroine!

Yellow bus (left) is unable to climb the slope