I violated airport security taking (or trying to take) pictures this weekend. Sunday afternoon a friend of mine brought me out to a spot where he sits and watches planes break the “ceiling” (he’s a pilot so he’s allowed to use pilot-speak) and coast in. I had just enough time to snap a few test frames before FAA security personnel showed up and asked us to leave.

To my surprise what I was doing was a national security risk. If I’m intent on getting the pictures I want, I’ll need to get a little more James Bond.

I’m thinking of starting an operation to get the pictures I want. Operation DumbButt. The crux of this operation involves me driving around Hobby airport in a suspicious manner waiting for an opportunity to jump out and take a couple of pictures. It took a good ten minutes for a response from FAA security so I figure I have a window of ten minutes to get the picture and get out. That’s Operation DumbButt objective 1, get the picture. Objective 2 involves me staying out of jail.

Objective 2 is the most important part of the operation. The FAA sec guy pointed out several cameras in the vicinity of our watch area. There’s a good chance that after a successful completion of Objective 1 I run the risk of having Objective 2 fall apart while FBI, CIA, and NSA park black helicopters over my apartment and drag me to seedy warehouses filled with all manner of equipment that probes you in all the wrong ways (unless you happen to be into that kind of thing).

Once I’ve determined how to complete Objective 2, once I’m certain I haven’t been spotted, tagged, or contained for committing an act that violates National Security, I’ll move onto Objective 3, posting the pictures on the internet =)…

There’s an alien on my porch. I found him three months ago, abandoned on the small lawn outside my apartment.

He’s a tiny guy, kind of slimy and gray. He just sits there, sunning himself during the day, waiting for his chance to phone home.

I set him on my porch thinking that whatever kid lost him would come back by, see him sitting on my railing, and rescue him. He’s had no such luck.

He’s held up pretty well so far, he gets a little sweaty on the hot days but it’s nothing he can’t handle. I thought the other day about him sitting out on my porch like some Native Man’s totem, my own personal gargoyle. Is this how superstition starts? I find an inanimate child’s toy lying in the grass, and set it on my porch. If he lasts another year I may give him a name. Two years and he’ll be a permanent decoration.

Given enough time, the thing seems to take on more and more significance. If he lasts a generation, he may become an heirloom, and if he lasts two, he may become a good luck charm. Three generations may make him some a sort of family saint, a protector.

My alien’s consistency isn’t made of a generation spanning material; my point was that maybe that is how legend, superstition, magic, and idols are created. They are novelties, trivial, but give them some time…

This is another pic I took last Wednesday -- wish the compression didn't take some much out of the image... 

Took this pic last Wednesday. The only reason I got this and several other shots were because a auto-parts store rented out some tools they said they would keep for me. I had to detour, run across town, and find another parts supply store that had the tools I needed. On my way out to my parent?s house, I saw the moon was out, and the sky was grapefruit pink. I drove to this park not far from their place on the bay and found it still and at rest. I spent over an hour out there, just taking pictures. It was worth the delay. 

Houston looks of winter long before it feels of winter. The sky turns gray, the trees bare, but still the temperature hovers around 70-85 degrees.

Winter is marked not by temperature but by the dull wet look of everything.

The weatherman is telling me by Thanksgiving the temperatures may fall as low as 41 at night. It’s November 22nd, I’ve worn my coat twice this year, I only needed it once. I’ve come to think of wearing my coat as a special occasion.

In Houston a couple of times a year, the weather treats us to a day where hard works is required to produce a sweat. Houston typically makes sweating an easy exercise; breathing is all it takes to give you a good sheen.

I’m looking forward to a few days at the end of the week when Houston will look and feel in sync.

Today I had a brief reprise from the everyday, a small moment that made the world seem a little brighter. Walking from my car to class is usually a mundane task, how many times have I taken such a walk? I pass from my car to the building without noticing the world, the people, the traffic, all float by on mute. Today though, today I woke up before finishing my walk, woke before finding my seat along the back row of the classroom.

I cross one road on my way to class. Today I woke at that crossing to see a tiny girl holding a very large umbrella. She stood about 5’1’’ or so, petite, wearing a black shirt that camouflaged her perfectly against the dark umbrella she held, and a red hat that clashed so perfectly it almost hurt my eyes.

I was frozen.

This girl could have gone Mary Poppins at any moment, gliding over street and lot.

How much have I missed? I looked around; no one seemed to recognize the wonderful peculiarity taking place. How much have I missed?

I think it was the wonderful contrast; it was such a photographic moment. I stood for only a moment, then the walk light turned on and it was over, she moved out of frame, and I finished my walk to class.

A photograph is a small moment, today it would have been 1/15 or 1/20sec, how many 1/20sec’s have I missed.

Their killing the country near my parents place building a massive freeway that will circle the entire metropolitan area of Houston. In ten years a strip mall will mark areas where cattle and horses used to graze. Is there anything more depressing than development? 

**I'm posting this against better judgment, while the connections seem clear in my mind they don't translate from mind to paper -- its late and I'm tired, I may tinker with it later, see if I can make my way to something coherent***

God gives all of us certain things we’re good at. My friend is an extrovert, everyone loves him, he’s the party. He is gravity.

When I met him, he was almost 300 pounds, in the matter of nine months he pulled off 120 pounds of fat and added pure muscle.

He’s made over $800,000 dollars investing in the stock market using his retirement funds. He’s lost over a million dollars in the stock market, and several tens of thousands at the boats in Louisiana.

He never completed high school; he dropped out to work at a Subway because he got his girlfriend (first wife) pregnant. He got his GED, studied computer networking, worked his way into several high paying jobs, and then quit them.

He met his second wife a few months after his divorce. Had two kids. Lost everything gambling while they were married, she split.

He’s smart, brilliant in some ways, and the most ignorant man I know. He plays big, and looses big.

He is the most evolutionary person I have ever met. Change is a way of life for him.

He’s one year older than me.

I wouldn’t trade lives with him, but I envy him. A successful looser.

I understand why he draws women to him, I understand without comprehension. He’s that guy, the single father of three little girls, he’s the bad boy, he’s athletic, he ask you like he cares, he offers advice to his friends like he’s a sage, and they listen. He’s a year away from having the next girlfriend, fiancé, or wife leave because he’s so unstable. Everything is fluid with him. He’s “that guy.”

Do all relationships have to operate with such self deceit at the beginning? I know the girls he’s dated / married believed that all his craziness was in the past, that he would be / was changed. They liked that he was dangerous, then despise him for it later.

Me I’m like my friends doppelganger. My life is safe, lived within practical confines. I’ve been stuck in a moderate mode of success. I’m introverted to a degree, never been the life of the party, never lost or gained a fortune, never been married.

I will never be “that guy.”

Several weeks ago a girl I was dating went quietly out of my life. We had a few conversations, I did, said, or looked a certain way, and she said, “I’ll call you” at the end of a phone call.

Experience tells me “I’ll call you” is a polite goodbye. I didn’t call her back, didn’t write, but I thought about her. I played it as cool as I knew how, I’m not “that guy” I don’t create drama. Some would call this being normal.

What went wrong?

At some point, I may find out what happened, what went wrong. Will it be something trivial?

I’m not my friend, I’m not “that guy” I wouldn’t want to be, but sometimes vacationing as him for a little while might be nice.

Two of a Kind -- Brazos Bend 

Riding out of here.. 

Wednesday, I promised my fan base that I would post on Wednesday, what I promise my fans I deliver =). Okay that’s it end of post…

Just kiddin at ya (whoever you are).

So much to say I don’t feel like saying any of it, the mountain I feel I’m going to attempt to climb here with a couple of posts, well it leaves me tense, anticipation is worse than the task itself.

Now don’t run off, I didn’t mean a mountain of words, I’ve heard my public, less with the words, get to the point. These next few posts are going to be my attempt at dissecting myself, and my relationships with others. There you have it, run now while you have a chance.

I’m not going to start with this post, I’ll start tomorrow (I’m a procrastinator =) ). I’m wasted this evening; I stayed up to late watching the election and studying.

Quick post (I haven't had many long post lately have I???), gotta run soon. Yesterday was a collage, I started off with work, lots of studying, and a party last night. I haven't had the best week and the work Saturday just kind of topped it off. I'll talk about my week later (after Wednesday), the results are in, yes I'm pretty sure I blew it (see dimwitted below =) ).

Last night was refreshing though, I can't describe how relieving it was to hang out, spend some time with friends after the emontionally draining week I've had. I almost didn't go, I almost said forget it, I'm to tired.

Being depressed is natural, staying depressed takes work I think. Seperating yourself feels like the right thing to do when your feeling gray, its also the worst thing you could do. Your thoughts and feelings are your worst companions when your down. Maybe this is why the Bible emphasizes gathering together with fellow believers, think I'll go do that now...

My title for this is Shadow of a Doubt... The real title should be "What to do instead of studying.". While I was out in a field next to my apartments watching the eclipse, I thought about quite a few things. The first thing I thought about was my annoyance at the light pollution. The other was my annoyance at myself for not having enough of my school work completed so that I could go out to Brazos Bend with a friend of mine to experience this. The last was curiosity. People seemed oblivious to this eclipse, why is that, how is that? How can you not stare in wonder?  

Writing is emotional labor. My writing stretches pieces of me along the page as I write. I seem unable to throw what I am thinking and feeling into a few sentences, I live in the parenthesis, I find I can't end my thoughts with neat simple periods.

I've been particularly conflicted this week. I have lots to write about but no time to do it. I'm waiting the results of some dimwitted decisions this week. If things work out in the way I expect I will have a few very drab posts.

I started writing this blog again in hopes of giving light hearted commentary, but a dark vein seems to spread through my writing on its own.

This is probably due to my insistent focus on myself for the last month or so. Anybody that tells you that your guide to happiness and self-fulfillment starts with focusing on you is Lyyyyiiinnngggg!!!!

I've become aware that I need to get my focus back on God, where it belongs. How many times will I have to learn this lesson? Will this time be the last? I doubt it. It's a different lesson really; it's slight variations on the same theme.

My compromises weren't great leaps of moral degradation, they were small slips, inward struggles that I began loosing because I've been skipping my quite times in the morning.

Without a focus on God, without spending time in prayer, church, and the Bible I become a gray person. Doubt and fear create this self-loathing, reclusive, apathetic individual I see in the mirror.

It makes sense, place a tree in darkness and it will twist itself; stretch to meet a single ray of light. My sprit was in the midst of twisting, searching, for that ray of light for the last couple of weeks.

I want to write more on this, and other things. How much would I have to say if I lived and interesting life?

BTW – I installed the software to post pics up, what can I say, I like it a lot!!

Doctored Photo -- Took this around Dayton, TX.

When It Rains... 

There is a short story entitled “The Storm” I read during one of my college literature classes. The story involves an affair consummated after a storm forces two lovers together beyond their control. Just about everyone thrashed the story for its loose morals, and lame excuses (Lee Community College could not be considered a liberal school).

Saturday I thought about that story. I was sitting in a Herman Park gazebo during a rain shower. Next to me was an old friend of mine.

She called me a couple of weeks ago to find out if I would be interested in taking a few pictures of her family for Christmas.

“Sure,” I said, why not?

She wanted to meet up before bringing her kids out to the park to discuss where we would take the pictures, what sort of clothes to wear, etc… We met up on Saturday at Herman, and started touring a few places I thought would make for good pictures.

“I’ve been thinking of leaving my husband,” she said.

I knew. I knew when she first called me.

I knew, and I shouldn’t have gone. I knew, but I wanted to find out, to massage my ego a little. All I managed to do was make myself feel sick inside. It’s been a while since I’ve committed sin that ached as deep as this does.

A year ago, the situation wouldn’t have bothered me; a year ago, I may have been open for whatever it was she wanted from me. My conscience trembled with repulsion Saturday, I am not the me of a year ago.

We sat in a gazebo when the rain came. Another couple escaped the wet with us for a while. They sat with us, but they were alone to themselves.

Five minutes after they left, we decided to make our way to the parking lot. As we made our way, we saw the gazebo couple near the reflection pool. She was barefoot, surrendering her sandals to the rain, he was soaked, and down on one knee, purposing. She held the umbrella over her head, but somehow drops still slipped down her cheek.

Consider the contrast of my “friend” and I as we sat in the gazebo next to this couple.

How strange human relationships are. If you were to take a relationship and follow it from beginning to end, the emotions involved are overwhelming.

My “friend” (I’m sick of calling her that) and I have known each other for around ten years. She’s a couple of years older than I, and when we first met, I was infatuated with her.

Two years after we met I was still infatuated with her, but reserved, being turned down will do that to you. She got married around that time. Six months later, she had her first child. A year and a half later, she had her second.

I’ve seen her maybe three times over the last five years. Age does something to taste, the last time we met I saw her for what she was, a user.

Our relationship has come full circle, from my pursuing her, to her pursuing me. It will go no farther. I have no desire to be part of the grief she will bring into her life. Her path is set on selfishness now; she doesn’t care about her kids, only herself.

My professor for literary criticism was a man of the world; he argued with most of the class that the characters from “The Storm” had no choice in their actions, they were compelled by destiny to come together. There was a girl in the class, she had been cheated on, she was vehement, “It’s just water, water doesn’t compel anyone,” she said.

My friend will find someone, sooner or later; there are a lot of suckers out there. There will be excuses, accusations, drama. She may feel that she has been compelled to find romance in her life to fill voids left by her husband. Would it do any good to tell her the voids are hers, she’ll just carry them with her to the next relationship.

I passed and failed a test this weekend. I passed on an invitation, failed to see the real test was not showing up in the first place.

The words, they come hard today. I’ve wondered about writing, about the magic of it. Anyone reading this is capable of placing words on a page. Anyone that can read, can write, but not really. I can read Faulkner, Hemingway, or King (yes I put King in there, name one other author whose prose flows as naturally), but to write like them, to create the magic with a blank page they do, not many can claim that talent.

What kind of power is that? How do they do it?

Authors cannot tell you how they do what they do. Many believe the power of an author lies in imagination, I don’t think so. I can give you an idea right now, but it would turn to drill, or be useless to all but a few with the skill to transfer idea to page.

I started a novel one time, got about forty pages in and it just dried up. This story that seemed so alive, so effervescent, it left, fizzed out. All writing is that way. Some things gel, pages write themselves for stories that gel, the others, well I can write words, but their never the right words.

You’re waiting for the idea aren’t you? Here’s the deal, I’m going to purpose a contest. I’ll supply an idea, you write a short story, send it to me, if it’s any good I’ll sell it and make some money =). Just kiddin, I’m gonna put an idea I have out there, it’s thin, not much meat on it, but books have been written with less. See what you can come up with. I purpose the stories get posted up on the net, we’ll see how everyone did.

“Filing Cabinet” – a man buys a filing cabinet at a garage sale that contains old papers, pictures, a few cassette tapes. Among the papers are diagrams for inventions, blackmail photos, incriminating documents, state secrets, etc… There is a folder called “In” if he puts a name on a piece of paper and places it in the folder a new folder will appear with the vilest sins this person has ever committed. What happens when he puts his own name in the folder? Is there a folder called out, and what happens when he puts names in it? What happens when he puts events, or future dates? Where did the cabinet come from? Why does he feel darkness congregates around the room where the cabinet is?
(Post-Publish edit -- upon reviewing this idea it seems dime story trash. I've morphed it a little into something more real, I don't know if that's a good thing. I stand by what I said before; a true writer's power doesn't lie in imagination, but in language. Skilled hands may make more of this idea than I ever could.)

That’s it. Not much there, but to the best of my knowledge it’s original. I don’t remember reading or seeing anything close to that. See what you can come up with. If a short story materializes, email me.

I haven’t been at this very long, I don’t think I have very many readers; I’m hoping that there are maybe a few. I would like to see what others can come up with.

If you’ve read the StopAhead blog I mentioned earlier you should have seen an entry referring to people watching. Go read the entry then come back, I would like to give my take on the “interesting Sixty Surfer” my friend referred to.

So my friend and I we met at Starbucks, got some coffee, and a table outside. If you’ve read over her blog you may appreciate the intensity at which she can deconstruct people, I was a little nervous but disguised it with cough syrup (not on purpose btw). This is a hobby of hers, observing people, then speculating on their life, personalities, etc…

We were having a little fun observing people, then a man walked by that she noticed. When he walked back by she pointed him out.

The man had the look of an aged rock star. He wore a stage costume for wardrobe, his hair draped straight, and bleached white around his face. His weight and voice screamed a long struggle with chemical dependency.

He sat down behind us and joined a conversation we weren’t having, and we followed right along. He was a master smoker. He made love to his cigarette while we talked; he smoked it down to the filter, and then smoked the filter.

I watched him more than listened to him because what he was saying was such an obvious load of crap I felt I would need to flush if I listened to long.

My friend moved closer to the guy, engaging him in conversation. I have to admit I was a little annoyed. The guy was a bore. I don’t enjoy talking to someone who lies so often during a conversation that the strain of remembrance weighs on his face when you ask him a question.

She said later she thought he had a mental disorder (she deals with mentally unhealthy people for a living). I thought he was inventive, not crazy.

I wish we had gone and talked to another patron of Starbucks we saw walking in. He was an elderly gentleman, wore a three-piece suit, and in my mind I see a gold link chain attached to his vest to hold a pocket watch.

Given the chance, I prefer to talk to someone whose lies are at least subtle enough I need to work to find them.

That’s my take on the Rob Stewart wannabe. I tried to make cool while talking to the guy, attempted a feigned interest afterwards, the cough syrup couldn’t contain my distain though, and I think she saw it.

I watched Waking Life today. I know I’m a late comer to this film; I’ve been hearing about it for years but never gave it a chance.

If you haven’t seen the movie, it follows a guy around a series of dreams that contain existential theories, and philosophical questions. Question upon question presents itself to this guy and his response is admirable, he listens. I believe him to be the wise-man of the film.

Some may question me by labeling what the passive character of the piece as a wise-man. He has no theories; very little of what he adds is relevant. Well that may be true, but very little of what anyone has to say in the film is relevant.

There is gravity to the questions, but none of them contains relevance. Philosophy is fun, I enjoy listening to such discussions, but it’s doomed to remain in the land of the theoretical, it solves nothing, it answers nothing. “Where’s the milk” will always be a more relevant, and important than “Are we all just part of a dream?”

At some point in the film, I thought about the differences between philosophers and scientists. Scientists work on explaining the absolutes. They want concrete, proven answers, they want formulas. Philosophers work in areas where science cannot create formula or workable theory. Is this foolish? I don’t think so. Scientific knowledge is a temporary thing. If you want to write truth down don’t do it in the form of scientific law, the next scientific revolution will prove your law folly.

If you want to write truth, the closest you can come is writing about the human experience of here and now. A good philosopher would ask me to define truth for them. To them I would say that it’s something you have to define for yourself =) .

First blog entry in over two years. It’s a historic day folks, mark your calendars.

Hello, anybody, hello, I’m not hearing any cheering, I don’t get a polite applause? You know the polite applause right, the applause given to fill the silence between introduction and when the speaker begins talking.

I’m always thinking to myself during one of these obligation claps that maybe this person doesn’t deserve the applause. What have they done? You don’t know what this person is about yet. What if this guy is getting up to inform the audience he intends to sell cigarettes to five year olds and use the profits to lobby congress into allowing him to strip mine national parks? You just never know, you could be applauding this guy and he’s a freeloading, kid corrupting, dog hater (I knew if I failed to convince you he was a bad guy by any other means being a dog hater would put you on my side =) ).

Where is this going? I… well, I’m not sure. I don’t have an agenda, no meeting notes, no audience that I know of.

I’ve decided to start writing in this blog again to sharpen my writing skills, to have an emotional release, to…well I’m writing because I mentioned to a new friend of mine that I had posted to a blog at one time. This was during one of our first conversations; she had a blog so of course I had to mention my short lived endeavor at blogging. If you’ve never been there I suggest you check our her blog StopAhead I give it high marks in all categories (but I’m not gonna tell you what the categories are =) ).

It’s phenomenal. Superb prose, excellent pacing, and she expresses levels of detail about everyday life that is not easy to capture. She’s done this four / five times a week for the last couple of years. If you don’t believe me go check it out for yourself.

So fair is fair, she wants to see my blog. I was (am) intimidated. I have three or four entries over the last two years. Most of my entries are quirk, muddled with a little self loathing and pity humor. My entries were written by a guy that no longer exists, a more apathetic, and alone version of what I am now.

I needed a change in my blog, a new direction, a fresh start. It needs to mirror the new me, a changed me.

So what has changed? I think I’ve grown up in an important way between this post and the last one.

I’m happy being me. Experiences over the last couple of years made me happy to be me.

Being “happy being yourself” or “your terrific just the way you are” has always sounded a little to “after school special” for my taste but it’s hard to argue with.

Society teaches us to become different people; we are never good enough the way we are. If you excel at modeling yourself to fit society’s image you go to Hollywood and make millions of dollars.

Society is right in the wrong way.

We are not good enough; we will never be “good” enough, that part is true. Society says we can fix ourselves that we can become better people, we can transcend, morph our bodies and our minds to fit whatever image we want to project. We can’t. Deep down everyone knows we can’t, people will be what they will be.

Well that’s not very optimistic, that’s terrible, depressing, bring back that old guy, he may have been apathetic but this is down right morbid!!!

You’re right, but I haven’t finished. I’m not one to preach, I get a queasy feeling just writing this. I get this feeling whenever I’m in the deep end of a conversation, like the eyes of the world are shouting contempt at my attempt to think deep.

They say, “Who does he think he is? Does he think he’s being original? Does he think he’s clever?”

To those eyes I say, “I am who I am,” “No,” and “Yes I do.”

You ready for this, my mini-sermon, my life altering formula? God can change you. God changes hearts and minds. It’s true. To not say this would mean I would have to face the reproach of the eyes in the mirror. Those eyes, those eyes, are unmerciful, and full of more than just contempt. Those eyes, they know.

I changed when I stopped denying God, when I accepted I would never feel comfortable living a life I knew was wrong.

The apathy is still there, but a simple acknowledgement of who I am allowed rays of optimism to shine through.

Sounds hokey doesn’t it? Well maybe it is, but so what. Hokey is a better companion than cynicism.

Embrace the hokey =)…

I hope to keep this blog running for a little while. I hope to make it full of hokey optimism, but barring that, I hope to at least avoid apathy.