Addendum to earlier scowl

And then I noticed a curious thing. Right there, between two slabs of ordinary concrete and landlocked by a sea of asphalt comprised by layers of sticky paste from long dead plants and animals and aggregate, against all our pitiful efforts, two spars little sprigs of green, reminding me to remember nature has the long view. How irrelevant we are.

Damn Protestant work ethic!

I don't know why it is I take performance of a corporate entity so personally. It is not healthy, I feel that, but at the end of the day, I feel guilty and they call that ownership. But ownership comes with control and a return on your investment. Does the old ethic even apply when you are a salary stooge? With no control of my corporate destiny beyond that which a rat exerts over an oceanliner?

Or perhaps it was just a hard day.

January 2

So despite the arbitrary calendar date selected to signify a point of reflection, it is, and therefore one does. December is gone, good or bad, and with a year behind that seems incredible when I think on it, and sadly left unfinished, when I count all of the things that I did not do, or see, or taste, etc. 

I find myself for the first time in my life, overwhelmed, with the number of wonderful, caring, and loving individuals who, inexplicably, find me fascinating or interesting enough to be desirous in their company. I find this amazing. For some time now I have been of the mind that I was not an easy person to get along, which I do not find reason to dispute, which means that either humanity has become more tolerant, I have become more adroit at finding tolerant or at least likewise belligerent people, or I have made some successes in honing my behaviors to be less offensive. I would like to believe all three of these things are true. Suffice to say, that regardless of the reason behind this sudden up swell in friends, I consider myself to be very lucky.

The year was a good one for travel [Tuscon, Coachella, London, Paris, Stonehenge, Caerphilly] for projects [Tardis, writing, etc] for people, and by extension inspiration. I find myself so energized by all of these things that it should probably not be surprising that I have (despite December's distractions, amiable as they may be) have recommenced writing on this January evening. I find myself hesitant to label myself as always, but author, or perhaps creator is a title or descriptor I am becoming more comfortable with. 

To this I owe much thanks to some of these wonderful people who have enhanced my happiness in the last year. I consider myself to be very lucky to possess such a smattering of diverse personalities and differentiated strengths to lean against, and perhaps most of all to be living in an age where digital forms of communication allow me to balance time with people and remain connected despite my hermitty habits.  I will never tire of saying "Thank god for Google Calendar" and then be instantly amused by where I put the capitalization. 

It has also been an exceptional year for music, and I think back to the bewilderment I once had sitting in a certain English class at the wild and sometimes incomprehensible passion a certain teacher had for such a myriad of musical selections. Sometimes it takes a strong personality playing "This monkey has gone to heaven" for 2 hours until you just get it. I think that there is a lesson there that I have never forgotten, and only part of it is the magic that music has. Genuine magic.

It was also a tragic year in some ways, with a dear friend lost, but with valuable lessons there as well. I learned to never stop doing what you love, and not to waste breath on unhappiness; I will perhaps spend a lifetime trying to practice those learnings. I am comforted by the nonlinear nature of time, which perhaps is the best comfort, and also most macabre concept. All time exists at once, only our perception changes. All those wonderful times are still there, (as a the bad ones), and worse yet, all the things to come exist already. You are alive, and dead, like Schrodinger's poor feline, and ours is but to try to be more like the Tralfamadorians of slaughterhouse 5, and think mostly on the good times. For that at least I am well equipped, because there are a lot of good times. 

Ponyo -

Nary to cuddle 
Orange fire breathing thing 
Simply on the prowl

Rough day at the office

There is a contumacious indignation in this obeisance that I undertake; for though my heart would freely shed the obligations of the day and take to lighter industry, the shackles of tomorrow's poverty reverberate.

The Dribble of Truth.

Having started the day thirteen hours earlier, and returning from an exhausting holiday, he was nearing the home stretch. At dawn, his desk's usual spotless incarnation had rapidly devolved into a disturbingly convincing thesis against the horrors of leaving ones cubicle for longer than a piss break. Like a jungle man hacking left and right with a machete through some amazonian rain forest, he had greeted his Everest of paperwork with such vigor, such unrelenting cheerful pride, that his one week holiday was nearly erased. His inbox no longer sputtered, pregnant with the 187 missed emails, and had only just quieted itself after it's hastily expectorated warning of overload from breached capacity. The last task, a profit and loss review had been postponed by a divine reprieve, and as he gathered his bag and files for further work at home, he had little knowledge that concurrent to his waking this morning, a light-switch thrown in Cincinnati had generated an arrow of causality that was at this very moment, resulting in several inches of water meandering over the lip of the men's room sink, and depositing their mass in a miniature tsunami of water creeping through the lobby, unnoticed by those nearest the source of the overflow, and tragically, imminently requiring his immediate attention.

Anna Petrova and the Extradition nightmare

Anna Petrova was born in the summer of 1976 in the former Soviet Socialist Republic of the Ukraine. A natural dancer and light on her feet, her maternal grandfather, Andre Maldovavich, often called her “steppie” in reference to her delightful talents in ballet and nearly every performance art that she was exposed to. Times were very different in Soviet Era Russia, and at age six, she was taken from her family to be enrolled in the shining star of national pride, the Vaganova Ballet Academy. There she worked tirelessly to perfect her skills in dance and quickly rose to the top of her class, landing a leading role in the Nutcracker suite, a personal favorite of hers, and of her grandfather, who had followed her to Moscow. Within two years she had exceeded all expectations and supplanted the headmistress of the academy, being the world’s youngest educator in the field of dance. It was a risky move for a child of only eight, and perhaps a premature one.
The students became restless, not caring for the instruction of one who was in many cased 10-20 years younger than the other students, and who likewise, had a busy schedule of leading roles to perform, that often distracted her from her students. Anna worked relentlessly and for 15 years managed the Vaganova Balley Academy to the surprise and astonishment of her countrymen, taking it to new heights through her innovative use of hoola-hoops, and fireworks. Alas, she grew weary of the 36 hour days and sought retirement at age 23.
She found peace in a small farming community just south of her home town of Kyiv. By this time many of the barriers present during the height of the empire had been replaced as the Ukraine and other soviet republics opened their borders and policies, and she seized the opportunity to travel abroad. She made her way through Europe, performing reprisals of her earlier plays and revivals with local companies, and for a time she was satisfied. But her dreams carried her to France, where she fell in love with the language, the people, and the pastries. Anna chose fit at this point to change her name to Stephanie, in remembrance of her grandfather, and opened a local shop. She enjoyed a relatively quiet life until she was forced to exit the country due to some confusion over the origin of several pounds of butter, and was extradited to the United States.