Crenellated Flotsam

There’s not much to watch on TV these days, so I’m filling some of my time watching the Vuelta a Espana bicycle race. If nothing else, it’s like a cheap travelogue that lets me see part of the world that’s far different from my own neighborhood.

One of those differences, of course, is that it’s in Europe, with all that entails. The course today went through part of Spain that’s mostly filled with dusty sand and olive trees, and while it’s true that I see an olive tree every day of my life thanks to the people next door, I don’t often see Spain.

Today’s race also featured a mostly naked Spainard running alongside the bike racers and, as usually happens, one of the American male commentators acted like a little girl when he saw him.

I don’t understand how or why so many guys react that way. The guy. from the glimpse we got, looked pretty ordinary, but the commentator acted as if this was the most horrific sight he’d ever had. Anything that can evoke that strong a reaction from someone interests me, and as usually happens with any naked male body, otherwise ordinary guys just go apeshit.

It must be some sort of peer pressure thing. When one guy sees another one naked, it’s like he has to follow some rule that says he has to make some “we don’t need to see that” comment and act all revolted. It’s like they can’t be too much of a drama queen and no sane reaction is enough for these clowns.

Women, I might add, never seem to have this tendency to over-react when they see another naked woman. While some I know may have the more natural reaction of appreciation, most simply shrug it off or maybe silently judge the woman. Men, it seems, cannot do that and stumble all over themselves to make sure everyone knows how offended they are.

It’s funny.

Totally out of proportion.

And I guess it makes them feel more like men when they act like little girls.

I spend a great deal of time not thinking. Because I know better.

It’s funny how it works, with our minds latching onto new things and, in my case at least, trying to come up with a good reason why this new thing acts or is the way it is. I don’t pretend to come up with an answer, but I can’t just see something and let it go without coming up with some sort of explanation.

I’m pretty sure other people do this, too, but the difference is I’m old now, old enough to realize the important distinction between something that fits the bill and something that’s true. I have a hunch that most people stop when they come up with an answer that works for them while I get mired wondering about the rest of the infinite possibilites. I learned, early on, that just being logically correct, as any good answer must be, is only the first hurdle. Tons of explanations make sense … but that doesn’t meant they’re the right one.

Anyway, one of the outcomes of this way of thinking is not thinking any more. Habit replaces questioning, and actions and thoughts soon become ordinary and common. Instead of marveling, or wondering all the time, I just take my earlier reaction and do it again.

This, of course, saves a lot of time. It also reinforces past behavior, and that may or may not be a good thing.

It’s remarkably easy for me to get into ruts. I dress the same way every day without giving it any thought, which saves me the trouble of figuring out which foot gets the first sock. I catch myself sometimes doing this and make a conscious effort to dress the other foot first, or put on a shirt before anything else, or wash my right arm before my left one. Hell, sometimes I mix things up just to keep me from getting complacent, and I’m saddened and amazed at how much I do without thinking.

Part of changing is learning how, and only if I think about what I’m doing, can I mix it up. It’s turned into a game I play with myself, one that I haven’t grown tired of. Yet.

Some things, naturally, I can’t or won’t change. I’d be a fool to mess around with eating utensils, at least in public, or think of wiping my mouth on a pant’s cuff instead of a sleeve. While having already decided how to do or think about things means I’m not constantly baffled, it does keep me from seeing things through fresh eyes, something I think is both important and desirable.

So this weekend I’m wearing my belt backwards. Craig Ferguson, I noticed last week, had the tail of his belt facing toward his right. In all my years of wearing a belt I’ve always had mine facing left. I was more surprised than I probably should have been at his dressing that way, and I wondered how to do that.

I mean, the entire concept was so foreign to me that I first thought of having to put on the belt upside down. As soon as I tried putting my belt on his way, clockwise, starting threading it through the loop on my right hip, I was a little embarrassed by how awkward it felt. It’s the same unfamiliar sensation I get when I put my left leg first in my shorts, but I chalk that up to being right handed.

I don’t know. Do lefties put their right arms and legs into their clothes first when putting them on, too?

So I can be the master of events by attacking them fresh each time or a slave to them by reacting to them without noticing them or my reactions. I guess it depends on how much time I have.

I don’t much like the term Grammar Nazi, but I’ve been called that and probably worse over my life. For me, it’s not so much a matter of defending my native tongue like a cop, but I do so because I’m a hopeless romantic and I don’t like to see English hurt.

Not that the language minds, or even notices.

I love how language changes over the years, how it grows, but I’m never very happy when the change costs us something and gives nothing new in return. Without changes, we wouldn’t have such great new words as fo shizzle, website, or Branjelica. These words, and many others, are ones we need.

I’ve grown used to, if not fond of, Internet thread board people co-opting most of their terms instead of coming up with their own, but I wish they’d come up something new instead of grabbing spam, troll, and the like. It was bad enough for me when spam moved from Usenet postings on a wide number of groups to include any e-mail ad, but lately it’s been dumbed down even more and now is used to disparage any comment someone dislikes.

Dammit, I love this language and all the nuances it lets us convey. A pretty girl isn’t the same as a cute one, and calling someone brilliant means something different than saying she’s smart. When we need a new word to describe something, English lets that happen and, over time, the word becomes part of our shared language.

When some word with a long and recognized history, such as chocolate, is broadened to mean just about anything that contains any amount of coca, for example, we don’t gain anything and the larger meaning dilutes the meaning of the words we use to communicate our thoughts without ambiguity. I know, I know, no one except lawyers and philosophers care about such precision, but I don’t want a language that ends up losing the distinction between an abode and a house.

There’s no way any living language can remain static, stay the same, become entrenched, calcified, or stagnant, and there shouldn’t be. Still, when a word or phrase I love is used to mean something different than it’s always meant, what it was designed to convey, a little part of me dies, and it hurts more when we lose an exacting, defined term and gain nothing.
I’d rather spend a week in jail than a night in prison as long as those words mean what they were meant to mean. If I’m gonna be precise, that is.

As if life weren’t confusing enough, I sometimes make it worse by refusing to understand simple concepts.

One of my longer lasting problems comes with the notion of secret. For some reason, I keep thinking of in terms of a stronger, probably non-existent word that would refer to something that I, and I alone, know. I know, I know, most secrets are between two people, but it always feels to me as if more than one person knows about some thing, it’s not the same as a real secret.

As can be expected, this gets me into lots of trouble, but only with myself. I like to think of myself as one of the more discrete people around, and anything I think shouldn’t be public or even divulged to another person is locked up tight in my head. I don’t have much trouble keeping these things secret and I don’t remember ever hearing anyone gossiping about me as blabbing, but maybe they do and just keep it a secret from me.

I’d like two terms, one for things I share with others and another for things only I know. I suppose I could distinguish them by calling the first one confidences, but it’s not likely I’d remember to do that all the time. Still, it’s a good way to keep the two things separate.

There are any number of things I’m aware of that no one else knows, but they’re not all worthy of being called secrets. I think a secret has to be something I’m hiding, or that I don’t want other people to know. I mean, right now no one knows which toothpaste I used this morning or what underwear I have on, but it’s not like I wouldn’t tell anyone who asked. Those things are unknown to the world, but that’s more a matter of happenstance than reluctance.

What’s weird about the confidences is that I have a hard time considering them as secrets because even if I never mention them, someone else knows about them and could talk about them. Since I can’t really control if no one else learns about them, I have a hard time considering them as secrets. If I die, the secret won’t die with me and that, to me, pretty much keeps them out of the realm of secrecy.

Then again, a confidence, I think, is something that I’m told about, not something that arises on its own. Just like the toothpaste, I’ve done a lot of things with other people, but only the ones we don’t other people to know about should be secret. Even more troubling, a lot of those things, now that I think about it, are things I’d have to check with the other person to find out if I can talk about it or not. I know what I’m not telling anyone, and those things are secret, but my not talking about something doesn’t mean it’s a secret. It would have to be something I know, or have been told, not to discuss with others.

So, in my overly complicated world, there’s more to the matter of secrets than would seem to be necessary. There’s probably thousands who’ve had access to my super secret Social Security Number so I guess a secret boils down to something someone doesn’t want others to know, no matter how many already do or why.

I read Catcher in the Rye a few times growing up and it makes me sad that it’s not as popular as it once was. Recent generations, jaded by more explicit depictions of life or just generally rebelling against earlier generations, remark that Holden is a jerk, which actually hurts me.

Still, ideas presented in a few of the scenes stick right in front of my mind and I use or remember them, if not daily, at once a week (and have since I first ran across them). They’re probably not crucial to the story and I’d doubt if they’re popular with anyone but me, but for some reason, I call on them whenever they seem to fit.

The first is what I call the Holden Caulfield theory of Catholicism. At some point in the book he remarks to the effect that you can always tell a Catholic person by how they try to find out if you share their faith. The example he gave that I remember is Catholics asking you for the location of the nearest church and how that showed the subtlety they employ in trying to discover if you, too, are Catholic.

I can’t say that anyone has ever asked me that, but I’ve expanded or adapted the idea to how women often use similar things to let you know about their availability. It’s rare for me to talk very long with any woman and not have her bring up her husband, lover, or boyfriend if she has one. It’s never in response to a direct question, something I don’t think I’ve ever asked of anyone, but she’ll usually work her relationship into the conversation.

One reason for that might be because her love and status is so important to her that it’s the focus of her life, and I can’t argue with that. Or, it may just be an efficient or safe way to let me know her boundaries, but whenever someone, however awkwardly, introduces their relationship into the conversation I grin and remember Holden and his Catholics.

The other thing Salinger brought to my attention through Holden is a question he wondered about when he spent some time with a prostitute. Instead of thinking about sex, which I would guess to be the extent of the matter, he wonders if the sales person who sold the girl her coat (or dress) knew that it was a prostitute that was buying it.

Again, I expand on this idea, not having a great deal of interactions with prostitutes, and frequently wonder about those who sold things to the people I talk with know that he or she is … whatever.

The things I learn about those in my life aren’t very often secrets only we share, but I do learn some things that I guess aren’t public knowledge. It’s sometimes a very minor thing, but I wonder about the grocery clerk or shop assistant not knowing that this person has a mole somewhere or that she went to Scotland or some such place when she turned twenty.

The closest I ever came to matching Holden’s experience was when I took a writing class and one of the other students was an exotic dancer. I couldn’t help but wonder if, when she bought the fishnet stockings she once wore to class, the sales person knew that this girl would be displaying them to anyone with a pocket full of singles.

Anyway, Salinger enriched my life, and I’m sorry that kids today don’t appreciate Holden. I haven’t read the work in decades, so maybe it didn’t hold up well, but I can’t help feeling a little bit sad that it’s cool to hate on him.

While everyone around me is getting ready for the holidays, or just getting over them, I’m stuck here wondering about the human condition.

It’s no surprise that there are things I like and things I don’t care so much about, but it might be surprising that I don’t really consider myself to be a fan of much of anything, not even of those things I really, really enjoy.

I see this all the time on the Internet, people rushing to the defense of things they like or cheering on their teams, and I just don’t get it. In sports, it looks like when you root for one side you’re required to see nothing your team does as deserving of a penalty while everything the other side does is wrong and a flagrant foul. In books, games, movies, and literature, people who are fans seem to go out of their way to justify what others see as flaws, and fanwaking takes up most of their time.

Fanwaking, of course, is one of my favorite words, and might even be a real one. It’s pretty much the term used to describe going out of one’s way to explain something that any normal person would see as a plot hole, but mostly just reflects our human need to justify.

I don’t know why, but I can’t feel this need, and I can’t even call myself a fan of just about anything. Maybe I am, but just stubbornly refuse to admit it, or maybe I’m lacking what it takes to commit myself wholeheartedly to things.

I’ll be among the first to defend something or someone if they’re being wronged, but I’d like to think my support isn’t blind. When someone criticizes something I like, I can get hurt, sure, but if there’s some value in what’s said, I have to consider that. Maybe it’s part of it, but when someone or something I claim to love is criticized, I don’t feel personally threatened and usually don’t take it personally.

It may be, though, that I’m so reluctant to defend others because I’m not often defended and never learned that’s how things are supposed to work. I do know, though, that if I say anything bad about Dragon Age or some other popular game that I’ll be attacked up and down the Internet by fans of the game who will dismiss and diminish anything I say without even considering it.

And I can’t do much about it. Maybe I’m built in such a way as to always first attempt to see the other side and not just instictively close my mind to anything and everything said by those with whom I disagree. I don’t much care for Sarah Palin’s views, but I don’t hate her, and whenever she comes up with some new pronouncement, my first reaction is to try to understand where she’s coming from.

This entry is rambling, at best, but it’s mostly just a test to see if this blogging software works with my updated Wordpress. If you’ve read this far, enjoy the holidays!

I know I’m aging, and not all that gracefully. It disturbs me that an increasing part of my life revolves around afflictions and even more that I sometimes find myself lapsing into “when I was growing up…” thinking and questioning change.

I don’t like to think of myself as stuck in the past, but sometimes the reasoning behind progress leaves me scratching my head (and being thankful for the hair that remains there).

Just the other day my Internet provider, AT&T, sent me yet another e-mail discussing upgrades. I say “yet another” because this is the kind of thing I’ve received regularly over the years going all the way back to when Pacific Bell was my provider.

This latest notification, once again, as always, promises that I’ll have to do nothing to continue receiving the quality service I’ve enjoyed in the past. That’s a good thing because when it comes to doing nothing, I’m right up there at the top. It’s one of the few areas that I can honestly say I excel at, so it’s great to see that this update is one I can master.

This update, however, reminds me that many people use the Internet, or their ISP, much differently than I do. They’re making some changes to their web e-mail client or server, a feature I have to admit I’ve never used. As long as I’ve had any ISP I’ve done all my e-mailing through a client that fetches the mail from their server and deletes it. What mail I’ve gotten has always been stored on my computer, and I see no reason to change any of that.

Most of my e-mail now is sent to my host, half-dozen, and they’ve screwed me up by no deleting messages they forward, but that’s another story for another time. That service, by the way, is one I can enjoy again if I wish to upgrade my account and spend more money, something I’m loathe to do.

The other big change that AT&T is rolling out is a change to my homepage! As long as I’ve had them as my service provider, and Pac Bell before, I’ve had available to me the possibility of creating a home page. This goes all the way back to the Geocities days, and while I *did* have a Geocities page, I’ve never taken advantage of this generous offer.

When it comes to home pages, I guess I have to say this is it.

I’ve never met anyone who has some AT&T hosted page for their home page, but I guess there must be enough of them out there clamoring for new features that AT&T is answering their gripes. Maybe the new one lets you embed YouTube videos or something, and I’m sure the kids will be all over that.

There’s more than enough real stuff to do. These upgrades that do absolutely nothing I’m interested in either remind me that I’m missing something or make me think I’m out of step with the current, hip world.

Still, I guess any effort on my ISP’s part is some indication that they’re not totally ignoring their market. But instead of home page advances, I’d rather have reduced costs or increased bandwidth.

Today I took my dog to the vet, and he’s in good health.

It was a follow-up to see how he responded to last week’s visit that was prompted by fear and uncertainty. He’d been shaking his head a lot, which I took to be sign of an ear infection, but his total disinterest in sniffing the results of my cleaning his ear had me puzzled. With my other dogs, they were fascinated by how the dark streaks on the napkins smelled, something I could only help to sense.

Turns out he had an infection, which has been mostly fixed.

He’d also been panting a great deal, running out of breath, and his jaw sometimes clicks or pops. I think those are all just normal aging things now, and the vet reminded me that he’s like a seventy year old man.

The visits, as always, are nearly as entertaining for me as they are a mystery to him. I got to hear one of the office staff read off a list of about a dozen cat names to one of the clients to determine which of them were still around. The answer was eight.

I think eight is a very large number of cats to have.

Today’s visit also featured a truly sad and disturbing black lab whose fur was shaved to the skin in three or four places and who had more stitches on her right hip than I’ve had in my entire life. One of the other people waiting and I talked about it quietly, and we were both reluctant to ask the dog’s owner what had happened. The two of us felt the dog, maybe, had been hit by a car or something, but we were afraid of bringing up the subject because it might create a whole host of issues, including highly emotional responses by the owner.

I like looking at the other owner’s brand new puppies and am always happy to be sniffed.

I’m trying a new way to blog, a third one, not that I use any of the other ways very often.

I’m hoping to find a way to keep my inspiration and motivation up because I do like to write here even though this isn’t a popular blog for others to read. I know the world’s moved onto social networking, but I don’t like always having to write just short little things.

Mostly, I want to see if the “add pic” works easier than what I’ve used in the past, so here’s a pic of nature finding a way in spite of humanity’s best efforts.

I’ll soon see if it works!

There’s all kinds of things I find fascinating, and many of them remain so in spite of my best efforts to study and analyze them to death.

What I’ve discovered is, it’s damn near impossible for me to enjoy them the way I did at first. Physicists will tell us that you can measure anything without affecting it, but there’s a lot less talk about how you change everything just be learning more about it, even without getting embroiled in conversations about the nature of change.

Speaking of which, I’m one of those who don’t usually believe in change. It’s sloppy language as far as I’m concerned since, for example, if I change my clothes chances are none of the original clothes are still being worn. I’ve taken them off and replaced them with an entirely new set of clothes and to my way of thinking, unless something stays constant, it’s senseless to talk of it changing. I can change my hair, sure, since what I have left of it is reshaped when I change it, and it can be argued that water changes to ice in the freezer, but in most cases I get rid of the old stuff and replace it with completely new crap.

When I say I change the chair in my computer room what I’m really saying is I moved the old and put a new one in its place. There’s no “chair” that underwent any change at all.

But, as usual, that’s not the point.

I noticed this changing of subject first, I think, in literature and movies. I, like most everyone else, like movies, but when I began studying them I began seeing them in a whole new light. My original, innocent, and ignorant appreciation was lost when I began understanding the craft and could see how plot elements were added to aid in making up the story. It didn’t take me all that long to see how a character was introduced simply to move the plot along, and when I began seeing movies and books this way, a lot of the magic disappeared.

Instead of simply enjoying the work, I found my appreciation for it changed, much like I might if I saw 137 magicians all performing a trick that I knew how to do. The first magician would surprise and astonish me, but once I learned how the trick was done, my appreciation of it would depend more on how it was performed than on what it was.

Years ago I read a good book Zen Mind, Begineer’s Mind by some Suzuki fellow that talked about this sort of thing at length. I guess it was a Zen instruction book, but his point was that it’s downright difficult to keep our sense of wonder if we let our knowledge get in the way. His metaphor, if I remember correctly, was that you can’t add anything to a full glass and to get away from that, you have to try to approach things as if you are experiencing them for the first time. If you don’t, and pile all your prejudices, familiarity, and understanding onto something, you’ll most likely miss quite a bit.

I’m not sure I have any point here other than to note that the more I learn about anything, the more it changes. Things usually change so much that I hesitate to call them by the same name, but there’s only so many nouns in English and I usually use them up during my introduction to something. The good news, I guess, is that this sort of change has been a constant since Adam, and just goes to prove that while we can’t step twice in the same river, we keep the river’s name the same as it stops being a plaything and becomes an example of gravity, climate, and biology.

The biggest downside is that our experts have forgotten their initial joy and wonder and what they can teach us is usually pretty far removed from what we see at first. It’s the nature of the breast, I suppose, but it’s still a shame that we go so quickly from tickled pink to jaded and cynical.