lawnchair

on july 2, 1982, larry walters took flight. nothing fancy or motorized--something so many children think to do. except he did. 

he was planning to go up 30 feet in his backyard. he wound up about 15,000 feet in the air thanks to 45 helium-filled weather balloons, then drifted into federal air space.

REACT: What information do you wish me to tell [the airport] at this time as to your location and your difficulty?
Larry: Ah, the difficulty is, ah, this was an unauthorized balloon launch, and, uh, I know I'm in a federal airspace, and, uh, I'm sure my ground crew has alerted the proper authority. But, uh, just call them and tell them I'm okay.

he was arrested after getting tangled up in a power line, which resulted in a 20 minute blackout in long beach. in response to a reporter asking him why he did it, a man can't just sit around. 

he shot himself in the heart 11 years later.
a man can't just sit around.

 

odd hours

these last weeks of my 24th year have been restless and wreckless, marked by summer vacation-like long weekends, eating chocolate covered pretzels for breakfast, and a general feeling of anticipation.

during june i dreaded the inevitable approach of the quarter-century birthday. then i watched some movies, read some books, and had a few conversations and remembered that age doesn't mean diddly-doo. plus, i much prefer the odd-numbered years. so far 17, 19, 23--those have been the years in which i've really prospered. (or, i guess it could be the prime numbers that really do me well.)

in no way was 24 a "bad" year, (you want to talk about a bad year--see 22. must've been the double evens that had it out for me.) but following all the major of events of 23, well, it's like having to go on after ac/dc. you just can't top a scot-aussie named angus in schoolboy attire.

this year rolled along, sort of in a recover-take-it-all-in-observe-reflect-plan mode. and that has been well and good. although i'm pretty confident mr. hamilton leithauser was not singing about a birthday it fits:
i'm still living / at the old address / and i'm waiting on the weather / that i know will pass / i know that it's true / it's gonna be a good year / out of the darkness / and into the fire.

the art of slow reading

i've been suspecting this for some time now: that the hyper-bombardment of technology is going to catch up with us.

it only makes sense. not only are there more modes of communication but each one arrives faster, and now even to one location--the palm of your hand, the inner zip of your purse. how's a gal or guy to keep up with it all?

either you give your real life of five senses and interaction with other real lives over to some sub-life that looks an awful lot like yours only on a flat screen, or you move through it all a lot faster in order to keep up. with the number of people engrossed in ipods/pads/touches, it seems like for most it's an equal mix of both.

the thing is refusing to participate isn't the answer either. not reading any emails, responding to any texts, or looking at profile pages isn't exactly fulfilling. because if you can't get together over a beer and laugh about the facebook link to a zach galifianakis stand-up bit, what is there to laugh at?

this guardian article* seemed to make the exact point i'd been pondering: in order to keep up we try to take in too much too fast (that's what she said) to the detriment of actual absorption and learning.

According to The Shallows, a new book by technology sage Nicholas Carr, our hyperactive online habits are damaging the mental faculties we need to process and understand lengthy textual information. Round-the-clock news feeds leave us hyperlinking from one article to the next – without necessarily engaging fully with any of the content; our reading is frequently interrupted by the ping of the latest email; and we are now absorbing short bursts of words on Twitter and Facebook more regularly than longer texts.

so i was all on board and excited by this finding until about the fifth paragraph. at this point the author talks about this new fad called "slow reading." about it they say

Miedema writes on his website that slow reading, like slow food, is now, at root, a localist idea which can help connect a reader to his neighbourhood. "Slow reading," writes Miedema, "is a community event restoring connections between ideas and people. The continuity of relationships through reading is experienced when we borrow books from friends; when we read long stories to our kids until they fall asleep.

umm, NEWSFLASH. this already has a name, yeah. it's called reading.
why the need to reinvent something that already exists? reading without being next to the computer or rereading a passage are things already inherent in the act of opening book. now it might take an iota of effort to shy away from the distractions, but if one's engaged enough in a book to open it and sit down then i think they can manage. none of these things--borrowing a book, reading to your kids, enjoying a novel--are new ideas. so why a new name? are we glamorizing reading to seduce people into doing it? i can just imagine,

oh i'm sorry there's no way i could poooossibly make that dinner date. i have my slow reading group tonight at 9pm.

oh really? what's that, this slow reading you speak of?

well. it's this new thing that started in france by a group of professors from paris 8. there are ten of us in the group. although it's not really a group in the traditional sense you might be thinking of because we all do it separately on our own time, but that doesn't detract from the sense of community we all feel just based on the simple fact we're cognizant that we're all doing it--as a group. anyway. i find that i do my best slow reading when i'm alone. with just a little soft music playing. and a glass of red. and my soft reading silk stretch pants. with some rice cakes. and candles. and the window open...


it comes to this: if you didn't enjoy reading before, you're not going to enjoy it now--slow, medium, or fast. the distracting apps and droids of today are just the neighborhood friend ringing the doorbell or little orphan annie on the radio of before. and to end on an optimistic note, those who engage in a text now will continue to do so even when their phone is implanted in their pinky.

*full disclosure: i did not read the entire article.

right now i'm reading a borrowed book, a man without a country by kurt vonnegut. in it he mentions that polonius character from hamlet and says he disagrees with his wisdom: neither a borrower nor lender be.

i also agree to disagree with polonius, but when borrowing there are a few rules i try to abide by.
1). do unto a borrowed book as you would have a borrower do unto your loaned book. this means if they haven't previously dog-eared pages, then you shouldn't. same goes with underlining, writing in the margins, etc. i don't care how much you want to remember a passage or mark your spot. you gotta use your noggin to remember, and that's coming for a gal with a very poor memory. or, ask permission before you potentially deface their property and ruin what was once a beautiful friendship, romance, brotherhood...

2). do not loan a loan; do not borrow a borrow. if it's not yours to begin with, it's not yours to give to someone else. simple! and again, you can do it as long as you first get permission.


3). the onus is on the borrower, not the lender, to return the borrowed book. someone has been nice enough to part with their beloved copy of sweet valley high #13. don't make them agonize over its condition or well-being. read it, return it, and then have a lively discussion about the merits of this titillating series.

4). [optional. i know rules shouldn't be optional but this one is.] return with a note. again, not necessary, but i think it's a very nice gesture, plus a lovely surprise for the lender on down the road when they decide to crack open the agony and the ecstasy for the 16th time.




and now a selection of quotes from said borrowed book, which kicked this whole hootenanny off:

Then I go outside and there is a mailbox. And I feed the pages to the giant blue bullfrog. And it says, "Ribbit." And I go home. And I have had one hell of a good time. Electronic communities build nothing. You wind up with nothing. We are dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go out and do something."

 ...I have this thing made out of steel, it's called a paper clip, and I put my pages together...

 

western meadowlark.

the shock

we had hopes like hot air balloons
neglecting well-worn, well-walked concrete and broken
glass, we went up
up up up
naive into the melted sun/sky
we ignored the air space of suckers below
and assumed what wasn't ours, up
into the vapor of post--[pick your poison]

then the fire cut
the massive womb
of heated air trembled
and the preserved, the inflated, the invisible
the ghost
cut sharp into electric wires.

lesson learned.

don't do things that box you in, or keep you from letting go.
in this instance i'm keeping the name but dropping the gimmick.
it was obvious and didn't work to begin with.
questions for tuesday, now without questions.

why don't you write more often?

two people. coffee shop.

i don't get it. we sit here every sunday morning and talk. usually are conversations are interesting, i'd even say intelligent. at least 75% of that is thanks to you. you ask probing questions and answer with though-provoking responses. so why can't that translate to paper? you have all the thoughts and the stories, so why don't you write more often?  


i don't know. maybe if i knew the answer i would.


no offense, but that's something a bad writer would say.


oh jeezus, i know. you're right. i don't know, i guess it's because i have a hard time committing. i'm like every other man out there. or every other man i know. or i think i know. even if it's only a screen as soon as i type words onto it i start questioning and hesitating. i hit the delete more than the e. and on the rare occasion i get into the flow i either break to re-read and then start changing everything around, or i get interrupted and can't pick up again. i think i'm a good writer. i believe i'm a good writer. i just can't do it, though. 


you're like a blind surgeon.


what?


a blind surgeon. you have the tools, the knowledge, and the precision, but you lack the vision.


what? that is ridiculous.
...and maybe makes sense. shit.

i do, or i don't?

it started over memorial day weekend--a lot of announcements of engagements and pictures of weddings appeared in the facebook stream. then it was in my mailbox, in the form of a newsweek article arguing against marriage. open my mailbox a few weeks later and there it is again. only this time an article my mom clipped from the Kansas City Star called "marriage matters". and finally today, random internet surfing led me to this Salon article. in a more pretentious and academic way it echoes the newsweek article, saying that marriage is a now outdated institution. it goes further, however, by saying that humans simply weren't meant to be monogamous.

i think it's one of those many things in life, where it's a different answer for every person. if your the devout, religious sort you'll want to get married just like the very insecure and needy person who's doing it for a hope at life security. or you might opt out because wild sex and orgies doesn't mesh with in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part, or you might feel like justifying your relationship before the state and someone else's god isn't your cup of tea.

strange that such different reasons can still lead to the same action. the choice to marry or not to marry is only one part of it, though. i have no idea where i stand on the issue, and thankfully, the question is a long way off, but i do know one thing: most people never go beyond choosing whether to marry or not. and all too often they choose to marry but really have no idea why.