A few months back, I decided to try being a vegetarian for 30 days. I had myriad reasons for this undertaking, one of them being the simple question of whether or not I could pull it off. In short, I did.
I mentioned this 30-day commitment on the Facebook, and was frankly surprised at how many people became interested in my dietary habits. Vegetarians encouraged me, as did a few meat-eaters. Some folks made it clear that not eating meat endangered my manhood – as if my testicles would shrink to the size of raisins, my dick would fall off in the shower and I'd start wearing a frilly tutu if I didn't tear into hulking slabs of dead animal flesh. Mostly, people would just ask, “how is the vegetarian thing going?”
I fulfilled my thirty days. I felt good. However, I started wondering if I really felt good because of the lack of meat in my diet. Was it all psychological? Did I maybe just expect to feel better? I made the decision to resume my meat-eating ways for a while and do a little compare and contrast.
When I resumed eating meat I almost immediately felt a difference. I felt almost heavier...sluggish. I felt like I was weighed down. Physically, I just felt better when there was no meat in my diet. Case closed.
I spent a lot of time thinking of the reasons for and against not eating meat. Frankly, there aren't any logical reasons to go on eating it. Sure, it tastes good sometimes. There's no denying that. However, weighing the pros and cons, the cons won out in a landslide. I don't entirely subscribe to the “meat is murder” ideal. On one hand, I think that the killing and eating of animals is a part of the natural processes of nature. That being said, I think that human beings have a rare ability to make a decision on whether or not we want to consume other animals. I don't look at this decision as black and white, right and wrong. I don't think there's an easy answer to the question, or an easy resolution to the debate. You choose to eat meat, or not eat meat? That's your choice. It's not my place to judge. I think I focused more on the health benefits, as it's pretty clear that eating meat opens you up to a lot more health issues than forgoing it. Cholesterol. Fat. Carcinogens. Antibiotics. Hormones. Pick your poison – they're all in the mix.
To satisfy the curiosity of the surprising number of people who still ask, here's the decisions I've come to:
I'm no longer eating any chicken, beef, pork, etc. Having just read “Fast Food Nation”, I got a good, horrific look at how poultry and pork and beef make their way to the table. No thanks. Do yourself a favor and read the book. It will change the way you look at your meat, I can guarantee you that much. Last night at the wedding of my friends Theresa and Austin, I ate beef. That was the last piece I'll ever eat, and I ate that because they already paid for it and I didn't want it to go to waste.
In a vote for sheer selfishness, I'm going to continue to eat fish and seafood. I enjoy sushi and fish tacos, crab-dip and the occasional raw oysters too much to cut them from my diet completely. I'm going to enjoy these items sparingly. I'm going to do my best to eat fish that isn't harvested in an ecologically insensitive manner. Sure, it's going to take some extra work...but it's worth it to me.
To prove that I am not a complete selfish prick? No turkey with thanksgiving dinner. Trust me, this is a HUGE concession from me. My reasons? Look into the conditions turkeys live in before they're turned into dinner.
I don't consider myself a vegetarian, as I'm still eating some meat. I just choose not to eat some animals based on a plethora of personal views I have come to form over the course of this experiment.
So that's it. That's my decision. Thanks to the people that encouraged me. A different kind of thanks to the people who criticized my decision – I've forwarded your names so that Obama can put you on his secret, liberal watch-list. Take that, fuckers.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
How Full is your Quiver?
Just when I think religion couldn’t possibly get any bat-shit crazier, something comes along to make me change my tune. If you’ve read anything I’ve ever regurgitated into the blogosphere, then you’re aware that I view religion as little more than sanctioned lunacy – a mass delusion that, for deeply ingrained sociological reasons, gets a pass from the majority of humanity.
The other morning I was buried under the covers, trying to avoid dragging my ass out of bed, while NPR blared from the clock radio. A story came on about the “Quiverfull” movement. After listening for a few moments, I emerged from my morning fog. I was intrigued. I was aghast. I was horrified.
I present to you a brief overview of the “Quiverfull” movement. It’s a Christian invention. It’s based on Psalm 127, which states that, “Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” (In a nutshell? Kids are like arrows. The more arrows a warrior has, the better his chances of killing everybody and everything that he can.) The movement shuns birth control, content in the knowledge that god knows just how many children a family can handle. You know, because that has worked out so well in Appalachia and Sub-Saharan Africa.
We live in a free society. There are no limits on the number of children you can eject from your womb and into the world. Sure, there’s the issue of personal responsibility. The earth has finite resources, and the global population is certainly reaching a tipping point. There’s something to be said for looking at the exploding world population and saying, “do I really want to add 8 or 9 more kids into this hot mess we call planet earth?” It’s no different than choosing the car we drive. Sure, you have every right to buy a Hummer H2 and get 2 mpg and lumber around basking in your freedom to shuffle us one step closer to extinction with each mile you drive. But isn’t it smarter to get a more fuel efficient vehicle to help preserve the only planet we have?
Honestly, I don’t expect much in the way of environmental common-sense from the fundamentalist crowd. After all, the bible is chock full of notions that man helms the cosmic bobsled, and that planet earth is our own personal sandbox to plunder and pillage as we see fit. Live your life according to that book and, well, you can do the math.
The more I listened, and later read, about this Quiverfull movement, the more the ecological concerns took a back seat. Eventually, you muddle through the double-speak and the pictures of happy families and you get to the core of what this group - and many “Christ-centric” groups - are truly all about. You realize that under the shiny veneer of love and harmony and endless singing of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” is an aim that is much, much more nefarious.
One of the leaders of this movement is a woman by the name of Nancy Campbell. Nancy was quoted extensively by NPR, and she wrote a book about said movement called Be Fruitful and Multiply. Listening to Nancy, and reading her words, gave me the creepy-crawlies up and down my spine. Here’s one of Nancy’s greatest hits: “The womb is a powerful weapon; it’s a weapon against the enemy.” Wait…what? Yes, that’s right. You weren’t imagining things. Go ahead, read it again. The enemy? Who is this enemy? Well, let’s let Nancy lay that out for you with another quote.
“We look across the Islamic world and we see that they are outnumbering us in their family size, and they are in many places and many countries taking over those nations, without jihad, just by multiplication.”
Another Quiverfull disciple, Kathryn Joyce, who wrote the book Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement, says:
“They speak about, ‘If everyone starts having eight children or 12 children, imagine in three generations what we’ll be able to do. We’ll be able to take over both halls of Congress, we’ll be able to reclaim sinful cities like San Francisco for the faithful, and we’ll be able to wage very effective massive boycotts against companies that are going against god’s will.’”
Getting the picture? I have seen Nancy’s and Kathryn’s enemy, and it is me. Hell, it might be you. (If you’re reading my blog, it probably is you…let’s be honest.) The enemy is the Muslim, the Buddhist, the homosexual, the atheist. Anyone who disagrees with a strict, biblical interpretation of Christianity is the enemy. Let that sink in.
Part of the problem when you deal with fundamentalist Christianity is that it’s a faith born from persecution. I mean the faith itself, the belief, was literally forged from death and misery. I think this instills in many of its followers a sort of “persecution envy”. Jesus was crucified. Early Christians were tortured and fed to the lions. “What about me?” They ask. “When do I get to suffer?” It’s this attitude, this desire to feel the suffering of their Messiah and the church’s early adherents that drives this cult of persecution. This is what causes fundamentalists to perceive “persecution” where persecution doesn’t exist. Simply disagreeing with them is not disagreement, but persecution. You aren’t someone who disagrees with their views, you are the enemy.
Bill O’Reilly is a category 5 fuck-tard. Everyone with a functioning brain knows this. O’Reilly was also one of the original talking heads to begin vomiting endless venom and nonsense about a “war on Christmas”. Not to be left out, fellow Fox News anchor and intellectual fly-weight John Gibson actually published a book entitled: The War on Christmas: How the Liberal Plot to Ban the Sacred Christian Holiday is Worse Than You Thought. This war of which they speak? Well, it involves the audacity of other cultures and religions to observe holidays over the Christmas season. It involves non-Christians not wanting a 30-foot, light-up baby Jesus on the lawn of a secular courthouse. The nerve of these people, right?
See, wishing people “happy holidays” rather than “merry Christmas” is a shot across Christianity’s bow. It is, if you are to believe the O’Reilly’s, Gibson’s, Joyce’s and Campbell’s of this world, a declaration of war. The Jew who celebrates Hanukkah or Chanukah or however those heathen non-Christians spell it? The atheist who doesn’t celebrate Christmas or any other holiday in December? The Pagan celebrating the winter solstice? Well, these people can go fuck themselves. They will be wished a merry Christmas, like it or not, because quite frankly their own holidays and beliefs take a back seat to the whims of the teeming employees of Jesus Christ, Inc. Other cultures and religions and belief systems simply don’t matter. Ask that your own, non-Christian beliefs be respected? Well, then you’re persecuting the poor Christians.
Don’t get me started on the Muslims. Where Christians just whine and stomp their feet if you “insult” their religion (while inside they secretly relish their time to “suffer”), the Muslims will just cut to the chase and fucking kill you - and they don’t care if they have to grease themselves in the process. Done. Period. End of story. I think this is where much of the Muslim/Christian animosity stems from. Quite frankly, the Christians are pissed because the Muslim’s totally one-upped them on the whole persecution complex.
One thing unites both faiths, however. In each of their individual holy books it implicitly states that they are each far, far superior to all the “non-believers”. They’re both so special. They’re both so…right. All the other faiths? So, so wrong.
Yeah, I know. They both can’t be right. Do you want to be the one to tell either one of them? Especially the ones with the explosive-filled knapsacks? I know I don’t.
So here we are. Myself, and the rest of the non-religious and the “sinners” and “infidels”, are fighting a “war” we didn’t know we were engaged in. See, I don’t give a frog’s fat ass what the Christians and the Muslims and the Jews and all the rest of them do when they’re at church or temple or whatever. I don’t care what they do in their own homes. They’re free to practice their faith. That freedom is guaranteed under the United States constitution. I would certainly never advocate taking that belief from them. What I don’t want, however, is to have their faith bleed over into my private life or my government. I don’t want their gods telling my gay friends they don’t deserve rights. I don’t want my laws crafted on their morality. Is that so much to ask? I don’t expect them to respect what I do or don’t believe. What I do expect is for them to respect my right to hold those beliefs (or lack thereof). Just keep your faith out of my government, public schools and personal life. You do that, and we’ll all get along like gangbusters.
What do we get instead? We get Nancy Campbell getting into a bizarre pissing match with the Muslims over who can shit out more kids and dominate the world. We have O’Reilly and his “war on Christmas”. We have legions of whack-jobs like Kathryn Joyce who want their “full quivers” to multiply like some holy Ponzi-scheme until they take over Congress and the Presidency. Remember the Taliban, those nasty Muslims the god-fearing people of America wanted to overthrow in Afghanistan? Well, rest assured that if the fundamentalist Christians ever seized control of the U.S. government, it would make Shira Law look like 3rd period gym class. I think you’d be surprised how many of your rights violate “god’s will”.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go track down Nadya Suleman. I really have to find out what religion she subscribes to.
(If you like, here’s the link to the NPR story that prompted this blog: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102005062
NPR provides a link to the Quiverfull website.)
The other morning I was buried under the covers, trying to avoid dragging my ass out of bed, while NPR blared from the clock radio. A story came on about the “Quiverfull” movement. After listening for a few moments, I emerged from my morning fog. I was intrigued. I was aghast. I was horrified.
I present to you a brief overview of the “Quiverfull” movement. It’s a Christian invention. It’s based on Psalm 127, which states that, “Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” (In a nutshell? Kids are like arrows. The more arrows a warrior has, the better his chances of killing everybody and everything that he can.) The movement shuns birth control, content in the knowledge that god knows just how many children a family can handle. You know, because that has worked out so well in Appalachia and Sub-Saharan Africa.
We live in a free society. There are no limits on the number of children you can eject from your womb and into the world. Sure, there’s the issue of personal responsibility. The earth has finite resources, and the global population is certainly reaching a tipping point. There’s something to be said for looking at the exploding world population and saying, “do I really want to add 8 or 9 more kids into this hot mess we call planet earth?” It’s no different than choosing the car we drive. Sure, you have every right to buy a Hummer H2 and get 2 mpg and lumber around basking in your freedom to shuffle us one step closer to extinction with each mile you drive. But isn’t it smarter to get a more fuel efficient vehicle to help preserve the only planet we have?
Honestly, I don’t expect much in the way of environmental common-sense from the fundamentalist crowd. After all, the bible is chock full of notions that man helms the cosmic bobsled, and that planet earth is our own personal sandbox to plunder and pillage as we see fit. Live your life according to that book and, well, you can do the math.
The more I listened, and later read, about this Quiverfull movement, the more the ecological concerns took a back seat. Eventually, you muddle through the double-speak and the pictures of happy families and you get to the core of what this group - and many “Christ-centric” groups - are truly all about. You realize that under the shiny veneer of love and harmony and endless singing of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” is an aim that is much, much more nefarious.
One of the leaders of this movement is a woman by the name of Nancy Campbell. Nancy was quoted extensively by NPR, and she wrote a book about said movement called Be Fruitful and Multiply. Listening to Nancy, and reading her words, gave me the creepy-crawlies up and down my spine. Here’s one of Nancy’s greatest hits: “The womb is a powerful weapon; it’s a weapon against the enemy.” Wait…what? Yes, that’s right. You weren’t imagining things. Go ahead, read it again. The enemy? Who is this enemy? Well, let’s let Nancy lay that out for you with another quote.
“We look across the Islamic world and we see that they are outnumbering us in their family size, and they are in many places and many countries taking over those nations, without jihad, just by multiplication.”
Another Quiverfull disciple, Kathryn Joyce, who wrote the book Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement, says:
“They speak about, ‘If everyone starts having eight children or 12 children, imagine in three generations what we’ll be able to do. We’ll be able to take over both halls of Congress, we’ll be able to reclaim sinful cities like San Francisco for the faithful, and we’ll be able to wage very effective massive boycotts against companies that are going against god’s will.’”
Getting the picture? I have seen Nancy’s and Kathryn’s enemy, and it is me. Hell, it might be you. (If you’re reading my blog, it probably is you…let’s be honest.) The enemy is the Muslim, the Buddhist, the homosexual, the atheist. Anyone who disagrees with a strict, biblical interpretation of Christianity is the enemy. Let that sink in.
Part of the problem when you deal with fundamentalist Christianity is that it’s a faith born from persecution. I mean the faith itself, the belief, was literally forged from death and misery. I think this instills in many of its followers a sort of “persecution envy”. Jesus was crucified. Early Christians were tortured and fed to the lions. “What about me?” They ask. “When do I get to suffer?” It’s this attitude, this desire to feel the suffering of their Messiah and the church’s early adherents that drives this cult of persecution. This is what causes fundamentalists to perceive “persecution” where persecution doesn’t exist. Simply disagreeing with them is not disagreement, but persecution. You aren’t someone who disagrees with their views, you are the enemy.
Bill O’Reilly is a category 5 fuck-tard. Everyone with a functioning brain knows this. O’Reilly was also one of the original talking heads to begin vomiting endless venom and nonsense about a “war on Christmas”. Not to be left out, fellow Fox News anchor and intellectual fly-weight John Gibson actually published a book entitled: The War on Christmas: How the Liberal Plot to Ban the Sacred Christian Holiday is Worse Than You Thought. This war of which they speak? Well, it involves the audacity of other cultures and religions to observe holidays over the Christmas season. It involves non-Christians not wanting a 30-foot, light-up baby Jesus on the lawn of a secular courthouse. The nerve of these people, right?
See, wishing people “happy holidays” rather than “merry Christmas” is a shot across Christianity’s bow. It is, if you are to believe the O’Reilly’s, Gibson’s, Joyce’s and Campbell’s of this world, a declaration of war. The Jew who celebrates Hanukkah or Chanukah or however those heathen non-Christians spell it? The atheist who doesn’t celebrate Christmas or any other holiday in December? The Pagan celebrating the winter solstice? Well, these people can go fuck themselves. They will be wished a merry Christmas, like it or not, because quite frankly their own holidays and beliefs take a back seat to the whims of the teeming employees of Jesus Christ, Inc. Other cultures and religions and belief systems simply don’t matter. Ask that your own, non-Christian beliefs be respected? Well, then you’re persecuting the poor Christians.
Don’t get me started on the Muslims. Where Christians just whine and stomp their feet if you “insult” their religion (while inside they secretly relish their time to “suffer”), the Muslims will just cut to the chase and fucking kill you - and they don’t care if they have to grease themselves in the process. Done. Period. End of story. I think this is where much of the Muslim/Christian animosity stems from. Quite frankly, the Christians are pissed because the Muslim’s totally one-upped them on the whole persecution complex.
One thing unites both faiths, however. In each of their individual holy books it implicitly states that they are each far, far superior to all the “non-believers”. They’re both so special. They’re both so…right. All the other faiths? So, so wrong.
Yeah, I know. They both can’t be right. Do you want to be the one to tell either one of them? Especially the ones with the explosive-filled knapsacks? I know I don’t.
So here we are. Myself, and the rest of the non-religious and the “sinners” and “infidels”, are fighting a “war” we didn’t know we were engaged in. See, I don’t give a frog’s fat ass what the Christians and the Muslims and the Jews and all the rest of them do when they’re at church or temple or whatever. I don’t care what they do in their own homes. They’re free to practice their faith. That freedom is guaranteed under the United States constitution. I would certainly never advocate taking that belief from them. What I don’t want, however, is to have their faith bleed over into my private life or my government. I don’t want their gods telling my gay friends they don’t deserve rights. I don’t want my laws crafted on their morality. Is that so much to ask? I don’t expect them to respect what I do or don’t believe. What I do expect is for them to respect my right to hold those beliefs (or lack thereof). Just keep your faith out of my government, public schools and personal life. You do that, and we’ll all get along like gangbusters.
What do we get instead? We get Nancy Campbell getting into a bizarre pissing match with the Muslims over who can shit out more kids and dominate the world. We have O’Reilly and his “war on Christmas”. We have legions of whack-jobs like Kathryn Joyce who want their “full quivers” to multiply like some holy Ponzi-scheme until they take over Congress and the Presidency. Remember the Taliban, those nasty Muslims the god-fearing people of America wanted to overthrow in Afghanistan? Well, rest assured that if the fundamentalist Christians ever seized control of the U.S. government, it would make Shira Law look like 3rd period gym class. I think you’d be surprised how many of your rights violate “god’s will”.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go track down Nadya Suleman. I really have to find out what religion she subscribes to.
(If you like, here’s the link to the NPR story that prompted this blog: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102005062
NPR provides a link to the Quiverfull website.)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Chaos.
The universe we live in, the very ground we tread upon, was forged from chaos. Scientists almost universally agree that in the beginning there was little more than hot gases. Chaos, that limitless and unchecked agent of random change, brought these gases together. What happened next? Well...everything, I suppose. Here we are.
If you look around, it's clear that chaos still reigns. We're at the mercy of the random. The universe happens, and we happen along with it.
Have you heard talk of fate? Destiny? They're nice ideas, but I get the feeling they really aren't much more than that.
Human beings are creatures of habit and routine. It's just the way we are, and we've adapted that way for reasons we probably don't or can't fully understand. As infants, we crave a set routine. We crave repetition and familiarity, because these are things that bring us comfort. In essence, we are creatures naturally adverse to chaos living in a chaotic world. Combine these factors with an innate sense of self-importance, and you can see how a universe beyond our control is a source of considerable consternation.
Thus fate and destiny were born.
It's easier for us to think that our lives are, if not mapped out for us, at least under the power of some force that recognizes us as individual beings. Enter a personal god. Enter fate. Enter destiny.
The fact is, I could die at any time. I could be in a car accident. I could have an embolism. Someone could take my life. These things are frightening but very real facts. It's chaos at its purest. Life is literally beyond our control, to a great degree. This is recognizably unsettling and horrifying. This causes us to seek solace in something that promises to overcome the random. We are simply finite creatures, driven by fear and our own mortality to try and make order from chaos. We're content to bask in illusions of our own creation.
Sometimes in life, we're presented with wonderful things that appear to be serendipitous or miraculous. This is the flip-side of chaos. Chaos does not always destroy, as our own universe proves. Often chaos creates. Because this wonderful event was random, does that mean it's any less meaningful or beautiful? To me it makes it even more beautiful. It makes me appreciate it more for the fact that it just as easily couldn't have happened. Good and bad. Heads or tails. It's not up to us to decide.
If you look around, it's clear that chaos still reigns. We're at the mercy of the random. The universe happens, and we happen along with it.
Have you heard talk of fate? Destiny? They're nice ideas, but I get the feeling they really aren't much more than that.
Human beings are creatures of habit and routine. It's just the way we are, and we've adapted that way for reasons we probably don't or can't fully understand. As infants, we crave a set routine. We crave repetition and familiarity, because these are things that bring us comfort. In essence, we are creatures naturally adverse to chaos living in a chaotic world. Combine these factors with an innate sense of self-importance, and you can see how a universe beyond our control is a source of considerable consternation.
Thus fate and destiny were born.
It's easier for us to think that our lives are, if not mapped out for us, at least under the power of some force that recognizes us as individual beings. Enter a personal god. Enter fate. Enter destiny.
The fact is, I could die at any time. I could be in a car accident. I could have an embolism. Someone could take my life. These things are frightening but very real facts. It's chaos at its purest. Life is literally beyond our control, to a great degree. This is recognizably unsettling and horrifying. This causes us to seek solace in something that promises to overcome the random. We are simply finite creatures, driven by fear and our own mortality to try and make order from chaos. We're content to bask in illusions of our own creation.
Sometimes in life, we're presented with wonderful things that appear to be serendipitous or miraculous. This is the flip-side of chaos. Chaos does not always destroy, as our own universe proves. Often chaos creates. Because this wonderful event was random, does that mean it's any less meaningful or beautiful? To me it makes it even more beautiful. It makes me appreciate it more for the fact that it just as easily couldn't have happened. Good and bad. Heads or tails. It's not up to us to decide.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Havasu Canyon - August, 2002 Pt. I
August in the Sonoran Desert. The sun is blazing, unmerciful. The winds, when they come, blow hot and bearing the collected dust of miles of open desert. The landscape is stark at first glance, flat hues of brown and gray, washed out by the ever present glare of the sun.
The car is pointed north, leaving behind the red rocks of Sedona, blazing toward Flagstaff. Interstate 17 unspools ahead, snaking through a seemingly endless expanse of desert. Slowly, I become aware of the increasing elevation. Subtle changes in the landscape, as the harsh low-desert gives way to the high semi-desert. Groves of pines gradually thicken into forests, and the temperature begins to drop noticeably in time with the passing miles. Flagstaff sits north, nestled in the mountains, but it's not to Flagstaff that I'm headed. I bear West.
On Interstate 40 now. As I drive west, the pine forests thin and eventually disappear, the desert slowly reasserting itself. I pass Williams and eventually Ash Fork. The land flattens, vegetation becoming more and more sparse. This land is rolling and huge, both stark and subtly beautiful. As I roll through the vastness, windows down, hot air howling in my ears, I can feel the beginning of a connection with this land. My mind drifts back to "civilization", to the ribbons of highway, the plague of strip malls and soulless housing tracts. I look at the vast, untamed miles surrounding me, and I begin to ask myself what "civilization" really means. I pull over at some point, getting out of the car, stretching my legs. Afternoon is giving way to evening, but still the sun burns, a dull, constant heat that seems to purify. I drink water from a large jug. (Always carry large quantities of water out here, boys and girls.) I stand under that relentless sun, breathing in the hot, dusty (but clean) air, and I'm struck by how big this place is, how unapologetically vast, and how small I am by comparison. I feel humbled, thankful that places like this still exist, still untouched by greed and the relentless pursuit of "civilization".
I continue on, tuned in to a country music station, one of the few stations that manage to travel these great distances. The radio blares real country music, the country music of old, full of melancholy and a liquor-soaked dignity that has been systematically murdered by what passes for "country music" these days. I pass miles and miles of fields, fenced in for grazing. The sun sinks lower, beginning its descent into the Pacific, an ocean that is more or less straight ahead of me if I were to continue west.
Dusk settles in, the seemingly endless sky painted hues of orange and purple. I'm approaching my destination for the night - Seligman, Arizona. I veer off 40 and onto old Route 66, that ancient and storied road, and I roll straight into town. Seligman exists in a time warp, seemingly untouched by the advance of time and progress. For me, a visitor rolling in for the night, this lack of modernization reeks of nostalgia for a time I'm admittedly too young to even remember. I imagine that, for the young people of this town, this same lack of progress feels like a jail sentence, invoking a yearning for a "civilized" world glimpsed primarily through the television. I imagine teenagers wandering a town that time forgot, marooned in an unending expanse, dreaming of the day when they could flee for Flagstaff, Phoenix or California. I imagine that many do leave; racing into the open, welcoming arms of progress. I also imagine that years later, as time slips away in that sly way that time does, they look back and yearn for that simpler place - that place seemingly lost in time.
My destination this night is the Supai Motel. The place is what the glass-half-full crowd would call "rustic". Frankly, the joint is a dump. This hardly seems to matter to me. This place is popular with those traveling to Havasu Canyon, as it's a fairly short few hours from the motel to the Hualapai Hilltop and the trailhead into the canyon. After a day of driving; eyes tired from the road and the glare of the desert sun, body aching from the seat of a car, any place with four walls, a roof and a bed sounds like paradise. The Supai Motel meets those requirements, and does so with a low price tag befitting its "rustic" status. The owners are an Indian couple who are extremely friendly. They pass along the key with a smile, and I head to my room, falling across the bed as soon as I drop my gear on the floor.
Later, about ten, I go outside. It's dark, the air still hot. I walk across the parking lot and down the street. There's nobody around, and I get the impression that's not unusual here. I stroll past buildings that look like ghosts, relics of an age when Route 66 inspired songs and television shows. I walk in this strange place, under a dark, desert sky swimming with stars. I think to myself that it could easily be 1969, the year of my birth, and I try to imagine what it would have been like to be 33 back then, a time when America was losing its grip on its innocence and the machines of change were bearing down.
I amble back to the room, needing sleep for a long day of hiking the next day. I pull a few beers out of my bag, beers purchased earlier in the evening at what passed for a convenience store/gas station in those parts. The beer is warm, despite having spent the hours in a cheap, styrofoam (environmentally un-friendly, I know) cooler. It hardly seems to matter. I watch "local" news out of Flagstaff, thinking that these warm beers are the best I'd ever had. Eventually I slide off to sleep, full of warm beer and in an uncomfortable bed, slumbering fitfully in the land that time forgot.
(To Be Continued)
The car is pointed north, leaving behind the red rocks of Sedona, blazing toward Flagstaff. Interstate 17 unspools ahead, snaking through a seemingly endless expanse of desert. Slowly, I become aware of the increasing elevation. Subtle changes in the landscape, as the harsh low-desert gives way to the high semi-desert. Groves of pines gradually thicken into forests, and the temperature begins to drop noticeably in time with the passing miles. Flagstaff sits north, nestled in the mountains, but it's not to Flagstaff that I'm headed. I bear West.
On Interstate 40 now. As I drive west, the pine forests thin and eventually disappear, the desert slowly reasserting itself. I pass Williams and eventually Ash Fork. The land flattens, vegetation becoming more and more sparse. This land is rolling and huge, both stark and subtly beautiful. As I roll through the vastness, windows down, hot air howling in my ears, I can feel the beginning of a connection with this land. My mind drifts back to "civilization", to the ribbons of highway, the plague of strip malls and soulless housing tracts. I look at the vast, untamed miles surrounding me, and I begin to ask myself what "civilization" really means. I pull over at some point, getting out of the car, stretching my legs. Afternoon is giving way to evening, but still the sun burns, a dull, constant heat that seems to purify. I drink water from a large jug. (Always carry large quantities of water out here, boys and girls.) I stand under that relentless sun, breathing in the hot, dusty (but clean) air, and I'm struck by how big this place is, how unapologetically vast, and how small I am by comparison. I feel humbled, thankful that places like this still exist, still untouched by greed and the relentless pursuit of "civilization".
I continue on, tuned in to a country music station, one of the few stations that manage to travel these great distances. The radio blares real country music, the country music of old, full of melancholy and a liquor-soaked dignity that has been systematically murdered by what passes for "country music" these days. I pass miles and miles of fields, fenced in for grazing. The sun sinks lower, beginning its descent into the Pacific, an ocean that is more or less straight ahead of me if I were to continue west.
Dusk settles in, the seemingly endless sky painted hues of orange and purple. I'm approaching my destination for the night - Seligman, Arizona. I veer off 40 and onto old Route 66, that ancient and storied road, and I roll straight into town. Seligman exists in a time warp, seemingly untouched by the advance of time and progress. For me, a visitor rolling in for the night, this lack of modernization reeks of nostalgia for a time I'm admittedly too young to even remember. I imagine that, for the young people of this town, this same lack of progress feels like a jail sentence, invoking a yearning for a "civilized" world glimpsed primarily through the television. I imagine teenagers wandering a town that time forgot, marooned in an unending expanse, dreaming of the day when they could flee for Flagstaff, Phoenix or California. I imagine that many do leave; racing into the open, welcoming arms of progress. I also imagine that years later, as time slips away in that sly way that time does, they look back and yearn for that simpler place - that place seemingly lost in time.
My destination this night is the Supai Motel. The place is what the glass-half-full crowd would call "rustic". Frankly, the joint is a dump. This hardly seems to matter to me. This place is popular with those traveling to Havasu Canyon, as it's a fairly short few hours from the motel to the Hualapai Hilltop and the trailhead into the canyon. After a day of driving; eyes tired from the road and the glare of the desert sun, body aching from the seat of a car, any place with four walls, a roof and a bed sounds like paradise. The Supai Motel meets those requirements, and does so with a low price tag befitting its "rustic" status. The owners are an Indian couple who are extremely friendly. They pass along the key with a smile, and I head to my room, falling across the bed as soon as I drop my gear on the floor.
Later, about ten, I go outside. It's dark, the air still hot. I walk across the parking lot and down the street. There's nobody around, and I get the impression that's not unusual here. I stroll past buildings that look like ghosts, relics of an age when Route 66 inspired songs and television shows. I walk in this strange place, under a dark, desert sky swimming with stars. I think to myself that it could easily be 1969, the year of my birth, and I try to imagine what it would have been like to be 33 back then, a time when America was losing its grip on its innocence and the machines of change were bearing down.
I amble back to the room, needing sleep for a long day of hiking the next day. I pull a few beers out of my bag, beers purchased earlier in the evening at what passed for a convenience store/gas station in those parts. The beer is warm, despite having spent the hours in a cheap, styrofoam (environmentally un-friendly, I know) cooler. It hardly seems to matter. I watch "local" news out of Flagstaff, thinking that these warm beers are the best I'd ever had. Eventually I slide off to sleep, full of warm beer and in an uncomfortable bed, slumbering fitfully in the land that time forgot.
(To Be Continued)
Another Year Begins...
It's that time again. Another year has passed, slowly snaking under the bridge and flowing toward the sea and oblivion. I suppose this time of the year is custom made for reflection, regret and healthy doses of optimism. The slate has been wiped clean, so to speak. The new year is a blank canvas, and we stand before it, brush in hand, ready to paint the coming months as we would like them to be. Like I said - optimism. Our brains overflow with plans, improvement and a fresh sense that we control our destiny. We can make the coming year whatever we want it to be.
Everyone knows that the belief that we control our destiny, that we can mold the months ahead as we see fit, is not entirely within the realm of possibility. There's an old saying that says something along the lines of, "Life is 10% what we make it, and 90% how we react to it." That's probably not the exact quote, but you get the idea. The simple fact is that life, in large part, happens to us. Sometimes a loved one gets sick or a job is lost, and these are hardly things we had in mind when painting the canvas of our lives. The fact remains that these things are not made any less real, or any less a part of our existence, by our not planning for or desiring them. Life happens, and that's a cold, hard fact. The only choice we have is to adapt, be strong and move forward, incorporating the good and bad and unexpected into the pastiche of our lives. Like John Irving said, "Half my life is an act of revision." Sure, Mr. Irving was referring to the importance of revision in the craft of the written word. However, I think he was also referring to the act of living in itself. Life is truly a constant act of revision. Life happens, and we revise as we plod along the often bumpy paths upon which we travel.
With these things in mind, I stare down the barrel of a new year and I hope for the best.
The past year was, all told, a pretty good year for me. I'm cynical by nature, and it's easy to look back on the negatives. The economy is in tatters. A misguided war still rages in Iraq, while another conflict reignites between Israel and Palestine. Closer to home, the poor state of the Commonwealth's fiscal health has guaranteed I get no raises in 2009. I look back and realize I still didn't make many of the personal changes I had wanted to enact in 2008. Kid Rock, whose success is reason enough to doubt the existence of a higher power, continues to sell records. (Yes, I still call them records. I'm old. Sue me.) Still, I can't help but marvel at the good that emerged in 2008. We united for change and elected the most unlikely president in our nation's history. I look forward to seeing O take office, and continue to have faith in his vision for America's future. I watch my daughter grow into an amazing, independent woman, and I smile at the fact that I got something right. It's the pastiche. The good and the bad. We revise and we adapt and we move forward.
Cynicism aside, I look at each new year with a sense of (slightly guarded) optimism. There's much work to do to make this world a better place. There are many hurdles to surmount, and the road ahead is never easy. I think that's what makes life sweet. If there were no obstacles, then the appreciation for those things that are good would diminsh. "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down," so to speak.
I look forward to the coming year. I wish you all the best.
Everyone knows that the belief that we control our destiny, that we can mold the months ahead as we see fit, is not entirely within the realm of possibility. There's an old saying that says something along the lines of, "Life is 10% what we make it, and 90% how we react to it." That's probably not the exact quote, but you get the idea. The simple fact is that life, in large part, happens to us. Sometimes a loved one gets sick or a job is lost, and these are hardly things we had in mind when painting the canvas of our lives. The fact remains that these things are not made any less real, or any less a part of our existence, by our not planning for or desiring them. Life happens, and that's a cold, hard fact. The only choice we have is to adapt, be strong and move forward, incorporating the good and bad and unexpected into the pastiche of our lives. Like John Irving said, "Half my life is an act of revision." Sure, Mr. Irving was referring to the importance of revision in the craft of the written word. However, I think he was also referring to the act of living in itself. Life is truly a constant act of revision. Life happens, and we revise as we plod along the often bumpy paths upon which we travel.
With these things in mind, I stare down the barrel of a new year and I hope for the best.
The past year was, all told, a pretty good year for me. I'm cynical by nature, and it's easy to look back on the negatives. The economy is in tatters. A misguided war still rages in Iraq, while another conflict reignites between Israel and Palestine. Closer to home, the poor state of the Commonwealth's fiscal health has guaranteed I get no raises in 2009. I look back and realize I still didn't make many of the personal changes I had wanted to enact in 2008. Kid Rock, whose success is reason enough to doubt the existence of a higher power, continues to sell records. (Yes, I still call them records. I'm old. Sue me.) Still, I can't help but marvel at the good that emerged in 2008. We united for change and elected the most unlikely president in our nation's history. I look forward to seeing O take office, and continue to have faith in his vision for America's future. I watch my daughter grow into an amazing, independent woman, and I smile at the fact that I got something right. It's the pastiche. The good and the bad. We revise and we adapt and we move forward.
Cynicism aside, I look at each new year with a sense of (slightly guarded) optimism. There's much work to do to make this world a better place. There are many hurdles to surmount, and the road ahead is never easy. I think that's what makes life sweet. If there were no obstacles, then the appreciation for those things that are good would diminsh. "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down," so to speak.
I look forward to the coming year. I wish you all the best.
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