Space Cadets

monkeyinouterspace

See, the truth is: people have always been spacey space-cadets.

I remember a time when I’d be talking to a friend, telling an amazing story and holding back as much as I could on the hyperbole, and he’d be staring off into outer space, but still nodding and maybe even making a mumbled, “uh-huh” noise to make me think he was actually listening, and I’d get to the really fabulous, juicy part of the story and he’d say, “Huh?” Then I’d have to start the whole story all over again.

Or there were times when my dad would be explaining the careful and correct use of some sort of power tool, and my own mind would wander. I’d be considering how to turn the lawn mower into a go-cart, or how to have races with the belt sander (if only one of my friends had one as well), or how to build a tree fort with the lumber he wanted put up as a fence. Then he’d finish and ask, “You got it?” And of course the appropriate response would be: “Yep!” Even though I hadn’t got any of it. And then of course he would say something to mess with my mind like: “Now don’t let that lawnmower chop off your toes. Remember what I told you about ‘Shoeless’ Mike.”

“Shoeless” Mike?! I missed that part. I was in outer space. Pride would never let me ask him to repeat what he’d said either. As they say, pride comes before you lose your toes under the lawnmower.

Nowadays, people are staring down at miniature screens, their thumbs are flying, brains washing, watching cyberspace, mesmerized by memes, and you’ll get to the epic part of your story and they’ll say, “Huh?”

They won’t even look up.

You’ll know that you don’t need to bother starting the story over again.

I usually just reply to the space cadet and say something completely irrelevant, like: “I should have built that go-cart.”

Didn’t Mean It

didntmeanit

One of my favorite local magazines recently published an article about polygamy. They called it a satire piece later. After they seemed to gain a lot of negative attention about the article, then they published a retraction and an apology.

I don’t know that they had planned it all along, but it sure looked that way from my perspective. They printed a letter from one of the people who was mentioned in the article and apologized to that person. It seemed too easily and conveniently orchestrated to me, but I could definitely be wrong.

Within the original article, the writer had so much pro-polygamy information, that it would be difficult, I think, to retract all of it with a simple, single line stating that he has anti-polygamy beliefs. So that’s the question of the day: Is it possible to deny paragraphs and essays with only one sentence? Or do you think like I do, and believe that the denial should be as long or longer than the original admission?

Even if the piece was intended to be satirical, shouldn’t the correction of everyone’s misperceptions take as much effort as the misleading text? Would you be satisfied if someone misrepresented you and gave a quick, terse apology? Would that feel more like a dismissal than an apology?

To give this magazine and its editor credit: generally the stories and articles in the magazine are top-quality, and by generally I mean a high 90%. But to their discredit: the article about polygamy they wrote does not state anywhere “satire”. So I can see how anyone reading it could have misunderstood.

Remember that lesson when you’re doing your own writing. If it’s at all possible for someone to misunderstand the intent, make sure you put the word satire before the article, especially if you have the names of real people included.

Ascension

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This weekend’s mountain biking trip was good and fun.

We went up some trails in the Eagle Mountain area. The trail names sound like musical references to me. There’s one called Behind The Boathouse (a Toadies reference?), and another one called Nirvana (the band, or the ascension? probably the band).

Whatever the influence was on the people who named the trails, it was a good ride.

Our total distance was only about 9 miles, but we gained about 1400 feet in elevation, and I definitely got my cardio exercise done. (Huff, puff.)

My friend took a selfie with me in the background at the top of Nirvana, so if he sends that to me anytime soon, I’ll post it here. In the in-between, it’s time for more ascension—a different kind of ascension—the kind that gives me my favorite kind of cardio-vascular exercise.

See you when I come back down!

Mystified

mystified

Diesel trucks blowing clouds like lonely vape-o-scruffs;

Vape-o-loners sent to the far edges of the property like bad art;

Billowing e-cigarette vapors, misting around and about the scraggle-haired head like some kind of extreme incense addiction;

Sewer drains belching odd steams that warm, and light up the night;

A video from the infonet that challenges and mystifies—only one watches, alone;

The loneliest, surrounded by hordes of ghost gnats;

An industrial incinerator, on the outskirts, sending its carcinogenic treasures back down-wind toward the town from which it was banished;

The contaminated paths, currents of air, changing direction, and finding a home in an unprotected lung;

Wisdom, backward-filtered, contaminated with bias;

A group of friends, fitting the gas masks, tightening the straps, testing the integrity of the valves, so they can go out and see a movie.

Meditative Banana

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This banana is very much like a lot of people I know who get into some weird cults. The so-called “spiritual” stuff that people go for is too often because of clever marketing. Cults, disguised as self-discovery. The separation of self from part of the norm is fine, in my opinion, but when these people start separating themselves from every normal thing, even partial normality, then there’s a problem.

The main question is this: How much non-conformity is too much?

I mean, there’s a certain level of conformity that you have to maintain. I’m just wondering where exactly that line should be drawn. If you drop out of the clothed-human crowd, then you’ve drawn the line at clothes. If you drop out of the cleanliness church, then you give up hygiene, and you’ve drawn the line at soap. If you drop out of the casual conversation gospel, then you might go either to the habit of blurting random thoughts out in front of new acquaintances, or to avoiding conversations altogether. All of these are great ways to limit your relationships—if that’s what you were trying to do.

If you didn’t mean to burn the friendly bridges, then I guess you should have asked yourself the question: How much non-conformity is too much?

Can you get along okay in society if you’ve given up the conformity of keeping mind-altering drugs out of your system? How long can you keep that up before you’re talking nonsense to a fire hydrant on the street? How long can you maintain that non-conformity before you’re a drooling meat-bag?

Can you get along fine in the world if you refuse to wear enough clothes to cover your dangling, sagging parts that no one else really wants to see? Have you ever asked anyone in your circle of friends how many clothes you need to remain normal? Many establishments, especially food-oriented ones, have a strict pants policy, and a fairly rigid shirts and shoes policy. That’s a good guide. If you’re swimming, go ahead and take your shirt and shoes off, but if you’re going to get a taco with some friends, cover your parts.

Can you get along okay, in society, if you drug up AND disrobe? Not likely. And these are only two examples. There are many more ways to become non-conformist crazy. If you find yourself losing friends: take a look at how far separated from normal you are. Are you the whole banana, or are you being sliced by the influences around you? How many degrees of separate are you? And how much non-conformity is too much?