Very VERY Interesting Blog; Not Boring AT ALL, No.

I woke up at 8am this morning because I told myself last night that I would shave for work today. I can usually sleep in until 8:15 or :25 on the days I don't shave. Awake at 8:25, a six minute shower, 7 minutes to pick my outfit and get dressed, 5 to 10 minutes checking blogs, and a five minute bike ride to work. If I get out the door before, say, 8:48, I'll have time to stop at 7-11 and get a 16 oz coffee with 5 or 6 sugars and approximately 4 creams. If I didn't give myself enough time to eat breakfast before I left the house (which is almost every work day), I'll grab a pastry to go.
Today I woke up "early" with the intention of shaving. Mike Cooley, my boss, likes clean shaven employees. I like to please my boss. But at about 8:06 this morning, I just couldn't bring myself to shave. You see, I have good shaves and bad shaves. A lot of factors come together to determine whether or not I have a good or bad shave, but one factor is most important, and that's how sensitive my skin is. The funny thing is, I can usually sense when my skin is not ready for close contact with a razor. Sometimes I can't tell, and that's when I'll likely find out the hard way with the shedding of blood. I haven't sliced myself open while shaving for years now, but I get micro cuts all of the time. When my skin is especially sensitive, I might get 4 or 5 of these micro cuts on a square inch of flesh. Needless to say, this sucks. I try to avoid shaving too frequently, as this is the surest way to fuck up my skin. I shave very very slowly. And very deliberately. There's strategy involved. I start at the neck and move up towards the jaw line. I ALWAYS move the razor against the grain; otherwise I'll have a 5 o'clock shadow at 9am. I am ever so careful; holding the skin taught, being sure to reapply gel when its washed away, and IDing each hair for growth direction before I make my stroke. A shave takes 20 minutes or thereabouts.
This morning I had a strong sense that if I attempted shaving, I would regret it. So I made the decision to skip the shave. I got dressed. I wore a dark grey, decent-fitting cycling t-shirt; a red baseball cap; some preppy jeans; brown and red Pumas; and my scholarly looking glasses. The outfit was far from "homeless man"; a safe school-boy look, which succeeded in balancing out my potentially scruffy looking appearance.
I got to work with five minutes to spare and performed my morning routine of unlocking the doors, putting cash in the till, and straightening the counter area. Also, as part of the routine, I nursed my coffee and picked at my pastry. It wasn't long though before a began juggling customers and shop duties.
One might think that "bicycle salesman" is an easy going sort of an occupation. On the whole, they are right. Relatively speaking, they are right as well. But my job tends to be more difficult than the normal bicycle sales job. I think that its because I try. I really really try. I look for things to do when I get done with something. I'm constantly observing the shop for problem areas, and I'm always thinking of better ways to do things. I am obsessed about making sure every customer who walks in the door is greeted and helped. I'm all about keeping a perfect inventory of bikes. Every spot filled and every size of every model in stock or readily available. I'm a bit of a freak when it comes to my job. I'm not extremely social with my coworkers. I've noticed that some people have a minimum amount of B.S. that they purge from their systems before they can even think about working. One fellow employee Randy has admitted to this. I'm a freak because I can go the entire work day (10 hours) and not feel the need to B.S. once. I'm a worker bee and I'm cool with that. I'm also cool with the fact that others are not like me. Sometimes I fear that others may think I'm cold or bitter simply because I go about working all of the time instead of telling them about my weekend or something. Usually I get over that fear pretty quickly.
So today I cleaned the counter area thoroughly, installed a roof rack on a van in the heat, helped our cleaning kid move bikes so that he could mop, talked for nearly two hours to one particular customer who was interested in buying two bikes totaling $8,500, helped my girlfriend pick out some sexy/cute cycling clothes (can't wait to see them on the trail), took care of some special order issues, sold 2 or 3 bikes, and so on. But the greatest thing that I did today was get one of our owners to hold a couple of my fellow employees to task.
Both owners really really really don't like asking their employees to do things. I appreciated this when I first started working at Georges because I saw it as a sign that they trusted me to do the right thing and do it well. I didn't want to diminish that trust, so I've worked pretty hard over the years. Now I find this lack of oversight and direction to be a major fault. George's is a huge bike shop in 2005. Gone are the good-old days when our shop could have been considered quaint. In 1999, when I started working, the owners leased a space next to a bank on Broadway. That shop had approximately 1/8th the space the current store has. With more space and a dramatic increase in sales, we've taken on atleast twice the staff we once had. Unfortunately, we've hired a few sales people who, by anyone's standards, should not be selling bikes. Either they are not cyclists themselves and they don't know the product, or they're just plain rude to customers. Furthermore, every employee has a different work ethic. With so much being sold at Georges, there is so much to do. Stocking, ordering, straightening, keeping track of special orders, etc, etc. My point is; there is an overwhelming need for employee oversight to ensure that George's standards, whatever they may be, are met. Something was done several months ago to make it easy to hold each employee directly responsible for keeping certain products in the store in stock and straightened. Weirdly enough, things still go unattended while the owners and manager twiddle their thumbs.
So today I noticed that our tires hanging in the back were in complete disarray depite the fact that both employees responsible for the tire area were working, and had been working several days prior. Now this may be news to you, but there are a lot of different types of bike tires out there, and a shop such as Georges must be sure to have most of them in stock and organized, ready to sell. Mike Cooley, with a brilliant idea a few months ago, had me reorganize many of our best selling tires so that they were more readily accessible. This new area, today, was completely dissorganized even though I had originally labeled each tire hook clearly. Noticing this as a perfect situation for an owner to exercise some oversight over his employees, I went to Mike and told him about the tire area. I didn't care so much about the tires being out of order. I really just wanted to see one or more of the bosses begin to, um, do their jobs. So, like I said, I told Mike about the tire. And Mike said to me, "Oh, we can have Brian do that. He's should be able to figure it out." Brian is a 15-year old kid that we took on to do janitorial work for the summer. He was mopping a floor at the time I talked to Mike. My response to Mike was like, "er, Ok", and then I walked away. A minute or two later, I went to Tom, the other owner of Georges, and told him the same thing. I made sure Mike wasn't able to hear my short conversation with Tom. I explained to Tom that I thought it was a good opportunity to ask the two employees responsible for the area to take care of the area. (I'm a big fan of a boss simply asking an employee to do something. For example, "Hey Randy, would you mind straightening up that tire area today? Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.") To Tom's credit, he went straight to the manager, Sandy, about the issue; and between the two of them, they were able to gather up enough courage to pull the two employees aside and get them to straighten the tires. To lend support to the notion that I am not an anal freak about these things, the tire area was so dissorganized that Randy spent atleast 3 straight hours remedying the situation.
The great thing about the tire event was that I was able to go to a boss and get that boss to be a boss. So, in an indirect way, I acted as the boss. Of course, I'd have no interest in doing so if such action was not needed. Not being a manager, I am unable to ask anything of my fellow employees. Poor me.
Other than work being tough, a couple of things bummed me out a little and a lot today. What bummed me out a lot was that I realized I won't have a Saturday off for the next three weeks. I checked our calender and saw that I agreed to work for two different coworkers during the next two Saturdays. The third Saturday is the Saturday I am required to work in order to achieve a full 160 hour month. Like I said, this really bummed me out. In fact, I think I was distraught and upset. Last night Fern and I got ourselves all excited about traveling, and I looked forward to a mini vacation in about a week. I mistakenly thought that I would have a 3 day second weekend of July. I'm still holding onto hope that I can get someone to cover for that day, because I really need a mini vacation in the great outdoors with Fern.
The second thing that bummed me out was Fern's news that she didn't sleep at all last night. She had insomnia. I've stayed up all night trying desperately to fall asleep. I also enjoy sleep immensly. So, I understand that it sucks royally to have insomnia. I mean, it really really sucks. In fact, it can be torturous. And I HATE to think of Jennifer being tortured in any fashion whatsoever. She blogged about it and I commented, saying that we will take care of the problem. And I think we will. Its not like insomnia is a new or rare problem. There have got to be effective ways of remedying it. Its just a matter of finding those ways and trying them. Trying them all if necessary. Anyway, it was good to see her at the shop today and I'm pretty stoked that she found an outfit that fit and looked cool.
After work I went for a mountain bike ride by myself. I rode hard, as is usually the case when I ride by myself. It felt really good to charge up climbs and scream down descents. I picked a route that had a couple steep climbs in it. I felt especially fast and smooth on the down hills. I felt better and better as the ride progressed, but I ran out of water, so I decided it would be best to turn back. Oh, I did the ride shirtless in order to work on a tan. The temperature was a perfect. It was fully warm but not hot. I totally forgot that I wasn't wearing a jersey, because the air temperature was a lot like the temperature of the air that usually floats around the body when one puts a good effort in on the bike.
I'm still sitting in my biking shorts. I suppose I should change and eat something. Bye.

Owyhees, Part Two

In response to popular demand, the subject of this blog will again be the Owyhee mountains.

Fern and I had ourselves an outing Saturday. We needed an Owyhee fix, so that afternoon, after a breakfast of eggs, hashbrowns, toast, flapjacks, and coffee, we packed up some goodies in a cooler and headed for the land beyond. A land just beyond the armpit of Idaho, NampaCaldwell. NampaCaldwell is a dirthole. A depressing shitpile of car lots, mexican restaurants catering to fat white people, department stores, trailer parks, mysterious manufacturing complexes and wharehouses, and nondescript strip malls. Fern and I entered the belly of the beast, "Big K," in search of a restroom. In the process of making our way to the back of the store, where the restrooms were conveniently situated, we passed aisle after aisle of junk food. I felt the walls begin to close in. After peeing, we stumbled back into blinding sunlight, holding our breath until we made it to the car for fear of inhaling sugar beet factory fumes. It wasn't until we made that sweeping left hander down into the Snake River valley, in sight of Marsing, that we were able to breath easy. In Marsing, Jennifer realized that she was hungry. We passed a trailor/restaurant called "Freddy's Tacos". Freddy was there to take our order and serve our tacos. The tacos, Freddy, and the whole experience were of heightened quality. This sometimese shy guy (me) can really enjoy talking to complete strangers when the mood hits him, so I was especially glad to chat with Fredrico for a titch. Another pleasant detail of the dining experience was the fact that the weather was not only perfect, but beautiful to see. There was a tropical look to the sky, with small popcorn clouds and larger clouds aspiring to be true storms later in the day. Jennifer and I left Marsing completely satisfied with our dining experience, just as we had done a few months prior. We traveled south on a bumpy highway that took us up into the Owyhees. A few miles skyward, we stopped and checked out the view near a historical marker. This is where we were made aware of that titilating fact regarding the Owyhee name. According to the historical marker, if you say Owyhee out loud, it sounds just like Hawaii. And, of course, historical markers are never wrong. Back in the car heading south, I kept my eyes pealed for exciting landscape and promising roads that would lead us into that landscape. Recognizing that there are no sure bets when it comes to exploration, I directed Fern to turn off onto an unassuming dirt road which appeared to parrallel a creek. Our amazing Owyhee adventure began as soon as we turned onto that road. A badger (yes, a badger!), crossed our path and trotted along side the road for much longer than one would expect a badger to trot when two humanoids gawked at it from large metallic mobile. I felt as if I were directing a film for National Geographic. What a great shot! We continued down the road for about a mile and parked. This is when Fern directed my attention to the hundreds of exoskelotons at our feet. We began hiking, hearing the sound and smelling the smell of recently deceased Mormon crickets. We blazed a trail through the sage brush and scratchy weeds towards the creek. We discovered a cow path and followed it. Fern found a stunning mini-canyon in which to pee. Continuing along the cow path, we were led away from the creek and up a small draw. Cresting the draw we came upon the first of many bovine animals which we would spy either grazing amongst the sage or licking large squares of salt. This is when we had our discussion about bovine safety, or rather, our safety in the presence of potentially grumpy cows. Fern, in all her wisdom, came up with a plan. She recommended that if an angry bull charges us, we run very fast and scream at the top of our lungs. I believe this is her blanket strategy for dealing with any and all four legged hairy mammal that look at her sideways. Hiking onward, we soon found ourselves cowboys, driving a herd along the creek. This was not intended, so we used our awesome cowboy skills to select a course which succeeded in staying the herd. Next, we shifted into our granny gears and began climbing and climbing up a road which made me want a Jeep or LandRover. The combination of extreme physical exertion, high temperatures, intense sunlight, and thin air must have caused us to hallucinate, because as we crested the top of the hill, we saw the Great White Spirit Cow. It was a statuesque cow that seemed content residing far from the herd. I'm sure now that it was pretty damn proud of its white hide. It gazed knowingly at the two hominids approaching it. Then it dissapeared. In only a few minutes, it reappeared. I felt truly blessed. Most people never see the Spirit Cow once in their lifetimes, yet I was allowed to gaze upon its majesty not once, not twice, but, like, four times! Anyway, I think that fucking cow may have placed a curse on my head, because I began feeling some strange rumblings in my tummy. I asked Jennifer if she had brought any toilet paper. She said no and proceeded to express feelings of guilt when the reality of my situation was made known to her. Of course, it was not her fault that I did not have toilet paper. I believe that if someone is that concerned about unfortunate out-of-doors bowel movements, then that person assumes full responsibility for bringing along the necessary items. Clearly, I wasn't that concerned. I know that if worse comes to worse, there are things like socks and underwear that really aren't so valuable that I'd end up spending the rest of the day completely soiled. So, after withstanding a bit of pain, I made it to a rocky outcropping and took care of business. Ironically, earlier that day I was expressing to Fern my new fondness for sleeping naked and going around not wearing undies. After taking care of business, I was lucky enough to experience the latter, however unplanned. When I rejoined Fern after that unfortunate experience, I learned that I missed what would have been the coolest moment of the trip. She said that she saw what looked like a wolf. Given that I had other things to focus my attention on at the time of the wolf sighting, I've got little to say about the occurrence. We then hiked wobbly-legged down some ridgy hills, back towards the car. Before we made it back, we were struck by ice-cold rain drops. A mini-storm had formed directly over our heads and had just enough gusto to let go a frosty bout of rain. While there's no question we got wet, I'm sure that there was a spot or two on my shirt that stayed dry. Such are the high desert rainshowers. Before leaving, the Fern and I made ourselves "Lunchable" sandwhiches that rivaled the best I've tasted for flavor. End.

Writing Exersice, Thats All.

Owyhee County is the largest county in Idaho. This county is, essentially, southwest Idaho. It' s expansive to say the least. Depending on how you look at it, the area is either one of the least populated parts of Idaho, or the most densly populated. As far as people go, there's not too many. Mormon crickets on the other hand, there's more than a few. A few trillion actually. Owyhee County has a rather grotesque carpet of living and dead cricket exoskeletons. Hiking, you eventually get used to the crunching sound.
Owyhee County is where one may discover the Owyhees. The Owyhees are mountains, high plateaus, rolling hills, canyonlands, grazeland, or sand dunes depending on the context of a given conversation. An interesting fact regarding the name "Owyhee" is that it is an old-time misspelling of "Hawaii." A couple of centuries ago, fur trappers hired several people from Hawaii for the purpose of trapping in southwest Idaho. These tropical transplants were dropped off there and never seen again. Another people who spent time in the Owyhees were Basque sheep herders from the Northern regions of Spain. Today, these proud people are commonly found celebrating their heritage on the streets of downtown Boise. There are very few people still living in the Owyhees these days, unless you want to count ranchers whose herds are scattered across nearly every square mile of that scubby, scarred land.
One more fact. The Owyhees are often talked about, but they are largely untouched. Type "Owyhee trails" in Google, do the research, and you'll find that there is no real trail "system" in the county to speak of. There are very few actual hiking trails. Sure its trendy for Boiseans to rave about the Owyhees, but how many actually make the 45 minute trip to visit them? Loving that land is tough love because, well, it doesn't really love you back. It offers very little in the way of pleasant breezy hikes through forests and meadows a la' the Sawtooths. Boiseans find themselves at the foot of fortress-like basalt cliffs and ask themselves, "Now what?". The Owyhees are windswept, rugged, unforgiving, relentless, endless, and even lonely. While its beauty is as striking as its sky is wide, nobody really wants to be dropped off there for an extended period of time.
More later...?

Fucked Up, unedited

I'm not the most sincere person in the world, atleast not outwardly so. I like to joke. I'm a big fan of sarcasm. Nothing special, but it keeps me light hearted much of the time. Which, as Fern would put it, works for me. Still, despite my own preference, I usually feel quite serious/sincere. You know, deep down and stuff. That's ok, because I think it grants me a sense of urgency that without I don't think I'd be as concerned about making the most of every day. Also, I might not perform as well on the job. Plus, I think that a person who is never serious/sincere might have a hard time living a principled life or feeling a genuine appreciation for others.

What I want to express is that I am not only serious emotionally much of the time, but I'm also sensitive. This may be news worthy because throughout my life I've heard people make comments regarding the fact that I appear to be very mellow, er cool, er content, er whatever. A coworker who is a Jackass remarked that I appear to be smug, as if I think I'm the best bicycle sales person who ever lived. Interestingly, I think that what Jackass has observed is an employee, me, working like he's being paid to work, which, last I checked, I am.

Here's news. I was an extremely emotional kid. I cried my head off when mom was gone for hours or days. I cried and clung to her leg when she tried to drop me off at kindergarten. I cried when I got frustrated with something I couldn't do. I hated to lose games, and when I did, I didn't want to play them any more. I cried when my older sisters and brothers teased or harrassed me as sisters and brothers are known for doing.

Something interesting happened to me as I grew up. I witnessed good people become totally consumed and controlled by their emotions. My mother and father engaged in fearsome booming arguments when I was around the ages of 3 and 5. I was also there for the divorce of my mom's second husband, which didn't involve as much noise but a similar hatred which permeated the air leading up to the first divorce. I went to church throughout my childhood and watched as belief repeatedly spawned from emotional response instead of reason and due consideration. The interesting thing that happened to me was that I came to despise emotion, primarily when it alone was the catalyst for action. I aspired to be a logical, reasonable person. I wanted to be spoc-like. Several years later I can say pretty confidently that I'm a very reasonable person. But can I say that I'm as emotionally open as I once was? Can I say that my logical side hasn't come at the expense of greater emotional versatility and readiness(?). No.

I have a hypothesis or two for why I have been so shy much of my life. First, if you are an emotional child and you are often nervous or sad, you are more afraid to open your mouth around others in the fear that your emotions will get the best of you. So, you try to contain them. And you avoid social interaction. Second, I think that its possible that my experiences as a young child could have been traumatic enough to induce some sort of emotional shock, which shut me up. Mom told me that I simply stopped talking for quite awhile when I was 3, and this was the time when she and dad were having some pretty intense arguments. And third, since I developed such a bad opinion of emotion in general, I had little to say. Most of what is said is an expression of some sort anyway. I didn't feel the need to say anything since it was as if I had willingly made myself emotionally numb (however, I have a hard time believing that I could do that).

So, the shyness I've had has been a hinderance for me, for expressing myself more sincerely. Which, is not really a big deal or anything. I believe that times which require absolute sincerity and an expression of our most heart-felt emotions are actually few. Those expressions should be special and not made common. For example, ((this has nothing to do with my personal life, so don't try to read anything into it)) I don't know if I'm a big fan of saying "I love you" seventyteen times a day to anyone and everyone. I'm not a big fan of pecking your partner on the lips in place of "hello" and "have a nice day." Kisses should always be passionate. Plus, I don't think things should be made into a big deal unless they are truly a big deal. I experienced a tad more unjustified big deal making than I would have preferred when I visited the entire family a week ago.

I guess what I'm saying is that maybe I succeeded in training myself to feel emotional primarily when things occur that are extraordinarily touching or important. Of course that's most likely crapola, because almost every day or every other day I'm reminded that I am still the same person I was when I was a kid. An emotional mess. I can only hope to make good use of that mess someday.

Review of Blogs

Evil Love
A question: How strong is the connection-what is the relationship-between feelings of attraction towards beautiful things and feelings of romantic love/love?
Faith in Brilliance
A reminder: Patience and persistence is necessary if we intend to create something great.
Extra Cheese
An observation: Machismo is extremely prominent in American pop culture whereas the more emotional, sensitive, tender, empathetic, quiet, kind, sensual ""female"" counterpart is sadly missing.
Earth Wind and Fire
A report on adventures while camping with the Fern.
Grass Stains
Frustration with the weather and fun with Fern.
Different Me
A list of a few self defining beliefs/notions/opinions.
The Merits of Art
My opinions on what constitutes quality art, and, thus, what is "quality" in general. Namely, originality and a compromise or balance between expressing base emotions and demonstrating intelligent design.
Also, art gives us joy and freedom.
Things That Make You Go "Weee"
Fun with Fern at the playground.
West Coast Choppers
How men can buy ready-made macho images to cover up their insecurities.
On Seriousness
Seriousness is a state of mind which is tragic at both the individual and societal levels.
This Little Piggy
A silly dream about my toes falling off, and thoughts on when life is "over".
On the Subject of Microsubjects
Deconstructing ideas to discover the smallest emotions/sentiments/motives at their heart is a good way to build up new, original ideas, as well as come to a truer understanding of those ideas.
Feel My Pain
Life was good before I got sick. And, this really really hurts.
Twice in One Day
Insecure, overly aware, in a funk, overwhelmed, and bored, are unhealthy states of mind which act as barriers to living.
A Distant Ramble
An expression of happiness regarding the fact that my girlfriend went on a mountainbike ride with me. Also, a rave about the bicycle. How it makes us super-human and how its mystical power come from the cosmos...
Eating Instant Oatmeal
Things I attribute to being completely broke
Happy Fun Times Continued
Tandem ride adventures and a silly tirade about a lonely American hero.
Not a Damn Thing Funny
nothing really
Zomething Different
Why you should never eat at a Chinese Buffet. And, "Us vs. Them" or "The quality seekers vs. the flacid bench dwellers" or something like that.
Life Like Sex
The key to really "living" is knowing yourself, which can be difficult. There are other obstacles to feeling more alive. A few ideas on ways to begin knowing ourselves better.
Poo and Like Substances
Its ok to write shit of especially poor quality.
Portland, Oregon
Initial impression of Portland.
Dear Diary
Ninja recon adventures as well as adventures with Ajax.
Crow
Field observations of this species of bird.

Yeah, I know, this is more like a table of contents than an examination of the underlying sentiments of each blog. I'll try working on that in the near future.

Be the Hippo

Wow. I'm starting to worry myself with all of this non-blogging going on. Is there something wrong with me? I've been tired a lot lately, especially after I wake up and before I go to bed. Is that unusual? I have a tendency to black out between the hours of 12 and 7 am. Its strange. I wonder if I really remain motionless in my bed the entire time. I suppose its just as likely that last night I gazed into the night sky and watched as the atmosphere was struck by a wave of cosmic particles, causing the forest around me to burst into flames a moment later. And isn't it just as likely that my girlfriend met my brother last night and they really really reeeaally hit it off? No? Its not as likely? Woosh. (interesting how my mind conjures up apocalyptical nitemares and dreams of Fern making out with some other guy during the same night, as if both are equally terrifying)

For selfish reasons, I just finished reading all of the blogs that I've written to date. I want to discover what sentiment compelled me to write each one. Once again, I'm engaging in an exercise of self analysis. Interested in origins as I am, I want to explore the origins of my own thoughts. I know that they arise from emotion. Its the moment in which emotion is shoved into its packaging (worded thought and script) that I want to place under the microscope. In that moment we find sentiment still true and pure. As sentiment is broken and manipulated to fit into the various words and sentences of language, it looses much of its impact, its meaning, its "soul." Music is something that can reverse that deconstructive process. So is visual art. And ironically, so is writing when words and sentences are beatifully strung together by talented authors.
Here's something. In our lives we metamorphosize into children and young adults capable of intelligent thought but who have become less adept at feeling and expressing as we were when we were purely emotional creatures (fyi, babies). I believe that there is a third stage to this metamorphosis possible if we realize that "language" is not the most complete or true form of expression, and that because our thoughts are channelled through words, we are somewhat detached from our emotional selfs. We often can't undertand why we feel a certain way--we confuse ourselves--because we are not fluent speakers of our own emotional language. Our feelings sometimes hold messages for us to interpret and respond to intelligently, yet more often they stand on their own and require nothing but appreciation and acceptance. The third stage of development occurs after we recognize that we are not fully developed emotionally. Like I said, greater intelligence (like the intelligence underlying great literature) and enhanced creativity (allowing us to refamiliarize ourselves with our emotional selfs) are the keys to making it through the last personal transformation. When there is perfect harmony between what we feel, what we think, and what we express; when those things are done in a more intense, skillful manner; and when we're able to be highly emotional creatures who are extremely free (requiring hightened intelligence and awareness) in both thought and action, then we can finally say that we've _______ (place analogy involving a coccoon and butterfly here). Think of the last scene in the Dark Crystal. Our goal is to become those long white divine spirits that rose out of the crumbling castle... Ok, that's just plain silly. Moving on...
About the whole finding the sentiment at the heart of my blogs thing. I'll start doing that in a seperate blog. Thanks for reading.

Evil Love

Here is something I wrote to a friend about a year ago. The hello and goodbye parts of the email are left out. References to "the movie" might be a little confusing. Just ignore that. Plus, there's bound to be some dumb or cliche thinking going on here, and there's most certainly a good bit of cheese, but overall, I think this is one of the more profound/interesting lines of thinking that I've taken up. I'm most intrigued by the thought that follows "If I fall in love more easily with a beautiful woman...". Also interesting to me is the subject of the good/bad of beauty/art. Finally, there's the uncertain n' strange connection between beauty, love, and sex. If anyone could tell me what thought/point struck them as the most important, I'd really appreciate it. Here it is:

--- The movie illustrated how passion driven by physical beauty (and other
>things) can cause people to fall in love, and result in so much pain
>for others.. In this way, the movie touched upon a topic that’s
>been at the forefront of my mind lately. That being the nature of
>beauty, and the role it plays in our life. I have wondered if
>beauty is something exceedingly good which we should commit our
>energy to finding, creating, and owning. Should we embrace beauty
>and seek to integrate it into our lives? Should it be something we
>use to define who we are? Or is it something that, if desired too
>greatly, is more likely to give birth to personal tragedy? Is
>beauty related to racism in its inherent injustice–the unjust,
>unequal treatment of things and people based on physical appearance?
> Does beauty, through its probable marriage to love (the main
>subject of this email), beget evil--real pain and damage that a lack
>of beauty can cause someone? I've struggled with these problems
>since I started doubting so-called truths around the age of 12.
>That’s when I started feeling more aware-more sensitive-to life's
>apparant injustices. One of my earliest axioms was that sex and
>love are two seperate, distinct things which can exist independent
>of one another. I was sick of people using the world "love" in
>place of "sex" or "lust." I knew that a person could fall in love
>without first having sex. And I suspected that one could have sex
>without falling in love. I suppose my assumption was that there was
>something more divine, more special, about love. I thought that if
>sex and love were too intertwined, then the “glory” of love would be
>diminished...after all, it was clear at the time that sex was a
>primitive instinct, and love was a product of our higher
>mind/emotions. It was clear that sex served a purpose, but not one
>so noble as love’s gift of lasting happiness. 17 years later I know
>that my axiom was correct—but at the same time, I am seeing (as in
>the movie) and feeling too great of a connection between love and
>sex to declare that they are meant to be totally independent of each
>other. Yes they can exist exclusively, but is that natural? Or is
>it a modern phenomenon? Is it forced? yarrr! i’m making my own
>head spin here... This topic is hard to grasp....its hard to
>analyze something that doesn’t seem to have a logical foundation.
>So, ok, to get closer to the real issue that compelled me to write:
>Is physical beauty (including art) allied with sex (instinctual) or
>is it allied with love (more “divine”)? It seems like I’m asking
>whether or not beauty is bad or good–like its that simple... But I
>don’t believe sex is bad, not at all. Its wonderful. Its
>undoubtedly good. Conversely, love does not always result in good
>being done....often times it binds people in unhealthy
>relationships. Whether it is love or sex that possess the greatest
>potential for causing serious emotional pain–the worst long term
>consequences–is debatable. Ok, maybe this can get me even closer to
>the point: What of a reclusive artist? Is dedicating a lifetime to
>seeking and creating beauty a shallow endeavor? What of a
>accountant or lawyer? Is a life dedicated to logic and ignorant of
>beauty noble in any way? No, no, this isn’t the point....there’s a
>point to be made here, but it is not the point I’m looking for. How
>about this question: When I look at a beautiful woman, and I
>feel...love (not lust), isn’t there something very wrong with that?
>If I fall in love more easily with a beautiful woman, doesn’t that
>say something about love—doesn’t it diminish love to something that
>is slave to beauty, and doesn’t beauty have a dark side (like
>racism, like evil [cause of extreme harm]) like I’ve discussed?
>Wouldn’t that make love have the same dark side? hmmm.... Maybe
>I’m trying to isolate a great “evil” that exists both in my heart
>and in the world’s....and that is a lack of love received. This
>shouldn’t sound overly personal. What single person doesn’t
>understand what this “evil” is? ....anyway, how can the lack of
>something be reason to blame the existence of something? How can I
>demonize beauty or love in anyway simply because people need it so
>much, and so often don’t receive enough of it? How can I demonize
>something that cannot be controlled–that naturally turns on and off
>like love? If a husband cheats on his wife because he is drawn to
>the beauty of another woman, and falls in love with her in part
>because of that attraction, how can beauty and love be blamed? How
>can he be blamed? (questions, questions, questions) So, at this
>point, I'm reminded of the popular sentiment that people cannot be
>entirely innocent...we all have free wills, right? (another topic
>of discussion) A man can choose not to sleep with another woman. A
>“good” man will adopt principles and guidelines which he will follow
>in order to preserve something he has previously determined to be of
>the highest value–his love and commitment to one woman, his wife.
>Right? Perhaps a good man can train himself to not see the beauty
>in other women....or perhaps he sees the beauty, but he is good
>because he has trained himself to not feel love or lust for other
>women. Right? It seems clear that many types of self control are
>absolutely necessary to succeed in this life... But to what extent
>should we restrain–or train–ourselves? This is where religion comes
>in for so many. It is too complicated for people to draw those
>lines themselves. But now we have arrived at some sort of Lockian
>construct.... “as long as no one else gets hurt (including
>yourself), then go ahead and embrace all the beauty, love, and sex
>you can bear-commit your life to it all” But the pain that waits
>patiently for love to fail is so great that it could kill a
>person.... Is this not an unavoidable risk? hmmm....there are
>too many issues involved here. Could it be so simple as doing what
>makes you feel the most alive as long as no one else is hurt? No,
>because often people will get hurt no matter what you do. Sometimes
>in order to save yourself from hurt you must hurt others. So, the
>goal is to minimize the suffering of others, BUT how much should we
>care? How much joy are we willing to sacrifice for others? I guess
>we should learn to find joy in things that will not lead to pain for
>others. We should learn to love in a way that will not make our
>passion slave to beauty...that will not lead us astray. BUT,
>doesn’t that make us less than human? If we do somehow love all
>people unconditionally, or if we somehow see only “inner-beauty”,
>are we sacrificing a part of ourselves which could be the source of
>the most intense, alive feelings? Isn’t passion amazing? How can
>we choose to diminish it in our hearts? Would that not be a crime?
>Our lives are short, and the lifetimes of our deepest passions are
>even shorter. Isn’t that fact enough to be some cause for
>concern–some urgency? ((maybe I’ll try to start writing in
>declaratory sentences, ok?...damn!))
>
>There are many reasons why relationships fail, but is it not true
>that one person's desire for beauty so often leads to the
>destruction of a truly beautiful love? (As in the movie) I see
>problems here....love is not so simple. If someone were really in
>love, if they were mature, they wouldn’t be drawn away from the one
>they loved by the lines, curves, and colors of another person.
>right? Some would say that for a person to fall in love, they would
>have had to already fallen out of love with someone else. Because,
>really, romantic love arises out of a need for intimacy--a
>connection--in order to fill some emptiness, and that connection
>requires so much more than perfect lines, curves, colors, and
>composition. So am I wrong to blame beauty, in part, for an event
>like divorce? And am I wrong to be somewhat wary of giving myself
>over to the power of beauty in art? How can I sanctify art, excuse
>art, when it draws me in in a way not unlike a beautiful woman
>would? And should I be concerned about figuring out which passions
>are "evil" or "wrong" and which ones are "good", "right," or even
>"pure" ?