Life...

"Now you just dig them in front. They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there-& all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry & betray time with urgencies false & otherwise, purely anxious & whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch on to an established & proven worry & having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit & go with it, which is, you see, unhappiness, & all the time it all flies by them & they know it & that TOO worries them to no end."

-On the Road, Jack Kerouac

The Dying Animal by Philip Roth

What a great read. Great movie too (Elegy)

From, The Dying Animal

The main character's son, a college senior, gets a classmate pregnant, and goes to his father for advice....his father's reply:

"I reminded him that nobody could make him do what he didn't want to do. I said what I wished some forceful man had said to me when I was on the brink of making my mistake. I said, 'Living in a country like ours, whose key documents are all about emancipation, all directed at guaranteeing individual liberty, living in a free system that is basically indifferent to how you behave as long as the behavior is lawful, the misery that comes your way is most likely to be self-generated. It would be another matter if you were living in Nazi-occupied Europe or in Communist-dominated Europe or in Mae Zedong's China. There they manufacture the misery for you; you don't have to take a single wrong step in order never to want to get up in the morning. But here, free of totalitarianism, a man like you has to provide himself his own misery. You, moreover, are intelligent, articulate, good-looking, well educated--you are made to thrive in a country like this one. Here the only tyrant lying in wait will be convention, which is not to be taken lightly either. Read Tocqueville, if you haven't yet. He's not outdated, not on the subject of 'men being forced through the same sieve.' The point is that you shouldn't think that you miraculously have to become a beatnik or a bohemian or a hippie to elude the the trammels of convention. Successfully doing so doesn't require exaggerations of conduct or oddities of dress that are alien to your temperament and your upbringing. Not at all. All you have to do, Ken, is to find your force. You have it, I know you have it--it is immobilized only by the newness of the predicament. If you want to live intelligently beyond the blackmail of the slogans and the unexamined rules, you have only to find your own...' Et cetera, et cetera. The Declaration of Independence. The Bill of Rights. The Gettysburg Address. The Emancipation Proclamation. The Fourteenth Amendment. All three of the Civil War amendments...

I know all the objections that a pure and moral young man can give to claiming personal sovereignty. I know all the admirable labels to attach to not asserting one's sovereignty. Well, Kenny's difficulty is that he must be admirable whatever the cost. He lives in fear of a woman telling him he's not. "Selfish" is the word that cripples him. You selfish bastard. He's terrified of that judgment, so that's the judgment that rules."

don't let it happen to you...

...gala posts an inspiring quote today, what its really all about...

Funny 'cuz its True

More Bill Bryson from The Lost Continent

"Having gone without dinner the night before, I intended to indulge myself in that greatest of all American gustatory pleasures - going out for Sunday breakfast.

Everybody in America goes out for Sunday breakfast. It is such a popular pastime that you generally have to line up for a table, but it's always worth the wait. Indeed, the inability to achieve instant oral gratification is such an unusual experience in America that lining up actually intensifies the pleasure. You wouldn't want to do it all the time, of course, you wouldn't want to get British about it or anything, but once a week for twenty minutes is "kinda neat," as they say. One reason you have to line up is that it take the waitress about thirty minutes just to take each order. First you have to tell her whether you want your eggs sunny-side up, over easy, scrambled, poached, parboiled, or in an omelette, and in an omelette, whether you want it to be a plain, cheese, vegetable, hot-spicy, or chocolate nut 'n' fudge omelette; and then you have to decide whether you want your toast on white, rye, whole wheat, sourdough, or pumpernickel bread and whether you want whipped butter, pat butter, or low-cholesterol butter substitute; and then there's a complicated period of negotiation in which you ask if you can have cornflakes instead of the cinnamon roll and link sausages instead of patties. So the waitress, who is only sixteen years old and not real smart, has to go off to the manager and ask him whether that's possible, and she comes back and tells you that you can't have cornflakes instead of the cinnamon roll, but you can have Idaho frieds instead of the short stack of pancakes, or you can have an English muffin and bacon instead of whole wheat toast, but only if you order a side of hashed browns and a large orange juice. This is unacceptable to you, and you decide that you will have waffles instead, so the waitress has to rub everything out with her nubby eraser and start all over again. And across the room the line on the other side of the "Please Wait to Be Seated" board grows longer and longer, but the people don't mind because the food smells so good and, anyway, all this waiting is, as I say, kinda neat."

The Lost Continent 2

One more, because this one deserves an entry of its own, haha!

...inside a Pennsylvania Dutch restaurant...
"We were ushered into the dining room with nine strangers and all seated together at one big trestle table.
There must have been fifty other such tables in the room...
I've never seen so much food. I couldn't see over the top of my plate. It was all delicious...I ate so much my armpits bulged. But still the food kept coming. Just when I thought I would have to summon a wheelchair to get me to the car, the waitress took away all the platters and bowls, and started bringing desserts--apple pies, chocolate pies, bowls of home-made ice cream, pastries, flans and God knows what else.
I kept eating. It was too delicious to pass up. Buttons popped off my shirt; my trousers burst open. I barely had the strength to lift my spoon, but I kept shoveling the stuff in. It was grotesque. Food began to leak from my ears. And still I ate. I ate more food that night than some African villagers eat in a lifetime. Eventually, mercifully, the waitress prised the spoons out of our hands and took the dessert stuff away, and we were able to stumble zombielike out into the night.
We got into the car, too full to speak...I felt as if I had eaten the contents of a cement mixer. I lay on the back seat of the car, my feet in the air, and moaned softly. I vowed that I would never eat again, and meant it. But two hours later, when we arrived back at my brother's house, the agony had abated and my brother and I were able to begin a new cycle of gross overconsumption, beginning with a twelve-pack of beer and bucket of pretzels from his kitchen and concluding, in the early hours of the evening, with a plate of onion rings and two-foot-long submarine sandwiches, full of goo and spices, at an all-night eatery out on Highway 11."

-The Lost Continent, Bill Bryson

The Lost Continent

Bill Bryson is amazing. I can't wait to read all of his other books. I'm not quite done with this one, but wanted to share so of the best passages so far. His wit, sarcasm, and ebb and flow in pace are ideal for a book like this. If you've ever taken, or ever WANTED to take a cross country road trip, please read it. Being someone that has done that, it was exciting to read how his take on various places, like the Grand Canyon, were almost my words exactly for describing the experience, suggesting something very undeniable and universally moving about the oddities and beauties of the United States.

"The last time I had been in New York was when I was sixteen and my friend Stan and I came out to visit my brother and his wife, who were living there then. They had an apartment in a strange, Kafkaesque apartment complex in Queens called Lefrak City. It consisted of about a dozen identical tall, featureless buildings clustered around a series of lonesome quadrangles, the sort of quadrangles where rain puddles stand for weeks and the flowerbeds are littered with supermarket carts. Each building was like a vertical city, with its own grocery store, drugstore, laundromat and so on. I don't remember the details except that each building was taller than the tallest building in Des Moines and that the total population was something like 50,000--bigger than most Iowa towns. I had never conceived of so many people gathered in one place. I couldn't understand why in such a big, open, country as America people would choose to live like that. It wasn't as if this were something temporary, a place to spend a few months while waiting for their ranch house in the suburbs to be built. This was home. This was it. Thousands and thousands of people would live out their lives never having their own backyard, never having a barbecue, never stepping out the back door at midnight to have a pee in the bushes and check out the stars. Their children would grow up thinking that supermarket carts grew wild, like weeds."

and in Vermont...
"One village I went through had about four stores and one of them was a Ralph Lauren Polo Shop. I couldn't think of anything worse than living in a place where you could buy a$200 sweater but not a can of baked beans. Actually, I could think of a lot of worse things--cancer of the brain, watching every episode of a TV miniseries starring Joan Collins, having to eat at a Burger Chef more than twice in one year, reaching for a glass of water in the middle of the night and finding that you've just taken a drink from your grandmother's denture cup, and so on. But I think you get my point."

and in Amish country...
"Travel articles and movies like Witness generally gloss over this side of things, but the fact is that Lancaster County is now one of the most awful places in America, especially on weekends when traffic jams sometimes stretch for miles. Many of the Amish themselves have given up and moved to places like Iowa and upper Michigan where they are left alone. Out in the countryside, particularly on the back roads, you can still sometimes see the people in their funny dark clothes working in the fields or driving their distinctive black buggies down the highway, with a long line of tourist cars creeping along behind, pissed off because they can't get by and they really want to be in a Bird in Hand so that they can get some more funnel cakes and SnoCones and perhaps buy a wrought-iron wine rack or combination mailbox-weather vane to take back home to Fartville with them. I wouldn't be surprised if a decade from now there isn't a real Amish person left in the country."

-The Lost Continent, Bill Bryson

textbook excitement

Certainly can't recall ever being as exciting about a textbook as I was when I read this:

The old adage "You get out of it only what you put into it" aptly describes a cognitive perspective. Some students approach learning in passive and "shallow" ways, either failing to engage fully or relying heavily on rote memorization. Both cognitive research and our experience as educators tell us that the resultant learning is likely to be both superficial and transitory. In contrast, other students' attempts at learning clearly are aimed at deeper understanding; they relate new information to what they already know, organize it, and regularly check their comprehension.

-Cognitive Psychology and Instruction, by Roger H. Bruning (Author), Gregg J. Schraw (Author), Monica M. Norby (Author), Royce R. Ronning (Author)

speechless...

...twice in one night...

yup.

"A few studies have examined full-time/part-time status and completion rates, but when it comes to actual student learning—basically nothing. This is not a standard of evidence that university professors would tolerate in their own research.

In other words, when it comes to the central enterprise of higher education—teaching students—we don't know if the reigning professional qualification system works, or how many professors we actually need. And this is true for all kinds of other basic elements of college teaching and learning—curricula, training, pedagogy, and much more...

The underlying cause of this remarkable information deficit is pretty clear: Colleges and universities don't really need to know—or want to know—the answers to these questions. They don’t need to know because student learning results are peripheral to the core incentive system in which they operate. University success is measured in terms of dollars raised, high-achieving students recruited, and prestigious scholarship produced—period. Even less selective institutions are highly influenced by these values. They may not have the research mission of the academic giants, but they share organizational models, practices, and ways of thinking, all of which cut against rigorous self-evaluation of teaching and learning."

from Kevin Carey's Where's the Data?

Eat Pray Love quotes

"...it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection."
-reference to the Bhagavad Gita from "Eat, Pray, Love"

"To create a family with a spouse is one of the most fundamental ways a person can find continuity and meaning in American (or any) society. I rediscover this truth every time I go to a big reunion of my mother's family in Minnesota and I see how everyone is held so reassuringly in their positions over the years. First you are a child, then you are a teenager, then you are a young married person, then you are a parent, then you are retired, then you are a grandparent-at every stage you know who you are, you know what your duty is and you know where to sit at the reunion. You sit with the other children, or teenagers, or young parents, or retirees. Until at last you are sitting with the ninety-year-olds in the shade, watching over your progeny with satisfaction. Who are you? No problem-you're the person who created all this. The satisfaction of this knowledge is immediate, and moreover, it's universally recognized. How many people have I heard claim their children as the greatest accomplishment and comfort of their lives? It's the thing they can always lean on during a metaphysical crisis, or a moment of doubt about their relevancy-If I have done nothing else in this life, then at least I have raised my children well."
-Eat, Pray, Love

Massachusetts

The sun slid down behind the Tappan Zee, and I slid down the Atlantic Coast.
My GPS and cell phone batteries drained, as were my own.
One last beautiful 287 sky allowed me the peace of mind to reflect on my visit up north.
It was so great to see Grampa, and I had such a fun, liberating drive up; it was so great to see him with his two dogs who keep him young. But goodbyes get harder as loved ones get older, and the lump in my throat was forming the night before; the cold firm grip that reality has on my jaw, holding my face in place, so I have to look and can't squirm away from the examination of our eventual, inescapable, everlooming mortality.
Reading helps, of course - did you know "hobo" is short for HOmeward BOund? - in that its both a satisfying experience for my brain, in that its an escape, but also a productive commentary on the shadows cast over the day...

When you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt - this is not selfishness; it is your duty (and also you entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight
-Eat, Pray, Love

Always Be Yourself.

"Always be yourself. Your loud, brave, unabashed, scandalous, original, exceptional, truly magnificent, self-lovin’, horn-tootin’, crowd-wavin’, kiss-blowin’ self.

Always be yourself. You may face criticism, dirty looks & gossip over the back fence, but at least you will have honoured yourself, done your best, been true & authentic.

Always be yourself. No one else shines like you — nor can they illuminate a room, thrill onlookers or shatter perceptions in the amazing way you do.

Always be yourself. Your life is yours alone, to do with as you please. Don’t feel that you have to serve other people; in the end, it is only you who matters.

Always be yourself. If you want to live the life of your dreams, you have to make it happen. No one else is going to do it for you. Get off your toosh, toots, & start!"

from: http://galadarling.com/article/quote-of-the-day-4th-june-2008

summer magic

"It made me think that everything was about to arrive-the moment when you know all and everything is decided forever."

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road

.what i decided forever was that nothing should be decided forever.

...directionless part two...

"The American Dream is for immigrants. The rest of us are better acquainted with entitlement or boredom than we are with our own survival mechanisms. And when confronted with a fight-or-flight scenario, the latter usually takes precedence. Escape is our action of choice: escape through pharmaceuticals, escape through technology, and plain old running away in search of something else, anything else...

I continually revisit the words of some sociologist who I read in college. I think that is was Weber or Durkheim...He believed that the modern mind is determined to expand its repertoire or experiences, and is bent on avoiding any specialization that threatens to interrupt the search for alternatives and novelty. Many people would call that approach to life a crisis, immaturity, or being out of touch with reality. It could also be called the New American Dream. [Screw] the simple pursuit of financial stability. Here's to finding fulfillment in novelty, excitement, adventure, and autonomy."

-Do Travel Writers Go To Hell?, Thomas B Kohnstamm

directionless postcollegiate life

"...With such a character-defining foothold in the career world, I no longer have to make excuses for the life I lead. No longer do I have to explain my directionless postcollegiate life to incredulous eyes and repetitive questions, like: "What are you doing next year?" "Don't you want to do something with your life?" and my favorite, "When are you going to get a real job?" I am no longer just Thomas, the supposed slacker, backpacker bum, or permanent student. I am Thomas, the employee of ________, ________, ________ & _________ LLP, and I am going places.

I make more money than I reasonably should, putting papers into chronological order (chroning, in office-speak). My skill set also includes entering numbers into Excel spreadsheets and working the copier and fax machine. Between those projects, I search for old high school friends' names on Google; play online Jeopardy against my office trivia nemesis, Jerry; and generally while away the hours of my life...

Yes, I know, I really have it pretty good. There are people starving in Africa. And there are plenty of people here in New York who would love the chance to be in a cubicle all day and not have to operate deep-fat fryers, drive garbage trucks... or whatever it is they do. The problem is that I am an ungrateful by-product of a prosperous society -- the offal of opportunity. I am just another liberal arts graduate who bought the idea that life and career would be a fulfilling intellectual journey. Unfortunately, I am performing a glorified version of punching the time clock, and the financial rewards don't come anywhere near filling the emotional void of such diminished expectations."

-Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?, Thomas B Kohnstamm

a Canadian in Japan...

...messes with a Japanese man...

...a small voice appeared beside me.
"Excuse me, " it said. "May I practise my English with you?"
..."I like very much the Macaroni Westerns. Do you like?" And then, in a sudden shift: "Tell me, when writing a letter, do you use P-S or B-S as the end? I understand that one is considered slang and the other is a way of -- "
"It's P-S. " [I answered]
"B-S, " he asked.
"P-S. P as in pneumonia and s as in psychotic."
-Hitching Rides with Buddha, Will Ferguson

hahahahaha

Ah-un

"You approach Shinto shrines...and the entrances are usually guarded by a pair of stone lion-dogs...komu-inu, "Korean dogs"...One lion-dog has a mouth that is always open, the other has a mouth that is always closed. The open mouthed lion-dog is named Ah, the other is named Un, or more properly, nn. "Ah" is the first sound you make when you are born, "nn" the last sound you make when you die. "Ah" is the breath inhaled that begins life, "nn" the exhale of release, the breath that allows life to escape. Between the two lies all of existence, a universe that turns on a single breath. Ah is also the first symbol in the Japanese alphabet, n the last. And so, between these two lion-dogs, you also have the A and the Z, the Alpha and Omega. In the original Sanskrit, ah-un means, "the end and the beginning of the universe; infinity unleashed."

In Japan, people who are in perfect tune with each other, such as a pianist and a violinist playing in duet, are called ah/un-no-kokyu. Kokyu means "breathing," and the phrase suggests perfect, exquisite harmony: ah/un-no-kokyu, two or more breathing as one. If self-actualization is the ideal to which the Western world aspires, then common breath is the ideal to which Japan-and indeed, much of Asia-aspires. The word harmony in Japanese has the same cachet that the word freedom has in the West...

On a less esoteric level, ah-un also refers to old married couples (or even old friends) who have been together for so long that they no longer have to finish their sentences. One begins with "Ah..." and the other agrees with "Nn..." (which is the Japanese equivalent of "uh-huh") and the entire meaning is understood."

-Hitching Rides with Buddha, Will Ferguson

memories

when asked if i think about the man i loved for a whole fifth of my life,
i can honestly answer that days sometimes go by without a thought.
when asked if i think about the man who raised me for the first fifth of my life,
i can honestly answer, again, that days pass, and when a thought appears, there is no accompanying emotion.
am i without a heart?
i like to think i'm simply more without strings
there are some, keeping me grounded to this moment, perhaps
but when each day allows for re-creation of this person i call myself
i need not be defined by the people, places, and things i've moved on from
on this the eve of a very big move
i'm mired in memories
deciding which to take
which to leave behind
which to donate
and which to discard
its a tiresome process, that demands nostalgia, measurement of pricelessness, and selectivity of necessity.
in the end, like my friend said, 'its just stuff.'
i still possess only two items from my childhood,
and will keep only one.
each year of your life becomes a smaller percentage of your life as time passes
and you own proportionally less from each era.
so many things being gifts, representing hard earned money of loved ones...i'm left with much to store.
and with them, i'm storing away that person who owned all those things
and realizing how much it feels like i could not even call that person me
the things changed, the things lost, the things forgotten...
and so this passage spoke to me:

"...how a file opens the door to a vast sunken labyrinth of the forgotten past, but how, too, the very act of opening the door itself changes the buried artifacts, like an archaeologist letting in fresh air to a sealed Egyptian tomb.
For these are not simply past experiences rediscovered in their original state. Even without the fresh light...our memories decay or sharpen, mellow or sour, with the passage of time and the change of circumstances...But with the fresh light the memory changes irrevocably. A door opens, but another closes. There is no way back now to your own earlier memory of that person, that event. It is like a revelation made, years later, to a loved one. Or like a bad divorce, where today's bitterness transforms all the shared past, completely, miserably, seemingly forever. Except that this bitter memory, too, will fade and change with the further passage of time.
So what we have is nothing less than an infinity of memories of any moment, event, or person: memories that change slowly always, with every passing second, but now and then dramatically, after some jolt or revelation. Like one of those digital photographs whose every color, tint, or detail can be changed on a computer screen, except that here we're not in control and can't revert at will to an earlier image. They say "The past is a foreign country," but actually the past is another universe.
-The File, Timothy Garton Ash

motivational

This guys words really get inside me...

to quote the parts I like...
"The more I read the more I become convinced that life's only meaning from that which ascribe to it. That purpose exists only when your project and live it daily....
...Although I might not have reached true actualization, I am well on my way to warming up. Everyday I get up and I scratch a little at the walls that society sets up to prevent you from getting there. That my purpose is to be involved in the creation and furtherance of public discourse, so each book I read and word I write is the functioning of my soul. Happiness comes from action, and that action must be excellent...
...When we fail to tell people this, they lose life in the forest for all the trees--clutching with the vastness of it all, when what they need is tiny enough to hold. Some of us know this and are happy--and productive. Others know this and refuse to admit it, drowning the simplicity with alcohol or drugs....
...Excellence here becomes excellence there, and combined they equal the ultimate excellence: happiness. It seems to be logical, if happiness is that which we all aspire too, it must be the most excellent--and only through excellent action are we excellent....
...Read and read often. Act in moderation. Resist the pleasures and pains that distract you. Wake each morning prepared for exertion. Do not sleep or leave the gym until you have. Drench the ground in your sweat, fill the pages with words. The Resistance will dog you the entire way, pay it no attention. When you diverge from the path, look inwards and correct--dedicate a second to chastisement and move on. But most importantly, realize that not knowing your purpose is no excuse for stasis. Even if the destination has yet to reveal itself, you still must be ready for the call. Prepare, be active, and be open. Only then will you find happiness and contentment. I have had only a small taste, but I at least know it's worth every bit of effort."

improvhibitions

"...all of a sudden, the musician is generating music that has never been heard, thought, practiced or played before. What comes out is completely spontaneous.”

"“Jazz is often described as being an extremely individualistic art form. You can figure out which jazz musician is playing because one person’s improvisation sounds only like him or her,” says Limb. “What we think is happening is when you’re telling your own musical story, you’re shutting down impulses that might impede the flow of novel ideas.”"