Month: October 2009

  • The Girl In the Men’s Room At IHOP

    The Old Fart and I were having lunch yesterday in a booth near the restrooms, just across from the door to the kitchen.  The noise in the place was intense:  someone kept changing the station on the radio playing over the PA system, a bus person and at least one cook or dishwasher were either angry or clumsy or both, and several nearby conversations had jacked up their vocal volume in compensation.

    From across the dining room behind me, I heard a loud vocalization that could have been a hysterical laugh, a cry of indignation, or of mortal pain.  The O.F. went on speaking, so I don’t suppose he heard it.  He seems to be losing his hearing — but it’s hard to know if it’s getting any worse.  As long as I’ve known him, he has apparently heard less than half what I say to him, and likes to crank the volume way up on his music.

    But I digress.  The ambiguous cries were repeated with increasing volume.  Eventually, I saw the O.F. react.  He rose slightly from his seat, craning to see past me, but apparently didn’t spy the source of those cries.  Next time the waitress sailed by, he flagged her down and asked if someone was being murdered over there.  I had been wondering if someone was having a baby.

    The waitress paused for a moment and stuttered:  “It’s a r-r- sp- special education student.”   Then she was gone.  The O.F. rolled his eyes, and we exchanged a few words regarding political correctness as the cries continued to escalate.

    Suddenly, the anguished vocalizations ceased entirely.  I suspected that someone had gagged or strangled the kid, until I saw a girl I took to be her trudging hurriedly toward the restrooms.  Instantly, I surmised that an urgent call of nature had motivated her distress calls.

    Next, I saw her enter the nearest door, which happened to be the men’s room.  Then, from that direction, I heard a somewhat muffled high-pitched scream.  Then, all grew silent.  Silence prevailed — except for the pan-clanging, dish-clashing, radio-clamoring background noise — for the next few minutes, as I kept an eye on the restroom door.

    The girl didn’t emerge, but eventually a big woman arrived from somewhere behind me, entering first the women’s room, and then the men’s.  Shortly after she entered the men’s room, the girl emerged and walked back toward their booth, followed by the big woman, whose face was flaming red and her stride stiff with fury.  Neither before the girl had entered the men’s room, nor after both of them departed, did I see any men go in there or come out.  It’s all a minor mystery to me.

  • Xanga works for me; Facebook doesn’t.

    Maybe FB is experiencing another DDOS attack.  Something is amiss.  I can’t access my message inbox or update my status.  That means I can’t look after my farm app or fairy garden, either.  Worst of all, today is the Love-In, and I will miss it, unless my sharer works.  That remains to be seen.

    Love, love, LOVE.

  • A Psychedelic Window into Shamanic Strangeness

    The first, last and ONLY time I ever injected LSD into a vein, I went on a journey unlike any other trip I ever had.

    [Digression & Disclaimer]
    It is entirely unnecessary to inject LSD.  Simply swallowing it works just fine.  I am convinced that it was my mindset and the setting I was in that made the difference in that trip.  The events described here occurred forty years ago, when I was relatively naive. 

    I was a needle freak amphetamine addict, just out of jail.  I would have preferred to have been shooting speed, but all the meth dealers I knew were too paranoid to sell to anyone who had been busted and gotten out again, on the theory that such a person would have turned into a narc in the interests of saving him- or herself from conviction and incarceration.

    In fact, I was already convicted and, not being thought to be a flight risk, was out on my own recognizance pending my pre-sentence investigation.  I would be going to prison about half a year later, but that is another story.  (The continuation of that story, the lead-in to it, and the rest of what I’ve written of my memoirs thus far, are linked from the right hand column here.) 

    That night, in a strange place and strange company, with several young men who were injecting alcohol into their veins, I knew I did not want to do as they were doing.  I never have liked alcohol or any other depressant drugs.  By then, at the age of twenty-five, I understood that my own unaltered consciousness was freer and more comfortable than being on any kind of downers.  I had not yet learned how to alter my consciousness without drugs.  Someone offered me a clean needle and a tab of acid and I accepted.  After they had all passed out, I was left alone with my visions.

    I have written previously about the details of that experience:  watching my face in a mirror as the flesh shrank and rotted from my bones, then falling away with no eyes left to see, but viewing as if from above as my mortal remains disintegrated and my body’s atoms returned to life in other forms — trees, animals, and eventually, into rocks and stars.

    Much has been written over the last few years or so concerning the initiatory death/rebirth experience.  From anthropology to New Age Shamans to Rebirthing to Stanislav Grof.   Crowley unwound his mystic visions into purple prose, the Beats documented their trips to the edge, and Joseph Campbell plotted the Heroes’ Journey.  But does it always help, I wonder, this weight of information about other people’s descents into darkness?  It’s good to know that there are archetypes, present in the Fool’s Journey in the Tarot or Coppola’s Apocalypse Now!   But the pattern is too clear, seen through the eyes of another.   What they don’t tell you is that the hand of Chaos is only a breath away.

    From my perspective, everything was different after that night.  I was changed forever.  Just as the flesh had fallen away in my vision, fears fell away from my mind.  Habits and conditioning remained, and much of the intervening four decades have been spent observing, examining and transcending social conditioning and personal habits.

    About halfway through that forty-year period, I met Greyfox, my soulmate.  Now he is my lawful spouse, my partner in business and crime, and my beloved Old Fart.  But back then, twenty years ago, he was a newly-minted shaman sweating out his own initiation experience and just beginning to transcend his own issues, including depressant addictions and narcissistic personality disorder.

    It perplexed him to learn, when he was teaching me about shamanism, that I had undergone my own initiation “effortlessly” (his judgment) twenty years before.  Due to the NPD, he was enraged each time he would share with me some new insight or discovery and I would spontaneously and innocently reminisce about when I had made the same step in my own development.

    He has largely transcended the NPD that made it so important to him to be “first” or “best.”  I had learned, a decade before I met him, not to make such comparisons between myself and others.  Greyfox is clean and sober now, and we can talk freely about our shared and separate discoveries.  Having him sharing his experiences with me is so many things to me:  fun, entertaining, inspirational, revelatory, humbling and more.

    We don’t agree on everything, and we don’t need to.  There are enough areas of agreement to keep the dialogue going.  Some of them:  Dualism sucks.  Invidious comparisons can come around and bite you in the butt.  Personal pathways twist, turn, branch, cross, recross and turn back on themselves so much that the concepts of  “ahead” and “behind” become meaningless.  We are too involved right now with our own relationships to time to try and consider “first” or “last” or “sooner” or “later.”  What is, IS
    .

  • Did you know…

    …that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month?  It is, and I might not have known, except that the pink ribbons are popping up in various webby places I frequent.  In Fairyland on Facebook, there are big pink flamingos popping out of hot pink flowerpots.

    I was thinking about the popularity of the breast cancer cause, and wondering why some more masculine cancers, such as prostate cancer or testicular cancer, haven’t gotten as much publicity.

    Some answers to that seem rather obvious, such as that cute little slogan, “Save the ta-tas.”  It would be hard to beat that. Greyfox suggested, “Follow the bouncing balls.” ?? Naah, I don’t think so.

    Then there is the ta-tas themselves.  They’re cute, lots cuter than the contents of your average hairy scrotum… and then there’s that unruly guy the testicles hang around with.

    Maybe the prostate is a better candidate.  It is heart-shaped, after all.  Some clever PR person could get some mileage out of that, maybe.  Isn’t it interesting?  The heart isn’t heart-shaped, but the prostate is.

    Just a thought.

  • My Code of the West


    My view to the east, sunrise yesterday, 10/6/09
    “Back in the days when the cowman with his herds made a new frontier, there was no law on the range. Lack of written law made it necessary for him to frame some of his own, thus developing a rule of behavior which became known as the ‘Code of the West.’ These homespun laws, being merely a gentleman’s agreement to certain rules of conduct for survival, were never written into statutes, but were respected everywhere on the range.”
    ~Ramon Adams, Western historian, in his 1969 book, The Cowman and His Code of Ethics

    In childhood, my heroes were movie cowboys:  Lash Larue, Bob Steele, the Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and Hopalong Cassidy.  I list them here in my order of preference.  The ones I liked best were the sexiest.  Those I liked least were the preachiest.  Nevertheless, what the moralistic cowboys were preaching became entwined with my paradigm.

    With my father’s guidance, I managed to side-step some of the female stereotypes in those old cowboy shows.  Generally, I identified more with the male protagonists than with the damsels in distress they rescued or evaded on the screen.  One exception was Dale Evans, who pulled Roy Rogers’s nuts out of the wringer more than once.

    When I hooked up with my East Coast Old Fart, the first of my major loves who hadn’t been a Westerner like me, the contrast between our world views made it apparent how deeply I had been influenced by the Code of the West, not only in the movies, but in Western culture.

    Thinking about this recently, following some philosophical discussions with both the Old Fart and the Kid, I went on a web quest to see what I could learn about the history of and philosophy associated with the Code of the West.  I learned that the designation, “Code of the West,” apparently originated with Zane Grey.  It was the title of his 1934 novel, in which he wrote,

    If it’s not yours, don’t take it.

    If it’s not true, don’t say it.

    If it’s not right, don’t do it.

    According to Zane Grey, that is the Code of the West.  I endeavor to do my best with the middle part of his Code, even though I understand that truth is sometimes relative and there are some fuzzy lines among facts, truths, popular beliefs and common consensus.

    Those who have read my memoirs know that I have taken things that were not technically, legally, or even factually mine.  Although I do a lot less of that sort of thing than I did in my youth, I still subscribe, in some instances and from some angles, to the maxim, “property is theft.”

    Then there is the absolutistic dualism bullshit.  “Right” and “wrong” are concepts that for me cannot be covered by any “code”.  I practice strict situational ethics.  What is right for one person can be wrong for another and what is right in one situation definitely can be wrong in another. 

    All that said, I still must admit that there is a rock solid core of Western Code down in the heart of my soul.  Nobody tells me what’s right or wrong, it’s not codified in any book or carved on any stone for me.  I have to make up my own mind about right versus wrong with every step I take, and I do.  And I don’t generally cut myself any slack.

    Here’s some of what I found while I was researching the Code of the West:

    The Expanded, Comprehensive Cowboy Code
    Don’t inquire into a person’s past. Take the measure of a man for what he is today.
    Never steal another man’s horse. A horse thief pays with his life.
    Defend yourself whenever necessary.
    Look out for your own.
    Remove your guns before sitting at the dining table.
    Never order anything weaker than whiskey.
    Don’t make a threat without expecting dire consequences.
    Never pass anyone on the trail without saying “Howdy”.
    When approaching someone from behind, give a loud greeting before you get within shooting range.
    Don’t wave at a man on a horse, as it might spook the horse. A nod is the proper greeting.
    After you pass someone on the trail, don’t look back at him.  It implies you don’t trust him.
    Riding another man’s horse without his permission is nearly as bad as making love to his wife.  Never even bother another man’s horse.
    Always fill your whiskey glass to the brim.
    A cowboy doesn’t talk much; he saves his breath for breathing.
    No matter how weary and hungry you are after a long day in the saddle, always tend to your horse’s needs before your own, and get your horse some feed before you eat.
    Cuss all you want, but only around men, horses and cows.
    Complain about the cooking and you become the cook.
    Always drink your whiskey with your gun hand, to show your friendly intentions.
    Do not practice ingratitude.
    A cowboy is pleasant even when out of sorts. Complaining is what quitters do, and cowboys hate quitters.
    Always be courageous. Cowards aren’t tolerated in any outfit worth its salt.
    A cowboy always helps someone in need, even a stranger or an enemy.
    Never try on another man’s hat.
    Be hospitable to strangers. Anyone who wanders in, including an enemy, is welcome at the dinner table. The same was true for riders who joined cowboys on the range.
    Give your enemy a fighting chance.
    Never wake another man by shaking or touching him, as he might wake suddenly and shoot you.
    Real cowboys are modest.  A braggert who is “all gurgle and no guts” is not tolerated. 
    Be there for a friend when he needs you.
    Drinking on duty is grounds for instant dismissal and blacklisting.
    A cowboy is loyal to his “brand,” to his friends, and those he rides with.
    Never shoot an unarmed or unwarned enemy. This was also known as “the rattlesnake code”: always warn before you strike. However, if a man was being stalked, this could be ignored.
    Never shoot a woman no matter what.
    Consideration for others is central to the code, such as: Don’t stir up dust around the chuckwagon, don’t wake up the wrong man for herd duty, etc.
    Respect the land and the environment by not smoking in hazardous fire areas, disfiguring rocks, trees, or other natural areas.
    Honesty is absolute – your word is your bond, a handshake is more binding than a contract.
    Live by the Golden Rule.

    Hopalong Cassidy’s “Creed for American Boys and Girls”

        1.The highest badge of honor a person can wear is honesty. Be mindful at all times.
        2.Your parents are the best friends you have. Listen to them and obey their instructions.
        3.If you want to be respected, you must respect others. Show good manners in every way.
        4.Only through hard work and study can you succeed. Don’t be lazy.
        5.Your good deeds always come to light. So don’t boast or be a show off.
        6.If you waste time or money today, you will regret it tomorrow. Practice thrift in all ways.
        7.Many animals are good and loyal companions. Be friendly and kind to them.
        8.A strong, healthy body is a precious gift. Be neat and clean.
        9.Our country’s laws are made for your protection. Observe them carefully.
        10.Children in many foreign lands are less fortunate than you. Be glad and proud you are an American.

    Roy Rogers’s “Rider’s Rules”

        1. Be neat and clean.
        2. Be courteous and polite.
        3. Always obey your parents.
        4. Protect the weak and help them.
        5. Be brave but never take chances.
        6. Study hard and learn all you can.
        7. Be kind to animals and care for them.
        8. Eat all your food and never waste any.
        9. Love God and go to Sunday School regularly.
        10. Always respect our flag and our country.

    Gene Autry’s “Ten Commandments of the Cowboy”

        1. A cowboy never takes unfair advantage.
        2. A cowboy never betrays a trust.
        3. A cowboy always tells the truth.
        4. A cowboy is kind to small children, to old folks, and to animals.
        5. A cowboy is free from racial and religious prejudice.
        6. A cowboy is helpful and when anyone’s in trouble he lends a hand.
        7. A cowboy is a good worker.
        8. A cowboy is clean about his person and in thought, word, and deed.
        9. A cowboy respects womanhood, his parents, and the laws of his country.
        10. A cowboy is a patriot. 

    The Lone Ranger’s Creed

     I believe that to have a friend, a man must be one. That all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make this a better world. That God put the firewood there, but that every man must gather and light it himself. In being prepared physically, mentally, and morally to fight when necessary for that which is right. That a man should make the most of what equipment he has. That “this government, of the people, by the people, and for the people,” shall live always. That men should live by the rule of what is best for the greatest number. That sooner or later…somewhere…somehow…we must settle with the world and make payment for what we have taken. That all things change, but the truth, and the truth alone lives on forever. I believe in my Creator, my country, my fellow man.
         

    Cowboy Wisdom

    Never miss a chance to rest your horse

    If you get to thinkin’ you’re a person of some influence, try orderin’ somebody else’s dog around.

    Don’t worry about bitin’ off more’n you can chew; your mouth is probably a whole lot bigger’n you think.

    Only cows know why they stampede.

    Always drink upstream from the herd.

    If you’re ridin’ ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then, to make sure it’s still there with ya.

    Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment.

    There’s two theories to arguin’ with a woman. Neither one works.

    All I know is what I read in the papers.

    Be thankful we’re not getting all the government we’re paying for.

    I don’t make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.

    Never miss a good chance to shut up.

    Don’t name a cow you plan to eat.

    Life is not about how fast you run, or how high you climb, but how well you bounce.

    Keep skunks, lawyers, developers, and bankers at a distance.

    Life is simpler when you plough around the stump.

    A bee is faster than a John Deere tractor.

    Meanness don’t happen overnight.

    Forgive your enemies. It messes with their heads.

    Don’t sell your mule to buy a plough.

    Don’t corner something meaner than you.

    It don’t take a very big person to carry a grudge.

    Every trail has some puddles.

    When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty.

    Most of the stuff people worry about never happens.

    Don’t squat with your spurs on.

    Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

    Don’t interfere with something that ain’t botherin’ you none.

    Timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.

    It’s better to be a has-been than a never-was.

    If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin’.

    It don’t take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.