Is it technically green?

Today I was talking with a co-worker about going back to school.

It got me to remember that I really love technical writing. I don't know why I am attracted so much to this career - it certainly has not been stable for me. Nonetheless, I love writing about things that I know very little about. It forces me to learn how things go together, and how things work.

Too bad none of it has to do with household repairs!

After many years, I've realized, too, that I like to be a leader, and manage things. As such, I don't think I could pick a better job than the one I currently have. Well, maybe one with some longevity....

I've been vacillating between going back to school for my master's, or for something else.

And I think I chose:

Something else.

Alternative energies anyone?

Once again, it's stuff I know nothing about. It's relatively new, and it is definitely ready to explode (so to speak!).

A couple of decades ago, I loved the Vampire Lestat books by Anne Rice. There were times that I would think about being a vampire. "What would be the coolest thing about being a vampire," I used to ponder. The answer was that I could become an expert at a lot of things - I would live long enough to learn everything. EVERYTHING.

I could spend a lifetime as a marine biologist, a lifetime as a mercenary, a lifetime as a priest, a lifetime as a monk, a lifetime as a geologist. I could have a flipping blast!

I could be a technical writer of vampiric proportions, and sweating my schooling moves would involve no sweat at all.

But here I am... human, living a life as a tech writer.

... About to turn this b!tch green!

Summer Saturdays

During my ride into work this morning, I passed the Madison Heights library. I often pass the library on my way to and from work, but this morning triggered a happy memory from my childhood.

In 1976 and 1977, I was 10-11 years old. Down the road from our house, there was a bus stop... for the library bus to take us to the library.

I really loved taking the library bus. I would go down to the bus stop on a Saturday morning, where it would pick me up, and then we would cruise all around Madison Heights to pick up other people who wanted a ride to the library.

The bus ride was a rush - I always liked exploring different areas of our neighborhood, but the bus took us beyond the places I could ride my bike to. For the bus driver, it was simply a drivin' job. But for me... it was always an adventure!

Eventually, the green and white bus would stop at the library, and I would run inside, and feast on all of the great books there. I remember that they had spongey yellow cushions on the floor, where you could take a book and read. Man, I knew that library like the back of my hand - talk about exploring!

Yup, back in '76 and '77, we lived 4-5 miles from the Madison Heights library. But every Saturday, it could have been 1,000 miles for this 11 year old boy.

Somehow, I always knew when it would be time to get back on the bus for the trip back home. I bet I always had stories for my mom about my great library adventures. 

There is nothing in this world like a morning bike ride.

 

The dew on the grass shimmers like glitter on the fresh lawns as the sun creeps from its sleep.

Houses and trees silhouette themselves on the horizon,

And the day feels brand new.

There are billions of things that can - and will - happen on this day, and new hope raises her skirt for just a quick electric peek into possibilities.

The silent woosh of noiseless air brushes past your ears, and the humid dawn erotically wraps itself around every inch of your senses.

Birds dance from tree to tree and wire to wire.

Squirrels race from yard to yard unworried about cars and trucks

and bicycles.

 

There is nothing in this world like a morning bike ride.

Whether the day ahead promises stress or peace,

Wisdom or stupidity,

Or all of the above.

 

A morning bike ride proves divinity.

Down at the Crossroads...

This past weekend, Sheryl and I went to Eric Clapton's Crossroads Festival in Chicago. Sheryl is a big fan of Chi-town, and I had only been there once, so I was looking forward to her showing me around.

We left around 9am Friday, and headed straight down to the Navy Pier to catch the 2:00 architecture tour boat. Wow! What a rush! Sorry to sound like a geographic moron, but I never knew that a river ran through Chicago! And the views were amazing from the boat, too. Whew!

After dinner at Harry Caray's restaurant, we headed to the "hotel". And wow. Let me just say that the next time I want to find a place in the Chicago suburbs where I feel like I'm paying by the hour, I would definitely go back... not very likely.

But the reason for our visit was Saturday at Toyota Park. The night heralded loud thunderstorms, and the weather outlook for the day was constantly threatening. But the rain never came. The clouds barely came, and it was hotter than hell.

We got to the park shortly after noon, and the music had already started. I was so excited! We kept telling ourselves that it was a marathon, and not a sprint. We used a lot of sunscream, I had bought a floppy expeditionary hat to cover my ears and neck, and we had our sunglasses and ear-to-ear grins.

When we got to our seats, Robert Randolph had just started. Our seats were straight away across from the stage (imagine end zone to end zone at a football stadium), 4th row from the field.

After an awesome Robert Randolph set, we decided to look for shade. We found a bit, and consumed a lot of water. Robert Cray played with some special guests, and we wandered around a little, watching Sheryl Crow perform.

It was the first time I'd seen Ms. Crow perform, and I was very impressed. She was a definite highlight... but then, the day was still young.

I had been looking forward to seeing ZZ Top and John Mayer. I had heard that they were great performers, yet had never felt the urge to see either one. ZZ Top played rather early in the day - around 2pm. I was really impressed with them, although I'd probably never go spend money to see them again.

Again, we wandered around, and eventually made our way back to our seats to see John Mayer, and the rest of the performances. I had a feeling that John Mayer was going to be good when I heard his trio was rounded out with Stanley Jordan on drums and Pino Palladino on bass.

And they ROCKED!

What a nice surprise. I think that's what this event was about - to see people perform whom you wouldn't normally see. I think I'm a fan, although I will be careful not to fall for the pop-py crap they've played non-stop on pop radio.

Buddy Guy played some smoking blues with Jonny Lang and Ronnie Wood. Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks hosted a mega free-for-all that included the guys from Los Lobos, and Warren from the Allman Brothers. Then another big surprise - Johnny Winter came out to jam. Unfortunately, he played horribly. I was bummed.

Nonetheless, the fireworks were just starting. Easily one of my favorites - Jeff Beck performed flawlessly. He played a bunch of new songs that I had seen him play last week in Detroit. I was hoping he'd play "A Day in the Life" so Sheryl could see/hear it, but unfortunately for me, he chose to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" instead. Sorry, I find that one a yawner. But he made up for it, playing "Rollin' and Tumblin", "Dirty Mind", and the Sly Stone song "Higher".

The man of the hour stepped up to the mic and plugged in after Beck. The sun had gone down, and although it was still hot, it was much more bearable.

Eric Clapton played a few songs, then introduced Jeff Beck who came out to play "Shake Your Moneymaker". Another snoozer in my book. But the night got better when Steve Winwood was introduced. Together, Clapton and Winwood played "It's Alright" and "Had to Cry Today" by Blind Faith.

By this time, I started to realize that if we stayed to the very end, we would be totally hosed trying to get out. Toyota Park was sold out, and 27,000 people would be heading to the gates at the same time. While Clapton and Winwood tore through an amazing "Voodoo Child" - the original slow, crushing version - I told Sheryl that I was ready to go whenever she was. We were torn by the parking situation, and Clapton being AMAZING. So as the jumped into "Cocaine", we made a beeline to the exit.

As we inched towards the car, I could hear the intro to "Dear Mr. Fantasy". Ugh!

We were exhausted, though. At 10pm, it had been a long, hot day. We were willing to give up the final hours-worth of performances. Besides... we were already planning to buy the DVD when it's released this fall!

Back at the shack, we choked down some 7-11 nachos and chicken tenders before diving into a deep deep sleep.

We were on the road home by 7am, and back at our house by 2:30. Home sweet home... a perfect coda to sweet home Chicago.

Dumela, Moyo!

Man, I don't know what it is, but this is becoming the best cycling season I've had in years! Although I'm not putting the long miles in that I used to, the miles I have been riding have been extremely enjoyable.

The rides that Sheryl and I are doing together have been great as well.

I wonder if I've just come to accept the pureness of a bike ride - the joy and child-like curiosity of human powered motion.

All I know is my heart - my corazon, my moyo - is full during and after every ride. I feel stronger and stronger, and find a ton of fun in riding the speed limit on 4th Street in Royal Oak (30 mph!).

Thank you, angels and divinities who make my bike rides so great. I feel whole again.

The Anatomy of a Name

 

I decided that it was time to name my "new" bike - which I've had for 2 1/2 years now.

 

You may or may not know, but my "old" bike's name is "Shtiya" - an Inuit phrase meaning "my strength". I chose an Inuit name because that was the bike that took me across Alaska in 2000.  I chose "Shtiya" because she was my strength and my drive when I needed it.

 

So the "new" bike has given me problems to this point - back problems, mechanical problems, etc., so prior to now, I really haven't ridden her long enough to name her.

 

As parents out there know, naming something - a child, perhaps - is hard work! Naming a "thing" versus a "who" is much easier, but still no real walk in the park.

 

I was gonna name the new bike "Ted". I'm not sure the reasoning right now, but it made sense at the time. But it just didn't FEEL right. This bike is more than a TED. And it is certainly a female.

 

So I stared at the bike for a while, and thought about how it made me feel. I thought about how I feel like a kid on her, and how everything feels right when I'm on that bike. I am SUPPOSED to be on that bike!

 

I looked around for some naming ideas, and knew it when I saw it:

 

CORAZON.

 

It means "heart" in Spanish. And the bike makes my heart beat with joy when I'm on her. Not only that, but when we partied after my cancer treatments, we partied with Corazon tequila. Which was fitting on so many levels.

 

I couldn't NOT call the bike Corazon. But... it didn't roll off the tongue as well as I'd like. And after all, what do I call her for short? Cora? Zone? Raz?

 

So I discussed it with some co-workers, and decided that I loved the concept of "corazon", but not the name.

 

This got one of my co-workers to do some research, and found the true new name.

 

"Heart" in Spanish is "Corazon". However, "heart" in Swahili is "Moyo".

 

Anti-climatic? No. Moyo is the perfect name, and when I say her name, it will remind me of my friend Nanky Seoke - an amazing woman I met from Botswana while riding across Montana. Nanky taught me a few words in Swahili, including "dumela!", or hello.

 

Dumela, Moyo. My heart is full.

Class

Sometimes - if you're lucky - you have a chance to do the right thing.

Much has been written and discussed regarding this weeks' near perfect game by the Detroit Tigers' Armando Galarraga. Much has been written and discussed regarding umpire Jim Joyce's blown call. But if you paid attention to the whole story, you will have noticed the undercurrent that flowed through it... class.

The city of Detroit gets no breaks. It's true, the city isn't an easy place to live in. Detroit receives potshots, but also gives potshots. It's a tough city.

But there is something that pops its head up now and again, and it often comes via sports...

Yes, Detroit has class.

Much has been said in past years regarding the Detroit Red Wings, and their captain Steve Yzerman. No one in Detroit would argue that the man oozes class. Current captain Niklas Lidstrom is the same way.

Sports give a city a chance to show its' class. Armando Galarraga and Jim Leyland showed a ton of class when Galarraga's perfect game was stolen from him. Did they whine and bitch and moan like we see so many times today in sports?

No. They were disappointed, yes, but they recognized something that we tend to forget about.

We're human. We make mistakes.

Over the last few years, the city of Detroit has been taking it on the chin. This week, the Detroit Tigers had a chance to do the right thing. They had a chance to take the national limelight and show the city's mettle. And they shone like the sun.

If I ever have the chance to do the right thing, I pray that I can show the class that Galarraga, Leyland, and Jim Joyce did.

If the limelight shines your way, how will you act?

Every Little Memory

8 years ago this weekend, I saw Parliament Funkadelic at the Detroit Electronic Music Festival (DEMF). I went with my brother, and friends, Scott and Michelle. I had just completed my 2nd chemotherapy treatment of 8.

I didn't feel great, but I didn't want cancer to change the way I lived. Ironic, considering it changed my life more than any one event aside from birth.

3 years ago this weekend, I was in Deer Isle, Maine, getting married to an angel.

I hope I never truly understand why I have been so lucky in life. Lucky to be married to such an amazing woman. Lucky to have survived cancer. Lucky to have such great friends. Lucky simply to be alive.

Yesterday, my angel was by my side when I went to see my oncologist. I like having her come to these appointments with me because:
1) She has a great relationship with my doc;
2) She knows what questions to ask (even though she doesn't always tell me what they mean...);
3) He answers her honestly;
4) She is sometimes a buffer;
5) And it's nice not to always see an oncologist alone.

So yesterday, Dr. Parikh, Sheryl, and I spent a lot of time talking about Sjogren's. This is a good thing. At this point, 8 years out of treatment, I want to blame all of my ails on Sjogren's, and not Hodgkin's - or any other cancer for that matter!

Every thing spurs a memory for me. This Memorial Day weekend spurs those thoughts first and foremost.

As my wonderful wife lies sleeping in bed, I think, too, about blessings. Memories and blessings. I've got a lot of both.

Sheryl, thank you for making my life more meaningful. And I mean that from the bottom of my cold heart, hands, and feet.

Have a great weekend everyone!

When I was a kid, I used to play and play and play until the streetlights came on, or until mom called us in for dinner. I loved playing. I loved being with my friends.

I loved summer nights, and playing all night long.

I was reminded of my childhood this week - I was blessed with the opportunity to ride my bike to work. I was like a damn Cheshire cat! And so I rode to work and back - 13 miles round trip. Afterwards, I worked on the yard - weed-whipping, mowing, etc.

And man, I had stuff to do! But while watering the plants, I realized that I was whupped! In fact, I felt just like I did when I was a kid - I was excited to be playing, yet my body was beat... my legs hurt, and my mom can concur that my knees used to ache like nobody's business!

So, this week, I was a bit depressed that I wore out so easily. It's the stinkin' Sjogren's... the same thing that doesn't let me shed a tear or spit without medication.

I came into the house, grabbed a handful of Motrin, and slugged it down with a dirty vodka martini. An hour later, my knees no longer ached, and I was ready to go to bed.

Tonight, as well as every other night, I love my life.

I just wish I had a little more stamina. Ummm... make that A LOT more stamina!

Our First Time

Well, it was a very busy weekend, and for the first time in four days, Sheryl and I are not spending time with Rey and Amanda, Aaron and Cheryl, Mike and Brenda, Shane and Lori... and John and Katie, Ron and Kathy, and it feels a little odd.

On a weekend when I was proud and honored to stand up in my cousin's wedding,
On a weekend when I introduced Sheryl to the remainder of my aunts and uncles,
On a weekend when I had so much fun...

We had our first time.

Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" was playing. I was never a big fan of the song until only a few years ago, but here I was, arms around my beautiful, amazing wife, looking deeply into her eyes, and kissing her gently...

For the first time...

We danced.

“A Fan from Ferndale, Michigan got that one!”


Last Sunday, Sheryl and I went to the Tigers game with her brother, sister in law and nephew. After the game, her nephew was able to run the bases, and it was our first chance to ever get onto the field at Comerica Park.

It was exciting for us – probably as exciting as it was for her nephew. The line wound throughout the seating areas, and we had a chance to take a lot of pictures.

As we were filing out of the park, I had Sheryl stand next to the statue of Ernie Harwell, and took her picture. I took another with her and her nephew – and Ernie’s statue.

Little did we know that a few days later, the Detroit legend would lose his battle with cancer.

Everybody in Detroit knows Ernie Harwell. Everybody has an Ernie Harwell story.

And like everybody in the last 50 years who has grown up a baseball fan, I remember Ernie’s iconic voice calling the games of my childhood.

Oh, what a legend the legend became, though! People fell in love with Ernie Harwell because whether he knew it or not, he was with them through thick and thin. Through love and death. Through happiness and sadness. Ernie was always there.

Ernie Harwell went gently into the night. He went with the type of kindness and warmth that you would expect to see in a Buddhist monk. Ernie was a man just like any one of us. But through his legend, he became more than all of us.

People lined up outside of Comerica Park to bid farewell to the icon. The line existed for 15, 16, 17 or so hours. Grown man after grown man cried. People took pictures. Hearts broke.

Baseball is a game. Baseball announcers are just doing a job. But sometimes – and here’s your proof – one man can make a difference in his world. One man can cause tears of love to wash the streets of Detroit. One man is still just a man…

Unless you’re a legend.

The Righteous Brothers sang that “if there’s a rock and roll heaven, well you know they’ve got a hell of a band.” And if there is a field of dreams somewhere in Iowa, those ghosts now have one heckuva announcer.

I never met Ernie Harwell, but I am really sad that he's gone. Rest well, young man. Rest well!

Shuddup and holla!

Just got done watching the film "It Might Get Loud" - a documentary of a guitarist summit. Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White traded stories and riffs.

Wow - freaking amazing!

If you are lucky, there are moments in your life that inspire you. I've been having a lot of those lately, but I haven't yet taken the time to let them sink in. I hope that time will come soon, but it is also very possible that that time has already slipped by.

Nonetheless, this film was an inspiration. Watching these three amazing musicians interact, and come up with their own sparks of creativity made me giddy.

I wanna be like them, yeah, you know I wanna be like them...

Big Bill and the Curtain Girls

My godfather died the other day. We weren't close at all. In fact, I hadn't seen him in approximately 1.3 bazillion years. Until today.

Out of respect for him, and for my cousins, I went to the funeral home. I'm so glad I did.

Once upon a time, my godfather was my uncle. After he and my aunt divorced, he became a ghost.

We have a large family, and a somewhat dysfunctional one at that. The last time that all of us were together was, well, I simply don't remember.

Within the last year, however, we have been seeing more of our family members. And one thing I have come to learn - I really miss my cousins.

It was such a thrill today to spend a little quality time with them. And as I left the funeral home, I felt melancholy.

Many of the cousins grew up together as kids. It was wonderful to have some of those memories come back.

Goodbye, Uncle Bill. You are in a better place. And for a moment in time, you brought some of us together. Thank you for that.

Enough For Me

She said that life was consuming her will to sing like Billie Holiday,
And that the shiny orbs in her kitchen were old friends visiting, aching for a strong cup of coffee.
She put marshmallows in her shoes to keep bad odors away.
I asked her why she ate a tablespoon of honey before each meal,
And she laughed and asked me why I breathed.
Early in the morning, you could see her practicing yoga in the dew-covered grass, as the sun filtered through the trees.
She smiled at you, even if she didn't know you.
She invited all of her friends over for dinner once a month, and gave each dinner a theme.
Often, her visitors were required to wear costumes to the dinner,
And the wine flowed through wee hours.
Now and again, you could see her at the club in town, practicing her horrible DJ skills.
She knew her limits and checked out of the place before 10:00.
As I got to know her, I chose not to look too deeply into her psyche,
For this woman portrayed a life of pure, unadulterated fun.
And she loved deeply.
And that was enough for me.

Robin Lee

Every now and again, I see a picture of the alternate life I wish I had - songwriter.

Last night, we went to see a Michigan singer, Robin Lee Berry, and she was the epitome of where my artsy side wants to be.

She mastered her performance - from singing dynamics to chord changes. She was a story teller, and wove charming stories amongst her songs of life - joy, sadness, inspiration, and rejection.

I always wanted to live within a community of story tellers and song writers. The magic and vicarious life, unmarred by the rush rush of business.

The irony is that the magic of that life is still integrated within real life. There is no way to avoid real life.

So the hauntingly lovely life that I see in my minds' eye will always be out of reach. And that's not all bad, because I love the life I have.

Tha Prez

Yesterday, while mowing the lawn, I found myself thinking about presidents.

Former president Clinton recently visited with the Miami Dolphins, and everyone seemed happy and excited. I thought about which president I would like to meet.

The answer was not simple. As I realized, there were many presidents that I’d like to meet. And the reasons are as varied as the men themselves. There is a thread, though, that seemed to link them. I would love to learn more about the man and his ideals.

Because it is my game, I got to set the rules: I could meet each of these great men one on one, and have all the time I want with them.

Without further adios, in order of their terms:

Thomas Jefferson (1801-1809). I’d like to know his take on the country’s development during its early years. I’d also like to know what he would think about things going on today.

Andrew Jackson (1829-1837). Ever since I wrote a first-class report on Old Hickory in elementary school, I have been fascinated by this man. I’d like to know what he thought about the development of the country during his presidency, and I’d also like to ask him his thoughts on the civil war, which happened many years after his death.

Abraham Lincoln (1861-1865). I’d just like to know about his dreams for the American people, and how he dealt with the burdens he carried during the Civil War.

Teddy Roosevelt (1901-1909). Teddy Roosevelt was an explorer and a true American man. I’d just like to talk to him and hear about his experiences.

Franklin Roosevelt (1933-1945). In the realm of great presidents, FDR was certainly high on the list. Bringing the US through a lot of social change brought about by the great depression, and World War 2, I’d be curious to meet the legend, and talk about every possible thing under the sun.

John F. Kennedy (1961-1963). Was he as great as everyone says? I’d like to find out for myself. My grandfather had a picture of JFK in his office, and I was always impressed by the man in that picture. I wonder what he thinks about his death bringing about the death of American innocence.

Barack Obama (2009- ). I really believe that Obama has the interest of the American people in mind as he implements change. I believe that he may not exactly know the best way to get these things done. I want to meet him, talk to him, and find out if I am wrong in my beliefs, or if I am simply being bamboozled. I really don’t think that’s the case, but I would love to have a chance to find out!

As a result of meeting these current and former leaders, I like to think that I would be more patriotic, more understanding of the way this country should be, and perhaps be inspired to do something about it. 

That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Le Book de Face

Okay, okay, I know my posts are overdue. I blame facebook.

How many of you out there look at the book of faces and find yourself thinking: I don't care about your dog being lost - I don't care about how great shopping was - I just don't care!!??

Well, I do it - a lot - and I don't want people to feel that way about my blog.

So, when there really isn't a lot going on inside my bean of a noggin, I don't post much. I'm sorry, I really am!

So what on my plate these days?

Well, we are eagerly anticipating going to see the Tigers this year - as of now, we're going to see five games. We're also in the middle of the most wonderful time of the year - HOCKEY PLAYOFFS! And... the NFL is having their draft next weekend - and yes, I CAN'T WAIT!!

Sheryl and I are looking at new couches, trying to catch up with friends now that spring has sprung and we've awoken from hibernation, and Sheryl made some killer pulled pork overnight!

We're looking at timeshares, looking at vacation to the Crossroads festival in Chicago, and an extended vacation to the South at the end of the year.

Lots of great, exciting things coming up - especially with the nicer weather! Whoo-hoo!

So hopefully, that's a little more exciting than my dog being lost or Kohl's having a wicked awesome sale.

Maybe I'll try to be a little more relaxed and appreciative of facebook entries...

Hello Moon, Hello Sun, Hello Clouds, Hello Fun

Last two days in Detroit have been gaw-jus! Partly sunny and 80.

So who can guess what I did yesterday and today?

If your answer included "frickin killer bike rides", you, sir (or madam), are correct!

Yesterday's first bike ride of the season turned out to be 10 miles in 42 minutes. Yowza! Felt it today, but not bad enough to stay off the bike!

Today's ride, 11 miles, 47 minutes. Yay!

You could say the rides were perfect. Or boring. Or uneventful. Or just right. Or all of the above.

Nonetheless, I don't ever recall starting a season with back-to-back 10 mile rides. It feels good to feel so healthy - huzzah!!

So now I sit, listening to the birdies singing. Out on the deck with my angel of a wife snoozing next to me. She barbecued some killer Delmonico steaks for din-din tonight. Mmmmm...

Great way to start the season! Must be Hella-Good Friday!!

Dropping the Tre'

300 posts. Right here, right now. Who thought I'd speak my mind so much?

When I started blogging, I felt it was a way to keep my writing chops fresh. I had all sorts of ideas about things I could write about, and at the time, I had the time.

I started blogging in 2005... the same year I met Sheryl. Sheryl likes to credit her Gramps for our meeting. Ironically, Sheryl's grandfather died five years ago today. So milestone blog #300 seems to make sense. As such, I dedicate this one to yet someone else I would have really enjoyed meeting - Sheryl's grandfather.

Before I realized that this was Nr. Drei Hundert, I intended to blog about the HILARIOUS "Fluxus with Tools" event I witnessed yesterday.

A fluxus originator, Alison Knowles, performed with her daughter, Hannah Higgins, who is an art scholar.

Fluxus, as I have mentioned, I find HILARIOUS. I sat through this show grinning like a Cheshire cat, as Alison and Hannah gave us a taste of Fluxus (and salad, and a spaghetti sandwich...). I will never see a show like this again, and I'm so glad I went.

When I got home, I excitedly tried to explain it to Sheryl, laughing throughout... but I was the only one laughing. Sure enough, Fluxus gets lost in translation. Which is exactly what I feel fluxus is about - the viewer's experience.

Robert Fripp in King Crimson believes this - that a concert is about the now - the observer's experience. And every person, every observer, will have a different experience.

Frank Zappa felt similarly, I believe - that music is in the ear of the beholder. Music observed is a singular event.

In some ways, I find that amazing, and mind-blowing that every event I experience is my experience only.

But in some ways, I find that so sad. So lonely.

Millions of people can love the new Lady Gaga song, but why does each person love it? What are they hearing? Surely, they are not hearing the tortured cat that I hear. And although I may (or may not) enjoy an occasional tortured cat, I do not suspect I would enjoy listening to it.

Fluxus helps remind me of my individuality, whether I like it or not. Fluxus also makes me yearn for the ideology of what I envision as the true artist. The burned out artist. The person that Neil Young sings about in "After the Goldrush" - "I was lying in a burned out basement, with the full moon in my eyes..."

And yet, in a lot of ways, I see Fluxus as a bunch of drunks sitting around throwing out ideas for the next infomercial - "Dude, what if we came up with a vegetable cutter that you slapped... haha! yea, we could call it the slap chop! Haha! Get it? Get it?? Whoo-hoo! Pass the Nighttrain man, don't bogart it!"

Every moment, every sight. Every sound, every touch. It's yours. Take ownership of it. No one can take it away from you.

The scholars and life coaches tell us to live our own lives.

Dude, you can't help it!

One of Them Days

You know, it was just one of them days. I was tired and cranky, trying to stay on the positive side of the fence, but it just didn't work out.

When I was sick, I vowed to myself that every day would be a good day. It was natural, and couldn't be helped, compared to pissing dark-orange Adriamycin, and aching my way through Neupogen shots.

Alas, today was one of those days when those dark days of chemotherapy were forgotten, and the occasional dark day of everyday life crept in. I'm not proud about it. Actually, I'm sad.

The nice part, however, is that I have those horrible memories to keep things in perspective. Tomorrow will be another day, and I can right my wrongs of today.

Something strange happened to me today, too, that makes me aware or celestial order.

I was invited to a Fluxus event at the DIA this Thursday!

I decided to go. I'd like to share the event with my amazing wife, but it might be better that I go alone. When I come home, I can tell her all the cool things about it, and leave the boring things out.

And since I mentioned her, I just gotta say, "man, I love that girl!"

So three cheers for tomorrow - and not just cuz it's St. Patrick's day!

I've got a few of those stories, too... maybe I'll share them soon.