Monday, January 20, 2014
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Something to Do Instead - Read this crazy story
Whether you like golf or not, this story is crazy and an amazing read.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Something to do Instead of Whatever You Should Be Doing - Reading an Article
I'm a sports follower (more so a reader than a watcher), so I read a lot of articles on the history and culture of various sports, as well as different players. Here is a great article about the history of steroids and the attitude of sports writers during the late 20th century when they were becoming more common.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
The Shadow of Laughter
Most of my life for the past 10 years or so has been devoted to two things: God, and the art of jokes and making people laugh. Sadly, the majority of that time has been spent on the jokes, but that is a for another post perhaps. During recent years, I have started to analyze the way I tell jokes and the tangible effects it has on my life, and while I haven't come to any solid conclusions, I have come to understand that the jokes and the laughter I desperately seek is an issue. One should never 'desperately seek' anything as temporary as a joke, as that is in essence an act of pride presented through self indulgence. But, at least in this case, I don't believe it is that simple. I will explain.
As noted in the first sentence, I have spent a considerable amount of time crafting my sense of humor. A large majority of that humor I credit to my dad, with my mom adding her knack for puns, as well as somewhat of an ability to absorb and adapt comedic ideas and timing from things that I see. All of this is fine and good, and I feel blessed to have the ability to make people laugh. The problem arises when you start finding your identity in humor, and the telling of jokes transcends light hearted banter, and becomes essentially a tool for survival. Survival in this case is in reference to social situations, and anything having to deal with people. The real issue with this is that humor and jokes are in essence a sham reality. It makes it easy to fit in with groups of people and to be happy enough being around them, but when it is all you have, it keeps you from relating to people in a way that goes deeper than jokes. Jokes exist entirely in the mind, but they do nothing for the heart, and when you get past the joke and a time for serious discussion comes, you find yourself lost. And this, is where I often find myself: in a situation where I can or should interact with a person on some serious level, but I find myself lost, with no inclination of where to go.
Now, I mentioned earlier that the key problem here is finding your identity in humor. Now, I find my identity in God, so that isn't necessarily the whole issue here (so now I'm sure you're wondering why I said that earlier, the answer to which is that it is true, but perhaps in a more general context, the issue at hand has greater specifics). I feel the issue, at least in my case, is that my younger years, where I developed (like everyone) was sort of a vacuum. I didn't have much contact with anyone outside my family. I had church and the kids there, but I was generally alienated by them, so I don't really count them. What this means is that when I started forming my sense of humor around 11-13, that is when I first started really being around people, when I joined a chess club. So during this time of new-found social experience, I feel as though my sense of humor became attached with how I deal with and understand people and social interaction. This is fine when you are younger and nobody really cares about anything, but as you get older you start to see and experience that the laughter fades more and more from the people around you and the goal becomes connection on a personal level. This is where I am right now, basically. I have spent the last year or so really examining my humor, and what its worth actually is, and what I have found is that I value it far, far too much, but at the same time I cannot live without it. That is where the idea of 'survival' I mentioned earlier comes from. For me, my humor has stopped being something I do for fun, and has become more less a job/act of survival in order to stay relevant and in-touch with the people I deal with.
I had a small talk with one of my friends at school about this, in which my thoughts were much less organized, but that is where much of this has come from. I was at school when I really started to see just how desperately I needed to be funny. It is something that comes naturally at this point, certainly, but beyond that, when I believe I have set a certain 'standard of funniness' with any group of people, I feel immense pressure to meet or exceed that standard every time I am among them. And believe me, it is a heavy weight. I believe it is a weight that is entirely self imposed, but the reason I went into my background earlier and how I believe much of the issue lies in how I use humor to identify with people in social situations, and how that is integral part of my social understanding is because that is really where the weight comes from. It is something I did to myself without really understanding what I was doing. I focused purely on developing humor and used that exclusively as a crutch to prop me up socially, not understanding the burden I accidentally put on myself.
The real dangers of this reach even deeper, unfortunately. As someone who tends to analyze things internally, I start to wonder and question just how valuable my humor is in relation to how other people view me. And this is entirely subjective, but I believe my conclusions here come from reasonably logical places. So, this is probably going to sound/be incredibly self indulgent, but please bear with me. In my own eyes, which are certainly biased, I believe that I simply would not have many friends if it weren't for my ability to tell jokes. Because, as I tried to state earlier, I don't really have any tools or anything to draw from socially other than jokes, so how would they get to know me otherwise? If I didn't or couldn't tell jokes, how would I connect with anyone at all? I don't connect particularly well even in my current state, so without those jokes, where would I be? Why would anyone have reason to talk to me? I have a grumpy face and can look intimidating when I have my beard (one of my friends told me she was scared of me when she first met me). If I wasn't able to pierce through the social bubble in group settings with my jokes, where people could see at least a little of who I am (or, as I would argue, a lot of who I am), why would they talk to me? Granted, being a very amateur bible scholar/student in a group of many others like I was at school, we all had common ground to talk about. This translates to church as well, naturally. But when you get outside of those places, what is left?
My well of social understanding is partially run dry through my immense capacity for apathy. I generally don't care about a lot, but I do care about people, which makes my situation quite frustrating. I want to understand and be able to connect with people beyond the surface level that is humor, but I simply don't know how. And without that ability to connect in an important way, I, in my own eyes, have very little social value. That isn't to say the things I have to say and share have no value. My views on God and Jesus and the Bible are important, even though many of them are probably wrong in some way, I believe I get the core and can share eternity with people. What is more important than that? Nothing, really. But that doesn't mean we can simply exist among other people and not deal with them in basic, emotional-connection driven ways. And that, is what I simply do not have.
And that is why I titled this post 'The Shadow of Laughter'. Because up front is the jovial laughter and good-natured sarcasm that most people experience. But behind the face telling those jokes, there is a scared, desperately anxious man hiding in the shadow of his own humor, hoping nobody walks across the line and shines a light to try and see who I really am, because I fear they won't see much.
I understand all of this has been incredibly selfish and self-centered. In the conclusions I have come to I have tried to use as sound logic and reason as possible, and tried to be as objective about myself as I could. I feel as though this analysis is healthy, and that writing it down helps me sort of transfer the load I feel mentally. In short, I am sad that this is what my humor has come to. I am tired of trying to meet certain self-imposed standards of how I interact with people in order to maintain importance in their eyes (so I don't disappear entirely as a social entity, basically), and I don't know how to get away from that. I don't want to be loved or listened to or lauded or praised by people, I am not looking for attention. I just want to be able to connect with them, to understand them in a deeper way, and to be able to open myself up for them to understand, and my own propensity for jokes, I feel, stops me from doing that.
Of course, this could all be a joke. Interestingly, that little sentence in conjunction with who you know me to be, perhaps has you wondering if this was indeed all a joke, considering my large capacity for satire. I'll let you figure that one out.
As noted in the first sentence, I have spent a considerable amount of time crafting my sense of humor. A large majority of that humor I credit to my dad, with my mom adding her knack for puns, as well as somewhat of an ability to absorb and adapt comedic ideas and timing from things that I see. All of this is fine and good, and I feel blessed to have the ability to make people laugh. The problem arises when you start finding your identity in humor, and the telling of jokes transcends light hearted banter, and becomes essentially a tool for survival. Survival in this case is in reference to social situations, and anything having to deal with people. The real issue with this is that humor and jokes are in essence a sham reality. It makes it easy to fit in with groups of people and to be happy enough being around them, but when it is all you have, it keeps you from relating to people in a way that goes deeper than jokes. Jokes exist entirely in the mind, but they do nothing for the heart, and when you get past the joke and a time for serious discussion comes, you find yourself lost. And this, is where I often find myself: in a situation where I can or should interact with a person on some serious level, but I find myself lost, with no inclination of where to go.
Now, I mentioned earlier that the key problem here is finding your identity in humor. Now, I find my identity in God, so that isn't necessarily the whole issue here (so now I'm sure you're wondering why I said that earlier, the answer to which is that it is true, but perhaps in a more general context, the issue at hand has greater specifics). I feel the issue, at least in my case, is that my younger years, where I developed (like everyone) was sort of a vacuum. I didn't have much contact with anyone outside my family. I had church and the kids there, but I was generally alienated by them, so I don't really count them. What this means is that when I started forming my sense of humor around 11-13, that is when I first started really being around people, when I joined a chess club. So during this time of new-found social experience, I feel as though my sense of humor became attached with how I deal with and understand people and social interaction. This is fine when you are younger and nobody really cares about anything, but as you get older you start to see and experience that the laughter fades more and more from the people around you and the goal becomes connection on a personal level. This is where I am right now, basically. I have spent the last year or so really examining my humor, and what its worth actually is, and what I have found is that I value it far, far too much, but at the same time I cannot live without it. That is where the idea of 'survival' I mentioned earlier comes from. For me, my humor has stopped being something I do for fun, and has become more less a job/act of survival in order to stay relevant and in-touch with the people I deal with.
I had a small talk with one of my friends at school about this, in which my thoughts were much less organized, but that is where much of this has come from. I was at school when I really started to see just how desperately I needed to be funny. It is something that comes naturally at this point, certainly, but beyond that, when I believe I have set a certain 'standard of funniness' with any group of people, I feel immense pressure to meet or exceed that standard every time I am among them. And believe me, it is a heavy weight. I believe it is a weight that is entirely self imposed, but the reason I went into my background earlier and how I believe much of the issue lies in how I use humor to identify with people in social situations, and how that is integral part of my social understanding is because that is really where the weight comes from. It is something I did to myself without really understanding what I was doing. I focused purely on developing humor and used that exclusively as a crutch to prop me up socially, not understanding the burden I accidentally put on myself.
The real dangers of this reach even deeper, unfortunately. As someone who tends to analyze things internally, I start to wonder and question just how valuable my humor is in relation to how other people view me. And this is entirely subjective, but I believe my conclusions here come from reasonably logical places. So, this is probably going to sound/be incredibly self indulgent, but please bear with me. In my own eyes, which are certainly biased, I believe that I simply would not have many friends if it weren't for my ability to tell jokes. Because, as I tried to state earlier, I don't really have any tools or anything to draw from socially other than jokes, so how would they get to know me otherwise? If I didn't or couldn't tell jokes, how would I connect with anyone at all? I don't connect particularly well even in my current state, so without those jokes, where would I be? Why would anyone have reason to talk to me? I have a grumpy face and can look intimidating when I have my beard (one of my friends told me she was scared of me when she first met me). If I wasn't able to pierce through the social bubble in group settings with my jokes, where people could see at least a little of who I am (or, as I would argue, a lot of who I am), why would they talk to me? Granted, being a very amateur bible scholar/student in a group of many others like I was at school, we all had common ground to talk about. This translates to church as well, naturally. But when you get outside of those places, what is left?
My well of social understanding is partially run dry through my immense capacity for apathy. I generally don't care about a lot, but I do care about people, which makes my situation quite frustrating. I want to understand and be able to connect with people beyond the surface level that is humor, but I simply don't know how. And without that ability to connect in an important way, I, in my own eyes, have very little social value. That isn't to say the things I have to say and share have no value. My views on God and Jesus and the Bible are important, even though many of them are probably wrong in some way, I believe I get the core and can share eternity with people. What is more important than that? Nothing, really. But that doesn't mean we can simply exist among other people and not deal with them in basic, emotional-connection driven ways. And that, is what I simply do not have.
And that is why I titled this post 'The Shadow of Laughter'. Because up front is the jovial laughter and good-natured sarcasm that most people experience. But behind the face telling those jokes, there is a scared, desperately anxious man hiding in the shadow of his own humor, hoping nobody walks across the line and shines a light to try and see who I really am, because I fear they won't see much.
I understand all of this has been incredibly selfish and self-centered. In the conclusions I have come to I have tried to use as sound logic and reason as possible, and tried to be as objective about myself as I could. I feel as though this analysis is healthy, and that writing it down helps me sort of transfer the load I feel mentally. In short, I am sad that this is what my humor has come to. I am tired of trying to meet certain self-imposed standards of how I interact with people in order to maintain importance in their eyes (so I don't disappear entirely as a social entity, basically), and I don't know how to get away from that. I don't want to be loved or listened to or lauded or praised by people, I am not looking for attention. I just want to be able to connect with them, to understand them in a deeper way, and to be able to open myself up for them to understand, and my own propensity for jokes, I feel, stops me from doing that.
Of course, this could all be a joke. Interestingly, that little sentence in conjunction with who you know me to be, perhaps has you wondering if this was indeed all a joke, considering my large capacity for satire. I'll let you figure that one out.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Bills
The table in the other room is illuminated by a single hanging light. I keep it dark so I don't have to stare at the pile of bills waiting to take a piece of me. Somewhere in that pile of corporate paper lies my life, but I couldn't tell you how to find it. I hired someone to do that for me, once, but now that's just another bill. Ironic.
Envelopes and slips of color have an interesting way of stealing your life. The lifelessness of the sheets with ink spread about by a computer can trap you inside a box of pressure and doubt. We answer to something that has no life, no breath, no self. It raises anger and other unfortunate emotions that trap us even further in a spiral of self destruction. Anger feeds desire for an escape, desire for an escape feeds purchase, purchase feeds bills, bills feed anger. And on and on and on...
Money is the root of all kinds of evil. It's sad. Money can only buy brief periods of time where we are slightly more happy, before ultimately taking back whatever joy it brought and replacing it with strife. Although, to be fair, money provide means of communication otherwise unattainable, which is perhaps its best use.
Another bills piles atop Mt. Neverrest. An endless climb up a path that only leads down. An endless business that keeps envelope opener companies afloat...These bills, a true version of mind control...And sadly, in some cases, soul control, which means utter sadness and destruction.
Getting the mail should never lead to resentment.
Envelopes and slips of color have an interesting way of stealing your life. The lifelessness of the sheets with ink spread about by a computer can trap you inside a box of pressure and doubt. We answer to something that has no life, no breath, no self. It raises anger and other unfortunate emotions that trap us even further in a spiral of self destruction. Anger feeds desire for an escape, desire for an escape feeds purchase, purchase feeds bills, bills feed anger. And on and on and on...
Money is the root of all kinds of evil. It's sad. Money can only buy brief periods of time where we are slightly more happy, before ultimately taking back whatever joy it brought and replacing it with strife. Although, to be fair, money provide means of communication otherwise unattainable, which is perhaps its best use.
Another bills piles atop Mt. Neverrest. An endless climb up a path that only leads down. An endless business that keeps envelope opener companies afloat...These bills, a true version of mind control...And sadly, in some cases, soul control, which means utter sadness and destruction.
Getting the mail should never lead to resentment.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
She's Electric
She's electric, so I guess that makes me rubber.
Incompatible, but forced into coexistence.
Today I could have said I love her.
A tragic coincidence.
A hunk of rubber, I am unflappable in the wind.
I do not not blow from side to side.
An unwavering hope of a love I might find.
Waiting to see what God decides.
Positivity is draining work.
A system built with a mandatory default am I.
Every day plowing through the grime and the murk.
Waking up on a mission to stare into despair's eye.
A hunk of rubber, I do not break down in the waves.
Blocking the shore from siege, I fear no storm.
Giving those behind this wall of me time to run to the caves.
I accept this pain as necessary, as it is not for me I mourn.
I pray for those who balance on the wire.
I know not their worries, their pains, the blows they're suffering of.
I pray they avoid entrapment in the mire.
I pray in hopes that they'll always know that it's them that I love.
A hunk of rubber, I melt in the fire.
Of different form, I am, changed, I am not.
I am a puddle of myself, but I see this not as dire,
For I am not broken, hope I still have, love I've still got.
A hunk of rubber, cooled off in the dirt and ash.
My shape is different, my stature is lost in history.
But along I keep going, slowly, life isn't a dash.
A hunk of rubber, searching for wisdom, and finding mystery.
Incompatible, but forced into coexistence.
Today I could have said I love her.
A tragic coincidence.
A hunk of rubber, I am unflappable in the wind.
I do not not blow from side to side.
An unwavering hope of a love I might find.
Waiting to see what God decides.
Positivity is draining work.
A system built with a mandatory default am I.
Every day plowing through the grime and the murk.
Waking up on a mission to stare into despair's eye.
A hunk of rubber, I do not break down in the waves.
Blocking the shore from siege, I fear no storm.
Giving those behind this wall of me time to run to the caves.
I accept this pain as necessary, as it is not for me I mourn.
I pray for those who balance on the wire.
I know not their worries, their pains, the blows they're suffering of.
I pray they avoid entrapment in the mire.
I pray in hopes that they'll always know that it's them that I love.
A hunk of rubber, I melt in the fire.
Of different form, I am, changed, I am not.
I am a puddle of myself, but I see this not as dire,
For I am not broken, hope I still have, love I've still got.
A hunk of rubber, cooled off in the dirt and ash.
My shape is different, my stature is lost in history.
But along I keep going, slowly, life isn't a dash.
A hunk of rubber, searching for wisdom, and finding mystery.
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