Connections Crossing

Life: the waking dream that hazes between points of rest. Each moment is taking place in an external world that my inner world just made up based on that same external world made up by everyones’ own inner world. I dream so vivid that times asleep become more real than the day to day.

I keep searching for truth and on the way I often fancy the notion I’ve found some. We make our own truth and it only becomes more and more apparent as we trust what our senses tell us. Our senses hear what others chose to feed us. Even as we accept it as reality, we know that deep down we’re victims of everyone’s filter, especially our own. We experience a reflection of a reflection spiraling off into eternity, so we may as well be blind.

I’m bound to this world the same as everyone else. Sometimes I get notions of how really lost and alone we all are as a whole who shares the same wants. Humanity, the race of contradictions, struggles to see behind the masks of one another. When I look at you, I try to see past our posturing and learned responses.

Connection crosses us so easily and is severed with the slightest touch. As we’re all seeking it as savagely as we pull away from one another, it’s a wonder we survive.

Child’s Chance to Choice

A few of my bloggin’ buddies have been posting their “Code’s of Life” lately, namely one Rory Blyth and Tao Cowboy. It’s enough to make one want to join the philosophizing and reflecting party (woo!).

Moonglow Ultima 4Mostly my views have grown and changed as I’ve wandered through life. I’ve never been one for holding onto an idea once it’s proven not to work for me. One thing that’s remained a constant is importance placed on honesty. Being true to oneself and others to me is as big as the inhabitants of Moonglow in the world of Britannia (screen shot from Ultima IV).

Honesty might have been even more important to me growing up. Let’s face it, most adults are anything but honest with children. I’m not talking about Santa Clause, I’m talking about the lies designed to protect us. I resented that kind of dishonesty as much as the malicious kind. Whether or not we as adults want to admit it, the effect can be as, if not more, devastating than any truth told. Kids will find out the truth later when they grow into adulthood, or more likely, much sooner than you’d like. When this lie is told the truth can be found in an embarrassing, painful, or even dangerous manner. One of my first thoughts goes to my mom who had my older brother when she was fifteen. I know the people in her life thought they were protecting her by keeping her ignorant about the birds and the bees, but really what they did is deprive her of a choice.

People think children aren’t old enough to make choices, and perhaps no one is. However, in life we are forced to make choices that we are no prepared to. This happens all the time. I hope that if I have children I’ll do everything I can to give them the ammunition to make choices wisely when life forces them to. Above all, I hope they don’t have to make tough calls, but they will. We can’t be there every second to chose for them, and knowledge is power.

Victor and DeannaI hope this for my younger siblings, one who just had her last day of high school, the other who is in his preteen years. I know that I am a big influence in their lives and that they are listening to me and looking to me for influence, even when they are pretending or trying not to. We learn from our surroundings, especially the things we give credence to. I might just be another person, but I’m also a role model and example whether or not I want to be.

I believe in the power of honesty and I believe in the power of learning, and to me they are one in the same. If you’re smart enough to ask the question, you deserve honest input, even if (and especially) the answer isn’t certain. There I think is the key to personal growth and betterment in this life.

My younger of my siblings is eleven. People have described him as a smartass and too smart for his own good. It’s true. I remember being described that way when I was his age. I remember being eleven and all the things I knew and was dealing with that my parents didn’t know. It’s hard to look at him and think that he might have some of the same heavy issues in his own life. It’s hard to look at him and consider he might have even harder decisions to make than I did. I know he’ll learn things from other sources, popular culture and his peers. I know he might absorb all the wrong things if I don’t speak up and even more, listen. I know I can’t learn for him and he will have to make his own mistakes, but I hope they are harmless and few. I listen and when he asks, I try to give him the best, most honest answer I can give. I’m trying to give him a fighting chance to make the right decisions. Without real information about the world around him, how is he going to have chance?

Beyond that, I want to teach him the value of honesty with my own example. He will become his own person regardless. He’ll find his own life code and values. He’ll have his own obstacles and choices. Even if I don’t see it, I know he has them right now. Every day he’s forming new opinions, testing the waters, and becoming more independent. I’ll always be here to tell him truthfully what I think and I hope one day he will return the favor by doing the same for others well into adulthood.

As for my sister, who is just like me and just the opposite of me in so many ways, I’m proud of her. Sure, she doesn’t hold dear all of the same things that I do, and she’s made a million choices I would never have. All the same, she’s doing better than okay. She’s reached the official United States definition of adulthood: eighteen. She has her High School Diploma. She is attending Anna Maria college in the fall. She works. She has a ton of friends. She’s a great cook and musician. She’s made it. She’s is doing well. I know I can’t take credit for the person she’s become, but I still like to think that I did okay in my part in her upbringing. I was right to trust her to hear all I had to say and make all the tough choices she’s had to up to this point. Life is not easy, and making it this far doing well and no small accomplishment.

Brits Eat..?

spotted dick in a can
My original thought was that I needed to come up with something in honor of Gary Gygax now that he has passed on to that campaign setting in the sky. This may still happen after I’ve finally come to accept its truth. Until then, I’ve made some startling discovery at what our friends the British apparently eat.

As a disclaimer, yeah, McDonalds is from over here and it’s gross. I’m sure there are other nasty things that make it out of our borders that I don’t eat, like Jello. As far as I’m concerned, none of it comes even remotely close to what I have discovered…

1. Spotted Dick: This is one I’d actually heard of. What I didn’t know is that it comes in a can. Also horrifying is that on this can it says you can microwave it. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, because last I checked metal cans and microwaves don’t mix. I knew this, but didn’t know the extent of it until my little sister blew up the microwave trying to make Jello one day.

I have not tried spotted dick, but one of my friends has (see photographic evidence). Let’s see what she has to say on the matter:
eating spotted dick

“It’s as good as can be expected considering it’s cake from a can cooked in boiled water…”

I think that’s as good a review as we’re going to get.

2. Mr. Brain’s 4 Pork Faggots in a Rich West Country Sauce: I barely know where to begin. I am trying to figure out what about this meal is a faggot. I am searching my definitions… homosexual man? No. Bundle of sticks? Nope. Measuring those bundles of sticks? No again. Cigarette? Uh-uh. All right… I’m just going to have to assume that one of these weird meatballs is also known as a faggot.

Pork Faggots

My next question is what is so west about this sauce. The spotted dick friend tells me: “…the West Country (where my Brit ancestors originally hailed from) is a region of England.” This is good to know, but it tells me little about the sauce. Another friend who tried the ‘faggots’ recalled the experience like a horror story. She had this to say on the matter:

“I shudder to remember. This was back when I was eating meat, but no amount of creepy processed fast-food spaaaaaaaaaace meat could have prepared me for this. Pork faggots are basically these meat balls made not out of what we would typically define as “meat”, but instead is ground up pig’s liver and possibly some other organs covered in some disgusting gravy. Ugggh!”

So far, spotted dick in a can is better than microwavable Mr. Brain’s pork faggots.

Toad in the Hole
3. Toad In The Hole: So… you put sausages in “Yorkshire pudding” batter and bake ’em. Now I’m out of willing candidates to try these things, but my spotted dick friend did have this to say:

“Oh, SHIT, Toad in the Hole? That looks terrible. TERRIBLE.”

Brits need to stop taking their sausages and putting them in everything! …

…!

…we’ve already mentioned spotted dick, so I’m sure that couldn’t have sounded much worse.

Also on the subject of Brits and sausage…

4. Black Pudding: It’s sausage made with congealed blood. Brits like sausage apparently, and need variations.

5. Brawn apparently is a sausage form of head cheese. This has nothing to do with cheese, but everything to do with a head of a calf, pig, or sheep. It also can contain meat from the feet or heart. It’s even eaten cold. At least then we won’t smell it if someone reheats it. Thank heavens for small favors. I am not posting a picture as I’m afraid to try and find one.

Alright. This is about as much on the subject I can look into right now. If any Brits are out there reading this, we could use some insight into your cuisine. I for one, don’t get it. This is coming from someone who loves sushi, so I’m thinking the average American would be even more lost.

I guess my biggest questions are, do you actually eat this stuff, eat it often, and like it? …or is this just food propaganda that makes it across the borders to frighten us? I mean, there’s fish and chips, and that’s great.

Inquiring minds in the U.S. want to know!

Communcation Revolution: Quashed!

“I’d love to hang out, but I need to wash my hair… all day… and until later this evening. You know, lather, rinse, and repeat? Maybe some other time.”

“But, you’re the one who said we should hang out. You even picked the day!”

“Well, I did, but that was until I got so busy with paying attention to my hair follicles. Sorry!”

This person got off light. I got a non-specific vague implication of suddenly being busy. So, I’m supposed to be sad, sit at home and eat ice cream, waiting until this person says they want to hang out again, right? Instead I make other plans.

I also let it out to a few friends who all have had a similar experiences recently.

“That happened to me the other day. So-and-so who I haven’t seen in forever calls me out of the blue and we make plans. The morning before I leave to meet her, she’s all *cough* *cough* ‘I don’t feel so well’ *cough*.”

“What’s that? It just makes you never want to have anything to do with them again.”

“Exactly. Just don’t make plans in the first place. Or tell the truth.”

“Yeah, at that point the truth is not going to have a worse effect.”

I’m a little annoyed at and confused by humanity. Why can’t people say what they mean?

It makes me feel like attempted communication with most people is useless, because there’s no actual connection being made. A bunch of words spew out, you think you are on the same page, and instead you’re a million miles apart. Every once in awhile something spectacular happens and someone actually picks up what you’re putting down. You both hold onto it, run with it, and friendships are born. With all the bullshit people say and do, it’s a minor miracle.

It’s a full out miracle when it stays for the long haul. I am lucky to have a handful of friends that fall into that category.

I’m unlucky that they don’t live close by.

I’ve been a bit hard on myself lately that I don’t have the ‘buddies’ to hang out with in this area that I once had. I haven’t lived here for over five years and people have moved, moved on, changed phone numbers, changed emails, and lost touch- sometimes even fallen out. In addition, this area of the United States of America contains people with a particular attitude on friendship and communication. I grew up here. If you want to be close, you’re clingy. If you’re open, you’re a freak. Being distant is cool. Meanwhile, in college I got used to asking friends if they wanted to go to the grocery store together. I’d get calls asking if I wanted to hang out and do laundry together. I could show up at someone’s door and call up ‘Lemme in!’ and be invited to stick around for dinner.

Life is short, and people around here are spending it being standoffish. In Maine and Virgina I became close to people quickly. We found one connection and ran with it. We found joy in getting lost in the car together or driving around nowhere all night knowing exactly where we were.

I am sad because those friends are still out there, but they’re too far away. I’m sad because I did have a few people here that it took me my whole childhood to find. And they have since scattered or fallen out of view. I drive by those places and have a fit of stir-crazy nostalgia.

Moving is a terribly hard adjustment, and I’m finding that moving back after being gone so terribly long is even worse. Everything is a comparison. Everything bares a past bias that is hard to shake. When I moved back, I was hoping my views of this area were youthfully prejudicial. I hate it that I was right all those years growing up. It’s worse now that I’ve lived other places and seen that other people are like me in their approach to people and friendship.

I have plans next weekend with an old friend, and I know we will be hanging out unless there is an act of god. I know if something comes up, the truth will be told and we’ll see again soon.

I’m pissed at humanity, but grateful to my friends. Here’s to them.

Follow up posts:
Wednesday Night

Historical posts:
Communication Technology