-{ redgeek.net }-

Shit went down in the household tonight. I approached both Roommate and his Fiance about the whole situation when she got home. Now, I wanted to just approach her, but felt it was only proper to include him, even though what I thought would happen happened.

The full version is looong, so if you don’t want to read that here’s the short version: Fiance and I were having an adult conversation, Roommate gets riles thinking I’m attacking her, get super emotional, and rattles of a list of things that I don’t do around the house that to him implies I don’t care about the house (revolving predominantly around cleaning), therefore he and Fiance and do what they want. Now, I do care about what goes on at the house; I would think that mere act of say “you need to ask first” indicates I have some desire to be involved in house-related decisions.

Besides, I own half, he owns half, if I did truly want to do nothing to the house, that would be my prerogative to vote that way: we agreed on that when we moved in. We’ve reached consensus now, and resolved most of the issues, but since this is my place to vent, I’ll include the additions I thought but didn’t speak, as I didn’t think they’d be productive to the point at hand: communication. Anyway, what follows is the long version.

“So, when Roommate and I bought this house,” I begin, slowly and deliberately, purposefully letting her hear me breath calmly, “we set out a few ground-rules. One was that anything we wanted to do to our bedrooms was fair game and to be taken care of independently, but that anything in the common areas needed to be agreed upon. I know that your improvements to the house stem from the best of intentions – and the results look fantastic – but you need to ask first. And when you asked me last night to vacate the house for three days so strangers could stay in my bed, I didn’t really know how to respond. I wanted to have an adult conversation driven by rationality, not emotion, so I slept on it. I have to tell you that I’m not comfortable with that, and that it’s not acceptable to just inform me that the bridal shower would be here without asking me first. I’m not angry, I just want to have an adult conversation and make sure we’re communicating.”

“Well, first of all, the shower isn’t actually here. And I didn’t expect you to acquiesce, I was just asking, like the time when you offered to leave the house for a night after we got engaged.” Although internally I was thinking, you didn’t fuck in my bed, did you? Otherwise the two are totally different things, we were having the adult conversation I was hoping for: no drama, no bullshit and accusations, just making sure we’re on the same page.

“Okay, that’s my fault: it wasn’t clear to me that the shower wasn’t here. I should’ve asked for clarification. But I’m still uncomfortable with strangers in my bed.”

On other points, she was a little confused about what I was talking about, as she could only remember painting the dining room without asking, so I presented some examples as per her request: painting the bathroom and a piece of my furniture, lacquering some cabinets, removing art from the living room, etc. I cut it short as I didn’t want this conversation to be about lists and accusations, but she requested some, so I tossed out a few representative examples and left the rest as an exercise.

“I’m sorry about the dining room, but I figured, if you don’t like it I can always repaint it. I really thought the furniture was leftover from the old house, so I didn’t think to ask. And I know you and Roommate own this house, but I do live here and have and emotional investment, although not financial like you and Roommate, but I do want it to look prettier and recoup expenses.”

“And I’m totally down with that. Like I said, everything you’ve done looks great. I just don’t want to be left out of the decision making process. But, you’re both right and wrong regarding the furniture,” I say with a friendly smile, diffusing any rising anger, “it was left over from Roommate’s and my last house – it just happened to be my one of my leftover pieces. Like I said, no harm no foul, I just want to clear the air.”

And so on. A perfectly reasonable conversation. Both her and I admitting faults, setting the stage for resolution.

And this is where Roommate jumps in, like a father defending his cub. He launches into a diatribe of deficits regarding my household behavior, which although long, consists primarily of:

• I shouldn’t be attacking Fiance for attempting to improve the house.
• I don’t take in or out the trash can from the garage enough.
• I don’t clean my dishes often enough.
• I use the excuse that I’m not around enough to warrant participating in household cleaning chores.
• It takes too long to contact me to come to consensus; it’s faster if they just take the reigns and implement.
• I once left a dirty wine glass out for two weeks.
• I once stepped in a puddle from an over-watered plant in the foyer and didn’t clean it up.
• I don’t demonstrate that I’m interested in the ongoings of the house.
• I don’t clean up my stack of mail.
• I leave the back door open but the front door double locked.
• I don’t notice things around the house.
• He pays more of the mortgage than me.
• Therefore I forfeit rights to decision making processes regarding the house.

This was not a short rant, and most of the above was repeated at least three times. I let him finish, since he was quite emotional and I didn’t want to get into an argument, I wanted to have a discussion. Interrupting would have only made him angrier. However, he’d now incited Fiance, who added:

• I only gave her credit once for any of her home improvements.
• I have no emotional attachment to the house.
• I put no emotional energy into house.

My first response was to try to diffuse the situation by addressing them, calmly, together. “I just want to be absolutely clear: I’m not attacking Fiance. I just want to make sure that everything’s understood and we’re on the same wavelength. And Fiance, I was 99.9% sure that I had complimented every single thing you’ve done here, and if I haven’t, I’m sorry, and I’m saying it now: it looks great.” I also make some offhand comments (bad mistake) regarding him generally leaving and coming home earlier than I, so of course the he’d have the first opportunity to take in and out the trash, and that I may not have seen the puddle, hence I wouldn’t have cleaned it up. I was trying to turn the conversation back around to communication regarding changes to the house when Roommate turns it back to his “list.”

“It’s not just that, I have a whole list that I could go into. It’s that you don’t seem to care what happens to this house, so I have more leverage. If you’re not going to join in, then it’s up to us to make decisions. You’ve shown this.”

Fuck. And no one says, “I have a list,” unless they want to argue points, not have a discussion, or else they really don’t have a list. He never got past the above, he only repeated it more emphatically. I’ve got a list too, but I’m not going to bring it up at this juncture. I want to resolve this, not argue validity of individual points.

“Okay, it’s my fault then that I haven’t communicated enough interest in the ongoings of this house. That’s my fault. But I’m telling you right now, I am emotionally and financially invested in this place. When we moved in, we went and selected new lighting (which I installed) we chose colors to paint the living room, and decided how to arrange furniture, I bought the coffee table and credenza after consulting you, all that good stuff. Sometime after then, I stopped being consulted. When you guys painted the living room, I was out of town that weekend and you didn’t inform me you were even planning on doing it then. So of course I couldn’t help. But I’m letting you know now that I do want to be consulted.” You’d think this would be common sense.

Fiance queries, “How are you emotionally invested? You only stay in your room.”

“How? It’s my house. It’s where I live and sleep.”

“But you don’t hang out here. I mean, I now you’re not here as much and Roommate and I, how do you have any attachment? I’d feel terrible if you felt pushed away because we’re here so much.”

“Fair enough. But I do have an attachment, a lot has happened to me here. And it’s not your fault; I’m busy and I get home late. But you’re right to a degree: the dining room became your office, and I don’t use the kitchen much – although I would appreciate a bit more space in it, as I do go shopping occasionally (while you guys live in there) – and when I get home, you and Roommate are generally watching a program or movie (that I don’t want to see), so I’m no going to interrupt. So I go to my room; there’s no room for me left down here. But it’s still my home.”

We plod on for a while, eventually settling into some sort of “tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll try to fix it” sort of consensus. Which is good.

I just want to address a couple of points here online, since they wouldn’t have led the conversation in the direction of communication, but would’ve started placing blame – exactly what I didn’t want to do. But here I have the advantage of doing that. So, here’s the down-low:

• I shouldn’t be attacking Fiance for attempting to improve the house. (I wasn’t, I said this multiple times, and I kept my voice calm, cool and collected, so there should be no indication that I was.)
• I don’t take in or out the trash can from the garage enough. (See above. Furthermore, if I haven’t put a single thing into the kitchen trash can in the last week, not only am I not going to think about taking out the trash, but there’s no reason I should. I’m willing to admit there’s been a few times I could’ve taken in the trash can from outside and didn’t – and a few times I have when I could’ve – but since I generally get home past 11 PM and Roommate’s already done it, I think this is moot. He latched on to the times I didn’t.)
• I don’t clean my dishes often enough. (Ok, on the rare occasion I eat at home, I’ll frequently leave my dish in the sink overnight – but the plan is to clean it the next day, but I can’t do that if you clean it in the morning. If you leave it, it’ll be done the next day. So yeah, I’ll take the blame on this one.)
• I use the excuse that I’m not around enough to warrant participating in household cleaning chores. (Yes, I do use this excuse when it’s valid. If I haven’t used the downstairs bathroom in a month, I feel no urge to clean it, especially when Roommate uses it regularly. Regarding the rest of the house, I had hired a house cleaner a few times – but we had a meeting and came to the conclusion it was too costly. Why do you think I hired a one? Because I’m not around to do such things often enough, perhaps? When the first time we split the cost, on the rest of the times I just paid for it all, because those times “not being around” wouldn’t be a valid excuse, so I didn’t try to use it as one?)
• It takes too long to contact me to come to consensus; it’s faster if they just take the reigns and implement. (I have a cell phone and email, which you’ve only used when responding to me, and have never initiated a conversation once since Fiance moved in.)
• I once left a dirty wine glass out for two weeks (Yup, I did, I totally accept this. But this in no way, in my mind, means you get control of the house. So I’ll take the blame on this as well.)
• I once stepped in a puddle from an over-watered plant in the foyer and didn’t clean it up (How many times have you seen me walking in or out of the house with the following bags: gym, camera, laptop, and backpack? You think there might be I change I didn’t see it? And not to mention the plant was not placed there by me, nor was I even asked if I wanted it there, nor is it my responsibility to water it, so what makes you think I would check to see if it hadn’t drained correctly?)
• I don’t demonstrate that I’m interested in the ongoings of the house. (Aside from: installing lighting, replacing locks, oiling hinges, replacing toilet seals, putting lights in the garage, carving a wine rack that holds all of your wine and none of mine, helping to choose paint colors and helping paint, volunteering to be the primary on the home loan, dealing with all the loan payments, spending endless hours discussing kitchen remodel options, shopping for appliances together, buying 90% of the furniture and 100% of the art for the house, requesting Ashley to paint some custom oils for the living room, spending countless hours searching for, contacting and interviewing all the contractors for the kitchen remodel, yielding my garage spot for all the construction materials for over a year, and consulting my father the real estate lawyer and uncle the building contractor for advice on both purchase and assessment, and asking to be queried on house-related decisions, no, I guess I’m not that interested.)
• I don’t clean up my stack of mail. (No, I don’t. I keep it in a neat stack. I may no go through it regularly, but I keep it in a stack. Your mail, however, is strewn all about the place.)
• I leave the back door open but the front door double locked. (Actually, I was pretty fastidious about locking the rear door, although I’m sure I missed some times. Just let me know when I do, and I’ll be more careful. And I believe you dislike the locking of the front door is because of the time I locked you out – but I was leaving, and you didn’t tell me you didn’t have keys on you. How am I supposed to know?)
• I don’t notice things around the house. (Yes, I do. I probably notice more about my environment that most people. I don’t see everything (like a puddle perhaps) but I see a lot. I see the crumbs build up on the coffee table from the last week’s worth of dinners you and Fiance have eaten there, whereas I’ve eaten nothing there. I see her laptop sundry constantly sitting out on the dining room table. I see her desk in the dining room messy and littered with paperwork while my one bag that was downstairs has been dumped in my room. I see the books of mine you move from their proper place downstairs to my room upstairs. I see the books entitled “What to Expect when you’re Expecting” and “The Expectant Father,” but I wait for you to bring up that announcement. I notice when you clean the fridge, because they’ll actually be room for me to put an item or two in there. I notice that my milk, that I’ve used for one bowl of cereal, is nearly empty, because you mistakenly believe that everything in the fridge is yours. I notice that after the kitchen remodel, you co-opted all my cabinets because I have moved my dried and canned goods back in there yet. I notice the new plants that go in here and there that I’m not going to water because I didn’t put them there, nor was a consulted. I notice when you take my photos off the fridge after a week and replace them with yours that hang indefinitely. I notice that the grass in the front yard has died, but I don’t bring it up to you, as it’s not you responsibility; it’s the groundskeeper’s. Yeah, I notice shit. So cut me some slack when I miss one or two things.)
• I only gave her credit once for any of her home improvements (Bullshit, but I ate this point for the sake of harmony. I remember distinctly every time she made an improvement, and I remember sincerely complimenting her on each one she made that I appreciated – which was not all of them, but it was a great deal more than once.)
• I have no emotional attachment to the house (See above.)
• I put no emotional energy into house. (Incorrect. However, doing this is at my discretion, not doing it does not mean I own less of the house.)
• He pays more of the mortgage than me. (Nope, you don’t. You just think you do. We each pay exactly half, and Fiance pays us a very small amount of rent. Just because she pays it to you, but she doesn’t have the money for it so you pay her rent for her, and then you pass along half of that payment to me when your paying me your half of the mortgage, that doesn’t mean you pay more. You did backtrack on this quickly, though, after seeing my facial expression when you claimed this, so I’ll give you that, but in your mind, I think you still think you have a greater claim to the house. Wrong.)
• Therefore I forfeit rights to decision making processes regarding the house (Fucking bullshit. The only way I relinquish rights is if someone buys me out.)

I can’t wait to sell.

Last night my roommate’s finance asked me if I could be “not be around” for a few days while she had her wedding shower. I agreed, since I’m not home that much anyway and I figure it’d be nice to give her time to do whatever happens at those things. Until I realize she’s asking me to leave the house entirely. She wants me to give up my bedroom so her friends can stay in my bed, while I sleep on the floor at some to-be-determined house. And not just over the weekend, but from Thursday night until Sunday night.

Being the person I am, start looking for a solution instead of what doing what I should have done.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work out,” fingering my calendar, “but my mom might have one of those inflatable beds. I might be able to pick that up. We could move the dining room table on put people in there ….”

We reach a tentative agreement that I’ll keep my ear out for places to crash. I know I won’t. A line has been crossed, and I need to confront her about it.

I don’t want sleep somewhere else. This is one of the benefits of owning a house. I (should) always have a bed if I want one. I (should) always have a parking spot. I (should) always have whatever I want within the bounds of my 50% ownership of my own god-damn-fucking piece of property. The only person I have to ask for permission to do anything is my roommate, who owns the other 50%. She owns precisely shit of the house. She has no fiscal responsibility; she doesn’t have a $250,000 loan like he and I each have.

On the way to work this morning, I think about what’s happened when I’ve had people in town. It’s always come down to: (a) they sleep on whatever they can find downstairs, (b) they sleep in my room and I sleep on the couch, (c) they sleep with me, or (d) they sleep somewhere else. Like these buildings they have for such purposes. I think they’re called ‘hotels.’

Some of you know this isn’t the beginning of her encroachment, but now I’ve yielded to much. I was hoping to let things slide until we sell the house and prevent a bunch of unnecessary drama, but I don’t know that I can if requests like this are going to snowball. For those unfamiliar, let me summarize:

It started with small passive-aggressive behaviors: first she’d move a few of my books from the downstairs bookshelves into my room, and replace them with a few of hers. She’d pull photos of my friends’ newborns off the fridge after a few weeks, and replace them with her pictures that would last indefinitely. She’d move my laptop bag from the dining room table to my room, but leave her gear splayed out for weeks. I’d let her know in discrete ways that I noticed, “Hey, where’s my book on [whatever], I could have sworn I left it down here.” I figured she’d get the hint. I was wrong.

Soon after, she made an office of the dining room, without asking me. Moved in a desk and everything. When I had come home one day in the middle of her painted the downstairs bathroom, I remarked, “It looks good, but in the future, you need to ask first.” Of course, this was followed by shortly there after when she repainted the dining room, to which I responded similarly but more sternly, “You really need to ask me first.” After another month or so she took some of my art off the walls in the living room “because [she] was just tired of it.” I hung it back up.

She then re-painted the downstairs bookshelf (“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think it was yours, since you didn’t have anything on it.” I wonder why?) She’s completely taken over the kitchen – even the portion that used to be mine before the remodel – which I let slide because I don’t use it nearly as much, although I do throw out the occasional, “you really need to leave me some space, I do go shopping every once in a while.”

Now she’s asking me to move out?

She and I need to have a little talk.

Alright, this one’s not mine, but it’s so representative of my friends, and Brad in particular, that I have to share it.

I’ve known Brad since before Cub Scouts (yes, I was a Cub Scout for a short while), which means we’ve been friends for over two decades now. He was in town a few weeks ago and shared this story over a couple beers. First, some helpful background: Brad is a pretty physically fit guy, funny, hard to rattle, and has a successful law career going. He’s been wanting to do some ultra-marathons and triathlons lately, so when our friend Matt came up and and told him about an upcoming triathlon, he jumped at the chance.

On the last day.

Without having trained.

Since this was in Phoenix, there’s no ocean swimming, so the swim is done in a pool, the cycling in a circuit, and then it’s topped off by a street run. First thing he notices is that that everyone else is in competitive swim suits, i.e., Speedos.

He’s in board shorts.

Since he registered so late, he’s one of the last to start. Undaunted by the extra drag of his suit, he dives in when his number’s called and starts swimming. He’s churning along, thinking it’s been a while, but this isn’t so bad …. But pretty soon, he’s starting to get winded and worn out.

Before he finishes the first lap.

Out of twenty.

Somehow, through shear will power I suppose, he finishes his twenty laps. He’s one of the last to finish, aside from the few people that signed up after him and are in worse shape, but has trouble getting his socks on eventually he tosses the socks and goes shoes-only – which will be a very poor decision when arriving at the running portion – but Brad has a another problem before that.

See, Brad didn’t have a road bike. In fact, Brad didn’t have anything but a beach cruiser he uses to ride the occasional half-mile around the neighborhood. So Brad had to borrow a bicycle. Considering how late he signed up, all he could find was a mountain bike.

The spectators snicker as he hops on the only cycle in the race with big fat bumpy tires, wide handlebars, and shock absorbers. He ignores them, pushing through the first quarter mile or so, when he realizes there’s something … different … about this bike. The brakes are on seat-side of the handlebars. Hmm, he thinks, I remember the brakes being on the front … well, I haven’t ridden a hi-tech bike in a while, maybe this is the new style or something ….

Minutes later it hits him.

So he stops, dismounts, and turns the handlebar around 180 degrees.

As it happens, one of the seeded racers is lapping him at that very moment, and upon seeing this guy in swim trunks and no socks having ridden a half a mile with the front wheel backward, almost eats it from laughing so hard.

God, I love my friends.

(Yes, he did finish the race. With blisters.)

Last Fri-Sun I was up in Chicago hanging out with an old friend. It was awesome to see him again, and he found a quality girl, so kudos to him. Overall, Chicago is a damn cool city – actually, that’s an understatement, it totally roxors – and I wish I would’ve have more days there (although my liver might disagree.) I did get the chance to wander around and shoot some pics, so I’ll be posting those soon. Speaking of which, if you haven’t been there lately, I’ve put some new images (finally!) over at the photo blog.

My friend’s fiance wants things. She wants a new car, a new laptop, a new piece of furniture … things that are bigger, better, faster version of things she already owns. She whines plaintively about not having these things, about getting these things, about the joy of eventually having these things. I don’t believe she whines because these things out beyond her means, and that they are not beyond my friend’s means, but because she worries. She worries that her life is too stressful, that events won’t work out, and these smaller, older, slower things she already has provide minor annoyances that grate on her already frazzled outlook.

Material things will not ease an already troubled mind.

I have things. I’m currently trying to get rid of things; to pare down to the necessities (of both utility and beauty.) Although I believe I currently have too many things, there was a time when I had even more things. There was a time when I was pulling in twice what I make now, and my cost of living was half – I had four times as many things.

And I can absolutely tell you, more things don’t make you feel better, more relaxed, less stressed, etc. If anything, you have to worry more about losing said things, or repairing them, maintaining them, all of which only adds to your stress. Of course, there are the obvious exceptions – a new bed can definitely help you relax and get a better nights sleep, thereby improving your wakeful mind, but these are not the things I’m talking about. I’m talking about the things you’ve gotten along without thus far.

These new things are distractions, they don’t address the problem. The problem is the troubled mind. Stress relief comes from removing or dealing with the stresses themselves, not the feelings they produce. Sure, maybe life seems a whole lot easier when you get that new bedroom furniture – you have room for all your stuff, and it’s so easy to get to everything! – but ultimately the stress and worries of life will manifest somewhere else. You think, _ if only I could do the same for the garage,_ but it never ends. Once the distraction becomes banal, the stress returns and you go looking for a new distraction.

Getting new things is generally treating the symptom, not the source.

Now, I’m not against owning things as a principle, but one of the problem with the consumer culture we live in now is that the consumption tends to be used as a crutch to avoid personal introspection, a kind of snake-oil cure-all for your mental needs. It’s not strictly a need-versus-want question, either. You’re allowed to have things you want and don’t need, that perfectly alright. But do you want them for the right reasons? Do you want a new car because your old one can’t make it out into the woods to go camping? Sounds like you need a new car. Maybe that’s valid. Or maybe it’s just an excuse – perhaps it’d be more fun to park farther away, and backpack in to your campsite.

I’ve been thinking about this a great deal lately, since I’ve been on a minimization kick. I’ll be keeping plenty of the things I already own, such as antique furniture and whatnot, but I’ll be placing those and many other things in storage and pretty much forgetting about them. What do I want after I sell the house? I think the core boils down to:

• Clothes, enough to get through 2-3 weeks
• Set of dishware, glasses, and utensils for two people
• Small table and two chairs
• Bed and linens
• Laptop and related sundry
• Camera and related sundry
• Car, with iPod :)
• Some nice art to hang on the walls

Books? Storage. CDs, end-tables, coffee-table, chairs, miscellaneous kitchen gear, power tools? Storage. TV, stereo, miscellaneous furniture? Will be sold or given away. It may appear to be somewhat “college bachelor” style, but I believe it can be done tastefully and minimally. And when it comes down to it, most of the rest of the stuff I could retain I don’t really use. Not right now, anyway.

Of course, I realize that, just like acquiring things isn’t a cure-all, neither is relinquishing. But it does help relieve distractions, making it easier to concentrate on your self.

Sushi joint with Nat and Nae:

“You’re not going to get anywhere with a queen.”

– Male-to-Female transexual, playing chess

“Spiderman wouldn’t have been nearly as popular if his webbing came out his ass.”

– Real-life incarnation of Comic-Book Guy

My roommate and his finance are starting a company together. While I think it could be a wonderful experience to work with your partner, I also believe it takes an incredible stroke of luck to have it work out.

I assume we’ve all read at some point in our lives about the couple that lives and works together, traveling the world writing tour books or running a greenhouse and nursery together. Invariable they’re featured in a blurb in your favorite hobby magazine, generally as a thin veneer for promoting whatever the periodical is covering, elevating cycling or hiking or quilting to the level of lifestyle choice.

All this is perfectly fine by me.

But I think these people are the exceptions, or perhaps, the exceptional. I believe that these are people that already had an established love of the similar activities and have already achieved some degree of independence from each other within their relationship that allows them to work together. And, they have usually been together for a significant period of time. In short, they have an experienced, mature relationship, and somehow garnered the incredible fortune to end up together.

My roommate and his finance are two very different people – complementary, you might say. But they spend a voracious amount of time together, have extremely different work styles (she was his manager when they first met, and she hated working with him), and she doesn’t really know what she wants to do with her life.

Again, this is all perfectly fine by me.

Taken independently, that is. Combined together, I can see the extraordinary about of time together, even more than now, instilling a cramped congestion. Their styles may conflict too much to be productive in a two-person company. And who knows, she may end up despising this new occupation. I’ve already witnessed a prolonged fight regarding the company, in which my roommate was entirely correct, but in which he presented his critiques in a very “engineering” demeanor, where some more delicate phrasings may have mitigated the disagreement. Coupling this with fact that he is very financially organized and she is not, but not necessarily in a complementary manner, this could be the thin edge of the wedge.

It’s may seem like a bit of a stretch, but I’ll swing this back around to martial arts. When you’re performing a dance (kata, in other schools) with full intent, the idea is not to slam through it as hard and fast as possible. You should be visualizing the enemies, and acting appropriately – some may come hard and fast, some slower and more methodically. Some may come all at once, some may wait and try to throw you off your rhythm. Through this exhibition, you can see the mind of the practitioner manifesting through movements, and you see that the pauses are just as important as the movements. What cacophony would music be without the silence?

Relationships are like this; they have fits and spurts, sometimes full of motion and sometimes slower. Sometimes you’re together, and sometimes apart. In order to survive silence and separation, you have to be personally and individually strong. You have to be able to hold yourself up and stand when no one else is there in order to be there to hold someone else up. Moreover, this time apart is not optional, but requisite for that personal development. If you spend your whole time moving together, you’ll just tire yourself out. You’ll be neglecting yourself. Once you’ve done that, it’s difficult to sustain a relationship. Pulling this to the Taoist side, we have too much motion and not enough rest, to much together and not enough apart, too much yang and not enough yin, too much conflict and not enough change.

In Western terms, I think it might just be called an Extremely Bad Idea.

I’ll be trekking out to Chicago early Friday morning to visit a long time friend. I’ll only be there for three days, which isn’t nearly enough time, but I really couldn’t spare any more. Regardless, in the unlikely event I/we have time to kill, what should I go see or do? I’m not really into touristy-things – I’d like to go to a cool neighborhood and grab a cup of coffee and check out the local scene that hit the Sears tower – although I would like to take some shots of the city while I’m there.

Suggestions?

I was recently at a party that consisted primarily of people I didn’t know. I’m pretty comfortable with that; I tend to make friends rather easily. Two of the gents I met there were T—- and G—-, a gay couple in San Diego. We chatted for a bit, and they seemed like pretty cool guys. Anyway, I wouldn’t bring it up if there wasn’t some interesting … repercussions.

I am a gay boy porn star.

Well, not really, but it came back around to me that the two of them a pretty sure they’ve seen me online. In pictures. Performing lewd and lascivious acts. On a porn site specifically by and for gay men in San Diego. Now, I can’t ever recall fucking for money while sober, be it with guys or girls, and while I’ve been pretty drunk before, I’m pretty sure I haven’t tried that. I’d put it up there at five nines: 99.999% – the other %0.001 is just to account for parallel universes, time-space singularities, and a sundry of other things that may have spun me briefly into gay porn and back to my regular self without my knowledge. (These things happen, I hear.)

I find this absolutely hilarious.

However, it does change some internal dynamics. I’m not necessarily the best looking guy, but I have gotten to odd wink or smile from guys while dining out in Hillcrest with friends. Normally, I’d get a little ego boost – I don’t care if it’s from guy or a girl, it’s a compliment – but just politely smile or nod and continue on, making it clear that I’m not down with the man-booty. After all, just ‘cause you think I’m cute, doesn’t mean it’s reciprocal, and I’ll take your compliment while trying to indicate that I’m not interested. I unsuccessfully pick up on girls all too often, and I’m sure some of them wouldn’t have even noticed me if I hadn’t introduced myself, so we’re just running the same scenario with different players. No harm, no foul.

But now I have this voice in the back of my head, this one that whispers to me when I meet a gay man, that there’s this small chance a wink or handshake might be saying, “so, I saw you online ….”

And I find this even funnier.

I’m back to full-intensity training, after an interlude of debauchery, and it feels good. Unfortunately, work is beyond full-bore, so time is tight. Thursday, while most of the company takes most of the day off to do a quarterly “Team Building Event,” a.k.a. “Go to a Padres Game,” I’ll be up in San Jose working on a product demo and integration effort.

Suk.

My phone’s been a little slow on the UI (User Interface) side lately, occasionally freezing up for a few seconds in the course of standard use. After digging a bit, I noticed that I had a metric shit-ton of TXT messages sitting around in both my inbox and outbox, so I went through and deleted most of them in hopes of remedying the problem. Completely out of context, I present a select few I just couldn’t resist the urge to share:

“Mooning, the brief flashing of ones bottom to others, is an instinctual behavior inherited from monkeys.”

“Hope is determination manifest.”

“If televsion’s a babysitter, the internet’s a drunk librarian who won’t shut up.”

“Using a feather is kinky … using the whole chicken is perverted.”

“Actually, it’s not the first week of celibacy that’s hard. It’s the subsequent years.”

“I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation. – George Bernard Shaw.”

In the martial arts world, we have meditations on all sorts of things, but some of the more common mediations, or at least well known, are on elements: generally either the five rings (earth, water, fire, wind, void) or the five elements (earth, metal, water, wood, fire) of Chinese cosmology. Some people get pretty ting-ting about “meditating on water” or they go the other way and see no spiritual nor practical application. William Saletan gives a pretty good example of how these meditation can be seen as frameworks for understanding the modern world.

On a side note, which is only tangentially related on the Taoist front, is a link that summarizes a lot of my thought on the direction I’m heading. So far, I’ve sold the stereo, given away or sold books and tons of CDs, some furniture, and more. I’m looking forward to the sale of the house and moving into something that will most likely be pretty shabby.

I cannot lose what I do not have. For I have already given it up, else I never had it in the first place.

I’m cruising up I-15 this morning when I notice what sounds like a helicopter tracking my movement. But … it sounds a little different from most of the helicopters you hear flying from the local military bases, so I turn down the radio and slow down a bit. I notice my steering is muddy, and that the heli is matching my speed.

Of course, it’s not a heli, it’s the whoomp-whoomp-whoomp of a flat tire. It takes a few miles, but I’m finally able to cross three lanes to pull over in the hazard lane – but my hazard lights don’t go on when I press the button. Oh well, no big deal – it’s daylight, and I’ll just pop the trunk and most people will assume I’m broken down.

I unload my trunk into the back seat, pop out the spare tire and jack, get the lug nut lock. I’m all ready to feel nice and tire-changing masculine when I realize that I can’t seem to pop the hubcap cover off the wheel to get to the lugs. I try a key, a quarter, a pen – that fucker’s on there tight. The tip of my knife doesn’t appear to be strong enough; it looks like it’s bending and I don’t want knife-shrapnel in my eye. (Remind me to pick up a tanto-tip and store a screwdriver in my trunk.) That’s when I spot one of my swords lying in the back seat, one of the weapons I’ve just moved from the trunk. I take one of the metal training swords, unsheathe it, and begin wedging the tip down into the slot. Picture me sweating and wedging the tip of a shiny three foot sword down into my wheel on the side of one of the busiest freeways in San Diego during rush hour.

Of course, that’s when the CHP pulls up behind me.

This can’t look sane.

He looks at me suspiciously. “What’s going on here?”

“Hi sir, just a flat, no big deal.” I can see him looking at the sword somewhat incredulously. At least I had the forethought do set it down and step away from it before answering. “I couldn’t find a screw driver to pop my hubcap.”

He looks from me to the martial arts sticker on the back of my car, and I see his eyes scan down to the black belt sticking out of my gym bag in the trunk.

“Did you try a quarter?”

“Yeah. Any other suggestions?”

He scans the side of the road for usable debris, but finds nothing. “Yeah, sometimes those things are on there pretty tight. You need me to call roadside assistance?”

“No, I just called a moment ago, thank you though.”

“Why aren’t your hazards on?”

“I just got my radio worked on last weekend, and I guess they messed something up with the wiring – I haven’t had to use them recently, but they worked last time I tried.” I shrug. “I’m taking it back in next weekend.”

He just turns to scribble in his notebook. Shit, I think, I hope that’s just a fix-it ticket for the car and not a citation for the sword.

He turns back, surveys the scene, and wishes me a good-day.

Eventually roadside assistance comes and pops my hubcap, gets my donut on, and I get to work a good two hours late. I leave after only another hour of work to drive down to Discount Tire to swap tires. Culprit? A huge-ass razor blade sliced straight into my rear tire – probably kicked up from the front tire. I’m in and out in 45 minutes, spending a mere $15 for a brand-spanking new tire. Sean at Discount Tire in Poway, you rock. And regarding my query of “what’ve you got to eat around here?”, your answer of “everything that’s bad for you” was completely correct.

As soon as I get back into the office, I receive this call: This is [my credit card company], calling to verify a possible fraudulent purchase. The purchase in question is $500 of industrial equipment from [some company] in Ohio. Press 1 if this purchase was made by your or an authorized card holder ….” Hmm, that doesn’t sound like me.

I transfer to a customer service agent and verify the charges are fraudulent.

“Was it an internet purchase?”

“Let me check … no it appears it was keyed manually. Actually, it was keyed three times with your account number, manually. I’d recommend closing the account and opening another.”

I concur, and we do. The rep is very helpful, but there’s still nothing she can do about re-routing the charges that auto-bill this card – which is basically every company I do business with. This is my “send all recurring payments to this account” card.

After cleaning up various credit-related activities, I realize I’ve been relatively un-fazed by the events of the day. Given the circumstances, things went optimally. I can’t help but wonder if everyone was so cool and helpful with me because I was smiling and relaxed throughout, whereas I most people I’ve seen deal with such interruptions have vented their anger on the very person trying to help them. Perhaps I just woke on the right side of the bed today – or maybe it’s just the practice. Regardless, I’m still smiling, and I still think it’s a good day.

But if this website goes away, you know where my hosting bills are being charged.