I can't believe myself...

I'm being completely honest with myself, and with you; I realize that this is utterly stupid and awful, and I hate that my brain keeps making these leaps without my permission. I don't blame you if you think less of me after reading this, because I've been thinking less of me because of this myself:

Two things, related:
1. I work in a converted converence room, with 3 other guys. 2 of the guys are from India. Their English is often quite difficult to understand, and I usually have to ask them to repeat what they said as I usually miss it the first time. This isn't a big deal - the 2nd time around I usually get what they're saying. Here's the thing that bugs me though: all day, for the majority of the day, they are talking to each other as they work. And they're talking in some language that I don't understand - one of the 27+ languages spoken in India. And I can't tell you how much it bugs me! I don't know why - maybe it's simply because I don't understand what they're saying, but I just... it bugs me. It bugs me enough that I'll often put in earphones and crank up the tunes to drown out their conversations.

2. I'm totally suspicious of these 2 guys, and 2 other guys they spend a lot of non-working time with while at work. Suspicious how? Al-queda suspicious. Stupid, silly, and so blatently and idiotically racist. I mean, hell - they're Indian, they're not even Pakistani or Iraqi or Saudi or Iranian or Afghani... and I haven't a clue what their political / religious views are about anything. But still... I got these two dudes (who, let's be honest, look like they're from the middle east), talking to each other all day in a language I don't understand; IM'ing Allah-knows-who in characters I can't understand; meeting in the kitchen a few times / day with 2 guys (who, let's be honest, look like they're from the middle east) where they all speak a language that I can't understand - and sometimes even cease their conversations when I walk into the room - and me, the supposedly liberal-minded dude who's still paranoid about terrorism, leaping to conclusions that because of ZERO EVIDENCE AT ALL, they must be plotting something (or getting ready to plot something)... that these low-level contract workers at Microsoft must be involved in some terrorist plot, due to the fact that they talk to each other in their native tongue instead of Enlgish, they work crazy long hours, and they talk with others in languages I can't understand (and, let's be honest, they look like they're from the middle east). AARRGGHH!

I've been struggling with these thoughts for months now. And I keep trying to convince myself that there's nothing to worry about; I keep reminding myself that these thoughts are nothing but baseless fear-based reactions to nothing but seeing darker skin and hearing languages I don't understand. There is no evidence of anything but two people from a foreign country working side-by-side and communicating in a manner that is probably much more efficient for them, that's it, nothing more!

I know this logically, I do. I just can't get the reactionary-side of my brain to find the same conclusion. I do believe intuition can point to things that logic won't point to; I just don't believe this is intuition - I'm 99.999% sure this is fear.

I hate that my brain keeps going there. I hate that my brain is making racist leaps and bounds based on no hard facts whatsoever, nothing but "the unkown" and "fear." For years I've been trying to steer my family away from the racist stereotypes they grew up with in the 50's and 60's and carried with them throughout their lives, and I've even had some measure of influence over my stubborn-as-a-bull grandfather in getting him to be at least a little more open-minded about other races.

Yet here I am, making such horribly racist conclusions (which, btw, are pretty far-fetched too!) - and as much as I've tried, I just can't get them to go away! I'm chalking it up to paranoia and fear based on lack-of-information. In other words, I'm chalking this all up to my own stupidity.
I'm working on getting rid of this. And god help me, hopefully by the end of the year these thoughts will have vanished....

snippet, work in progress

ed. note: I'm not sure where, if anywhere, this is going. I happened upon some old writing describing the color of coffee, and stuff happened from there. I've oddly found that once I put something "out there" that more ideas often come to me. This is the first "snippet" I've published here. I hope to continue the story, once it settles and I find out where it's going. Enjoy the snippet.

The steam poured out of the paper cup full of burnt caramel-colored Sumatra coffee with a touch of half and half. He turned to his left, waved goodbye to an acquaintance sitting near the window whose name he couldn't recall, and walked out the door. The one wooden step outside had decayed so much from time and the elements that it sagged in the middle as he stepped on it. It would eventually break in a very dramatic scene involving hot coffee, a cat, a skateboarder, and a couple carrying two bottles of wine (one red, one white), but he would not be there to witness this, having already gone to Seattle.

The air outside the coffee shop was thick and tobacco scented. As he walked through the hot, sticky, Jersey-summer air, he wondered again why he was drinking coffee barely hotter than the air he was breathing.

He also wondered just how it was he ended up in New Jersey, when but a moment ago he was riding the Sound Transit bus 545 from Seattle to Redmond. It was a bit shocking when he reached into his pocket and found car keys, as in Seattle he did not own a car. But he was not in Seattle anymore. He was in New Jersey (or Jersey, if you're a native). And it was summer. And it was hot.

As he turned the car on, an NPR reporter spoke of a massive hurricane heading straight towards New Orleans. It was August 2005, and this hurricane would spark news stories for years. He had read a story about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in the Seattle PI not long ago, close to two years after the storm. This, however, was not Seattle 2007; it was New Jersey 2005, and he was not supposed to know this yet. He was not on his way to a job he dreaded at Microsoft, he was on his way to a store in a retail outlet complex, where he worked as a low-level manager, a job he hated.

His mind, still bridging the years, briefly wondered if it was worse to dread something, or to hate something. He didn't settle on an answer. Both seemed bad, yet he found both unavoidable (the jobs and the feelings about them). At Microsoft, he reasoned, they paid him well and didn't make him work weekends. He's not sure how he remembers this, as it hasn't happened yet, so he lightly dismisses it as his own personal fiction. Seattle 2007 was becoming a distant memory; Jersey 2005 was becoming the current reality (if you could call it current, even though part of him knew it was two years ago), the sticky, sweaty summer air driving that reality into his mind.

100 Things, part II: 14-26

14. I love both Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond. I would go see either of them in concert in a heartbeat (and may be planning a Vegas jaunt to coincide with a Barry concert there)
15. I know all the words to American Pie (the song, not the movie)
16. While I saw The Grateful Dead about 18 times, there was one year where I saw God Street Wine over 25 times.
17. I love music, but can't stand rap, heavy metal, or that new-fangled pop music they call "country"
18. I can still speak a teeny amount of Thai
19. I once wrote a letter to the head of a Buddhist monastery in Thailand, asking what I needed to do to join their group (all the monks were foreigners at this particular monastery)
20. I sleep on a water pillow
21. While I typically drink my (drip) coffee with just a touch of cream, I wouldn't THINK about drinking 100% Kona coffee any other way but BLACK.
22. The first time I visit a Thai restaurant I will always order the Phad Thai - it's a good benchmark to see how good / authentic / Americanized their dishes are.
23. I've been a vegetarian for 12 years.
24. I've had my looks compared to Johnny Depp numerous times (though now without the chin/shoulder length hair the comparisons may stop)
25. After clipping my nails, I always use an emmory board to smooth out the sharp edges
26. The last time I took a typing speed test, I scored above 90 words per minute.

100 things you may not know about me (part I)

In lieu of not having anything interesting to write, I thought perhaps I'd entertain you, dear readers, with a list of oddities about myself you may not know. Yes, blogging is just a tad self-centered, isn't it?

1. I was the lead singer for a rock band in Thailand, singing 6 nights/week
2. Many people have favorite drinks. I never had one. I'd switch from jack & coke to whiskey sodas to gin & tonic to Margarita to Manhattan to beers & shots to vodka sodas.... just for GOD sake DON'T put fruit in it (unless it's a VO & soda, then there'd better be a WEDGE of lemon - not a "slice," a wedge, thankyouverymuch)
3. I got freestyle Frisbee training from a world-champion freestyler.
4. Though it's a kids book, I have re-read A Wrinkle in Time numerous times in the past 8 years.
5. I have album credit as backup vocalist on a CD from a band whose music was featured on The OC a number of times
6. Though I only saw the first season, I really really really didn't like 24.
7. I do not own a TV.
8. I am right-handed, but until I was in college I could only throw a Frisbee with my left hand.
9. I worked as a bartender weeks after turning 18 (the legal age for serving alcohol in NJ)
10. When I was 3 I was playing "Superman" and banged my lip on my grandmother's coffee table. There is still a scar on both the coffee table and my lip.
11. I feel guilty every time I buy a pair of shoes, or a belt, made of leather.
12. My favorite fruit is the ngok (available all over the place in Thailand during the summer)
13. I'm deathly afraid of tunnels.

I'm tired. That's it for now... next installment tomorrow (or soon)....

ed. note: long-post warning...

I'm feeling awfully "33." And by "33" I mean "49". I'm apparently going through some sort of mid-life something or other. I'm not calling it a crisis by any means: I'm in no panic (yet). Seeing that the mean life expectancy of your average American male is around 71, I'm just about AT "mid-life." I guess it's a phase

This seems to be a good kind of phase - sort of. While it's uncomfortable at times, it's also causing me to reflect on my life and times, and kind of evaluate where I'm at, and where I'd like to be. Problem is, I don't know where I want to be.

Here's the problem I discovered just yesterday, though: my entire life I've been searching for "something," some way to define Who I Am. Something to validate my existence, something to make me feel like there's been some sort of purpose of my being here on this planet...just something.

19: artist
- When I was 19, I came to the conclusion that I was a an artist; mostly a percussionist as I had become wrapped up in spiritual pursuits that revolved around rhythm and drumming (and pot), though writing and theatre were also parts of the puzzle.

21: lighting designer
- When I was 21, I came to the conclusion that I was a lighting designer. I had visions of designing lights for dance concerts, rock bands, and the occasional play that required less-than-typical lighting. I even did lighting work for God Street Wine for a number of shows, which to this day is one of the highlights of my 20's.

Post-college: theatre production artist
- After college, I knew I needed to somehow be involved in the theatre, desperately wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself that caused audiences to have extraordinary experiences. While some of those that worked around me in the production staff were 'techies,' I considered myself an artist, and viewed my responsibilities during rehearsals and performances with real reverence.

Mid-20's: Love
- While working in the theatre, I realized that theatre just isn't enough. I found that the most important thing in the world was love. I found what I thought was the meaning of my life in a wonderful (though odd) relationship with an awesome woman; this wasn't just boyfriend/girlfriend - there was a real, honest-to-the-core soul connection, that was more important than anything. I was ready to drop my life and move to Miami to be with this great woman.

Late 20's: Love & software
- After she broke up with me, I was lost. Until I reconnected with a woman whose path kept on crossing mine - we kept on being drawn back together, and were together on and off since our first date back in 1995. I began to feel like my life had new meaning again, and that I had found the One. During this time I also left the theatre (out of exhaustion, boredom, and a fear of financial insecurity - not in the present, but in the future), and entered the software testing field. I dove into that head-first, and clung to the idea that some of the work I was doing would have a direct impact on anyone in the world who ran Windows XP.

28: LOST
- When I lost myself again into the pits of active alcoholism, that wonderful woman decided to move on for good. Talk about completely lost, alone, and afraid... I had no idea who I was or what my life was about anymore, nor what I wanted life to be. I was SO lost, and needed to not only get sober to try to save my life, but I needed to somehow find a definition of that life and pursue that with everything I had.

29: Entrepreneur
- After being bound by the grips of alcohol for so long, I yearned for a freedom in all areas of my life. So after quitting drinking and getting on the road to recovery from alcoholism, I sought the one freedom that our society seems to dwell upon all too much: I sought financial freedom. Mother Earth House Cleaning was born, and was sure to be my road to riches. I did all the stuff you're supposed to: guerilla-marketing, product tie-ins, reading books, promoting websites, talking to other business owners....

31: Management
- After I closed that business (due to exhaustion and boredom, and that in the 1.5 years I had it it just didn't grow like I had hoped), I went into retail management. I hated it, but thought of it as part of my education into all-things business. After a while, I even envisioned myself staying in that field and working my way up the managerial ladder. Then I fizzled out and simply hated the work.

31: Poker player
- Yes, there was a large chunk of time where I seriously contemplated going after the professional poker world. I'm a good player (you can read my poker blog here), and still today believe if given the right opportunity and a little bit of coaching I could make a success out of this game I so love. I was (and still do) play just about every day, my Vegas trip was won through poker, the tickets for O and Blue Man Group were paid for with poker money.... I was even in negotiations to become sponsored into the professional poker tournament circuit for a year (unfortunately fell through). If there's anything in my life I have a passion for, it's poker. But as far as "meaning"? I dunno... I could see doing the poker thing as a means of helping others (kind of a robin-hood type deal where I win big money and then do good stuff with a lot of it).

Today: ???
And that leads to where I'm at today: while working in retail I was offered a position back in the software field, and back in WA State. I jumped at the opportunity to get back to Seattle, and back to a more financially-suitable profession. But... I'm still searching. Searching for meaning in my life. My job doesn't even add enjoyment let alone meaning; I still feel it hard to really connect with people out in Seattle so friendship isn't even adding "meaning" to my life. I play poker, which I desperately love, yet it's hard to say that adds "meaning" to my life.

So, that's where I'm at: trudging along this path, wondering what I need to do to find this elusive "meaning" I've been searching for my entire life. Whenever I've found it, it's shortly gone; when I've tried to grasp onto something, it's like reaching into a stream and squeezing your hand to try to hold the water.

I'm gonna keep walking, keeping my eyes and ears open, and keep recording whatever seems important or interesting, and perhaps after a while some pattern or something will emerge.

Vegas

I had hoped to have an incredibly story to tell once I got back from Vegas. Nothing really came to me yet, though. Vegas is a strange town. It's like walking into one big drug after another, between the free booze, the hookers, the slot machines. It's so easy to numb-out.

A couple images stand out from Vegas for me:
- while I was waiting to go in to see Blue Man Group, I walked around through the Venetian. It's a beautiful hotel / casino, but what stood out for me were the people. They were zombieng away at the slot machines, a glazed mask of hypnosis covering their everyday face. Push the button. Watch the numbers. Listen to the bells. Push the button. See the lights flashing. Push the button. Feed more money. Push the button. Push the button. Push the button. I couldn't tell if they were having fun or not. If that was them having fun, then I wonder what they'll look like when they're in the morgue.

- one night around 3:30am I'm walking back to my hotel after playing poker at Caesar's Palace. As I get to the parking lot I hear "POP POP POP POP!" from across the street. There's no one around me at the time, but I still say out loud "were those gunshots?" And, as silly as it sounds, I continued walking towards my hotel - which also happened to be towards the sound of the gunshots. Seconds later I see a bit of a ruckus in front of the Flamingo, I hear a bunch of police and fire sirens, and within 2 minutes there are about 10 cop cars there, with one cop handcuffing some big bald white dude. I didn't see any bloodied bodies; I saw one guy who was sitting as if his leg was injured - maybe he got popped in the leg. I crossed the street, away from the action, and overhear this couple saying "I'm from LA, I've heard gunshots, and yea those were definitely gunshots."

I've got a story idea that's percolating, set in Vegas, but it's far from fleshed out. It may be a much longer one than my shorties of late.

insomnia

I haven't gotten more than 4 hours of sleep since Friday night, when I slept barely 6 hours. I go through this every few months, when for some unknown reason my body decides it doesn't really need sleep, and does whatever it can to prevent me from getting some. Or maybe it's my mind doing it, I don't really know.

What I do know, is this: a) I'm exhausted, and b) I cannot get to sleep for the life of me.

Today I actually started getting physical symptoms of extreme stress/fatigue: my heart keeps feeling like it's going to jump out of my chest, it's beating so hard. Not fast, I counted and my pulse was right on, but it's just beating harder than normal. I actually looked up the number of a doctor to see about getting an appointment earlier today because this heart-thing was worrying me a bit. But then I read about insomnia and one of the "side effects" of not sleeping is this heart-stuff that I've been having (also felt like I was having trouble catching my breath at times, also part of this heart-beating-abnormally-thing).

Basically, my body is saying "Hey! I'm stressing out here!" It's my body, knowing that it hasn't slept much, doing what it needs to to make sure I'm still alert during the day (part of our fight-or-flight instincts).

I wish I could just sleep.