Napping and The Rest of Your Life

I learned the other day that Mt. Everest is 25,029 feet tall.

And I thought…

Damn.

…

That’s frickin tall.

And people dedicate huge chunks of their lives to climb this behemoth.  They sacrifice time, energy, money, and probably a lot more just for the opportunity to tackle that frosty temptress of adventurers.

And I think…

What sort of fulfillment would that provide me?  I don’t mean to be derogatory – I’m actually curious.

Because it seems that one of the hardest things to do in life is commit to something.  What if you commit to the wrong thing?  What else could you have done with that time that may have been more fulfilling or worth-while?

A nap sounds so good… it’s like the bed is a magnet…

But I should get some work done…

But sleeeeeeeep…

…Actually fuck it.  I’m hungry. 

(That was an example of my mind debating with itself, in case that wasn’t clear)

What is the best way to spend our time?  The day-to-day isn’t so hard when compared with the REST OF OUR LIVES.  What a frightening thought. 

I heard about this man who traveled the world for thirty years.  His wife died and he decided to uproot and simply GO.  Go explore, experience, live in a way rarely even considered as a possibility by the rest of us.  He had a backpack and… well, that was pretty much it. 

And I thought… what a beautiful way to live.  But then I wondered if I would actually be fulfilled by such a lifestyle.  What creates fulfillment?  Money?  Success?  Friends?  Love?  Fame?

But it occurs to me that the only thing that really matters is happiness.  If you are truly happy, you must be doing something right.

That being said… if your life’s ambition is to be a serial rapist, and you know that will make you happiest out of anything else… you probably shouldn’t exist.  Go die.  Or better yet, climb Mt. Everest.  One in four die trying, and hopefully Karma will give those odds a little boost for you.

Does This Rag Smell Like Chloroform?

I’m so tired of overanalyzing everything in literature.  I remember last year I had this debate with my teacher over the meaning of this person’s hat in a famous short story.  He said that the hat made the wearer a Jesus figure (or something… I honestly don’t remember.  It could have had nothing to do with Jesus.  But let’s throw him in there just because.) for something reason or another, and I said whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?  There was even a word from the author at the end of the story addressing this, as apparently my teacher had not been the first to bring up such an… interesting interpretation.

You know what the author’s response was?

“No, it’s just a hat.  Shut up.”

That’s not quite the exact quote; it may have been a bit more elegantly worded, but you get my point.

And my teacher’s response?

“Well, maybe she was just denying it.  Author’s don’t have to admit to everything.”

My vocal response: “Mmmmm…”

My mental response: “OMGZ STFU.”

Can’t a hat just be a hat?  People wear non-metaphorical hats in real life right?  I mean, personally, my hats are always metaphorical, but that’s personal preference.

That teacher told me that authors deserve credit for whatever the reader gives them.  Therefore, if the reader overanalyzes the crap out of a story, the author meant to include that within the story.

I say: bull dinky.

The writer never unintentionally includes some religious allusion.  It just doesn’t happen.  And if you have to dig and dig and DIG to find one… put the goddamn shovel away and just appreciate what you can dig up with your hands; you’re hitting a rock anyway.

Honestly you can make something out of anything.  Seriously.  It’s called the art of bullshitting.  I think a lot of teachers have to be well versed in it.

All that being said… I totally included a metaphor to armadillos hidden in the first and last letters of every sentence of this post.

Did you look for it?

Good, ‘cause that was a lie.

And no, the title relates to nothing.

…Or DOES it???

No.  It doesn’t.  I just wanted to use that line as a title. 

…Or DID I???

…

The Monkey and The Stoner

I tend to believe in a universal energy.  And you might think, “gee, it’s a good thing you aren’t vague in your grand thoughts about life.”

But check it out.

I think that if you are a positive person and commit yourself to what you want and believe in, the universe will reward you.

And okay, maybe it won’t literally shower you with chocolate and strippers, as most of us imagine would be the case, but it will send other things of (nearly) equal value.

But honestly, I don’t think it’s necessarily that more good things happen to good people.  Logically, I think that positive, happy people will simply be able to observe the good things in life more often than those who roll around in dumpsters all day.

That… was a terrible analogy.  And dumpster diving is actually a noble art, usually reserved for the most elitist of any giving society, so it didn’t even make sense.  It goes: Polo, early 18^th century wine tasting (for the kiddies), pin the diamond-embroidered tail on the golden statue of your father’s first stallion (for adults), and then dumpster diving.

But for real here.  If you’re pissy all the time you’re gonna recognize every instance that you hit a red light.  And probably get more pissy.  And probably curse a lot and throw the bird to the innocent guy rockin out to Sublime in the car next to you.  But he doesn’t care.  You know why?  Well he’s probably high as a kite and doesn’t know where he is, but also he isn’t focusing on all the negatives life has to offer.  Like the uptight jerk-wad in the Prius next to him flipping him off.  He hit the same red light you did, but he doesn’t focus on red lights.  He focuses on green lights.  Every time he gets a green he smiles, and every time he gets a red he doesn’t lose his shit.

And every time he gets a blue he makes a mental note to take it easy on the hash tomorrow.

And every time he makes a mental note it disappears forever fifteen seconds later.

The point here, ignoring all previous digressions, is that we all have a choice in how to view the world.  Maybe the road-raged ass monkey and the stoner weren’t the best opposing examples… but that’s what you get.

That sounds like the title to a really inappropriate children’s book.

Stagnant Water Breeds Mosquito Larva... and That's Gross

“All that matters is the footprint you leave.”

I heard this quote recently from Elgin James, the director of the powerful film “Little Birds”.  I saw the movie in a film class I’m not technically enrolled in (shhh) and listened to the QnA afterwards.  Mr. James used to be in a gang.  After leaving and deciding he wanted to make movies, his past caught up to him, putting him in jail for a crime he committed five years prior.

What he had to say resonated with me.

“We are all going to die one day”, he said. “It’s what you leave behind for others that is important.”  Whether that be an impactful film or charity organization or business of some kind, your legacy will live on long after you.

So what are you waiting for?  Honestly, go do something!  Anything.  Literally anything.  Create something.  Have an idea.  Start a project.  Love something; love someone!

And don’t be afraid to do it.  Coming from me, someone who is most certainly afraid – afraid of failure, rejection, not being accepted, not being liked – that is saying something.  Because who am I, really?  I’m barely anyone at this moment in time.  But I desire so strongly to change that – to leave my mark on this world, that I’ll keep those fears locked away just long enough to put my neck out there.  Taunt me, jab and toss your garbage my way, bring down your axe if you must – as, clearly, I will bare my neck for you to do so, but don’t ever doubt that something will remain of me long after my body has sunken into the earth or risen into the air, dissipating into ashes that fade with the breeze.

Stagnation should be everyone’s antithesis of their own existence.  Move forward!  Move something!  Move someone!  Have some impact on those around you, on the world around you!

No one truly knows what happens when we die.  I don’t want to get in a religious debate here, but the only thing that has been proven to be left behind is your footprint.

One of my favorite quotes comes from the last line of the graphic novel “Blankets”.

“How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface…to make a map of my movement, no matter how temporary.”

Make your footprints as deep as you can.  Press down into the snow with everything you have to give, because, in all honesty, what else can you do?  Our lives are snow-covered fields waiting for us to stumble around in them and maybe, just maybe, find that pair of snow boots before our feet get too cold.

Mr. James had absolutely no idea how to make a movie.  He had no money, no real home at one point, and a bad rap following him wherever he went. 

And yet, I just watched a touching, well-made, and inspiring film directed by this man.  All he had at one point was an overwhelming desire to leave something behind.

So what are you waiting for?

Go fucking do something.

VVVRRRRRRRRRRRMMMM (<---vacuum sound)

Casinos are so weird.

Have you ever been to one?  It’s like some mysterious alternate universe where time doesn’t exist, cigar smoke and the smell of scotch mingle pleasantly together to create a new form of oxygen, and people cease to be the social creatures the laws of humanity seem to dictate.

No but seriously.  At least in Chumash, there are no clocks.  No windows.  And no sense of self-respect.  Not to mention readily-available alcohol to boost one’s sense of invicibility.  It’s the perfect environment to lose money! 

“Martha, I’m not having any luck at the Blackjack table!”

“I’m drunk and lost our son’s college savings fund!!!!1!1  WOOOHOOOO!!!”

Everything smells of sweat and guilt.  Mmmmmmmm.

In those commercials, where everyone is having fun together and winning and cheering and just having an all-around merry ‘ol time… yeah those actors should be paid copious amounts of cash for their legendary performances.

People isolate themselves and sit solemnly at one slot machine for hours.  And sometimes there are huge amounts of winnings on their screens!  But it makes me think… #1: if their winnings say “$1,000!!!!1!1!11” did they actually start with… like… 10,000?  And #2: how long have they been there?  Especially since a lot of the big winners are found on the penny slots O_o.  That’s a solid metric shit-ton of hours spent on slots.

“Martha!  Holy shit!  It’s 5am!  When did we get here??”

“Wednesday!”

Now, okay, casinos can be fun.  Who doesn’t like free money?  That’s like, the best kind.  But good lord can they swallow your time.  And pride.  And happiness.

I seem to be arguing against myself here.

The last time I was in a casino I won 75 bucks within three minutes on the first slot machine anyone of my group played that night.  We were super jazzed about what this foretold of our future money-making prospects. 

Aaaaaand that was all any of us won for the rest of the night.

Thanks, Chumash, you frickin happiness vacuum.