Showing posts with label idiocy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idiocy. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
We Must Not Fear
Is change really so frightening? Change does not mean dark days, it means a willingness to risk new actions in order to get new, better results. “Change” is not a frightening word when we are already in dark days. Then “change” is a word of hope and a concept of empowerment. Why is "change" such a scary concept now?
Change is certain. Life itself is a process, not a steady state. It is by digging in heels and fighting to remain in that impossible steady state that we give up any control we might have over the outcome of this change. First, accept that there will always be a moment following the current one, and a moment following the next. Each moment exists with its own states and momentums, always in flux. These forces can be shaped and guided as we desire, but only once we accept that they exist.
Brothers and sisters, “change” is not evil. “Change” is not destructive in its own right. Change is whatever we make it into.
Change is certain. Life itself is a process, not a steady state. It is by digging in heels and fighting to remain in that impossible steady state that we give up any control we might have over the outcome of this change. First, accept that there will always be a moment following the current one, and a moment following the next. Each moment exists with its own states and momentums, always in flux. These forces can be shaped and guided as we desire, but only once we accept that they exist.
Brothers and sisters, “change” is not evil. “Change” is not destructive in its own right. Change is whatever we make it into.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
What if?
A friend of mine has suggested that if you want to save the world, ask a child. I know she's not the first. But really, why ask a child? What's so special and wise about someone who can't think for themselves? They haven't seen the world, so how can they fix it? Is the world even broken?
Yes, my friends, that and more. Ask a child because they do think for themselves. Ask a child because when you get an answer, they won't be thinking of themselves. Ask a child how to help a child. Ask a child how to help your againg parents. Ask a child about death when you're feeling down. Ask a child about pain when you're feeling cocky. If you're hot shit, why ask someone who sits in their own shit?
Why not?
The people who haven't decided that the world is normal and nothing can change, they're the people we need to have as advisors. Advisors should NOT be seen-and-not-heard. Advisors like these need to be given priority, and given an honest ear.
Young blood runs in the streets in Athens and Gaza and Mumbai. Young blood runs in the veins of the movers, the shakers, the visionaries and the revolutionaries. Tap the flow of the second to stem the flow of the first.
Ask anyone under three feet tall anything and you'l get an answer in Ifspeak. Why did we stop speaking Ifspeak? Ifspeak is the language of the people who advance our world. Can'tspeak is the language of the people that drain our world. What if we really could eliminate global hunger? We can't, you say? What if we just run the numbers. We can't redirect those resources anyway? Why not? Why should you be the one to say that ntohing can change. Push your pencil elsewhere, Jack, I'm pushing the truth.
Yes, my friends, that and more. Ask a child because they do think for themselves. Ask a child because when you get an answer, they won't be thinking of themselves. Ask a child how to help a child. Ask a child how to help your againg parents. Ask a child about death when you're feeling down. Ask a child about pain when you're feeling cocky. If you're hot shit, why ask someone who sits in their own shit?
Why not?
The people who haven't decided that the world is normal and nothing can change, they're the people we need to have as advisors. Advisors should NOT be seen-and-not-heard. Advisors like these need to be given priority, and given an honest ear.
Young blood runs in the streets in Athens and Gaza and Mumbai. Young blood runs in the veins of the movers, the shakers, the visionaries and the revolutionaries. Tap the flow of the second to stem the flow of the first.
Ask anyone under three feet tall anything and you'l get an answer in Ifspeak. Why did we stop speaking Ifspeak? Ifspeak is the language of the people who advance our world. Can'tspeak is the language of the people that drain our world. What if we really could eliminate global hunger? We can't, you say? What if we just run the numbers. We can't redirect those resources anyway? Why not? Why should you be the one to say that ntohing can change. Push your pencil elsewhere, Jack, I'm pushing the truth.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Beep... Beep... Beep...
We interrupt your regularly scheduled music and general piggishness to bring you yet another op-ed. This time about immigration.
I have a whole spiel about illegal immigration. This isn't it.
This is actually about legal immigration. Not so much of a hot-button topic, I know, but bear with me. It's usually the uninteresting things that are the most important. This is no exception.
As immigration law stands today, if you want to get permanent resident status and the opportunity to apply for citizenship, it's a hell of a lot easier if you're married to a U.S. citizen. You know where I'm going with this. What if you legally can't get married?
Well, HRC is having some sort of conference to talk about it. I've been to conferences like that for other issues. I'd rather put a new roof on the Death Valley ranger station in the middle of the day, then shove two pinecones up my nose before I go to another one. Despite their bad reputation, most business meetings aren't like the ones at Dilbert's company. Most meetings in most functional companies are useful, productive, and to the point. Most of the time, when trying to get something done, a good meeting is the best way to speed it along.
"Fact-finding" conferences like the one coming up don't fall under that category. Those conferences are just a circlejerk where all of the big decision makers get together, state the obvious, and beat around the bush. And in most cases, give bad powerpoints. They serve a purpose, in that once you get these conferences out of the way, you can actually do something useful.
Generally, HRC does a great job of organizing and soliciting action on issues that matter. They hire people who can do the Politician Two-Step and get some votes changed. But really, who gives a damn about this "education event?" Really, teach-ins only work if they're reaching an audience who didn't know. How many people are going to the immigration teach-in who might actually gain something from it? You can't give me enough light refreshments to listen to a bunch of lawyers talk about this topic. It's information I would like to have, but I'd like to not have my soul crushed in the process. Okay, so let's say fortune strikes and everyone finds the conference very useful. Now here's what I'd like to know. Who the fuck is going to do anything about it?
I have a whole spiel about illegal immigration. This isn't it.
This is actually about legal immigration. Not so much of a hot-button topic, I know, but bear with me. It's usually the uninteresting things that are the most important. This is no exception.
As immigration law stands today, if you want to get permanent resident status and the opportunity to apply for citizenship, it's a hell of a lot easier if you're married to a U.S. citizen. You know where I'm going with this. What if you legally can't get married?
Well, HRC is having some sort of conference to talk about it. I've been to conferences like that for other issues. I'd rather put a new roof on the Death Valley ranger station in the middle of the day, then shove two pinecones up my nose before I go to another one. Despite their bad reputation, most business meetings aren't like the ones at Dilbert's company. Most meetings in most functional companies are useful, productive, and to the point. Most of the time, when trying to get something done, a good meeting is the best way to speed it along.
"Fact-finding" conferences like the one coming up don't fall under that category. Those conferences are just a circlejerk where all of the big decision makers get together, state the obvious, and beat around the bush. And in most cases, give bad powerpoints. They serve a purpose, in that once you get these conferences out of the way, you can actually do something useful.
Generally, HRC does a great job of organizing and soliciting action on issues that matter. They hire people who can do the Politician Two-Step and get some votes changed. But really, who gives a damn about this "education event?" Really, teach-ins only work if they're reaching an audience who didn't know. How many people are going to the immigration teach-in who might actually gain something from it? You can't give me enough light refreshments to listen to a bunch of lawyers talk about this topic. It's information I would like to have, but I'd like to not have my soul crushed in the process. Okay, so let's say fortune strikes and everyone finds the conference very useful. Now here's what I'd like to know. Who the fuck is going to do anything about it?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Hindsight is 20/20... and I DO feel like an ass
Let me introduce you to our driveway. Very-steep-and-wouldn't-meet-code, meet my readers. Readers, meet our driveway. It met code back in 1956, but I'm very confident it would not pass inspection were it built today. The street slopes down at about a 25-degree angle, and the level bit of the diveway is built about eight to ten vertical feet above the street. They meet at a weird angle, have a steep four-inch curb, then the driveway takes off at a varying angle in the neighborhood of 33 degrees. Then it levels out just in time to give ten feet of level before you risk going through the garage door. We tried parking a truck in the driveway once. The rear wheels hung onto the slope by about two inches. That's enough to send the truck off in the winter. That's why we don't have a truck.
Oh, no, the driveways in my neighbohood are not for sissies. Most people have some leeway for error, but all us folks have three options: right, try again, and propery damage. There is no almost.
So you can see my consternation when my dad loads good old just-got-my-learner's-permit-three-fucking-days-ago into the car, has me drive around the neighborhood a little (I've got that part down. Thank god it's not a stickshift, or I'd still be trying to get up the hill). No problem yet. I ask if I can try parking in the driveway (do or do not, there is no try), and he says sure. Halfway up the block we live on (and I do mean UP), he shows no signs of intending to explain how, or even of paying attention. Then, about 20 feet before the driveway, he says "stay right, then just trun left like you normally would."
Oh that cleared it all up.
Good news is, the garage door is intact. Car wound up at an odd angle, way too fast, and then I had to slam on the brakes because my dad decided that even though I was no longer even going fast enough to register on the spedometer, I was getting too close to the garage door and shouted "STOP!!!!!" while I was still a solid six feet from it. I got out and checked, dammit. One wheel clean on the slope, one wheel just barely off the level, and two on the level bit of the driveway, I called it a day and proceeded to head inside. My dad could fix the angle of the car and then learn to explain things when he's asked to do so.
I told you that story to tell you this story.
For the past couple of weeks, we have had a robin's nest on top of our garage light. It's nice and protected there. Not to mention warm.
Several thunderstorms have come through here since momma robin layed her eggs, and two eggs blew out. One aparently survived and hatched, and grew pretty healthily plump. He's obviously the only chick left out of at least three eggs.
When I came into the driveway in a manner which can best be described as "like a drunk bat out of hell," I scared that poor bird. As I was walking to the door, I could see him standing up shakily and crying out, scared somethin' feirce. Just as I was fishing for my key, I saw the little bird tip a little too far and fall. He tried to grip the brick, but kept falling, frantically flapping his wings. That barely helped, but it did slow him enough that he could land in an evergreen planter without damage.
Momma robin was in the tree, calling frantically while he fell. Once he landed, momma chirped a few times as he hopped around and tried to get airborne, to no avail. He did get around a bit, and got pretty well hidden, but I don't know if it will be enough.
See, we have had a fox hanging around the area for a few months, and I'm sure he'd love some fresh, tender poultry the first chance he gets. That baby robin has a while to go before he will be able to fly to safety, and in the meantime, it's a crapshoot. He'd be safe if he were still up in the nice warm, sheltered, safe nest. Now he's fallen out and the fucking fox can get to him.
Thing is, he'd be fine, except I scared the bird. If I'd have remembered the nest, I'd have been much more careful and probably would have gotten stuck halfway in the driveway. Maybe I'd have got the car parked oaky. But I sure as hell wouldn't have scared him that much.
God I hope that little bird survives.
Oh, no, the driveways in my neighbohood are not for sissies. Most people have some leeway for error, but all us folks have three options: right, try again, and propery damage. There is no almost.
So you can see my consternation when my dad loads good old just-got-my-learner's-permit-three-fucking-days-ago into the car, has me drive around the neighborhood a little (I've got that part down. Thank god it's not a stickshift, or I'd still be trying to get up the hill). No problem yet. I ask if I can try parking in the driveway (do or do not, there is no try), and he says sure. Halfway up the block we live on (and I do mean UP), he shows no signs of intending to explain how, or even of paying attention. Then, about 20 feet before the driveway, he says "stay right, then just trun left like you normally would."
Oh that cleared it all up.
Good news is, the garage door is intact. Car wound up at an odd angle, way too fast, and then I had to slam on the brakes because my dad decided that even though I was no longer even going fast enough to register on the spedometer, I was getting too close to the garage door and shouted "STOP!!!!!" while I was still a solid six feet from it. I got out and checked, dammit. One wheel clean on the slope, one wheel just barely off the level, and two on the level bit of the driveway, I called it a day and proceeded to head inside. My dad could fix the angle of the car and then learn to explain things when he's asked to do so.
I told you that story to tell you this story.
For the past couple of weeks, we have had a robin's nest on top of our garage light. It's nice and protected there. Not to mention warm.
Several thunderstorms have come through here since momma robin layed her eggs, and two eggs blew out. One aparently survived and hatched, and grew pretty healthily plump. He's obviously the only chick left out of at least three eggs.
When I came into the driveway in a manner which can best be described as "like a drunk bat out of hell," I scared that poor bird. As I was walking to the door, I could see him standing up shakily and crying out, scared somethin' feirce. Just as I was fishing for my key, I saw the little bird tip a little too far and fall. He tried to grip the brick, but kept falling, frantically flapping his wings. That barely helped, but it did slow him enough that he could land in an evergreen planter without damage.
Momma robin was in the tree, calling frantically while he fell. Once he landed, momma chirped a few times as he hopped around and tried to get airborne, to no avail. He did get around a bit, and got pretty well hidden, but I don't know if it will be enough.
See, we have had a fox hanging around the area for a few months, and I'm sure he'd love some fresh, tender poultry the first chance he gets. That baby robin has a while to go before he will be able to fly to safety, and in the meantime, it's a crapshoot. He'd be safe if he were still up in the nice warm, sheltered, safe nest. Now he's fallen out and the fucking fox can get to him.
Thing is, he'd be fine, except I scared the bird. If I'd have remembered the nest, I'd have been much more careful and probably would have gotten stuck halfway in the driveway. Maybe I'd have got the car parked oaky. But I sure as hell wouldn't have scared him that much.
God I hope that little bird survives.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
More music reveiws
If you don't have it already, get the album Snakehouse by The Cliks. Notice how that's spelled. Some record stores have it entered in their computer as a self-titled album. You'll probably have to dig through The Clash and The Click Five, since it won't be right upfront on the shelf.
If you've never heard of this band, that's okay. Now you have. You'll wonder how you ever listened to music before. Warning: as far as I'm concerned, vinyl records are still the technology du jour. Expect CDs, no matter how many times I say LP, B-Side, 45, or needle skip.
The lead singer, Lucas Silveira, has an amazing voice. I don't care who you are, when the lyrics start and you hear him singing, your heart is gonna skip a couple of beats. I pretty much guaran-damn-tee it.
Their cover of Cry Me a River and the song Oh Yeah are the two most famous singles off of this LP, but they are by no means the best songs. As always, the very best songs on an album are the ones you don't hear on the radio very much. Listen to Soul Back Driver or Misery and tell me that the atmosphere of these songs wasn't perfect. Tell me truthfully that you didn't feel like you'd lost your soul, or feel that feeling of being so down, hating yourself so much that you can hardly keep going, but not staying there; instead pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and looking this whole damn world right back in the eye.
I must admit, until I finally got the album, I would not have anticipated their blues chops. Maybe the music is a bit more technical than delta blues, has just as many overtones of Syd Barrett jamming with Tony Iommi and Rush as it has in common with Texas blues boogie, but it is BLUES at its roots. They have combined dissonance and melody, both in turns and at once, into a unique style that fits the outpouring of pain perfectly. A sound all their own. If you can come up with a way to play any of the musical parts better, please, let me know. Or even if it's just different. We'll get together and jam or something. I'd love an excuse to sing Lucas' lyrics some more.
Oh, god, can he be sexy.
Just for the record, that's probably the only time you'll hear me say that phrase. Take a photo or something.
______________________________________
If Jesus walked the world today, he'd probably be a hillbilly.
Those are the words in the chorus in Alan Jackson's song "If Jesus Walked the World Today." Common man of men, and the king of many, indeed. The song's off of his latest album, Good Time. I've heard some reviews say that it lacks a toe-tapper, foot-stomper like Chattahoochee, but I have to disagree. Crank up the title song, Country Boy, 1976, Long Long Way, or If You Want to Make Me Happy and haul ass down a country road, truck bed full of buddies. I include If You Want to Make Me Happy in that list, even though it's more melancholy. In fact, the whole album sounds best with the volume cranked to 11, all the windows down, and a load of rednecks. I'll admit it, white people cram their redneck buddies into the back of a truck like some Mexican dudes I know can cram people into their sedans. I've seen David pull up and unload nine people out of a Ford Taurus. Sedan. Figure that one out. But seriously, next time you see a mid-sixties good ol' American truck, fog lights up top, lift kit, covered in mud and a roll bar across the back of the cab, count how many guys are in it. Hell yeah.
I believe that riding in the bed of a truck should be legal. In Colorado it is if you're over 18, but if you'e a minor, you can only ride in the bed if you're wearing a shoulder and lap belt. What the hell? I ain't equipping no truck with shoulder belts. My grandpa would put his five kids in the bed going to and from a jobsite. When we used to go visit him, I got to ride in the back of his El Camino when he was hauling builing materials up to his retirement house (built it with his own hands). He'd haul ass around the winding Cascade roads, but my cousins and me were never close to falling out. You're more likely to fall out of some convertibles than the bed of a pickup. As long as you're not an idiot, you're perfectly safe, except in the event of a rollover, in which case you're glued, screwed, and tattooed in a convertible, too.
But to get back on track, Good Time has great country love ballads, songs of sorrow, and good ol' fashioned dance songs. Alan Jackson, ever the gifted wordsmith, used that talent in spades when he wrote this album. He can get complex songs and complex concepts across in such a way that you'll be able to understand and remember them, even if you happen to be hearing the music five minutes before last call. Somehow, Alan can lay down a chorus, go miles off track in the process of getting to the point, and then bring it all back to that same chorus. The songs just fit together. Every song I've ever heard by Mr. Jackson has painted a picture of that scene in my mind at 1080P.
The shining star of this fantastic album, though, is Sissy's Song. Bring Kleenex. I know when I tossed a few CDs in the disc changer and hit shuffle, I wasn't expecting anything terribly touching, just something to stomp my foot to while I raced my Charger on the Xbox. I wasn't expecting a slideshow of memories to get called up during a road race. I wrecked that damn Charger, cost me a fortune to fix. But it's only virtual money in a virtual world.
Why did she have to go/So young I just don't know/Why things happen half the time/Without reason/Without rhyme/Lovely sweet young woman/Daughter, wife and mother/Makes no sense to me/I just have to believe/She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/and she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/and I know she's smilin'/Sayin' "Don't worry 'bout me."/Loved ones she left behind/Just tryin' to survive/and understand the why/feelin' so lost inside/Anger shot straight at God/Then asking for His love/Empty with disbelief/just hoping that may be/She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/And I know she's smilin' saying "Don't worry 'bout me."/It's hard to say goodbye/Her picture in my mind/Will always be of times I'll cherish/And I won't cry/ 'cause she flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/And I know she's smilin' sayin', "Don't worry 'bout me."
Alan always has top-notch musicians in his band. The pedal-steel on this album will blow you away, and so will the fingerpicked guitar. Not to mention Alan himself: that smooth baritone register he delivers his lyrics in.... if it ain't magic, it's close to. Get the album. Hear the song. Now wipe your eyes and blow your nose.
If you've never heard of this band, that's okay. Now you have. You'll wonder how you ever listened to music before. Warning: as far as I'm concerned, vinyl records are still the technology du jour. Expect CDs, no matter how many times I say LP, B-Side, 45, or needle skip.
The lead singer, Lucas Silveira, has an amazing voice. I don't care who you are, when the lyrics start and you hear him singing, your heart is gonna skip a couple of beats. I pretty much guaran-damn-tee it.
Their cover of Cry Me a River and the song Oh Yeah are the two most famous singles off of this LP, but they are by no means the best songs. As always, the very best songs on an album are the ones you don't hear on the radio very much. Listen to Soul Back Driver or Misery and tell me that the atmosphere of these songs wasn't perfect. Tell me truthfully that you didn't feel like you'd lost your soul, or feel that feeling of being so down, hating yourself so much that you can hardly keep going, but not staying there; instead pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and looking this whole damn world right back in the eye.
I must admit, until I finally got the album, I would not have anticipated their blues chops. Maybe the music is a bit more technical than delta blues, has just as many overtones of Syd Barrett jamming with Tony Iommi and Rush as it has in common with Texas blues boogie, but it is BLUES at its roots. They have combined dissonance and melody, both in turns and at once, into a unique style that fits the outpouring of pain perfectly. A sound all their own. If you can come up with a way to play any of the musical parts better, please, let me know. Or even if it's just different. We'll get together and jam or something. I'd love an excuse to sing Lucas' lyrics some more.
Oh, god, can he be sexy.
Just for the record, that's probably the only time you'll hear me say that phrase. Take a photo or something.
______________________________________
If Jesus walked the world today, he'd probably be a hillbilly.
Those are the words in the chorus in Alan Jackson's song "If Jesus Walked the World Today." Common man of men, and the king of many, indeed. The song's off of his latest album, Good Time. I've heard some reviews say that it lacks a toe-tapper, foot-stomper like Chattahoochee, but I have to disagree. Crank up the title song, Country Boy, 1976, Long Long Way, or If You Want to Make Me Happy and haul ass down a country road, truck bed full of buddies. I include If You Want to Make Me Happy in that list, even though it's more melancholy. In fact, the whole album sounds best with the volume cranked to 11, all the windows down, and a load of rednecks. I'll admit it, white people cram their redneck buddies into the back of a truck like some Mexican dudes I know can cram people into their sedans. I've seen David pull up and unload nine people out of a Ford Taurus. Sedan. Figure that one out. But seriously, next time you see a mid-sixties good ol' American truck, fog lights up top, lift kit, covered in mud and a roll bar across the back of the cab, count how many guys are in it. Hell yeah.
I believe that riding in the bed of a truck should be legal. In Colorado it is if you're over 18, but if you'e a minor, you can only ride in the bed if you're wearing a shoulder and lap belt. What the hell? I ain't equipping no truck with shoulder belts. My grandpa would put his five kids in the bed going to and from a jobsite. When we used to go visit him, I got to ride in the back of his El Camino when he was hauling builing materials up to his retirement house (built it with his own hands). He'd haul ass around the winding Cascade roads, but my cousins and me were never close to falling out. You're more likely to fall out of some convertibles than the bed of a pickup. As long as you're not an idiot, you're perfectly safe, except in the event of a rollover, in which case you're glued, screwed, and tattooed in a convertible, too.
But to get back on track, Good Time has great country love ballads, songs of sorrow, and good ol' fashioned dance songs. Alan Jackson, ever the gifted wordsmith, used that talent in spades when he wrote this album. He can get complex songs and complex concepts across in such a way that you'll be able to understand and remember them, even if you happen to be hearing the music five minutes before last call. Somehow, Alan can lay down a chorus, go miles off track in the process of getting to the point, and then bring it all back to that same chorus. The songs just fit together. Every song I've ever heard by Mr. Jackson has painted a picture of that scene in my mind at 1080P.
The shining star of this fantastic album, though, is Sissy's Song. Bring Kleenex. I know when I tossed a few CDs in the disc changer and hit shuffle, I wasn't expecting anything terribly touching, just something to stomp my foot to while I raced my Charger on the Xbox. I wasn't expecting a slideshow of memories to get called up during a road race. I wrecked that damn Charger, cost me a fortune to fix. But it's only virtual money in a virtual world.
Why did she have to go/So young I just don't know/Why things happen half the time/Without reason/Without rhyme/Lovely sweet young woman/Daughter, wife and mother/Makes no sense to me/I just have to believe/She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/and she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/and I know she's smilin'/Sayin' "Don't worry 'bout me."/Loved ones she left behind/Just tryin' to survive/and understand the why/feelin' so lost inside/Anger shot straight at God/Then asking for His love/Empty with disbelief/just hoping that may be/She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/And I know she's smilin' saying "Don't worry 'bout me."/It's hard to say goodbye/Her picture in my mind/Will always be of times I'll cherish/And I won't cry/ 'cause she flew up to heaven on the wings of angels/By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees/And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting/And I know she's smilin' sayin', "Don't worry 'bout me."
Alan always has top-notch musicians in his band. The pedal-steel on this album will blow you away, and so will the fingerpicked guitar. Not to mention Alan himself: that smooth baritone register he delivers his lyrics in.... if it ain't magic, it's close to. Get the album. Hear the song. Now wipe your eyes and blow your nose.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Drug lectures and two left feet
I learned several things today. No, wait, that's a lie. I just confirmed what I already knew. I already know I can't work a glowstick (or glowsticks on a string), and fortunately, I didn't actually whack myself in the head with a glowstick on a string today. I just watched other people manage to avoid head-glowstick contact. They made it look easy, but I know it's not.
I also try to avoid techno and raves altogether because I honestly can NOT dance to that stuff. I have tried. Four different people have tried to explain it to me at various occasions in my life. Go ahead, try again. But when you're completely exasperated, let me try and explain to you how to square dance. That won't work well either.
I can dance a bit. The chicken dance and the macarena are two that I will never be able to forget no matter how hard I try, after all the years of having to do them to pass gym class. I can do the cowboy two-step pretty good. I can square dance well enough to get away with it on a good day. Techno dancing is not on that list.
I also don't do MDMA, which unfortunately, is generally in integral part of most raves. It's been a long time since I was high (even a contact high at a concert. Wait no, make that contact HIIIIIGGHHH. They sure smoked up at CSNY). I'm not going to give anyone a drug lecture; that falls under the category of "it's your body, it's your mind, it's your life." Do it if you want. Just make sure you really want to. I'll admit, I've done a couple of things a couple of times. But if there's anything that really annoys me, it's pushers. You know the Steppenwolf song. He don't care how he hurts and who he kills. That's true of most of the dealers and pushers at my school.
Especially the kids that push things on other kids. If you go looking for it, by all means, do it. But don't actively recruit, especially if, like most of the dealers I'm acquainted with, you are a complete and utter IDIOT. Know your drug, know your source. If you don't know how pure it is, or even what it might be, don't do it. That takes most street drugs out of the equation. If you know where it came from and the person selling it is completely trustworthy, then go ahead. name a dealer who you trust with your life, health, safety, and mind. I'll let you think about it.
That's what I thought.
There's a kid at my school, sells shrooms, or at least tries to. Apparently shrooms are very popular around there, but y'know what else? I know what any hallucinogen can do to you. These people are not paying attention to set and setting. Almost every Monday, there's a story of a really bad trip at a party. Think about the worst nightmare you have ever had. Now make it ten times worse, and you can't wake up from it. That's a bad trip. Psilocybin trips last 4-6 hours. The average nightmare or dream only lasts up to an hour. LSD and LSA trips last 6-12 hours, with off-baseline feeling reported for up to a day.
Set and setting are very important. Don't just eat a magic mushroom pizza at a party. If you do and you get eaten by the couch, sucked into a black hole, and ripped to pieces by ethereal demons, don't come crying to me. That is an actual trip report. From a teacher at our school, back when he was in college. When used with the right intent, expectations, and environment, psychedelics can be an amazing experience. Unlike many drugs, they have the potential to go either way, though. They are what you make of them, and what you let them be.
Plus, I know the guy who grows and sells the mushrooms. Not well, but I know him well enough that I wouldn't trust him to cook a hamburger right, let alone do the entire mushroom-growing process correctly. Any small amount of contamination can be deadly. If you're growing them yourself, you will be more careful than if you're out for a quick buck. If you're out for a quick buck, you're likely to ignore or try and harvest around a yellow or green spot, or god help the people who eat them if he ever does ignore a black spot. If you wouldn't eat the mold that grows in the toilet, don't do shrooms from a source that you don't trust with your life. Just don't risk it.
If I ever decided to do magic mushrooms, I would not buy from this guy. It wouldn't be worth it. Even if you decide to do a different drug, be it cannabis, hash, peyote, LSD, morning glory, magic mushrooms, heroin, cocaine, speed, crystal, PCP, GHB, ketamine, or ecstasy, know your source. If it's just some random dude passing something out, don't do it. You have too much to lose, and the risk is too great. Some of those drugs are by definition dangerous, even if you do them once, get an uncontaminated dose, and dose "correctly." Others are safe if used responsibly. Ecstasy, or MDMA, will permanently alter your brain activity patterns, but it won't kill you in normal doses, and the potential for a horriffically bad trip is "low." I'm not going to say it will damage your brain, but is a distinct and very real possibility. Fact is, brains of people who used to roll light up differently on scans than brains of those who don't.
Know your body, know your mind, know your substance, know your source.
Never get high and drive. Never get in a vehicle with someone who is even slightly high, and don't let a high person drive, period. Do whatever the hell you want, as long as you know the risk you are taking, are prepared to accept the consequences if that risk goes bad, and don't put anyone else at risk.
I also try to avoid techno and raves altogether because I honestly can NOT dance to that stuff. I have tried. Four different people have tried to explain it to me at various occasions in my life. Go ahead, try again. But when you're completely exasperated, let me try and explain to you how to square dance. That won't work well either.
I can dance a bit. The chicken dance and the macarena are two that I will never be able to forget no matter how hard I try, after all the years of having to do them to pass gym class. I can do the cowboy two-step pretty good. I can square dance well enough to get away with it on a good day. Techno dancing is not on that list.
I also don't do MDMA, which unfortunately, is generally in integral part of most raves. It's been a long time since I was high (even a contact high at a concert. Wait no, make that contact HIIIIIGGHHH. They sure smoked up at CSNY). I'm not going to give anyone a drug lecture; that falls under the category of "it's your body, it's your mind, it's your life." Do it if you want. Just make sure you really want to. I'll admit, I've done a couple of things a couple of times. But if there's anything that really annoys me, it's pushers. You know the Steppenwolf song. He don't care how he hurts and who he kills. That's true of most of the dealers and pushers at my school.
Especially the kids that push things on other kids. If you go looking for it, by all means, do it. But don't actively recruit, especially if, like most of the dealers I'm acquainted with, you are a complete and utter IDIOT. Know your drug, know your source. If you don't know how pure it is, or even what it might be, don't do it. That takes most street drugs out of the equation. If you know where it came from and the person selling it is completely trustworthy, then go ahead. name a dealer who you trust with your life, health, safety, and mind. I'll let you think about it.
That's what I thought.
There's a kid at my school, sells shrooms, or at least tries to. Apparently shrooms are very popular around there, but y'know what else? I know what any hallucinogen can do to you. These people are not paying attention to set and setting. Almost every Monday, there's a story of a really bad trip at a party. Think about the worst nightmare you have ever had. Now make it ten times worse, and you can't wake up from it. That's a bad trip. Psilocybin trips last 4-6 hours. The average nightmare or dream only lasts up to an hour. LSD and LSA trips last 6-12 hours, with off-baseline feeling reported for up to a day.
Set and setting are very important. Don't just eat a magic mushroom pizza at a party. If you do and you get eaten by the couch, sucked into a black hole, and ripped to pieces by ethereal demons, don't come crying to me. That is an actual trip report. From a teacher at our school, back when he was in college. When used with the right intent, expectations, and environment, psychedelics can be an amazing experience. Unlike many drugs, they have the potential to go either way, though. They are what you make of them, and what you let them be.
Plus, I know the guy who grows and sells the mushrooms. Not well, but I know him well enough that I wouldn't trust him to cook a hamburger right, let alone do the entire mushroom-growing process correctly. Any small amount of contamination can be deadly. If you're growing them yourself, you will be more careful than if you're out for a quick buck. If you're out for a quick buck, you're likely to ignore or try and harvest around a yellow or green spot, or god help the people who eat them if he ever does ignore a black spot. If you wouldn't eat the mold that grows in the toilet, don't do shrooms from a source that you don't trust with your life. Just don't risk it.
If I ever decided to do magic mushrooms, I would not buy from this guy. It wouldn't be worth it. Even if you decide to do a different drug, be it cannabis, hash, peyote, LSD, morning glory, magic mushrooms, heroin, cocaine, speed, crystal, PCP, GHB, ketamine, or ecstasy, know your source. If it's just some random dude passing something out, don't do it. You have too much to lose, and the risk is too great. Some of those drugs are by definition dangerous, even if you do them once, get an uncontaminated dose, and dose "correctly." Others are safe if used responsibly. Ecstasy, or MDMA, will permanently alter your brain activity patterns, but it won't kill you in normal doses, and the potential for a horriffically bad trip is "low." I'm not going to say it will damage your brain, but is a distinct and very real possibility. Fact is, brains of people who used to roll light up differently on scans than brains of those who don't.
Know your body, know your mind, know your substance, know your source.
Never get high and drive. Never get in a vehicle with someone who is even slightly high, and don't let a high person drive, period. Do whatever the hell you want, as long as you know the risk you are taking, are prepared to accept the consequences if that risk goes bad, and don't put anyone else at risk.
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