Talk About Pointless..

Unveiled earlier this year, the latest generation of atomic clocks have an accuracy of +/-1 second every 200 million years - as opposed to the previous, 80 million years. Now there's a relief!

House, M.E.

2-3 years after the rest of the world, I've finally caught up with the series "House, M.D." The bits and pieces I had seen of it before led me to severe bias against the show, what with the rapid-fire, "too cool to be real" dialog and the beautiful people on screen. "Blech," I thought, "more American non-realistic drivel." But now that I've finally been watching it - and this only applies through season 2, hoping it doesn't go down hill! - I think the series, and the character of House in particular, are sheer genius.

It would be way too long for me to go into all the qualities I think make the series so good, but there's one aspect in particular I find myself relating to so much - House's repeated ducking of redemption. He will forego emotion, wrestle with his leg and pill addiction, never actually say a kind word to anyone, etc. If you've watched the series, it's referenced directly many times. But the beauty of the series is in setting up your expectations that he may be saved. After all, the other characters are all so much more emotional.. or emotive. There's subtle humor to soften you as you watch. The characters are beautiful. So you kind of assume that in the thick of it all, House himself will finally be saved. Surely, in the season finale he'll be cured. Or realize something life changing. or fall in love. But the brilliant scriptwriters never allow it to happen.

Oh, how I saympathise. Maybe you've been there - in your 30s, relationship dry spell, somewhat hyperactive mind - or maybe your mind just goes hyperactive because you've been living on your own so long that? On those nights with nothing special to do, you begin analyzing yourself psychologically. and analyzing the fact that you're analayzing yourself. and ideas come and go. they seem so important until the next time a little distraction comes along and you forget all about it. Unless it's 4AM and you think, whilst in the shower, "I've got to get this feeling down." True story - I'm sure you've guessed...

If you're in a situation anywhere near this, maybe you also feel torn. I've spent the last several years unwittingly striking some sort of delicate balance between an almost blind worship of the purely rational - House style, to a degree - yet carrying some hope of redemption. That a truly major change is just around the corner... or maybe a little further on, but it's coming. Meanwhile, of course, my "purely" rational intellect is reminding me this is all nonsense, and that the quicker I put aside these passive hopes and focus on some personal building, then maybe there's some chance of this all not being in vain. But no matter what happens - I mustn't ever, ever count on it. because that's just plain folly. Not now. not after I'm 30, and still nothing big has changed. and no love to be seen.

So House strikes a very deep chord with me. As a series, it fully recognizes the power of these hopes - without poo-pooing them. in fact, it builds you up to believe in their worth. Just as you're primed to really feel something, House will always manage to evade his own happiness. If the opportunity arrises, he'll mess it up; generally, his mind will make sure he doesn't even get that far.

It's just a tv show, I know. But catch me at a certain time, in a certain disposition, and I'll feel just like that. screwed, lost, and trying to rationalize my way away from it. Away, never out of it.


P.S.

After watching season 3, I realize I must've come off as an especially arrogant bastard. It contains an already solidified - and expressly referenced - view of House as near-infallible, genuinely arrogant, and relatively comfortable in loneliness. I didn't mean to compare myself to any of this. Avid viewers with a good memory may recall that none of those were certain in the first couple of seasons. To clarify, my empathy concerned only the "earlier" House, when some kind of redemption still appeared possible and welcome (and the arrogance still appeared a defence mechanism), and had nothing to do with his ostensible brilliance...

The Existential Swamp Monster

Sometimes the simplest things bring you down to earth.

It's my birthday today - 30th. These past few days have had me thinking quite intently on where I am, where I'm going, what will be, what won't be. Existentialist pondering alongside existential angst. Coincidentally, I'd also thrown together a whole long post on where I stand in my romantic view, somewhat altered from where I stood a year ago. So it felt like something important was going on. Suddenly, this 30th birthday seemed fraught with meaning.

Had a big conference at work. Those there with me know by now that those sorts of events are when I whip out the stops and actually dress nicely for work. So there I was, looking sharp, feeling fairly "important". Had the opportunity to set aside my thought and just focus on the tasks at hand, and I was feeling fairly good about it all. It didn't hurt that there were some good-looking members of the opposite sex there as well - and one in particular I was hoping to impress with my casual interest dotting the constant calls to duty. Soooo authoritative.

At the tail end of the day, as I walked back to go home, one of the workers exclaimed, "wow, you've really been working hard." "Yeah, you've noticed?" I asked. "Well, I can see - you've been running around with those giant sweat stains!" For the first time that day, I got a look at a mirror. I'd been spending that day feeling like hot s%!t - all the while looking like a swamp monster!

At first, I was embarrassed as hell. Then I just kinda had to laugh. Happy 30th, me.

Things I'd Never Ever Say

"Look, you and I - we're businessmen.."

"All this violence. Why can't we just get along?"

"I hear Brangelina.."

"Wow, you guys were great! Very Pink Floyd-meets-Madonna..."

"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. Seriously."

"Don't worry. I'm sure the government will take care of it."



Things I may (sadly) never say:

"I do."

"Funny, we've been asked that a lot lately - but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for the next album..."

"It's got 4 wheels, it was made after 2000, and it's mine!"

"It's got 4 rooms, the location's great, and it's ours!"

"Swing Swing" Goes the Pendulum

After the last, gloomy post, hope for the future has been somewhat restored... It doesn't take much to put a smile back on my face after all. :)

Apologies for the cry wolf...

"You're Single? How Come?" (AKA "That's the End of That" - Introduction)

It's moving season, and this time I decided I'd rent on my own (I'm 29, figured it's time). The hunt is thankfully over, but while I was searching, I noticed a pattern: the landlords, in their 50s and 60s, would ask whether I am, indeed, looking just for myself. When I'd answer in the affirmative, they'd give me a cockeyed look and ask, "you're single? Really? How come?" This happened several times...

While I was resisting the temptation to give an answer along the lines of "they ran out of my size at the girlfriend store" or "because I ate them all", they'd usually temper the question with a compliment - "I'm just saying.. good-looking guy like yourself..". Obviously they meant well, but this only underscored the assumption, still somewhat common amongst our parent's generation, that unless something's really wrong with you, the only thing separating the average single and a sustained, happy relationship is merely the decision to have one.

So, to try and properly answer the question, I've cooked up a little song/ditty/prose-poetry piece (not all based on personal experience, it should be noted) called "That's the End of That", which addresses this issue. It's being finalized as we speak (you read?), and I'll put it up in the next few days.

[...and, it's UP!]

Important clarification:

This post has been picked up by the good people over at Israelity, and I'm grateful for it. Looks like I left this somewhat open to interpretation, however, so let me clarify:

This post wasn't an expression of having chosen singledome, but rather of frustration over how impossible it is to find anyone! This should be made abundantly clear with my next post...

Interim Report: "I Love Rock'N'Roll"!

Banality warning: this will be one of those posts...
--------

Yeah, I haven't posted in a while, I know. In explaining this to a good friend, he suggested I post about that. Touche!

The thing is, after returning from the gigantic tour (mentioned briefly elsewhere), I had been incarcerated at my folks home for a few weeks as I'd badly sprained my ankle. This meant, among other things, watching stairs become virtually impenetrable walls, having a hell of a time trying to shower - you hobble along with one foot up in the air and try to get in there! - and, most importantly, being away from my guitars. This last fact, combined with taking time off from work, meant I had all the time in the world to post on this here thang. Turns out blogging's awefully time-intensive (isn't everything?)

I've since gotten much better, thank you, and am back in the confines of my own apartment, a veritable sea of guitars at hand. So I've gotten sidetracked. But watch this space. I'm not giving up the war, possibly the battle. Or the other way around. The point is, we shall rise to fight another day. A day in which "job" is but an afterthought, and guitars, with their sinewy shapes and beckoning essentia, will be far from my mind. In other words, I'll keep posting but expect sporad..icy? icism? icness? icity? icitness? eosity?*

"You men, always with the commitment issues". WHY? Why make this a gender thing? Listen, ya little squirt, it's my blog and I'll post when I want to / post when I want to / post when I want to.

Catch y'all later!


* I could go all day, baby, aaaaaallll day....


------- !!UPDATE!! -----------

Hah! How quickly things change.. my next post is dangerously near completion. I can practically hear the palpitations.