That's Impermanence For Ya

At one time, data loss was a big fear of mine... really up there. At least Top 10.

From computer to computer, I'd port data from one system to the next such that I actually had "important" (for whatever reason, sentimental no doubt) files from a decade ago, likes papers for my freshman lit class in high school or AIM chats from middle school on my most recent system (10 years later!). My computer went from a game & work machine to a dedicated time capsule. A living archive. No joke, I called my C:/ "The 'Chives".

Then one day, I wiped my hard drive. Not an accident. Full intent. And you know what? It felt good.

Sure, there were some fairly critical losses - all of the RAW image files from my pictures and the folder with my arsenal of animated .gifs, but I've stumbled upon this opportunity to start fresh. Tabula rasa.

If I can translate this into the life I can touch, taste, smell, hear, and and see, I think I'll be in great shape.

The Sound of One Man Napping

Whoa... Blogspot, baby. I'm sorry I've neglected you.

It won't happen again.

I swear.


Please, please, please... take me back.


YOU CAN NOW FOLLOW ME IN REAL TIME HERE: http://twitter.com/jimchuck

"The Red Headed Hipster" or "Blue Eyes Cryin' in the PBR"

I came across a record at the radio station the other day that stopped me in my tracks. Here's the metaphotographic reason why:



Whodathunk that my favorite outlaw country musician circa '79 would have fit in so well with today's underground party culture?

Seriously... view any album!

And speaking of which... isn't Ed Sanders too old to be shotgunning beer?

Pa Rum-pa Pum Pum

After visiting my new nephew this evening, it occurred to me whilst listening to an album of heavy metal Christmas covers today on the drive home that anyone playing a DRUM would probably scare the bajeezus out of the baby Jesus.

Oh, okay... you're a poor boy and can't afford gold, frankincense, myrrh or any other now-obsolete perfume goods (By the way, that just makes the other two Wise Men cheapskates. Talk about last-minute gifting). So you played your best for him... fine. A+ for effort, kid. I'm sure that Mary and Joseph just loved the flams and paradiddling, although Balthasar said that his left-hand stick height left a little to be desired.

But back to the concept... drumming for a baby? All infantile peacefulness and mildness -- totally and utterly shattered. I think that probably explains why Jesus was hard of hearing (You can find that fact in your Scriptures somewhere, I'm sure... right next to the part where Jesus is accompanied to his crucifixion by a 4-piece band playing "When the Saints Go Marching In").

I guess The Little Kalimba Boy doesn't quite have the same ring, but how much more pleasant would that've been for everyone?


And while I'm on the subject, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" starts out pleasant enough, but then the 'nog-drunk obstinate bastards bust in with the following:

We want some figgy pudding;
We want some figgy pudding;
We want some figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer

We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some, so bring it out here

Oh, you want some figgy pudding? And you, the *guests* at my holiday party, are not leaving until you get some? Well sorry, we're fresh out and I think you've had a few too many cups of high-proof good cheer as it is. Now kindly show yourselves and your yuletide fruitcake to the door before I involve the authorities. And stop wishing things to my "kin;" it sounds so Deliverance-y you know we weren't raised in the Appalachians.

Good tidings, indeed.

Hotbox

The sauna was packed. Some were toweled, some speedoed, and some cooked their eggs freely on griddle that was the hot, plank bench. A couple of the older men spoke admiringly of triathletes and theorized about the ultimate technique to reduce drag in the water (a good swim won't win you the race, but a bad one will lose it for you... conventional wisdom, of course) while a portly youth in the corner doused himself with a well-crushed bottle of water from repeated forceful squeezings. I rested with my legs up in front of the door, anticipating entrances and exits and politely dropping them before anyone had to consider asking. An older man, a naked older man, with a Freud-like air about him headed to the seat directly across from me and sat on the upper deck.

Damnit... Have to find someplace else to stare...

"...well, at least you were pretty good at everything," offered a man, seemingly in consolation.
"Not really. I was pretty mediocre at all three events."
I enjoyed the way he pronounced mediocre. "Meddioakuh." Australian.

"Well, I'm about due," said the Australian in red hotpants.
"Yeah. It's getting a little bakey," and with that I finally made eye contact with someone for the first time in five long minutes. He was a good-looking, affable gent.

A minute or two later, Bizarro Freud left and the sauna was empty, save me. I moved to a corner spot and enjoyed the solitary, dry heat for a barely a minute when a man in his, oh, probably seventies, walked in, fully clothed. Different, I thought. He looked nondescriptly foreign until he spoke and his Asian subcontinentality burst through. He addressed as he undressed:

"How long you've used the sauna here?" he asked.

Shirt off.


"Ummm... on and off." I thought and thought. For some reason, I wanted to be accurate with this man. He deserved better than an estimation.
"Roughly?" he shot out, softly punching through my pondering silence. Apparently, an approximation would work for him.

Pants off.


I settled on an answer. "Probably about half a year or so."
"An' why do you use the sauna?"

Underpants off.
Naked.


"It's a nice place to recharge, I think. I like to sweat it out in peace after I sweat it out in action," I replied and he smiled.

He took his seat on the upper deck to my left and began to explain the holistic healing virtues of the sauna. He went on about how it acts like the kidneys, purging excess salts from the body and told me a story about how he brought in a darker Indian with him once.

"He was dark. I, too, am dark, but he was very, very dark... a black man turning white! Have you heard of this?!" he inquired.
"No wayyy!"
"It's true, because of the salts."

I love old manecdotes. I offered my own little story about how I could see the salt lines on my old, sweaty workout shirts. I could see that he appreciated that I related somehow. He continued with his insight.

"I really cannot think of any disadvantage of the sauna," he concluded. I was pretty convinced.
"Nah... me neither," I said. "Well, I guess you do get a little thirsty."
He laughed with a bright smile. "Luckily, the price of water is not high."

...which is true, as long as it's not bottled for you.

"I've done these little interviews before," he disclosed. "One time, there was a man in this sauna and he went to sleep..."
"Oh, wow."
"...for thirty minutes! This is much more than the prescribed twenty minutes, you see. When I asked him why he wished to sleep, he answered: 'I felt sexy todayyy.'"
He wrapped up with his endearing smile. "I tell that one to everyone."

I felt honored to have been one of them.



Oh, and also, he had a really tiny penis!

Nerd Alert! Nerd Alert!

I'm pretty excited because I get to play with the BumpTop beta.



Should be fun!

EDIT: AND IT IS!

Freedom of Choice

This is it, ladies and gents. I hope you've all geared up with the appropriate padding and cranium-wear. DEVO says it all.



Make it count.

ps: