Mad, Like Scientists

Picture it: New York, 1953*. Leonard Stern is diligently working on a script for an episode of television's The Honeymooners. He sits there, struggling to find the perfect word to describe Ralph Kramden's new boss. Kramden of course works as a bus driver, though on the show he is never seen driving the bus. As Stern struggles with this word, his friend and fellow write Roger Price enters the room.

Deciding to seek Price's help, Stern turns to him and says, "I need an adjective--"

"Clumsy. Naked," Price quickly interrupts. The duo burst into laughter. Stern then explains to Price the context of the word. Further laughter ensues.

Over the next few weeks, Price and Stern begin writing various fill-in-the-blank stories for parties and other social gatherings. They were consistently popular for simultaneously being hilarious, illogical, and bawdy. Price and Stern realized what they were onto.

Later that same year, book publishers refused to publish what was eventually termed Mad Libs. After all, Mad Libs was a game. It needed a game publisher. Unfortunately, to game publishers, Mad Libs was a book. It needed a book publisher. Each insisted that it fell under the duty of the other.

Price and Stern were not known for being discouragable. In 1958, after five years of being turned away, Price and Stern self-published 14,000 copies. Friend Ian Ballentine, president of Ballentine Books agreed to help the duo with distribution. Within days, all 14,000 copies had been sold by various bookstores. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad Price and Stern took this chance. Mad Libs were a great deal of fun in my childhood years - a fun that, like many other fun things, I rediscovered in college. But in college I discovered something entirely new about Mad Libs - I could write my own! I also discovered that a lot of people don't know what an adverb is, but that's beside the point.

Friends and enemies alike would give me parts of speech. I've performed them at open mic nights, soliciting words from the audience before the performance, generally to the laughter of everyone involved. In honor of having an awesome month at the blog, I've decided to have a little fun this week and do a Mad Lib**!

So it begins: follow me on Twitter and become a fan on Facebook***. I will take the first valid entry for each word. Also, if I get sufficient participation, each person will only be allowed to submit one word. We're going to keep it clean, but we're going to have fun. Enjoy. I know I will.

*It was 1953. I'm not actually sure where, but New York makes sense to me. It's unimportant to the story, so we're sticking with New York.
**Technically it's not, as I'm confident Mad Lib is a trademarked term. It's a fill-in-the-blank story.
***Hopefully this will get me using the fan page again. We'll see.

Picture it: New York, 1953*. Leonard Stern is diligently working on a script for an episode of television's The Honeymooners. He sits there, struggling to find the perfect word to describe Ralph Kramden's new boss. Kramden of course works as a bus driver, though on the show he is never seen driving the bus. As Stern struggles with this word, his friend and fellow write Roger Price enters the room.

Deciding to seek Price's help, Stern turns to him and says, "I need an adjective--"

"Clumsy. Naked," Price quickly interrupts. The duo burst into laughter. Stern then explains to Price the context of the word. Further laughter ensues.

Over the next few weeks, Price and Stern begin writing various fill-in-the-blank stories for parties and other social gatherings. They were consistently popular for simultaneously being hilarious, illogical, and bawdy. Price and Stern realized what they were onto.

Later that same year, book publishers refused to publish what was eventually termed Mad Libs. After all, Mad Libs was a game. It needed a game publisher. Unfortunately, to game publishers, Mad Libs was a book. It needed a book publisher. Each insisted that it fell under the duty of the other.

Price and Stern were not known for being discouragable. In 1958, after five years of being turned away, Price and Stern self-published 14,000 copies. Friend Ian Ballentine, president of Ballentine Books agreed to help the duo with distribution. Within days, all 14,000 copies had been sold by various bookstores. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad Price and Stern took this chance. Mad Libs were a great deal of fun in my childhood years - a fun that, like many other fun things, I rediscovered in college. But in college I discovered something entirely new about Mad Libs - I could write my own! I also discovered that a lot of people don't know what an adverb is, but that's beside the point.

Friends and enemies alike would give me parts of speech. I've performed them at open mic nights, soliciting words from the audience before the performance, generally to the laughter of everyone involved. In honor of having an awesome month at the blog, I've decided to have a little fun this week and do a Mad Lib**!

So it begins: follow me on Twitter and become a fan on Facebook***. I will take the first valid entry for each word. Also, if I get sufficient participation, each person will only be allowed to submit one word. We're going to keep it clean, but we're going to have fun. Enjoy. I know I will.

*It was 1953. I'm not actually sure where, but New York makes sense to me. It's unimportant to the story, so we're sticking with New York.
**Technically it's not, as I'm confident Mad Lib is a trademarked term. It's a fill-in-the-blank story.
***Hopefully this will get me using the fan page again. We'll see.

Mad, Like Scientists

You Would See the Biggest Gift Would Be from Me...

I had a file on my old (pronounced "broken") computer that was simply a list of quotes. The topics were as varied as the orators. One of the quotes was from the great Gary Vaynerchuk*. I unfortunately do not have this file any longer and cannot remember the exact wording of the quote, but it was something to the effect of, "If even one person reads what you have to say and gives a crap, you should be ridiculously happy."

For months I've been rolling this around in my head, trying to figure out how to write this post, and I've decided I just need to do it. I will never have something that I feel is good enough. I just need to say it.

Thank you.

You have no idea how much each and every one of you mean to me. I find it hard to find words to express how flattered I am that, of all the blogs on the internet, you choose to read mine. Every time you choose to read one you passively choose not to read another, and I'm flabbergasted and humbled that you're reading mine.

For a long time I found it difficult to update regularly**. I was getting single digit hits each month, so I wasn't concerned about it. One day I wrote a post and added links on Facebook and Twitter. The next morning I got out of bed and checked to see if anyone had read. I had 12 hits! I refreshed several times to ensure that I was looking at this right. Traffic had absolutely spiked! I had to do everything that I could to keep these numbers up!

These days it's no longer uncommon to break 40 hits a post, with my previous post being my first to ever break 50. Furthermore, I'm on pace to break 400 hits this month, a milestone I've yet to achieve.

All of this is great, but it's not ultimately about the numbers. I love to see that people are reading, but what I really care about is each of you individually. Every time that someone comments or mentions to me that they read a post (or even better, enjoyed a post), it makes my day.

Whether you're my sister, a friend from high school whom I've not seen in years, a friend who lives directly above me whom I talk to several times a week, a tobacconist from Milwaukee whom I've never met, or someone who falls in between, you mean more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you.



*In many ways Vaynerchuk inspired this post. He has one of the best understandings of how the internet is changing our mindset that I've ever seen. If you are unfamiliar with his work, do something about that.
**Some would say I'm still not as regular as I should be, but we will not regard that right now.

I had a file on my old (pronounced "broken") computer that was simply a list of quotes. The topics were as varied as the orators. One of the quotes was from the great Gary Vaynerchuk*. I unfortunately do not have this file any longer and cannot remember the exact wording of the quote, but it was something to the effect of, "If even one person reads what you have to say and gives a crap, you should be ridiculously happy."

For months I've been rolling this around in my head, trying to figure out how to write this post, and I've decided I just need to do it. I will never have something that I feel is good enough. I just need to say it.

Thank you.

You have no idea how much each and every one of you mean to me. I find it hard to find words to express how flattered I am that, of all the blogs on the internet, you choose to read mine. Every time you choose to read one you passively choose not to read another, and I'm flabbergasted and humbled that you're reading mine.

For a long time I found it difficult to update regularly**. I was getting single digit hits each month, so I wasn't concerned about it. One day I wrote a post and added links on Facebook and Twitter. The next morning I got out of bed and checked to see if anyone had read. I had 12 hits! I refreshed several times to ensure that I was looking at this right. Traffic had absolutely spiked! I had to do everything that I could to keep these numbers up!

These days it's no longer uncommon to break 40 hits a post, with my previous post being my first to ever break 50. Furthermore, I'm on pace to break 400 hits this month, a milestone I've yet to achieve.

All of this is great, but it's not ultimately about the numbers. I love to see that people are reading, but what I really care about is each of you individually. Every time that someone comments or mentions to me that they read a post (or even better, enjoyed a post), it makes my day.

Whether you're my sister, a friend from high school whom I've not seen in years, a friend who lives directly above me whom I talk to several times a week, a tobacconist from Milwaukee whom I've never met, or someone who falls in between, you mean more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you.



*In many ways Vaynerchuk inspired this post. He has one of the best understandings of how the internet is changing our mindset that I've ever seen. If you are unfamiliar with his work, do something about that.
**Some would say I'm still not as regular as I should be, but we will not regard that right now.

You Would See the Biggest Gift Would Be from Me...

Jesus Walks into an Apple Store

An interesting discovery was made recently in rural China: an Apple Store. The discovery was made by a blogger who had no idea that there was an Apple Store there. This happens a lot. I recently learned that there is an apothecary in the Pike Place Market. But this discovery was unique: as things go, not even Apple knew that this particular Apple Store existed.

Obviously, the store was a fake. Modeled after real stores, a perfunctory look at the store would absolutely make you think you were looking at an actual Apple Store. However, a closer examination would quickly reveal the fraudulent nature: poor paint and shoddy construction, two of the many, many things Apple CEO Steve Jobs will simply not tolerate.

The article that I read was first published yesterday, so there is no news as to what Apple is doing. This being said, one thing I know: you do not want to make Steve Jobs angry. I'm sure whoever is behind this will live to regret it, unless Steve Jobs decides to take his or her life. While this seems extreme, from everything I know about Jobs, the orator of this faux-seller will probably wish this were his fate.

Always I like to ask myself, "What is the takeaway from this?" If we look at it, nearly everything is on some level didactic. Whether we learn positively or negatively (that is, good example or bad example), we can generally glean some lesson. And as a Christian, I think that lesson is quite often centered very clearly on Jesus.

We see these people in China, who probably know very little about Apple. They see the words “Apple Store” and don't notice little inaccuracies*. They buy products that are probably stolen goods, run-of-the-mill (at best) knockoffs, or slipshod refurbishes. As far as they know, this is Apple. They've know nothing about Apple. They haven't taken any real time. They just know it's a Western status symbol, in a culture desperate to break away from many of their traditions. To further complicate things, the employees do not know that this is not a real Apple Store. They legitimately think that they work for Apple. They believe the products that they are selling to be top quality products produced by Apple.

We live in a culture in which Christianity carries a certain value-based connotation - I don't drink or smoke or chew, and I don't go with girls who do. I don't say any of the following words, and I vote straight ticket Republican, even when that clearly goes against the Bible. And some people have figured this out. They then use Christianity as a means of attaining various things, whether that be money or power or any of a seemingly endless list of things (1 Timothy 6:4b-5**). Labeling oneself as a Christian can assist in your election campaign (as long as you are in the right part of the country - this doesn't work in Seattle). You can trick people into giving you money. You can advance in a company. The possibilities are endless. For a perfect example, see this article in The Atlantic about Christianity, the prosperity “gospel,” and the financial crisis.

The Bible tells us about Jesus. As we learn what he is like, it becomes easier to know what is not like him. When people try to attach Christ to their cause, we should compare the cause to the real Jesus Christ and his character and evaluate accordingly. But until we learn about Christ, we're just pedaling a knock-off gospel (Galatians 1:6-8***).

*A photo of a far more obvious knockoff was also published in the article, lacking the Apple logo but featuring the text “Apple Stoer” beneath Chinese characters.
**He has an unhealthy craving for controversy and for quarrels about words, which produce envy, dissension, slander, evil suspicions, and constant friction among people who are depraved in mind and deprived of the truth, imagining that godliness is a means of gain. (1 Timothy 6:4b-5)
***I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— not that there is another one, but there are some who trouble you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. (Galatians 1:6-8) For more, see 2 Corinthians 11.

An interesting discovery was made recently in rural China: an Apple Store. The discovery was made by a blogger who had no idea that there was an Apple Store there. This happens a lot. I recently learned that there is an apothecary in the Pike Place Market. But this discovery was unique: as things go, not even Apple knew that this particular Apple Store existed.

Obviously, the store was a fake. Modeled after real stores, a perfunctory look at the store would absolutely make you think you were looking at an actual Apple Store. However, a closer examination would quickly reveal the fraudulent nature: poor paint and shoddy construction, two of the many, many things Apple CEO Steve Jobs will simply not tolerate.

The article that I read was first published yesterday, so there is no news as to what Apple is doing. This being said, one thing I know: you do not want to make Steve Jobs angry. I'm sure whoever is behind this will live to regret it, unless Steve Jobs decides to take his or her life. While this seems extreme, from everything I know about Jobs, the orator of this faux-seller will probably wish this were his fate.

Always I like to ask myself, "What is the takeaway from this?" If we look at it, nearly everything is on some level didactic. Whether we learn positively or negatively (that is, good example or bad example), we can generally glean some lesson. And as a Christian, I think that lesson is quite often centered very clearly on Jesus.

We see these people in China, who probably know very little about Apple. They see the words “Apple Store” and don't notice little inaccuracies*. They buy products that are probably stolen goods, run-of-the-mill (at best) knockoffs, or slipshod refurbishes. As far as they know, this is Apple. They've know nothing about Apple. They haven't taken any real time. They just know it's a Western status symbol, in a culture desperate to break away from many of their traditions. To further complicate things, the employees do not know that this is not a real Apple Store. They legitimately think that they work for Apple. They believe the products that they are selling to be top quality products produced by Apple.

We live in a culture in which Christianity carries a certain value-based connotation - I don't drink or smoke or chew, and I don't go with girls who do. I don't say any of the following words, and I vote straight ticket Republican, even when that clearly goes against the Bible. And some people have figured this out. They then use Christianity as a means of attaining various things, whether that be money or power or any of a seemingly endless list of things (1 Timothy 6:4b-5**). Labeling oneself as a Christian can assist in your election campaign (as long as you are in the right part of the country - this doesn't work in Seattle). You can trick people into giving you money. You can advance in a company. The possibilities are endless. For a perfect example, see this article in The Atlantic about Christianity, the prosperity “gospel,” and the financial crisis.

The Bible tells us about Jesus. As we learn what he is like, it becomes easier to know what is not like him. When people try to attach Christ to their cause, we should compare the cause to the real Jesus Christ and his character and evaluate accordingly. But until we learn about Christ, we're just pedaling a knock-off gospel (Galatians 1:6-8***).

*A photo of a far more obvious knockoff was also published in the article, lacking the Apple logo but featuring the text “Apple Stoer” beneath Chinese characters.
**He has an unhealthy craving for controversy and for quarrels about words, which produce envy, dissension, slander, evil suspicions, and constant friction among people who are depraved in mind and deprived of the truth, imagining that godliness is a means of gain. (1 Timothy 6:4b-5)
***I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— not that there is another one, but there are some who trouble you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. (Galatians 1:6-8) For more, see 2 Corinthians 11.

Jesus Walks into an Apple Store

Ironically, I Really Can Update from My Phone

Having an update schedule has been good for me: it forces a measure of discipline. I don't hold myself to certain days (though I generally seem to update on Wednesday and Sunday), but I do try to hold to the minimum bi-weekly updates* that I've promised. I think I have missed two over the last few months, one of which was posted Monday of the next week.

This being said, there have also been downsides to the schedule. For one, I don't always have something which I particularly find to be worth posting. If the time comes, I just post something, for better or worse. Secondly, and in a lot of ways this is a subpoint of the first, I feel like I've rather been phoning it in a lot lately.

Let me say from the start that I apologize for this. Furthermore, I do not wish to justify or otherwise excuse this. While several things have led me in this direction, it has entirely been my decision (whether conscious or subconscious) that has brought me here, and I have no one but myself to blame.

While I have been busy, the problem arises in a lack of diligence and an abundance of distraction: there is plenty of extra time to write, but I choose to spend it on other things. Sometimes these things are productive and important. Other times they are Facebook (or now the younger, more attractive Google+). Perhaps I'm rearranging my books and ensuring yet again that they are all catalogued, or perhaps I'm playing air guitar to ZZTop videos on YouTube. And unfortunately this problem manifests in nearly every area of my life. By way of example, I've been in the process of rearranging my tiny apartment for about a month now.

When I sit down to write, I have trouble with ideas. Many of my concepts are too personal, while others are just not interesting, and concepts are never in abundance to begin with. Eventually I pick a topic that is "good enough." I find this very designation to be questionable: as I'm partial to saying, "Good enough is never good enough."

I write, then post. There is a value to occasional rawness, but there is a much greater value to quality revision. As the mantra in Finding Forrester states, "Write with your heart. Re-write with your head." I try to combine the two, to no avail. Often the amount I look over a post is when I'm typing it. The few posts that haven't been written on paper get even less proofreading. Some people can do this. I can't. I need to write on paper and re-write (sometimes again using paper), giving myself time to evaluate and edit, after taking time away from it.

This post was black ink on paper, then red ink on black ink on paper. Now it's digital. It's taken time and effort. I've poured out my heart an striven to be honest as to my shortcomings. I've been resting on my laurels, but now I'm grabbing the laurel and turning over one of the leaves anew.

*This week there should be three updates, including this one. I drafted one earlier this evening, with the concept for another already worked out.

Having an update schedule has been good for me: it forces a measure of discipline. I don't hold myself to certain days (though I generally seem to update on Wednesday and Sunday), but I do try to hold to the minimum bi-weekly updates* that I've promised. I think I have missed two over the last few months, one of which was posted Monday of the next week.

This being said, there have also been downsides to the schedule. For one, I don't always have something which I particularly find to be worth posting. If the time comes, I just post something, for better or worse. Secondly, and in a lot of ways this is a subpoint of the first, I feel like I've rather been phoning it in a lot lately.

Let me say from the start that I apologize for this. Furthermore, I do not wish to justify or otherwise excuse this. While several things have led me in this direction, it has entirely been my decision (whether conscious or subconscious) that has brought me here, and I have no one but myself to blame.

While I have been busy, the problem arises in a lack of diligence and an abundance of distraction: there is plenty of extra time to write, but I choose to spend it on other things. Sometimes these things are productive and important. Other times they are Facebook (or now the younger, more attractive Google+). Perhaps I'm rearranging my books and ensuring yet again that they are all catalogued, or perhaps I'm playing air guitar to ZZTop videos on YouTube. And unfortunately this problem manifests in nearly every area of my life. By way of example, I've been in the process of rearranging my tiny apartment for about a month now.

When I sit down to write, I have trouble with ideas. Many of my concepts are too personal, while others are just not interesting, and concepts are never in abundance to begin with. Eventually I pick a topic that is "good enough." I find this very designation to be questionable: as I'm partial to saying, "Good enough is never good enough."

I write, then post. There is a value to occasional rawness, but there is a much greater value to quality revision. As the mantra in Finding Forrester states, "Write with your heart. Re-write with your head." I try to combine the two, to no avail. Often the amount I look over a post is when I'm typing it. The few posts that haven't been written on paper get even less proofreading. Some people can do this. I can't. I need to write on paper and re-write (sometimes again using paper), giving myself time to evaluate and edit, after taking time away from it.

This post was black ink on paper, then red ink on black ink on paper. Now it's digital. It's taken time and effort. I've poured out my heart an striven to be honest as to my shortcomings. I've been resting on my laurels, but now I'm grabbing the laurel and turning over one of the leaves anew.

*This week there should be three updates, including this one. I drafted one earlier this evening, with the concept for another already worked out.

Ironically, I Really Can Update from My Phone

Legal pad. Bachelor pad. Legal tender. Tender bachelor. Long title.

Remember when I had jury duty? I do, perhaps too well. On my lunch break the first day I bought a legal pad, in which I planned to write while waiting. The combination made sense to me: legal pad/jury duty. 

I did not have to wait nearly as much as I expected, so I left with a nearly empty pad. I've now been writing in that legal pad quite a bit - blog post drafts, poetry, mental meanderings, and the like. Now I find the legal pad filling. This is a beautiful sensation, as I haven't filled a notebook in several years. 

You see, I find a full notebook to be quite encouraging: it's a finished task, a veritable rhetorical collected-them-all of pleonasms*. An unfilled notebook, on the other hand, reminds me of my artistic shortcomings, a space to be filled with something I have been unable to create or realize. 

What I do realize is the ridiculousness of this concept: my goal in writing is to honor God, not to fill notebooks. If my goal is quantity, why not just write the ABCs repeatedly? Don't get me wrong - I want to be a prolific writer. This simply cannot be my goal, as it is only a means of achieving that goal. It's about Jesus, not word count. 

This is really just a note to self. 

*The phrase "veritable rhetorical collected-them-all of pleonasms" reveals two things: (1) I'm using a thesaurus; (2) I'm reading Tom Wolfe. Both are of course true. 

Remember when I had jury duty? I do, perhaps too well. On my lunch break the first day I bought a legal pad, in which I planned to write while waiting. The combination made sense to me: legal pad/jury duty. 

I did not have to wait nearly as much as I expected, so I left with a nearly empty pad. I've now been writing in that legal pad quite a bit - blog post drafts, poetry, mental meanderings, and the like. Now I find the legal pad filling. This is a beautiful sensation, as I haven't filled a notebook in several years. 

You see, I find a full notebook to be quite encouraging: it's a finished task, a veritable rhetorical collected-them-all of pleonasms*. An unfilled notebook, on the other hand, reminds me of my artistic shortcomings, a space to be filled with something I have been unable to create or realize. 

What I do realize is the ridiculousness of this concept: my goal in writing is to honor God, not to fill notebooks. If my goal is quantity, why not just write the ABCs repeatedly? Don't get me wrong - I want to be a prolific writer. This simply cannot be my goal, as it is only a means of achieving that goal. It's about Jesus, not word count. 

This is really just a note to self. 

*The phrase "veritable rhetorical collected-them-all of pleonasms" reveals two things: (1) I'm using a thesaurus; (2) I'm reading Tom Wolfe. Both are of course true. 

Legal pad. Bachelor pad. Legal tender. Tender bachelor. Long title.

Start from Zero

Poetry is still standing here, on the precipice of my blog, echoing The Clash: should I stay or should I go? Hopefully we will actually avoid trouble, both single and double, with today's poem, which includes commentary. Let's get straight to the poem, entitled Start from Zero, then follow with commentary at the end.

They told me
to start from
zero,
and figure it all out
myself.

From there we go
to the simple line
known as one,

followed by the
complicated curves
of two,

with each level
exponentially more complicated
than the previous.

Spiraling out of control
to visions of
one-hundred,

we see the complications
wrought in a third
figure:

a simple line,
now complicated by
a pair of
circles.

Unfortunately in our visionary
distraction,
we have turned our backs
on the lopsided
six,

which collapses,
and leaves us back
at zero.

This poem was inspired by the movement of modern architecture, in which there were frequent discussions of "starting from zero," meaning take everything you know and throw it out the window. Specifically the avenue of this inspiration was Tom Wolfe's book From Bauhaus to Our House, which I'm currently reading. I encourage you to picture Mr. Wolfe reading the poem, wearing his white suit and holding a drink.

In this movement, a goal was to be the least bourgeois. There was a great deal of discussion about what was and was not bourgeois, which is of course in and of order terribly bourgeois. I decided that seeing numbers simply as numbers, as opposed to some quantity, was bourgeois: a number is sufficient, without my assigning a meaning to it outside itself. The opposition would counter that only the bourgeois would have time or such vanity as a number apart from meaning.

Furthermore, speaking of numbers as numbers, simplicity/complexity, curves/straight lines, and symmetry/asymmetry were major considerations debated in the movement, to which the shapes of the letters lent themselves. We are of course not actually building numbers: they are only placeholders. How pretentious and bourgeois.

I hope that you see how ridiculous the whole thing is. This being said, it's something that I still see every day: look at hipsters. They're all trying to be the biggest hipster, while simultaneously denying their very status as hipsters. It's the exact same situation, sadly.

That's a short summary of what I was trying to say in this poem. I hope you enjoyed.

Poetry is still standing here, on the precipice of my blog, echoing The Clash: should I stay or should I go? Hopefully we will actually avoid trouble, both single and double, with today's poem, which includes commentary. Let's get straight to the poem, entitled Start from Zero, then follow with commentary at the end.

They told me
to start from
zero,
and figure it all out
myself.

From there we go
to the simple line
known as one,

followed by the
complicated curves
of two,

with each level
exponentially more complicated
than the previous.

Spiraling out of control
to visions of
one-hundred,

we see the complications
wrought in a third
figure:

a simple line,
now complicated by
a pair of
circles.

Unfortunately in our visionary
distraction,
we have turned our backs
on the lopsided
six,

which collapses,
and leaves us back
at zero.

This poem was inspired by the movement of modern architecture, in which there were frequent discussions of "starting from zero," meaning take everything you know and throw it out the window. Specifically the avenue of this inspiration was Tom Wolfe's book From Bauhaus to Our House, which I'm currently reading. I encourage you to picture Mr. Wolfe reading the poem, wearing his white suit and holding a drink.

In this movement, a goal was to be the least bourgeois. There was a great deal of discussion about what was and was not bourgeois, which is of course in and of order terribly bourgeois. I decided that seeing numbers simply as numbers, as opposed to some quantity, was bourgeois: a number is sufficient, without my assigning a meaning to it outside itself. The opposition would counter that only the bourgeois would have time or such vanity as a number apart from meaning.

Furthermore, speaking of numbers as numbers, simplicity/complexity, curves/straight lines, and symmetry/asymmetry were major considerations debated in the movement, to which the shapes of the letters lent themselves. We are of course not actually building numbers: they are only placeholders. How pretentious and bourgeois.

I hope that you see how ridiculous the whole thing is. This being said, it's something that I still see every day: look at hipsters. They're all trying to be the biggest hipster, while simultaneously denying their very status as hipsters. It's the exact same situation, sadly.

That's a short summary of what I was trying to say in this poem. I hope you enjoyed.

Start from Zero

Little Lady Laundry

I go to the laundromat about once a week. I pay $4, in return for which the filth and fustiness of my clothes is taken away. I sit there for an hour, generally reading, writing, or playing sudoku. 

I despise the laundromat. It is the greatest symbol of vanity in existence: no matter how many times I was my clothes, they are once again dirty. This being said, the laundromat has another interesting characteristic, which is what I wish to discuss right now: children. 

If there are any children present, there are almost always at least three. Sometimes there are as many as seven, often from one or two families. They run around, screaming and hitting each other or strangers, completely unsupervised by their parents. 

One day a while back, a girl, whom I will estimate to have been about two- or three-years-old, sat down beside me while I was reading. She gradually moved closer, until she was finally leaning against me. Her mother just happened to notice, at which point she said, "It looks like you made a friend." I'm unsure to this day which of us she was talking to. She then resumed the ignoring. 

Soon enough the girl jumped off the bench. Instead of walking away, she climbed onto my knees. I do not say my lap, as the book was blocking my lap. I put my book down, not wanting to risk her falling from the edge of my knees. She slid back into my lap and rested her head on my chest. Her parents never even seemed to notice. 

She was a sweet girl. I'm sure, given her bent toward climbing into my lap, her parents are kind and affectionate. But why aren't they protecting their daughter? I would advise against letting strange men play with your daughter, but infinitely more against letting him hold her unsupervised near the door of the laundromat. 

I get frustrated about this: children are a wonderful gift from God and need to be shepherded, not thrown amongst the wolves. I'm not a father. I'm certainly no expert in the subject of parenting. But that much I know. 

I go to the laundromat about once a week. I pay $4, in return for which the filth and fustiness of my clothes is taken away. I sit there for an hour, generally reading, writing, or playing sudoku. 

I despise the laundromat. It is the greatest symbol of vanity in existence: no matter how many times I was my clothes, they are once again dirty. This being said, the laundromat has another interesting characteristic, which is what I wish to discuss right now: children. 

If there are any children present, there are almost always at least three. Sometimes there are as many as seven, often from one or two families. They run around, screaming and hitting each other or strangers, completely unsupervised by their parents. 

One day a while back, a girl, whom I will estimate to have been about two- or three-years-old, sat down beside me while I was reading. She gradually moved closer, until she was finally leaning against me. Her mother just happened to notice, at which point she said, "It looks like you made a friend." I'm unsure to this day which of us she was talking to. She then resumed the ignoring. 

Soon enough the girl jumped off the bench. Instead of walking away, she climbed onto my knees. I do not say my lap, as the book was blocking my lap. I put my book down, not wanting to risk her falling from the edge of my knees. She slid back into my lap and rested her head on my chest. Her parents never even seemed to notice. 

She was a sweet girl. I'm sure, given her bent toward climbing into my lap, her parents are kind and affectionate. But why aren't they protecting their daughter? I would advise against letting strange men play with your daughter, but infinitely more against letting him hold her unsupervised near the door of the laundromat. 

I get frustrated about this: children are a wonderful gift from God and need to be shepherded, not thrown amongst the wolves. I'm not a father. I'm certainly no expert in the subject of parenting. But that much I know. 

Little Lady Laundry

The Rose

Based on an amalgamation of several true stories...

A handsome gentleman in a sports coat strolls leisurely through the neighborhood. He is smoking a pipe. The smoke from his pipe swirls above his head, drawing sharp contrast with the vertical pinstripes on his jacket. He wanders with no specific destination, enjoying a crisp Seattle evening the best way he knows how.

In front of a house he sees a mass of overgrown rose bushes, which somehow still manage to bear some of the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. He stops and picks one rose from among the many, carefully removing each thorn, before continuing on his walk. The rose, like the walk, has no specific purpose except the sheer enjoyment of God's creation.

He walks, getting farther and farther from his house. Soon enough he sees a young woman walking toward him. She is beautiful, but clearly not planning to see anyone during her walk based on her disheveled hair and haphazard clothing. As they pass, he hands her the rose, continuing with his walk.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"I didn't say anything," he replies.

"I know that, but I think you owe me an explanation."

"Well," he says, "I don't really have one. I picked it, and I saw you, so I decided to give it to you."

She looks at him confused, mumbling something about not getting flowers from anyone before calling his motives into question.

"If I had ulterior motives, I'd have stopped you to talk. You stopped yourself, and me for that matter. Perhaps I should be questioning YOUR motives." he stops and laughs awkwardly, wishing he had left off the last sentence.

She looks at him strangely and silently, obviously confused and disoriented.

"Stop selling yourself short," he says. "Have a goodnight. Maybe I'll see you around." With that, he walks away.

She never forgot him, though she never saw him again. At least, she doesn't think she ever saw him again, though to this day she cannot recall his face.

Based on an amalgamation of several true stories...

A handsome gentleman in a sports coat strolls leisurely through the neighborhood. He is smoking a pipe. The smoke from his pipe swirls above his head, drawing sharp contrast with the vertical pinstripes on his jacket. He wanders with no specific destination, enjoying a crisp Seattle evening the best way he knows how.

In front of a house he sees a mass of overgrown rose bushes, which somehow still manage to bear some of the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. He stops and picks one rose from among the many, carefully removing each thorn, before continuing on his walk. The rose, like the walk, has no specific purpose except the sheer enjoyment of God's creation.

He walks, getting farther and farther from his house. Soon enough he sees a young woman walking toward him. She is beautiful, but clearly not planning to see anyone during her walk based on her disheveled hair and haphazard clothing. As they pass, he hands her the rose, continuing with his walk.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"I didn't say anything," he replies.

"I know that, but I think you owe me an explanation."

"Well," he says, "I don't really have one. I picked it, and I saw you, so I decided to give it to you."

She looks at him confused, mumbling something about not getting flowers from anyone before calling his motives into question.

"If I had ulterior motives, I'd have stopped you to talk. You stopped yourself, and me for that matter. Perhaps I should be questioning YOUR motives." he stops and laughs awkwardly, wishing he had left off the last sentence.

She looks at him strangely and silently, obviously confused and disoriented.

"Stop selling yourself short," he says. "Have a goodnight. Maybe I'll see you around." With that, he walks away.

She never forgot him, though she never saw him again. At least, she doesn't think she ever saw him again, though to this day she cannot recall his face.

The Rose

Poetry

I've noticed that my few poetry posts don't seem to be as well received as my other posts, based on number of readers (my only real matrix for measuring reactions). This is interesting, as it obviously does appeal to a different audience. I'm considering starting a separate blog (or something else of the kind - open to suggestions) for poetry. Thoughts, suggestions, concerns, snide remarks, monkey sounds?

I've noticed that my few poetry posts don't seem to be as well received as my other posts, based on number of readers (my only real matrix for measuring reactions). This is interesting, as it obviously does appeal to a different audience. I'm considering starting a separate blog (or something else of the kind - open to suggestions) for poetry. Thoughts, suggestions, concerns, snide remarks, monkey sounds?

Poetry