You’ve confirmed what I already feared:

“There has to be more to life than this, because in our confrontation with a cold, cold universe, there is something comical to the idea that we can really impose our will on humanity; power corrupts!”
- Poe, Control

It took me a while to finally watch the recent two-parter on South Park (Cartoon Wars) that deals with censorship, depictions of Mohammed, Family Guy, and so much more (including the fact that in fights between kids, a shot to the balls is just plain unfair). Frankly, given how hot button the topic is, and how personally involved Stone and Parker were involved (Comedy Central refuses to rerun the episode that tackled Scientology and Tom Cruise, as well [one would assume from the episode] as not permitting Parker and Stone to show a depiction of Mohammed), I thought it was incredibly well handled. It’s worth tracking down on YouTube or through Bittorrent to find it.

One of the things that is so — well, for lack of a better word, interesting about me and Red is that she’s a fairly conservative type. As in, votes Republican. Now, it’s not that I’m a screaming leftie who worships all things Kennedy; frankly, I’m not sure what category I fall into. I’m pro-choice, I’m all for the right to bear arms (though, in fairness, I think we should arm the bears in return), I’m all for Medicare and anti-war. I certainly lean progressive on a lot of social issues, though I also feel fairly strongly that the government should keep it’s hands off of anything that involves me and me alone (I’m not a fan of most drug laws, seatbelt laws, etc.).

I think my most politically defining characteristic is that I believe there are no rules, only expectations. There’s nothing that I believe in so strongly that I won’t concede the occasional exception: parents who let their kids into cars without seatbelts should be fined exhorbitantly, and limits on things like drinking (age restrictions) and gun ownership (background checks and mandatory waiting periods) are really good things. I believe in balance and moderation; the one thing I hate about American politics more than any bad decision or backstabbing manuever is the rabid extremist. Ann Coulter comes to mind (mostly because she’s utterly deluded, rarely if ever backing up her opinions with non-imaginary facts); I’m certain that there are liberals in this same vein out there. I can’t name one, though, because Democrats seem to be represented by scared little girls.

Al Franken, by the way, gets a pass, for two reasons: his arguments (at least in his books; I’ve never listened to his radio show) have the weight of research and factual evidence behind them, and he’s funny as hell. Coulter — well, she looks funny. That probably counts for something if I mute the TV.

That was mean, wasn’t it? But then, I’m also fully aware that if you like Coulter, I’m wrong, period, from here to eternity. And if you don’t like her - well, what’s left to say that we haven’t already all imagined?

Politics in general sort of disgusts me, because the people that run for office and win ostensibly represent the majority of Americans. In factual reality, they represent the majority of American voters. In my eyes, they represent the absolute bottom of the barrel of humanity: they are obsessed with power, with money, with getting and getting and getting for them and theirs. I have yet to approach an election with any feeling other than that I was choosing between the lesser of two really unpleasantries.

Voting in this country has become a new game show. Let’s Make a Deal meets Fear Factor. And we all lose. “All right, Harold - you can bury your face for four years in a bucket full of rotten, dieased meat and bum urine, or you can take whatever waits behind door number two! But here’s a hint, before you make your choice: he has a fourteen inch penis when flaccid, and he thinks you’ve got a really nice smile.”

There are good people running for office, of course. Unfortunately, they have nice smiles, too, and nowhere near the resources it would take to keep door number two closed.

I’ve never been one with aspirations to be President (duh), or even in upper management. Well, that’s not entirely true, though I have no interest in being in charge of other people. Not to say that I can’t do a good job of running things, in areas where I am experienced and competent; I’ve held management positions before and done a more than capable job, if you look at numbers and results.But I hate the idea of firing and hiring people. I hate the idea of having to reprimand people.

I don’t want control over anyone except myself.

This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, for various and sundry reasons: if there’s a reason for me to be in management, it’s so that I don’t have a boss above me (ditto self-employment). The issues I have with relationships stem from plays for power and control — and really, how sad do you have to be to validate yourself by contolling someone who loves you?

Yeah, that’s a shot. Fuck you if you’re reading this.

I don’t want to control anyone else, nor do I want anyone having control over me. One of the turnaround moments of my life was when I realized and accepted that I have ultimately absolutely no control over any person other than myself. I can advise, and push, and steer and hope all I want, but sometimes even my best intentioned efforts will fall short, because people will do what they are going to do. Once I let that go, I stopped wasting a lot of energy.

So, you want to control other people on some level. You want them to be more like you, to believe in your god, to take offense at the same things, to eat what you eat and be the same color. You go out of your way to strip away the right of the minority to choose: establish an official state church, a state language. Outlaw things that fit your definition of offensive. Then turn the screws some more, until everything fits your nice, dreamy vision of The Way Things Ought To Be.

But leave me out of it, because I’ve got my own dreamy vision. So, I’ll wager, does every other person walking this earth. And maybe the majority of us walk with you right now, instead of me; but stop and think before you strip away the rights of the minority, because things turn on a dime in this world, and you might be the minority in the space between a breath and a scream. And then what — will you act as you expect me to, complacent or even thankful when you are forced to say “cum dumpster” to finish every sentence, ritual cutting is required to graduate high school, and you either worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster or opt for slow death by snorting broken glass?

The problem with being someone like me, who believes and tries to practice a live and let live way of life, who really at the core just wants to be left alone, is that - well, we just want to be left alone. We don’t want to fight, but you do, because you want control. And too many of us are not prepared to fight, not for ourselves and most certainly not for others who want to be left alone, too.

Why do you control? Beneath your rationale and validation and justifications, what is in it for you? What do you gain from taking away my four letter words and my gonzo porn and my horror movies? What’s in it for you that I should wear a coat and tie and cut my hair and have no tattoos?

If you’re a politician, I think the answer is money. Because by and large, this country is no longer run by the people, for the people. What you see in the papers and on TV every day are not people with your best interests at heart, but puppets with the cold and unfeeling hands of corporate slot machines elbow deep inside of them. This is a country run by the talking heads for Big Money.

But even behind them, behind the politicians, there are still the people who elect them, the people who write poorly constructed editorial letters to the local papers, the bloggers with the acid keyboards, the flag-wavers and church-goers who who be lost without their fellow sheep to show them where to go next. And I think, deep inside of them, there is very little more than fear; fear of what is different, fear of a change to their precious status quo, fear that they’ve been wrong all this time. They find safety in numbers. They relinquish a little bit of their souls in order to make a play for yours and mine.

If there’s a reason that I’m pro-choice, that I’m anti-censorship, and that I will find exceptions to every rule (including the rule that there are exceptions to every rule), it is this: if you find that you can control one aspect of my life that should be hands-off from the get go, you’re going to start pushing and prodding until you find another, and another, and another, until soon enough I’m all yours.

That’s a slippery slope I’d rather not head down, personally. If for no other reason than I get the feeling there’s no South Park or Family Guy at the bottom.

I know that you’re away
But you’re not gone
- Howie Day, Kristina

There’s a lot on my mind right now. Meaningful stuff, like trying to figure out what to do about my money situation, my time situation, what career path I should choose and follow. Things beyond my control, like the Iran situation and an eventual change in scenery. Stupid things, like the ridiculous amount of work staring me in the face over the coming weeks.

But tonight, all that is gone. I had to really focus to make that list, in fact.

A first kiss experienced in real time is wonderful, perhaps my favorite thing in the entire world. A first kiss slowed down to the speed of liquid glass…

Echoes fill my head.

I promise that more entertaining reading will return soon. But for now, be content to live vicariously through me as I enjoy the temporal ricochet of the better things the universe has to offer.

The good things in life are so easily breakable, while the bad things in life take so much effort to get better. Ever notice that?

Must be that entropy thing they keep tossing around in physics labs.

I don’t know that I ever want to see a world completely at peace, because the moment that you accept that yeah — maybe this is it, what we’ve waited all our lives on? That’s the moment that a moron opens his mouth, says the wrong thing, and the world collapses back into what we all know and love so much.

Is one year of love better than a lifetime alone? Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Is it preferable to reach the top of the fame and fortune ladder for a few years only to have to return to normal life, or to struggle in clubs for a lifetime and never know the top?

Everyone has their own answer, I guess.

See also: An Amber Worth Seeking

Things between myself and Red have been moving slowly. Over the past few weeks, since intentions and motives have been discussed and made clearer, we’ve been taking things one day at a time, progressing and moving forward, but at what would seem from the outside as a deliberate pace. To my eyes, at times, I would use the word glacial to describe it; but then, I’m a runner, not a walker.

Tonight, though, it became so very clear to me that there is a magic — not a parlor trick or an illusion, but a real, live, honest-to-goodness magic (spell it with a k if you wish, or even a j) — in taking a different approach than what feels natural.

I move quickly not out of a need for instant gratification per se. I’m certainly not opposed to things coming to me quickly, but I’m willing to work as much as I have to for them, to earn the good things in life. I am, however, scared of dying in the middle of something. I can’t stand the thought that I will die regretting having not done something, or completed a given project, or having not taken that chance when I had it. It’s my own version of seizing the day.

And Red has her reasons for moving slowly (perfectly valid, and flattering, down the line), and she’s wonderful about reassuring me when the unusual pacing brings up those little demon voices in my head that have such disdain for rational thought. It’s against the grain of what I’m used to, what I’ve experienced, what I am, at the core, but I have no problems finding the patience, because we’re moving forward, at whatever rate. That’s the key thing in this to me.

Tonight, driving around and listening to music, she took my hand in hers. A small moment, perhaps meaningless in any other context, something that you might glaze over with a passing glance, at best. But it took my breath away, gave me that roller coaster gut-in-my-throat feeling: her hand on mine, her skin against mine, her choice. There is a world of difference between passive acceptance and active initiation.

And in that moment, that small moment, meaningless in any other context, I saw time from the outside, as it would have been in any other context. Every other context. All the small moments sweeping past in an unmistakeable arc, rushing headlong toward the natural conclusion, unappreciated and lost to the highway behind me. But in this world, in this time: a simple gesture, tiny, something that will one day become commonplace, but in the here and now holding every bit as much awe and power as that first kiss, the first I love you, the first anything.

The moment, the small moment, trapped in amber, and in no way meaningless or lost.

When you tell yourself that you won’t be distracted by external stimuli, that you want to see and remember and capture in your mind’s eye every detail of a movie that you’ve seen before, you begin to notice so much detail, and you find it sticking this time. If you go into a movie with no special attenion, but the projector is running at one quarter speed, you being to notice little things outside the center of the frame, hidden details put there for the most intent watcher.

Combine those two, and you have the time and the attention to drink in every last drop, every subtle nuance. It’s like watching a film filtered through a perfect amber, stretching time to maximize the moment.

I still have issues with impatience, and wanting to know that if something happens to me tomorrow, I won’t regret having taken things as far as I could with Red. But I have a new point of reference now, and I can so much better appreciate that no matter what, I will always treasure the woman that taught me how to slow and stretch time in the important moments.

Watching the universe unfold as it will in hindsight makes you appreciate that Southern tradition of sitting on the front porch at sundown, no matter how hard your ADD might fight you.

If you ever fear
Someday we might lose this
Come back here
To this moment that will last
And time can go so fast
When everything’s exactly where it’s at its very best
- k’s choice, Favorite Adventure

Brand new as of three weeks ago — thanks to Stacy Traffanstedt for the quick work:

LOVE… is a way of feeling
LOVE is a way of feeling less alone
So what’s all the fuss about?!?
-Strapping Young Lad, Love?

I thought briefly about calling my old friend Sammy Hagar for a little help with this. He is, after all, responsible for that challenging and provocative set of lyrics for When It’s Love. But Sam’s on the road right now, and his cell phone is dead, so it looks like I’m on my own with this one.

Today’s show, kids, is sponsored by the ages-ancient puzzle and mystery of love. It’s a riddle wrapped in an enigma packaged in black velvet lining and smothered in secret sauce. What is love? How do we know when we’re there? Why is it we don’t always recognize the moment when love begins, but we always know when it ends? (With respect to Harris K. Telemacher, of course)

There’s love, in a generic sense. It’s the love you feel for friends, the ones that you would do anything for, even sacrificing the things most important to you.

There’s familial love, which is (to my mind) not really love, as it’s something we’re conditioned to feel, a responsibility more than an emotion. [NOTE: I love my family very much. Not because I have to, but because I have chosen to. There are more than a few just-outside-of-immediate family members that I’m not terribly fond of; it makes family reunions a little prickly, but hey, who needs love in the name of obligation, anyway?]

There’s being in love, and here’s where things start to get a little sticky. I’m going to say that being in love with someone is way different than loving them, but not. Being in love is infatuation, a crush that you can’t ignore, obsessive thoughts, wildly romantic dreams, fantasies, temporary insanity. It’s the part where you can get hurt, but realize later that it’s just a scrape. It’s wanting to know everything and then more about the object of your desire.

Romantic love, I think, is a combination of the love of a friend and being in love. For many, being in love fades over time — I think it’s those couples that find romantic love (sexual chemistry, if we want to be blunt) but discover that there is no friendship underlying their connection are the ones that you hear about most often. For a lucky few, being in love never fades. For most, being in love becomes a very small part of a very intense love of friend.

There is an important difference, though, between the love of friends and romantic love, the ideal. One is a promise of fidelity, the vow you make to your interest that he or she is the only one toward whom you feel this way; you can have all the friends you want, and none of them are going to be pissed off that you have other friends (unless they have some very real issues). The other is sexual chemistry — and you may share this with some of your friends (also known as friends with benefits, fuckbuddies, and tragedies waiting to happen).

When is too soon to be in love? Who is to say? There’s no right or wrong answer here; that totally depends on your definition of love. If it requires knowing everything about someone, then yeah, you’ve probably never been in love and never will. If it’s a gut feeling, then that first dance could be it for you. But just because you’re not in touch with your emotions, or because someone feels differently than you, there’s no real good reason to criticize them or call them immature; really, isn’t there enough negative shit in the world that we should encourage all the love we can?

Those who are in love can be real assholes, demonstrating no deeper love behind the infatuation. But does that lessen what they feel? Even though they’re willing to fight to get their girl all to themselves, even if they are neglectful or manipulative, does that invalidate what they feel? I don’t think so. It’s not a strong love, I posit, but it’s there, and valid and real.

Ideally, though, you’ll search for and find the best combination of romantic and friendly love. There is truly nothing better than the feeling of the headlong rush of a crush, the early stages of romance, falling and drifting into the heart and soul of another person — until you find that you can have all of that, and a longer, deeper, more intense kind of love that some of you might claim only for a god. Add that to the falling head over heels, and you find that everything else fades into the background.

Am I in love? I don’t know. I want to be, I told Neely when she asked. But it’s not so important to me — what I am is what I am, and what we are is… what…

Fucking Edie Brickell. I don’t know about too many things, but I know I want to kill when she sings.

What I have with Red is what it is. And that’s fine; labels and pigeonholes won’t change a thing. But I’m not afraid to be in love with her, one day if not today. It’s a good feeling, that mixed with the friendly love I have for her.

I think the truest love, though, the one that we should all strive for, is the one that hopes for happiness, success, and ease, one that hopes for the best for the other person. It’s not an easy thing to do — to let go of what you think might be the best you’ll ever find. But wouldn’t you be happiest if you knew that your dream chose you because she wanted to, not because you guilted or manipulated or tricked her into it?

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, set it on fire.

Okay, I need a lot. I won’t fight you on that.

But I have a question — maybe one of you can answer.

Why would you decide in a bar, as an adult, drunk or not, to start throwing bottles across the room? And why would you be even remotely surprised when I toss you out for doing so?

I’ve talked to some hideous women when drunk. I think I might have sung Pearl Jam at karaoke, even. But there are some things at which even drunk me would stop, look you clear-eyed dead in the face, and say, “What the fuck?”

Seriously. Bottles. Did you parents just pretend they didn’t have you, and leave you to be raised by young puppies from abusive homes?

Oh, and don’t bow up, either. At 2 AM, I’m already really cranky and moving into the worst part of my night; anything you start is just going to make my night better. Oh, and Garth and Jason and Tyler are so much more vicious than anything you’ve ever imagined people could get paid for.

Yeah. It’s their job. They’re good at it, and they really seem to like it.

The moral of this story, folks, is don’t throw bottles in our bar. Or glasses. Or anything, unless it’s green and spendable.

Life is wonderful when someone calls you theirs.

I’m not a big fan of the possessive aspects of romance; that’s one of the parts that can get so ugly. But there is, too, something wonderful about being claimed.

Even better when you slip and call someone your girl, and she smiles.

That’s the stuff that beautiful days are made of.