RedCrystal

Talking about NPR : Health Care's a Big Issue. Who Covers Candidates?

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NPR : Health Care's a Big Issue. Who Covers Candidates?

Politicians never change, do they?

You and I are just dumb schmucks who ought to be voting for the candidate that can satisfy our need for immediate gratification. "Tell us a good story! Sing us a beautiful song!" Never mind that we're not holding them responsible for the things they'll hold us responsible for.

Sometimes I really really want to move to a deserted island and start my own damn country.

Being. Doing. Not telling.

What is there to say?

I watched Anthony Bourdain going to Malaysia, and I think, "little bit of a mid-life crisis." Well, he's paid his dues. Doesn't excuse him from being a jackass, but he's never said he wasn't one. On the whole, I rather like the guy, but I could never invite him to my house for dinner.

I read a blog written by one of the Transformer Decepticons, Bonecrusher, who hates everything, including hating having to hate everything, and hating himself, but still just has to hate everything.

This is what passes for entertainment today.

Okay, so finances. Money.

I'm going to follow rather closely the advice of Phil Town.

Okay, I've written enough about that for now.

I paid some attention to the Iowa primary. I still think America will largely do the "media character" voting thing like we did for George Dubya (he evokes the spirit of an American cowboy much more than did Al Gore or John Kerry), rather than on the "issues" voting thing or even "real character" thing.

I'm probably rather cynical.

But I do have to say that I lost some of my cynicism, if temporarily, when I was listening to the young people who supported Barack Obama because he represented a change to old style Washington politics.

It was temporary, mind you. Barack will not be able to change the old school Congress fixtures who run our country right into the ground. Hey, you gotta get re-elected, you know? If they do the right thing and get voted out of office because it was unpopular, well, then it wasn't that right after all, right?

At this rate, we'll be the United States of Indichinamexerica before too long. No more "must be a native-born citizen to be elected President" crap. Just "must be born on the planet Earth." Although I will get a kick out of watching people trying to properly spell the President's name, let alone pronounce it.

Failing Kindergarten

[I know I said this post would be about finances or something. That will have to wait for the next post.]

First, I know there really isn't such a thing as failure, as long as I don't give up. That's a basic truth for me.

But it doesn't change the fact of the matter that I can sure feel like a failure.

I suppose what makes it worse is that it's such a simple, basic thing at which I'm failing. I would understand and forgive myself more if I were failing at something dreadfully complex, like not being a high-powered businessman, or having a superb grasp of nuclear physics, or being able to prepare a dinner for six with three courses and have everyone delighted with the results.

No, what I'm failing at is one of the most fundamental things of all: a basic relationship with anyone else on the planet. The sort of thing you learn in kindergarten.

Everyone I'm pretty close to has a similar complaint about me. They all tell me that I'm trying to fix them.

Unfortunately for all of us, I have been and probably remain blind to whatever it is that I'm doing that lands on people as "trying to fix them."

I will probably sound conceited for saying this, but I have a perspective on the life that is one of those "you either you get it or you don't" things. Its basis lies in the multiplicity of perspectives. The upshot is that I don't see the world as things which are either black or white, nor do I see it as shades of gray. Rather, I see things as both black and white at the same time -- and that does not make it into a shade of gray.

A long, long time ago, I was asked the question, "Do you see the glass of water as half-full, or as half-empty?" And I have not felt comfortable with either answer for a long time, although I'm certain that someone close to me would have felt very comfortable about describing to someone else my outlook one life with one answer or the other.

I have not always felt this way. I developed this attitude after many years of introspection, and finally realized it as a young adult. Before that, I believe I would have said out loud that the glass was half-full, but in my heart I would have believed that it was really half-empty.

My answer to the question now is this: "I see the glass as completely full. Half is water, and half is air." And then people complain that I'm missing the point of the question, which is that it's meant to establish whether I'm generally an optimist or a pessimist.

But they are missing my point. I don't feel like I'm seeing the world from either perspective. While a big part of my view of the world is optimistic, there's another big part that view the world with pessimism, and neither one satisfies me. I'm only satisfied when I see the world optimistically and pessimistically at the same time.

Or, in the context of blacks, whites, and shades of gray, I think the person who sees the world in black or white is most likely pessimistic, while the person who sees the world in shades of gray is most likely optimistic. I don't believe that, by itself, either way of seeing the world is a more accurate or more powerful than the other.

Though now I have to consider that maybe I'm merely delusional.

When I discuss things—relationships, finances, behavior, attitudes, personal character—with people I'm close to, I keep presenting my multiple-perspective viewpoint. Why? I think it's because I felt powerless before I adopted my new stance. And when I talk to most people, the thing I think I hear most often is how they feel powerless. So I try to share my perspective.

I have to admit that it hasn't helped as much as I thought it would. So, maybe it's not such a powerful perspective.

And yet, I don't think I can be really comfortable changing how I see things so that I either embrace a rigid code of ethics (the black and white, pessimistic view) or moral relativism (the shades of gray, optimistic view). And as no other perspective has yet come to me... I may have to concede failure at being able to relate to any other person at the level of being able to discuss relationships, finances, behavior, attitudes, and personal character. Something that is pretty basic. Something you begin to learn in kindergarten and then have pretty much nailed by about fifth grade.

I guess I can just stop trying to share my view in relationships, and instead write out what I want to share here on my blog, since I'm not having a discussion with someone else here.

This probably sounds I'm being resigned to failure, but I'm not seeing it that way. You see, I committed a few years ago to being a person who grows play, power, discovery, and love. Sharing my unusual perspective is not a part of that commitment. Instead, I can try to just hear other people and let them see the world how they see it, and not try to change how they see it.

I sort of wish I knew why I felt so compelled to share that perspective, but I know better than to spend any real time navel-gazing for that answer. It really is important to me to be a good friend and a good listener, and I don't have to believe that I have "the answers" or "just a more powerful way of seeing the world."

So I owe apologies to everyone who has felt that I'm trying to fix them. I thought I was trying to help you, but I see how it might have seemed like I thought you were doing something bad or wrong. I certainly didn't feel anyone was doing anything bad or wrong, but I have failed at communicating that.

The journal of a life

What can I really blog about?

I can't say much about my work, because a) it's pretty boring and b) talking about the parts that are not boring will get me fired.

I can't say much about my family, because I'm a firm believer that one should not air dirty laundry. Besides, there's really not much there to say.

I do have opinions about the rest of the world. I don't consider myself well-educated enough in most of it to justify publishing my opinion.

Although apparently this does not stop most of the rest of the bloggers out there.

I supposed I could attempt to document some of my personal thoughts.

I'd refrained from blogging much because I'd entertained notions that someday I might become involved in high-stakes business deals, and that my thoughts here would expose vulnerabilities if they happened to be found someday.

I guess I could, and should, just take my chances. Let the bones lie where they fall. Of course, all this navel gazing will be largely for my benefit. I doubt seriously whether it's worthwhile reading.

Michele is the writer. She can write for the audience. This is good.

I'm the editor. I write for the words themselves. This is not so good.

I'm running out of time to write now, but I'll make a point of returning. Tomorrow, I will write something about retirement (a big subject in my mind lately).

First: my weird dream from last night. I was watching a choir outdoors with Michele. The choristers had learned how to inhale some kind of smoke from bottles they held and then exhale the smoke as they sang. It was kind of neat. I kept trying to find out what kind of smoke they kept in the bottles. Someone who promised to explain then hustled me off to a different part of the ceremony. This person then pointed at two enormous chickadees building a nest on the ground between two groups of people standing in formation, as if to suggest they had something to do with making the smoke. Before I could ask how, I was handed a large pillow. Apparently I was expected to participate in the ceremony. A hand guided me towards a small white bird standing next to the chickadees. I held out the pillow in front of me, expecting the bird to fly away, but apparently this bird had been trained. As I neared it, the bird slapped up and onto the pillow. At this point I realized it was not a small white bird, but a large white goose. The goose clutched the pillow with it feet and held its balance as I turned and proceeded up an ice-covered stairway to a priest dressed in ceremonial robes waited. Then I woke up.

I did say it was weird.