I Can't Accept That It's Over, I Will Block The Door Like A Goalie Tending The Net, In The Third Quarter, Of A Tied-Game Rivalry

--"Nothing Better", Postal Service

The question came up at work which of us in the credit department tend to be controlling and possessive in their relationships. While almost everyone had their pros and cons about everyone else, the consensus was that I was almost certainly domineering in my relationships. Rather than try to deny it, I was left wondering what would give so many people that impression of me. What kind of stories do I actually relate to my co-workers that would lead them to that conclusion when they have never really seen firsthand what I'm like I'm dating someone? Then I remembered all the sorts of stories that at the time I thought were humorous in their excessiveness, but taken together could paint a portrait of me as somebody not entirely fully equipped to deal with women who are strong-willed in their own right.

Rather than try to defend myself or explain it away, I just let them tell me what my problem is. And they came to the same conclusion that I did a long time ago. I'm too much of a stubborn person to allow someone else dictate what is happening in my life for any certain amount of time. I don't give up control easily. Even when it's at the expense of somebody else's opinion, I am loathe to concede my goals and my wishes. That's why they say I have so many problems dealing with women who are smarter or more successful than me. That's why I date women who are so much younger than me. And that's why they say I have such a hard time with maintaining any type of long-term relationship. I'm too much of a "my way or the highway type" of personality, and too often people choose to take to the highway.

Case in point, with DeAnn (since she's the most recent of my exes and by far the one I seemed to have treated the worst) there were at least five separate occasions where she wanted to break up with me that I simply wouldn't accept. Even though it was plain as day she didn't think we working out, I simply denied her right to say no to the relationship. That's how much of a controlling personality I was with her (or maybe just back then). I remember those first few times it was a matter of talking her out of; telling her all the reasons we should stay together. And in those first few times it may have just been a matter of her being angry during the moment and thinking rashly. Maybe that's why the persuasive reasoning might have worked. But by those last few times it was a simple matter of imposing what I wanted over what she wanted. I often forget the lengths I went to stop her from walking out on us, but there was at least a couple of times, like the song says, where I physically stopped her from leaving.

The most public demonstration of this unyielding side of me was when we started a fight at The Olive Garden near my parents' house. I forget what we were fighting about, but I definitely remembered how it ended. She stormed outside, ostensibly to clear her head, which prompted me to follow her out. This lead to us arguing loudly out in the parking lot, loud enough to have the folks at Olive Garden tell us to not cause any trouble. More minutes passed. Then I remember DeAnn trying to walk away and say she would wait in the car for me. After that I must have snapped because the next thing I knew I was physically holding her back from getting to the car. I'm not just talking about grabbing her wrist or something; I'm talking about grabbing her around the waist from behind and lifting her off the ground so she couldn't run anywhere. It was the definition of keeping someone against their will. She was screaming by the time and I was screaming right back at her to just calm down and try to talk it over with me. Eventually patrons walking out of the restaurant and the restaurant manager herself came out to see what was going on. I remember one of them asked her if they should call the police on me. I think that's what finally settled us both down.

She told them no, and I let her down. Sooner or later we both went back inside to finish our dinner and talk about whatever it is we were fighting about. You would think that something that greatly unconscionable I would have remembered. Yet it tells you the frequency with which we fought and yelled in public that that incident doesn't stand out as being any more memorable than some of the others. It does illustrate, though, the lengths I used to go to get my way.

DeAnn used to say I had a look about me when I wasn't going to let go of something. She used to say that it didn't matter what she told me. If it wasn't what I wanted to hear than I would drag the fight out all night until she finally acquiesced to what I wanted her to say. It was very random the things I would obsess over. Big things I could be gracious with one day, like us spending my money on trips for us and such. But small things for no reason at all used to set me off into one of those moods. I remember one night I kept us up to all hours because I wanted her to name her favorite music group. She kept repeating that she didn't have one. Then, what started out as lively banter in the service of getting to know each other better, turned into an ordeal when I wouldn't let the topic go for about two or three hours. It ended like I wanted it to, with her finally having to give me a name that sounded ideally like what she would name as her favorite group. I didn't care if it was really true; I honestly cared more about the fact she wouldn't just say something, anything, at first and seemed hell bent on denying me my answer.

That's another thing she used to say about me. I didn't like it when people kept things hidden from me and with her when she would say "I don't know" or "I don't have an opinion," it felt like she was just being obstinate when she might literally not have had an opinion or any clue as to the answer to the question. That's when I would just snap and compel her to answer something. It may not having been torture in the sense of the word, but it's pretty darn close when someone basically interrogates someone else for hours on end until they give them the answer they want them to hear. And that's what I would do to her, I would obsess over the tiniest thing until I got a satisfactory result.

I think the worst came during those last few times when she was desperately trying to get across that she wanted to break up with me. I would do anything to get her to relent on her decision--even to the point of physical and emotional violence. I was the picture of the abusive boyfriend, keeping her in our apartment when she wanted to leave, threatening to crash the car when she wanted to break up with me while I was driving (like that would really stop me), &c....

I couldn't accept that she wanted it over. I wouldn't take her opinion over mine. I just couldn't see that, though it takes two people to make a relationship work, it only takes one to dissolve it. If I had known that before, if I had just bought into that fact I might have saved myself some heartache and at least one occasion having the police talk to me about possibly taking me down to the station for assault. I might have saved myself some trips to the emergency room taking care of her after something I accidentally did. I might have saved myself from going down a spiral I really did not want to go down.

I guess it was weird for me to hear those things my co-workers said about me. While I did do those things with DeAnn, since we've been broken up since 2003 I no longer think of myself as that person. I'm not the perfect friend, but in relation to how I am when I'm in a relationship, I'm a thousand times better of a friend than a boyfriend. Hopefully, I've learned something from my time with everyone I've ever gone out with. Hopefully, I'm a much different man than I was when I was with DeAnn and before with Tara and Breanne. I think I've learned a lot in the five years since then.

But, then again, five years isn't enough to see a complete turnaround so maybe there's still a little truth to my coworkers' opinion about me. Or, as my one co-worker told me jokingly, just because you don't see the sun all the time, it doesn't mean it stops shining. What's there may always be there for the rest of your life.

Maybe I just can't fight against my nature after all.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Civilization, Are We Really Civilized, Yes Or No? Who Are We To Judge?

--"Mr. Wendal", Arrested Development

As pointed out by my supervisor at work, I'm possibly the least attentive person in our department. I have a process to working that's worked for me for as long I've known. I can--or should I say, need to--juggle two or three things in my head at any time, but no more. Any time I'm called upon to notice anything outside of those three things, I utterly fail. Usually one of those details that I'm focused on has nothing to do with work and it's usually my safe harbor when I need a break from work-related stresses. That leaves two areas I can concentrate which have a slight connection to the responsibilities of my job. This handicap to my personality manifests in many ways. Sometimes it's called a faulty short-term memory. Sometimes it's called apathy or indifference. And sometimes people label it just plain weirdness. The actuality is that I tend to focus the whole of my attention on a few things at a time in much the same manner Goldilocks has to have her bed just so. I can't focus on just one activity nor can I really be called a multi-tasker. As aforementioned, I'm fairly decent at completing two or three jobs at once.

It's manifested in other facets of my life as well. There's a lot going on in this world that I simply haven't taken the time to care about or truly devoted any effort to noticing. When people picture the image of an ostrich burying its head in the sand they're usually picturing me. Chief among the complaints of the realities of our world that I've never contemplated before is the reality of racism. I've never spent many hours thinking long and hard about how it's affected me. I've never bothered to delve into the way it's touched me or people I've known. I've never even bothered to admit that it's really had any bearing in my life. For the most part I continue to believe that it doesn't brush up against my life at all.

I say this because my co-worker Antonio came back from Indiana and all he could talk about was how many "hillbillies" he was surrounded with over there. Antonio, if you haven't guessed by the name, is of Mexican descent so for him it was a noticeable difference being one of a very small sampling of minorities in the town he was visiting. While I was hearing the story it really struck me how often he called attention to the fact he pointed out he was surrounded by white people or how he noticed the difference between how he was often singled out there and not over here. It wasn't that he was being treated poorly--it was just surprising to hear how it really affected his whole weeklong trip. Me? I've been to all different parts of the country, from huge cities to the most backwater of backwater towns and I've never once come back with stories of how I felt like I was an outcast or different from everybody else. Hell, I just came back from Kentucky--not just Louisville, not just Lexington--but parts of southern Kentucky and parts of western Kentucky where the big cities aren't. All I could remember of the trip and the people there was how nice everyone else, and not just that facetious graciousness that you sometimes get in big cities in Los Angeles or New York, but genuine warmth and affection.

In fact, most trips I came back from all I really remember was how everyone treated me swell and how great a time I've had meeting new people. While I wouldn't go so far as to say I made huge gaggles of new friends, I don't remember a time where I said I hated the people in a particular city or that I made new enemies. For the most part, I've met only good people when I've been outside the safety of my Southern California perch. I just don't see people treating me differently because of my racial background, ethnicity, or whatever you want to call it. It doesn't mean it doesn't happen; it just means I've never seen it firsthand.

Like I said, I'm oblivious. Breanne tells me that. Toby tells me that. Even my own brother tells me that.

The closest I've ever come to noticing that there are places that treat you differently according to the color of your skin was when I was visiting Jina over in Wheeling, West Virginia. It was my first day there and her family treated me to breakfast at this local restaurant. When I walked in not only did I notice I was the only Asian/Pacific Islander in the room, I also noticed that I was the only non-white person in the room. So, yeah, people stared for the first couple of minutes, but no one at the other tables really said anything to cause me to become uncomfortable. After awhile I just forgot that I was anything out of the ordinary in that town. More to the point, when we were all walking out, no one stared at me as we got up and I didn't even bother to look around to see if anyone was even glancing at me from the side of their face. I honestly believe that any notion of people thinking I was the circus oddity disappeared as soon as I didn't make a huge deal out of it.

I guess that's what people refer to when they say I have a short-term memory. I don't dwell on things that don't really make a difference to me. Like Antonio can spend the bulk of his trip noticing how things are different where he is and how the people act differently where he is. I've always been able to keep my tunnel vision on how, except for some minor details, some minor surface changes, people really act the same way anywhere you go. I never call attention to the fact I'm different than anyone else. I don't shy away when people make eye contact with me. I don't get all paranoid that people are noticing every little move I make. I just never feel that much under scrutiny. That helps me a lot when I'm meeting new people. I have it within me to keep to the background and not call attention to myself. Yet when the opportunity to strike up a conversation with someone, that natural tendency hasn't stopped me from just butting my way into the conversation.

I've built a million anecdotes in my time and I'll unleash them on anyway, given the right atmosphere. Doing that has pretty much saved me from being a recluse wherever I go. Whether it's bonding with my fellow Red Sox fans on my first trip to Boston to the point where we were buying each other drinks by th 7th Inning, to talking the ears off the other passengers on the L while Lucy and I were there, I have a funny story for a lot of different references in a conversation. When it comes to me getting comfortable with people I don't know, I'm the Forrest Gump of storytelling. I'll just start spewing a tale of personal history as if I've known you for five years. For instance, i can't tell you how many random people I've told about my Holy Grail of Milkshake story or how many folks out there have had the misfortune of hearing my cousins tried to kill me in Lake Tahoe story. It's just how I relate to people. I don't think of them as being black or white, or whatever. To me they're just people who might be entertained by my stupid perspective of the world. And I don't look up at people as if they're judging me. Lord knows I'm far harsher on myself than anyone else could be.

I guess that's why I'm oblivious to thoughts of racism or sexism or any other word signifying how people wish to be grouped. I just see people as potential audiences. Either that or I see them as potential fodder for future stories. It's truly difficult to tell a story or capture a story if you're worried the entire time about if your audience is looking down on you for being Asian or if you look down on your characters because they're black or hispanic, or whatever. When people are just characters it almost doesn't matter to me what they look like; that's like background for the character, that's just their backstory. What interests me, what's important to me, is how they contribute to the story I'm in the process of writing for myself. What I take with me when I venture into uncharted territory--when I'm visiting Macon dressed so out-of-place and hanging off the arm of someone who so belongs there when it's obvious I don't, when I'm asking directions to a bourbon distillery in the back woods of eastern Kentucky while everyone is wondering what spaceship me and Toby just touched down together in, or when I'm even going shopping with the girls in conservative Orange County--is the idea everyone likes to hear a good story about people's foibles. More than that, they like being heard for their inconsistencies and their shortcomings.

Maybe that's why I haven't been smacked across the forehead with the palm of racism. I think everyone's got a story to tell and that makes them more valuable to get to know than not know. And that supersedes any thoughts of how we're different. It's our love of hearing about how the other person lives that unites us and makes us bond.

So yeah, I'm focused when it comes to seeing how people relate to each other. I could try and ponder why people are so hateful to one another. I could try and just see how people are strange. That could be me if I really wanted to dig up how we as humans fail one another time and time again. I could just say people are too weird to comprehend and be done with it.

I'd rather not just stop at thinking how peculiar other people are.

I'd rather go one step further and hear how they got to be so peculiar and fascinating. That beats dwelling to no avail on how their skin color just looks vastly different than my own. I'd rather hear their story and have them hear mine than live in a world where no one hears anybody's tale because they're too skeptical of being heard by one another.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

So Now I Come To You, With Open Arms, Nothing To Hide, Believe What I Say, So Here I Am With Open Arms

--"Open Arms", Journey

When she was alive, Jennifer and I used to talk about the merits of forthrightness. Her big kick was always that I should tell the people that mattered to me as often as possible how much I appreciated. My counterpoint was always that if you constantly tell somebody the same thing repeatedly, what you say begins to lose all meaning. I was always of the mindset that you should save up how you feel for those moments when it really matters, when it's really going to make a difference. I was always of the opinion that you needed to write those long letters spelling out everything that you love about a person because just spewing a generic bland statement of how you feel really doesn't cut it. Saying, "I love you," isn't the same as hearing a couple dozen reasons why you feel as such.

Or so I thought.

As I've gotten older I've realized that both schools of thought have their place. I've also realized that you can hide behind words as easily as you can put your true self forward with those same words. I've always been somebody who preferred to write at length about everything. Through high school, through college, my teachers tried to instill in me the value of keeping it simple, being direct and to the point. I would never listen. I would always compose at length because I thought it put more of who I was and what I was about there. Now I realize part of me sees lengthy compositions and a verbose manner of speaking are just crutches I use when I don't want people to see how I really feel. While I do say how I feel, I kind of use language and grammar to obfuscate the point. I'm hoping people don't have the time or the patience to wade through all my verbage to get at the real meat of what I'm saying. And, for the most part, it's worked. For everything I write, I think there's only a few people who truly go the distance to parce out the meat from the gristle, to borrow the expression.

However, there have been some times when I saw the value of just putting my heart out there and getting right to the point. There have been times where I just wanted someone to know immediately the depth of my appreciation for them in no uncertain terms. It doesn't happen often and it really leaves me more vulnerable than I usually like to be, but it does happen:

TO MY DEAREST FRIEND
by E. Patrick Taroc

To ask what friends like you are for
Is to doubt the joy life does bring,
To let one's fear become the door
That shuts out their light like evening.
So into your worth my heart I pour
And not to your meaning do I cling
For you're the friend that means so much more,
Is so much more than everything.

(07/20/95) Copyright 1995 E. Patrick Taroc

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Trudging Slowly Over Wet Sand, Back To The Bench Where Your Clothes Were Stolen, This Is The Coastal Town, That They Forgot To Close Down

--"Every Day is Like Sunday", Morrissey

Casey was digging through her old scrapbooks while I was over at her place the other day and came across some old St. Rita's pictures. I mean--knowing how bad I am at keeping photographs organized or in some place I can readily find them again, it's been awhile since I saw what everyone looked like, oh, from twenty years ago. It really was like looking on some other country or some other time period like the 1800's. The pictures of me I didn't even recognize. It was as if I was looking into the face of someone I had never met before. I had more than one moment of "Were we ever that young, Weatherfield?" to which I would receive the reply, "I was. You were never that young, mojo."

Indeed, I might have looked that young, but I don't think I ever felt that young. I've always felt old for my age even when I've acted immature. I've always felt like I've known more, could handle more, and wanted to do more than was age appropriate. Looking at myself in a mirror from the mid-80's is basically like looking at an earlier model of myself, but still completely functional as it is now. I believe I still had the same mindset back then, the same weird tendencies, and the same sense of self-identity that I carried with me when I was just a boy. I don't know what that says about myself that I may look a lot older from them, but I don't feel a lot older from then. I only feel more like the last twenty years haven't changed much for me--not for the worse or for the better. It just feels like I've had a whole lot of the same.


every day is like sunday

Seeing the old familiar faces of people I haven't heard from or seen in two decades--like Nicole, Krista, Rachel, and Caryl--isn't very healthy for me. It's like visiting a town I haven't seen in years and finding out that everything looks the same, but doesn't feel the same. Sure, I remember sorta what everyone was like back then, but I know they're not like that now. The paint and decor might still resemble the old facades they used to have, but they're not the same buildings I saw as a kid. If I were to meet most of these people now--Casey excluded--I doubt I'd have any emotional connection to their lives as they are being led now. If it weren't for the visual cues telling me we used to share eight hours a day together, I doubt I would have any interest in approaching any of them. They're not the same people I left behind. They wouldn't be the same people I left behind in Case's photographs. They wouldn't act like them, talk like them, or even resemble them in any way.

Nope, the only person as far as I can tell who would still resemble their former self would be me. I don't know which is more depressing, to revisit a town that you haven't been to in ages or to realize that you yourself have never left that sort of town ever in your lifetime.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Came The Last Night Of Sadness, And It Was Clear She Couldn't Go On, Then The Door Was Open And The Wind Appeared, The Candles Blew Then Disappeared

--"Don't Fear the Reaper", Blue Oyster Cult

In the summer between my ninth and tenth grade I moved into the guest house of my parents' place. It wasn't brought on by any one thing. I believe the impetus for the move was having spent a good deal of time entertaining friends in the house during my freshman year and that it would be kind of cool to have a place all to myself. I mean--the place had a separate entrance from the rest of the house. It had a separate gate from the rest of the house, through which I could enter and exit when my parents were asleep so that they would never know when I was leaving. And, once I had cajoled them the proper amount of time, it had its own mini-fridge and microwave. You could say there were weeks there where I never had to leave to talk to or interact with anyone else in my family.

Granted, that would be horrible for most people, but while I was growing up that didn't seem like a bad deal.

I think the only drawback to the arrangement was the fact I'm a terribly scaredy cat when it comes to ghosts. It was fine when I knew there was somebody down the hall or, at the very least, at the other end of the house to come rescue me should a ghost appear for whatever reason. It's another story when it would have been a matter of exiting out the front door of the guest house, crossing the yard in the dead of night, and then waking my parents or my brother up. I'm telling you--in those first few months I couldn't tell you how many times I scared myself silly with every bump or shadow that I heard or saw outside either of the large windows.

I tried to combat it in a couple of different ways. I took to praying a lot, even though I'm the most non-religious person in the world. I guess I picked up that bad habit from all the movies and television shows I've watched over the years. One might imagine that with an obsessiveness person like mine and the most irrational fear since Lucy's fear of thunder how many times I took to relying on repeating a prayer to combat whatever invisible demons may have invaded that little guest house. I don't think anyone else knew this besides four people, but there were some nights where I would literally say a hundred "Our Fathers" in a row, tucked beneath my covers. Honestly, I don't know if it was more to ward away evil spirits or if it was to drown out any errant noises they might have produced had they worked their way inside.

I took to calling people a lot late at night, especially people on the other side of the country. When three would roll around, I would call people at six in the morning Eastern time (after getting prior permission, of course) just so I could have someone to talk to when it was the dead of night. The hours between midnight and three were always the hardest because I knew if I couldn't fall asleep by then, then it would be another two hours before I could fall asleep with somebody on the other end of the line. It was also difficult because I couldn't tell most people that I was calling them to distract myself from working myself into a state of paranoia. I blamed it on insomnia. I blamed it on restlessness. I blamed it on being stressed out. But only a few people knew the real reason I was just too afeared to get comfortable.

Lastly, I took to watching television at all hours of the night. After eleven I'd probably watch another four hours of television. Again, this was just an effort to get to the magic hour of three o'clock when Jina or Tara or Breanne might be possibly up. That's how I got hooked on shows like The New Twilight Zone (which, yeah, did wonders for my efforts to ever sleep again that night), Northern Exposure, and Cheers. If anything, it's the getting into the habit of watching television after everyone else had fallen asleep that pretty much screwed up my sleeping patterns all through high school and college. Even when I wasn't scared, I'd gotten so used to watching my shows that I really didn't feel like sleeping once midnight rolled around.

No, it wasn't like this happened every night.

No, even when I did get scared there were some nights I didn't resort to any of the above methods. I fought through it.

And, no, nothing of any note did ever happen in that guest house paranormal-wise. Even when I did encounter what I now think of as a ghost, that was out in the backyard with Alice beside me and in the middle of the afternoon. That time I wasn't even frightened; I was more curious at what exactly I was looking at.

Yet that didn't stop me from thinking of the guest house as, what Breanne still calls, "the ghost house," for as long as I lived there, which was about ten years. Until I moved out with DeAnn, I had to deal with the possibility that whatever terrors I had worked up in my mind might strike again. Even while it dissipated with every passing year till the point when I was in college of having a bad attack maybe once every month or two months, it never quite went away. There were many nights when I was well into my twenties that I still had to call people because something had freaked me out in the backyard.

I mean--I asked for it. I'm the biggest sissy when it comes to believing in ghosts. Yet whenever somebody is spinning a good ghost story, I hang on every word. Or when there's a good horror movie on tv, I'll watch every minute of it. I've even bought books full of ghost stories because, even while it's one of the two things that scare me to death (aliens being the other), it's also one of the genres of storytelling that I seem to gravitate to. It's like my co-worker says all I do when I read up on the subject is open mind further into believing that they're really out there to get me. But it's just like I joke back, "just because you're paranoid about ghosts doesn't mean they're not out to get you." I'd rather read up on someone or something out to get me than be caught unawares.

Honestly, I think it was just that guest house that spooked the bejeezus out of me. It's proximity to the backyard, with all the trees and raccoons and skunks and rats rustling around in the vegetation, and its overall architecture with its high ceilings, that always seemed to produce cobwebs like rabbits multiplying and its creaking wood, produced the effect of making it seem like I was going to sleep in the Haunted Mansion. Indeed, I never thought of the two places DeAnn and I lived in as being rife with ghosts (her parents' house was another story, however). And when I moved out with Amber, even though I did see that floating head, I was never scared for my life like I was in that fricking guest house. And even here in Long Beach, even though I spend the same amount of time as I did while I was at my parents, I'm much more frightened of someone breaking in than anything paranormal manifesting themselves--which is to say not at all.

All of this has had the desired effect of aggravating my insomnia. I got into so many bad habits sleep-wise that I think it's too late for me to turn them around at this stage in the game.

But I think what it's done for me the most is to realize that I'm at my most heightened when I'm scared shitless because I'd have to say that almost 80% of my best writing was done when I was staying up late because I was scared. Almost all the assignments I did in high school and college were written as a distraction from what I didn't want to face within the confines of my walls. Almost all the creative leaps I took in trying stuff out were probably influenced by the lack of sleep I was experiencing at the time. The biggest proof of all of this theory is the fact I started this blog partly because I was writing my novel at the time and I couldn't fall asleep.

Rather than try to force the issue and lay awake, letting thoughts of ghosts and ghoulies into my conscious thoughts, I decided to write a blog because it wasn't yet time for me to be sleepy.

And that, folks, is how my irrational fear of ghosts lead me to be writing everything you've read from me here up until now.

Scary, isn't it? LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Can't Lie On My Bed Without Thinking I Was Wrong, But When This Feeling Calls This World Becomes Another, Nighttime Won't Hold Me In Your Arms Again

--"Too Young", Phoenix

I was watching Lost in Translation again tonight. Tonight would be about the sixteenth time I've seen the film since it first premiered in 2003 and I have to say it still holds up as one of my more favorite films ever. If it isn't in my top five, then it's definitely in my top eight.

I honestly believe it all has to do with the first few scenes of the movie where both Bob and Charlotte are experiencing those jags of restlessness that seemingly has been plaguing their trips up until that point. It's not boredom, per se, that comes across in these scenes, but an almost sense of ennui at the state they find themselves in. It's this oppressive lack of interest in anything around them that has always intrigued me about the story because without it the characters would seem rather snobbishness. I mean--who wants to see a story about two obviously entitled individuals going around Tokyo, discussing how unsatisfied they are with life and the universe? That would not be entertaining in the least to me. But those scenes, those subdued scenes of almost silent yet frantic desperation draw me into the story in a manner that having these characters bitch and moan about their plight in life would not. I don't too much about being a rich movie star or a affluent college graduate vacationing with her music photographer husband while staying in a ritzy hotel.

But physically struggling with what to do next with my life while being cooped up in a hotel room? That's something that I seem to go through every time I go on vacation.

It doesn't matter if I'm out of town by myself or with someone, I always end up in the same place that Bob and Charlotte do. I find myself at the end of a, by all appearances, productive day unable to sleep, unable to relax, and most of all unable to stop thinking about where I am at in this stage in my life. And I think I know why that is. At home I have enough activities to fill up my day. I have my routine. I go to work. I go hang out with my friends. I do what I normally do, day after day. But when I'm on vacation, all of a sudden I don't have the routine to hide behind. While the daylight hours might be filled with new experiences and going out with people to places that none of us have ever been before, eating the food we have never eaten before, and altogether experiencing facets of life we have never faced before, at night the same dark thoughts of being adrift in the sea of life come creeping back in. The only difference is I have no excuses to shield myself from it. I don't have the luxury of saying I need to get up early the next day and I don't have the excuses of it being something I need to worry about later on.

There always comes a night in the middle of my vacation where I can be found sitting in a chair in our hotel room, contemplating the complexities of my situation. I begin mulling over the sequence of events that lead me down the path to where I am at that moment. I start wondering what more I could be doing. I start mulling over what kinds of choices it's already too late to rectify. And I feel bad because it's usually when somebody is still sleeping in the bed, blissfully unaware that there is anything wrong. To them it's a vacation, but to me when those kinds of nights come, it feels like anything but an escape from those issues that keep me up at night. What it feels like is the moment when those kinds of concerns have finally caught up to me.


can you hear me calling?

I guess that's why I like the film, because it doesn't shy away from the fact that everyone--everyone--has moments of doubt that keep them from feeling fully functional. And I guess I like it because it doesn't offer up the easy answers to how best get past these spiritual or emotional blocks. If anything, it offers up the idea that most people we come across, like it or not, do not fully comprehend the struggles we may be dealing with at any one given moment in our lives. There are going to be the husbands and wives that are too busy with their lives to offer us assistance at times. There are going to be friends like Charlotte's friend who may hear the words we are saying, but not be really listening to the cries for help behind them. There are going to be thousands and thousands of people we come across everyday who haven't the slightest clue how wounded we may be when we meet them.

And yet there are going to be those exceptions, those select few who comprehend the struggles we can't put into words. And it doesn't even matter if they can offer up a cure. That's not really the point. A solution sometimes really is just the icing on the cake. What we need most sometimes is just someone to listen to the problem and to finally understand it. It's like the film puts forth, when you're in a land of people who don't quite understand you and you don't quite understand, sometimes it's just the hope that there's one person out there in the miserable world who does which gets you through your day.

It's like when I'm sitting in my chair in our hotel room all I can think about is how much I wish someone were awake to ask me if something's wrong. That's it. I can't even tell you how many times I've been in that kind of scene where I feel my angst isn't important enough to wake up somebody to vent. Yet, by the same token, I've worked myself up even more, wishing that that other person would just get up and check on me.

I don't know--I guess it's that idea that I'm always too scared to speak up about what I want and where I want to go that keeps me up into the wee hours of the night. And I guess it's the fear that even when I do work up the courage to tell somebody about it, they're not going to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Or worse, it's the fear that even if I do tell someone, they're going to minimize my fears or even mock me for them.

And those are the times I wish someone, anyone, would just wake up and hear me out.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

What I've Got's Full Stock Of Thoughts And Dreams That Scatter, You Pull Them All Together, And How, I Can't Explain, But You Make My Dreams Come True

--"You Make My Dreams Come True", Hall and Oates

If there's one thing I learned from playing all these board games in the last two years it's the difference between tactical skill and strategic skill. Basically, tactical skill is one when possesses a brilliant mind for short-term goals--making a move that earns the most points in one round or making a choice that effectively blocks another player. Strategic skill is when has the wherewithal to game plan their moves from the beginning to the end of the game--conserving money, biding one's time, striking only at the opportune moment. Both skills are necessary and both are hard to train if one is more adept at one skill than the other, but usually one maintains a preference throughout each game one plays.

Me? I've always been better at tactics than strategy. I've been labelled far too aggressive when I'm playing most games. I see the best move at the time and I take it, without any forethought as to how it will affect my later play. For instance, in Magic, I was notorious for relying on the hurricane as my endgame. Rather than take the time to piece a strategy together, I would rather blow myself and my opponent to smithereens at the first hint I was going to lose. I've just never been good at taking the long view on anything; I have far too many impulsive tendencies to ever get proficient at planning stuff out.

However, it's more than that. For most of my life I've relied on being good at whatever task's at hand. When I had to write an essay for the next day, I could always whip out an A paper in an hour or two without writing a first draft or much editing. When I had to read an instruction manual for tasks, be it learning a new video game or learning to drive a car, I've always been able to read and retain information quicker than the people around me. Or when I had to talk to somebody to get something I wanted (as opposed to make small talk or flirt, which I've always been horrible at), I have no fear in cutting to the chase. And, for the most part, I got what I wanted by doing things quickly and without hesitation. I think that set up a system where I was rewarded for making snap decisions and executing them at a moment's notice.

Now, whether it's planning for a trip or talking to people in every day life, I find myself rushing to conclusions and basing my responses off of that rather than waiting for the whole picture.

The only difference is it doesn't work as well as it did when I was younger. Now I'm having a hard time succeeding at tasks that require some patience or precision. I'm still expecting all my choices, messy and rough around the edges as they may be, to produce the same results as they did when I was a kid. And they just don't. Whether it's playing a board game with friends or dealing with my family and friends in real life, living for the moment and thinking about only what's happening now has lead to many situations where my efforts just fall short because I just didn't think it through. Worst of all, because I never trained that part of my faculties, I'm having a difficult time making the adjustment at this stage in my life. I keep expecting the decisions I make now to be all the decisions I need to make it to my ultimate goals; I keep thinking the small, quick choices I make will help me achieve my dream. But they don't.

And, let me tell you, there's nothing worse than realizing whatever you do now won't make a bit of difference because you already fucked it up in the beginning. There's nothing worse than being in the middle--the middle of a game, the middle of your life--and knowing you've already lost whatever chance you had of winning.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And We'd Still Be Ruled By Our Dueling Perspectives, And I'm Not My Perspective, Or The Lies I'll Tell You Every Time

--"The Absence of God", Rilo Kiley

I've never thought much about running a country, this one or any other one. That would be way too much power to bear upon my shoulders. I've never thought about the strength of character it requires, the sacrifices one has to make in order to succeed at a position like that, or the overall wherewithal one must possess to even imagine one could ascend to such a position of power. Nope, I can honestly say I have never once dreamed in my life of being President, King, or some other such honorific.

However, lately I've been spending my time doing just that at Nation States (www.nationstates.net) for the last week or so. Nation States, for those of you who have never tried it out, is a light simulation of what kind of government you would install if you had your own principality, country, or what have you. Basically, the minimalist way to play is you create a country name, come up with the name of your currency and national animal, and your flag. Then the game asks you six simple questions about the fundamental principles of your government and you're off and running. From that point on you'll get a prompt each night concerning an issue affecting your country currently. These range from wacky ones like the nudist contingent of your country want to repeal the public nudity ban to more serious ones like a terminally-ill woman stricken with non-operative cancer wants you to repeal the laws against euthanasia. The game presents you with a series of options, ranging anywhere from two to six, and, depending how you answer, your government is immediately changed the next morning when your decision goes into effect. The options usually affect a wide range of areas, from your economy to your stance on crime and punishment, from your stance on the environment to your feelings toward religion and spirituality. I can tell you from having only played for the last six days or so, no choice is ever just going to affect one area of your country. It's usually going to muddy up the waters in a vast range of areas, and usually in places you weren't expecting it to.

Now I know this isn't a true barometer of my leadership style or doesn't truly simulate the pressures a person in a position of supreme authority faces. But I do believe it tells me a little bit about what kind of government I would espouse if I could install the so-called perfect government. Granted, I'm not an expert about such things like Miss Cooper is over at Wonderland or Not so I can't be certain that what the game has classified my nation as truly reflects my beliefs. It's also true that I've only been mucking around for less than a week. My classification still has plenty of room to bloom and change colors completely. So far, though, it's sounding an awful lot like how I wish our government really was ran.

See what you think.



The Rogue Nation of Holins (yes, I named my country after Lucy... sue me. LOL) is rated good as far as civil rights go, has a developing economy, and is rated average as far as political freedoms go. It is firmly categorized as being run as a Democratic Socialist Government.

Also:

The Rogue Nation of Holins is a tiny, environmentally stunning nation, remarkable for its burgeoning wolf population. Its hard-nosed population of 8 million are fiercely patriotic and enjoy great social equality; they tend to view other, more capitalist countries as somewhat immoral and corrupt.

The enormous government devotes most of its attentions to Law & Order, with areas such as Commerce and Healthcare receiving almost no funds by comparison. The average income tax rate is 34%, but much higher for the wealthy. A small but healthy private sector is dominated by the Information Technology industry.

Thieves are flogged in public for their crimes, citizens select which government department gets their income tax shenanigans each year, all tariffs have been abolished, and citizens can be frequently spotted going about their business stark naked. Crime is moderate. Holins's national animal is the wolf, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the shenanigan.

Holins is ranked 3rd in the region and 40,055th in the world for Largest Publishing Industry.

Sure, I have to do something about that healthcare issue and, sure, that business about citizens running around stark naked is alarming. Yet, all in all, I'm pretty happy with the direction my country has taken. I've kept a decent balance of allowing political freedoms and civil rights without resorting sheer anarchy. If you know me at all, I've always backed the idea that people should do whatever they want as long as it makes them happy. But I've also felt like a nation's government truly is judged on how it treats its worse off citizens. On one hand, people should be able to do what they want. On the other hand, I'm a staunch supporter of a government providing the basic services to its people, even when its people don't recognize them as being basic services.

Capitalism, commerce, business--I've never truly been all too keen on so my answers to the issues I get presented each night and afternoon (I upped my issues to arrive twice a day) have never focused on growing my nation's wealth or financial infrastructure. I guess that's why my country devotes so little in the way of Commerce so far.

As far as the reintroduction of capital punishment and public flogging for thieves--I don't know--I've always taken a hard stance against crime. I did write a paper after all, suggesting that drunk drivers who end up killing someone should be fined heavily, then incarcerated for life, and then, just as they're about to die, be put to death in the electric chair. Yes, I was being ironic for effect... but not by much. I don't like criminals. I don't like crime. And I don't care about prevention and education as much as setting a swift deterrent and solution to any and all who step out of line. That's my one concession to conservatism.

Regarding the tariffs being abolished, that came about because my auto industry was pressuring me to raise tariffs in order to discourage foreign auto makers from dominating the marketplace. My response to do away with tariffs was entirely supported by the ideal that if our auto industry was that far behind in quality as to make poor competition for foreign car makers, then we really should get out of the auto industry entirely rather than waste time and money propping them up artificially. Again, I did not know this would mean repealing tariffs entirely in all industries, but I'm none too worked up about it. My economy is what it is, not the center point to what I'm thinking my country, my Holins, should look like.

I'm also quite happy about citizens getting 100% choice in where their tax dollars are spent. It may be impractical in the real world, but as far as keeping my citizens happy, I think it's a fucking absolute brilliant idea.

Lastly, regarding the nakedness, that couldn't be avoided. It was either keep things as they were, relax the laws on public nudity (which I chose), or go to the other extreme and make nudity mandatory. Once more, this fell under the purview of allowing people to choose for themselves what best made them happy. If letting the freak flag fly puts a smile on their faces, all the more power to them.

Overwhelmingly, I'm liking the direction my country is headed. I'm also liking what my choices are saying about me because I really didn't know on which side my opinion fell on a lot of the issues I've been presented until I was asked. For instance, I didn't know I was so anti-business and anti-capitalism until I was faced with having to choose between making money or making the majority of my people content. I also didn't know I was as hard-nosed against crime as apparently I am.

It's surprising to see just how much an exercise like this reveals about a person's personality and/or how they handle being in charge. I've gotten the chance to see how some of my closest friends would react to being placed as the Queen, the Prime Minister, or what have you, over a small country. Some of the results have really opened my eyes about which way some of their political, philosophical, and social leanings are oriented.

For example, can you guess who runs this country?



The Republic of Joybliss is considered a Left-Wing Utopia, has superb Civil Rights, a fair economy, and excellent Political Freedoms.

The Republic of Joybliss is a tiny, environmentally stunning nation, notable for its strong anti-business politics. Its compassionate, intelligent population of 8 million are free to do what they want with their own bodies, and vote for whoever they like in elections; if they go into business, however, they are regulated to within an inch of their lives.

It is difficult to tell where the omnipresent, socially-minded government stops and the rest of society begins, but it devotes most of its attentions to Social Welfare, with areas such as Law & Order and Commerce receiving almost no funds by comparison. The average income tax rate is 55%, and even higher for the wealthy. Private enterprise is illegal, but for those in the know there is a slick and highly efficient black market in Door-to-door Insurance Sales.

Meat-eating is frowned upon, high-income earners pay a 100% tax rate, euthanasia is legal, and the government is seen to favor Catholics. Crime is totally unknown. Joybliss's national animal is the cowardly lion, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the sankara.

Joybliss is ranked 4th in the region and 40,056th in the world for Largest Publishing Industry.

If you guessed our very own Toby, you'd be right. Apparently Toby is creating a commune the size of California. Sure, you pay half of whatever you make to the State, but in return the State takes care of everything for you. You don't even really need a job in Joybliss, according to her. All you need to do is stay informed about every social issue ever and make it to every election, which apparently are held weekly, if not daily in Joybliss. Also, you can't own a business or amass wealth, because she feels that leads to social inequality, which only leads to conflict.

And at the head of it all, you have Toby herself, like some fairy godmother... some very vindictive fairy godmother, granting the wishes of everyone and punishing all those who fall out of step with her version of paradise.

I mean--I knew she was crazy when it came to creating a version of the world where everybody's happy all the time, but to see that principle put into an approximation of reality is little frightening, I must say. And yet it totally makes sense for her. If you've ever met her, she's always had a philosophy that one shouldn't be unhappy for long stretches of time--that there's always a solution to keep oneself on a permanent or semi-permanent blissful state.

A veritable Joybliss, if you will. LOL

And what about her sister Faye? What does the indomitable Tattie feel is the best version of government?



The Armed Republic of Zimmerhans is considered an Iron Fist Consumerist country with few civil rights, a good economy, and all political freedoms have been outlawed.

The Armed Republic of Zimmerhans is a tiny, pleasant nation, renowned for its compulsory military service. Its hard-nosed, hard-working, cynical population of 8 million are kept under strict control by the oppressive government, which measures its success by the nation's GDP and refers to individual citizens as "human resources."

The enormous, corrupt government juggles the competing demands of Law & Order, Defence, and Commerce. The average income tax rate is 29%. A robust private sector is led by the Automobile Manufacturing industry, followed by Beef-Based Agriculture and Book Publishing.

Bicyclists are banned from major roads, there are no minimum wage laws, thieves are flogged in public for their crimes, and military spending is on the increase. Crime is a problem. Zimmerhans's national animal is the silver scarecrow and its currency is the discord.

Zimmerhans is ranked 1st in the region and 15,585th in the world for Largest Publishing Industry.

Faye's choices I believe more reflect a desire to differentiate herself from her sister. Yet there are some revealing choices contained within. She's always been in favor of the military, which stems from her having more than a couple friends overseas. She's always had a vendetta against people who flaunt their do-goodishness at saving the environment, which is where the ban on all bicycles comes in. Also, I think the idea of an oppressive government appeals to her because of anyone I know she hates the red tape and dearth of complications the current govenment has adopted. I think it's this ideal of a swift and firm central authority that she's after.

Lastly, there's Breanne:



The Queendom of Breasier is classified as a Psychotic Dictatorship. Breasier citizens have few civil rights, a decent economy, and are afforded rare political freedoms.

The Queendom of Breasier is a tiny, environmentally stunning nation, notable for its complete lack of prisons. Its compassionate, cynical population of 8 million are ruled without fear or favor by a psychotic dictator, who outlaws just about everything and refers to the populace as "my little playthings."

The enormous, corrupt government devotes most of its attentions to Social Welfare, with areas such as Law & Order and Commerce receiving almost no funds by comparison. The average income tax rate is 34%, but much higher for the wealthy. A small private sector is dominated by the Automobile Manufacturing industry.

Gambling is outlawed, punitive tariffs protect local industry, citizens are barcoded to keep track of their movements, and the koala is a protected species. Crime is totally unknown, despite the fact that it is difficult to make it through a day without breaking one of the country's many laws. Breasier's national animal is the koala, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the eeyore.

Breasier is ranked 2nd in the region and 38,019th in the world for Largest Publishing Industry.

This one's easy to peg. Breanne's a control freak. LOL Not only that, but she enjoys being in the spotlight way too much to give up power to anyone or any other group. I know it's played up for entertainment, but I totally can see Lucy running her own version of a dictatorship.

And the koala thing? Come on, who didn't see that coming?

----

I know all my assertions with a grain of salt. I feel like I'm the only one of the four of us taking it seriously. However, it's nice to see how people you know would react if they could do anything and everything without being questioned. I always thought it was far more telling to see a person make choices when their freedom isn't impinged than when they are kept confined in a finite set of parameters. Do I foresee Marion instituting a statute that forces all rich people to hand over their entire sum of their wealth should she become president? I don't think so. Just as I don't think Tattie would do away with all bicycles in the country and minimum wage. Those choices, personal as they may be, don't reflect what a person would do if handed the keys to the kingdom and told to keep it going for the next few years. They represent the choices one would make in a moral and ethical vacuum.

In the end, I think a person's upbringing and sense of justice or morality would prevail over them ruling entirely based upon their personality type. And while it's fun to think of my friends as being these amoral and morally twisted puppet masters, I think the picture you see of them from this game isn't an accurate portrait of them. Revelatory as they may be, the decisions they made in-game only shed light on a particular facet of their character that I might have never seen before. It's putting their perspective on certain topics at the forefront of my recognition, but it ignores so much else.

So I take it as just another page in the large encyclopedia that comprises the whole of their being. It's not everything there is to know about so-and-so--not even close. It's just a small sampling of the overall product.

But Breanne? Oh yeah, psychotic dictator is right on the money. LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Something So Strong, Could Carry Us Away, Something So Strong, Could Carry Us Today

--"Something So Strong", Crowded House

I admit it. This project got away from me. Five years ago (to the day) when I set about to start a blog finally, I was originally intending it to be what most blogs age. It was to be something that I worked on maybe once or twice a week. It was to be something that would chronicle the progress of my novel (in waiting... LOL) The Carisa Meridian. It was also supposed to be a solitary project, devoid of any assistance and devoid of anyone else's input. When I first set about writing this thing called California is a Recipe for a Black Hole, that's what I wanted. I wanted to follow the example set forth by my direct inspirations, Sammie's sdfsdfwox.org and Mindy's 5ilver.net, both great reads that were deeply personal to the authors, but never seeming to be over-produced and stylized. That just seemed to flow from brain to screen to reader, and that's the effect I wished to attain.

It just didn't work out that way.

I soon found out, much like in my days with Amethyst Exchange or Our Magazine, I have far too much to say most days and not enough time to say it all. That blew the whole concept of writing only once or twice a week a way. There was a time there, especially before Lucy signed on, that I was writing every day. I would tell me myself that I wrote only the day before and there simply was no need to post anything again so soon. But I would never listen. I would formulate a new idea somewhere along in my day, prompting me to break my promise, prompting to post back-to-back-to-back days.

Just as quickly I found myself having more fun writing on this blog than I did having writing my novel. It wasn't that my novel wasn't exciting to me. It was merely the fact that my novel demanded four to five hours of uninterrupted time to churn out one chapter of about fifteen to twenty pages. This blog, however, took an hour or two at most. Some days it only took me thirty or forty minutes to write. When I once again found gainful employment, I no longer possessed vast amounts of time to devote to writing a chapter every other day. But I did have time enough to write a post here and there. It became much simpler to translate whatever themes or motifs I was dreaming of using in my long story into my long posts. There was an immediate response there, whereas there was a part of my brain that knew most people would never even discover all the little insights I had packed into the later chapters of my novel. Most people who said they wanted to sample my novel never got past more than the first four or five chapters. That seemed like a waste of perfectly good idea, to place them in chapters fourteen onward, when I could get people's opinions immediately if I placed them here.

Lastly, after about six months of simply writing about myself, I got sick of it. It's not that I don't think I lead an eventful life. I do. It's just that, as a writer, I got sick of writing about me day after day. Sure, I could have limited the amount of time I devoted to the blog. By then, though, I had come to expect new material being displayed here every day or at least every other day. That's why I had to bring Breanne in, to break up the monotony. At first I was only going to have her write 15% of the time. That quickly grew to 33% to 40% of the time. At first she was going to be the only partner I took on here. Yet when "the troubles" began with her and her husband I knew I would have to find a replacement, temporary or otherwise. Fortuitously, Toby showed up in my life as she did because she did an admirable job of learning the ropes around here and then filling in for Little Miss Chipper when she finally did take her little sabbatical to work on her marriage.

So, yeah, this whole initiative got away from me. I was never intending it to take on the form it currently displays.

Of course, without these changes to policy and format, I had never intended to go on for five years either. I never had a time limit, but I was always of the mind that I'd stop doing this project as soon as it ceased being a joy to work on. I thought, like everyone seemingly starts a blog these days, that I would get bored and just hang up my pen one day.

I have to say, though, the way the cogs move and the manner in which the machine we've set up here churns along with a minimum of fuss, I might be writing this blog until I die. I never overwhelmed--none of us do. I mean--I post here at most three times a week, but mostly twice a week now. And the gals? They post once maybe twice a week. None of us feel pressured to put something down that isn't ready because we know everyone else has something to cover us should we feel like taking a break from it all.

I know personally that I feel like this is more like a fun retreat away from the real world than some kind of chore. Even when I end up writing five or even fifteen more pages than I intended to, it never feels like I have to fight my way to the end. It's just a pleasure to write here... with the best partners in the business and a mission statement that really is easy to attain. As it stands now, every post here just has to have three main ingredients. It has to be personal, it has to be entertaining, and it has to be more about the words than pictures or videos or links. Three simple ideas are all that govern what goes on here.

And yet the feeling is because there are really no restrictions at what one can write here, there really is no possible chance to run out of things to say. I mean it when I say I could see myself writing here forever.

And I daresay, without even having to ask B or Marion, that the feeling definitely is mutual.

Happy Fifth Anniversary to us!

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers