It was a usual scene -- a park teeming with joggers. Every sphere of life-- i.e. childhood, youth, and old age—was scattered all over the park. Sweating faces, sloshing paunches, and swift legs ruled the early morning hour of the park.
I was there sitting on a bench after taking a light stroll. Since, I was in the middle of the oval garden, I was able to reckon rounds that people were taking. Some took 20 laps of swift walk, while some preferred to only 5.
After a while a couple with an almost 10 years old boy entered the park and started their rounds of health. Both parents had clutched hands of the boy from either side. The boy was walking in the middle of his parents. They took one lap and completed second and went on. When this family crossed my eyes after the third lap, a little girl of six caught my attention. She was insisting her grandfather on playing football with her. It was obvious from grandpa’s gestures that due to his arthritis, he was trying to persuade the little lady to be confined to his lap. Grandpa tried to veer her attention from football and pointed his finger toward the sky to show a flock of birds. And I assumed (the constant stare of the girl toward the sky helped me assume) that the old chap conjured up a story then and there to placate the football passion of the girl. The girl lost into the story; I, into the Sky.
“How vast the bosom of the Sky is?” I thought. The decoration of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars weaves a spectacle for the eyes. There is very hardly any roof in this world as sumptuously accoutered as the Sky. I was enthralled at the grandeur of nature.
My attention pertaining to the glorification of the nature broke by the footsteps coming toward a bench beside mine. It was those three who had entered a while ago. After the tiring rounds of walk, they had come to relax on the bench. For some time they relished the breathtaking view around the park, before being disturbed by the honking horn of an ice-cream-man. The child tugged on the sari (a dressing piece of cloth for women in India) of her mother to let her know his demand of an ice cream cone. Mother complied with his demand and bought him a cone of ice cream.
I wondered why he himself didn’t reach out for the ice cream trolly, like many children do?
On closer examination, I came to know that he was unable to see. That is why his parents were helping him to finish up the ice cream. After devouring the delicious dollops, he rested his back on the rear part of the bench. His translucent eyeballs rolled from one corner to the other corner of his eyes tracing every sound that happened in the atmosphere. In fact the eyeballs were corresponding with the directions his ears gave him as to a sound. He was continuously active with his two organs to explore the surrounding he was in.
“What an irony!” I thought. “There is so much of color around him, but he was deprived of that.” My heart got filled with sympathetic feelings for him. I felt vicarious pain for his inability to see things. I cursed every thing from God to nature for the injustice done to this little soul.
With feelings of despondency, I made an approach to converse with him by asking his name. (His father erased skepticism in his eyes for a stranger’s voice by addressing me as uncle and told him to tell me his name.)
“Sumit” he sounded sonorously.
“In which class do you read, Sumit?” I asked.
“Class five”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“He sings very well, has won many music competitions too.” Informed his father.
“Oh! Is it?” “… Then why no have a music treat from you?”
The boy was shy to start with, but once he started singing (upon his mother’s encouragement), I was spellbound. The voice of his had a glimpse of aplomb, which can surmount any difficulties of life; the shimmer in his eyes had grains of grit, that can pierce any citadel of success; and the whole body of his had elements of ebullition, which can indefatigably encourage him to stay optimistic in life.
The song, which was a hymn, ended and ‘bravo’ spelt out of my mouth. His parents clapped.
The pleasant duration of morning was passing by quickly and the Sun was becoming a little bitter to bear. All three rose to take leave, I insisted to walk for some distance with them. Halfway our journey, I found a grocery shop. I went into it and bought a packet of chocolates for Sumit. I came out and gifted the packet to him in appreciation of his entertaining performance for me. He received the packet with élan; he was ecstatic. I could feel his emotions through his smiling lips. After a few minutes, we parted ways.
I was alone and strolling back to my destination. Some notions started springing up in my mind. They were troublesome for me. These views were about my prior contemplation about the kid. I thought why I felt pessimistic about the existence of the kid. The boy was full of life and I had described his life as drab and bland. Why I thought downside about the boy, only because he couldn’t see. Is it that only people with ability to see have the right to enjoy the gifts of life? No, life can be enjoyed even without the ability to see.
Enjoyment of life has nothing to do with the ability to see, but to the ability to feel. If one can feel life, then one is alive, otherwise dead. But this is not the situation with the ability to see. One can miss the light of eyes and at the same time enjoy the life to the full. I am not sure whether I was dead, when I thought hopeless things about the lad, but am sure about now that I am alive. Because, I am enlightened and know something more as to life than I did an hour or so before.
Finnaly, it dawned on me that I was utterly wrong in assessing his plight. And the acknowledgement of mistake was with a guilt feeling. That day I promised myself that I won’t fell sorry for any disabled person in the future, for this belittles the importance of their struggle and courage that they use to lead this life. The crux of my thinking session was that the moment I feel that somebody is disabled; I make myself disabled too. Because this way I manifest my disabilities to comprehend the import of their existence in encouraging us (the abled ones) to conquer the impediments of life without any grievances. Anyways life is a learning curve and everyone is learning something or the other by every passing moment. I have learnt a lesson too that I will remember until I die err as long as I live.
Contributed by:~Neeraj Kumar
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Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
An ism that deserves extinction
An ism that deserves extinction
World has seen several sorts of ‘isms’ so far—Communism, Socialism, Patriotism etc…. Each ‘ism’ has to do with deaths of people ranging from mild to major extents. Deaths caused by these ‘isms’ have some tenable arguments. But there is one ‘ism’ where deaths caused are diametrically untenable. And this ‘ism’ has terror as its crux.
To frighten somebody having only extremities as fighting weapons in comparison to sophisticated Kalashnikovs and A.K. 47s is an outright act of abject cowardice. But the terrorist outfits hail such acts as paradigm of valour and heroism.
When tender flesh of suckling babies get lacerated by splinters ;when defenseless women and the elderly are perforated with sharp bullets ; and when young frames ,that are only recourse of their frail parents in their twilight, get punctured by the mortal grenades—the soul of terrorism achieves utter ecstasy. People, who carry precarious attacks to satiate the imaginary doctrines of their religion, believe that their God will commend such deeds and welcome them with open arms in the divine pasture of heaven. Seldom do they realize that when a bereaved mother’s (be she of any religion) eyes become a puddle of grief and pain, their own formless God’s eyes emanate drops of blood.
It doesn’t matter however strong and pious is the cornerstone of arguments for terrorist acts, if such acts ruthlessly and incessantly try to smother the laughter of children (whom everybody’s God loves the most), then these acts are antithesis of God’s desires for a tolerant world.
Killing of vulnerable school children, unprepared tourists, and unarmed hotel staffs is highly unlike the tenet of the religion in which name the massacre is carried out. Because this monotheistic religion exhorts to give the least amount of pain possible even to animals that need to be slaughtered to douse the fire of hunger.
I don’t think that such considerate religion will have a God with a heart as callous as stone. And I don’t think it either that ferocious and savage deeds of scare that are touted as wish list of Allah are even approved of by the almighty, let alone the talk of getting prime posts in heaven.
When humanity is tattered and humans don the mantle of demons, the casualty is the piety of God’s desires. And what God desires? It desires that one human becomes the tool for blowing life in the veins of other humans instead of scotching their breath; It desires that one human becomes the tool to adorn other humans’ sky with scintillating stars instead of covering it with daunting clouds; and it desires that one human enlightens other humans’ brain about the true will of its and real objectives of human life instead of enmeshing them into the fallacious crusades.
The earth is like a garden and life on it is like luscious flowers. When these flowers bloom and the fragrance of humanity envelops the world, the God’s purpose of fashioning life out of earth reaches apogee of magnanimity. But when acidic standpoints try to wilt these flowers perforce, God’s purpose of creating humans injures. And terrorism is one such act that mutilates brutally the wholesome intentions of God to harvest smiles in volumes, out of a life elapsed on the earth.
Terrorists dedicate their reprehensible act to the glorification task of their God’s regime. But they hardly realize that by killing innocents they can only earn curse and wrath of their God. Though terrorism in discussion entails religion as its integral aspect, it shows every signs of nihilism. Terrorism annihilates very emotions of sympathy and compassion —which are sine qua non elements of a religion. And when a religion gets bereft of these two aforesaid facets, the religion becomes hollow. And what I am trying to convey is that the terrorists don’t represent Islam but a deceptive and beguiling pile of notions that are purported as essentially Islamic.
Terrorist mindset argues that means of devastation are used to bring forth the gripe and grievances of a community. But trying to get justice with unjust tactics not only dwarfs the stature of the efforts to be heard but it also brings the unwitting ignominy to the religion in which name the war has been waged.
I pray for a situation in this world wherein some panacea replaces rabid grouse and salubrious ideology replaces sucking terrorism!
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
World has seen several sorts of ‘isms’ so far—Communism, Socialism, Patriotism etc…. Each ‘ism’ has to do with deaths of people ranging from mild to major extents. Deaths caused by these ‘isms’ have some tenable arguments. But there is one ‘ism’ where deaths caused are diametrically untenable. And this ‘ism’ has terror as its crux.
To frighten somebody having only extremities as fighting weapons in comparison to sophisticated Kalashnikovs and A.K. 47s is an outright act of abject cowardice. But the terrorist outfits hail such acts as paradigm of valour and heroism.
When tender flesh of suckling babies get lacerated by splinters ;when defenseless women and the elderly are perforated with sharp bullets ; and when young frames ,that are only recourse of their frail parents in their twilight, get punctured by the mortal grenades—the soul of terrorism achieves utter ecstasy. People, who carry precarious attacks to satiate the imaginary doctrines of their religion, believe that their God will commend such deeds and welcome them with open arms in the divine pasture of heaven. Seldom do they realize that when a bereaved mother’s (be she of any religion) eyes become a puddle of grief and pain, their own formless God’s eyes emanate drops of blood.
It doesn’t matter however strong and pious is the cornerstone of arguments for terrorist acts, if such acts ruthlessly and incessantly try to smother the laughter of children (whom everybody’s God loves the most), then these acts are antithesis of God’s desires for a tolerant world.
Killing of vulnerable school children, unprepared tourists, and unarmed hotel staffs is highly unlike the tenet of the religion in which name the massacre is carried out. Because this monotheistic religion exhorts to give the least amount of pain possible even to animals that need to be slaughtered to douse the fire of hunger.
I don’t think that such considerate religion will have a God with a heart as callous as stone. And I don’t think it either that ferocious and savage deeds of scare that are touted as wish list of Allah are even approved of by the almighty, let alone the talk of getting prime posts in heaven.
When humanity is tattered and humans don the mantle of demons, the casualty is the piety of God’s desires. And what God desires? It desires that one human becomes the tool for blowing life in the veins of other humans instead of scotching their breath; It desires that one human becomes the tool to adorn other humans’ sky with scintillating stars instead of covering it with daunting clouds; and it desires that one human enlightens other humans’ brain about the true will of its and real objectives of human life instead of enmeshing them into the fallacious crusades.
The earth is like a garden and life on it is like luscious flowers. When these flowers bloom and the fragrance of humanity envelops the world, the God’s purpose of fashioning life out of earth reaches apogee of magnanimity. But when acidic standpoints try to wilt these flowers perforce, God’s purpose of creating humans injures. And terrorism is one such act that mutilates brutally the wholesome intentions of God to harvest smiles in volumes, out of a life elapsed on the earth.
Terrorists dedicate their reprehensible act to the glorification task of their God’s regime. But they hardly realize that by killing innocents they can only earn curse and wrath of their God. Though terrorism in discussion entails religion as its integral aspect, it shows every signs of nihilism. Terrorism annihilates very emotions of sympathy and compassion —which are sine qua non elements of a religion. And when a religion gets bereft of these two aforesaid facets, the religion becomes hollow. And what I am trying to convey is that the terrorists don’t represent Islam but a deceptive and beguiling pile of notions that are purported as essentially Islamic.
Terrorist mindset argues that means of devastation are used to bring forth the gripe and grievances of a community. But trying to get justice with unjust tactics not only dwarfs the stature of the efforts to be heard but it also brings the unwitting ignominy to the religion in which name the war has been waged.
I pray for a situation in this world wherein some panacea replaces rabid grouse and salubrious ideology replaces sucking terrorism!
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
Attitude is eveything
Harvard and Stanford Universities have reported that 85% the reason a person gets a job and gets ahead in that job is due to attitude; and only 15% is because of technical or specific skills.
Interesting, isn’t it? How much money you spent on your education? And how much you spent on building your positive attitude?
That hurts.
Now here is an interesting thought.
With the "right" attitude, you can and will develop the necessary skills.
So where is your emphasis? Skill building? Attitude building? Unfortunately, "Neither" is the real answer. Perhaps if more people knew how simple it is to develop and maintain a positive attitude they would invest more time doing so.
So here we go.
Five steps to staying positive in a negative world:
*Understand that failure is an event, it is not a person. Yesterday ended last night; today is a brand new day, and it is yours. You were born to win, but to be a winner you must plan to win, prepare to win, and then you can expect to win.
*Become a lifetime student. Learn just one new word every day and in five years you will be able to talk with just about anybody about anything. When your vocabulary improves, your I.Q. goes up 100% of the time, according to Georgetown Medical School .
*Read something informational or inspirational every day. Reading for 20 minutes at just 240 words per minute will enable you to read 20 (200-page) books each year. That is 18 more than the average person reads! What an enormous competitive advantage . . . if you will just read for 20 minutes a day.
*The University of Southern California reveals that you can acquire the equivalent of two years of a college education in three years just by listening to motivational and educational cassettes on the way to your job and again on the way home. What could be easier?
*Start the day and end the day with positive inputs in your mind. Inspirational messages cause the brain to flood with dopamine and nor epinephrine, the energizing neurotransmitters; with endorphins, the endurance neurotransmitters; and with serotonin, the feel-good-about-yourself neurotransmitter. Begin and end the day by reading or doing something positive!
Remember: Success is a process, not an event. Invest the time in your attitude and it will pay off in your skills as well as in your career.
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
Interesting, isn’t it? How much money you spent on your education? And how much you spent on building your positive attitude?
That hurts.
Now here is an interesting thought.
With the "right" attitude, you can and will develop the necessary skills.
So where is your emphasis? Skill building? Attitude building? Unfortunately, "Neither" is the real answer. Perhaps if more people knew how simple it is to develop and maintain a positive attitude they would invest more time doing so.
So here we go.
Five steps to staying positive in a negative world:
*Understand that failure is an event, it is not a person. Yesterday ended last night; today is a brand new day, and it is yours. You were born to win, but to be a winner you must plan to win, prepare to win, and then you can expect to win.
*Become a lifetime student. Learn just one new word every day and in five years you will be able to talk with just about anybody about anything. When your vocabulary improves, your I.Q. goes up 100% of the time, according to Georgetown Medical School .
*Read something informational or inspirational every day. Reading for 20 minutes at just 240 words per minute will enable you to read 20 (200-page) books each year. That is 18 more than the average person reads! What an enormous competitive advantage . . . if you will just read for 20 minutes a day.
*The University of Southern California reveals that you can acquire the equivalent of two years of a college education in three years just by listening to motivational and educational cassettes on the way to your job and again on the way home. What could be easier?
*Start the day and end the day with positive inputs in your mind. Inspirational messages cause the brain to flood with dopamine and nor epinephrine, the energizing neurotransmitters; with endorphins, the endurance neurotransmitters; and with serotonin, the feel-good-about-yourself neurotransmitter. Begin and end the day by reading or doing something positive!
Remember: Success is a process, not an event. Invest the time in your attitude and it will pay off in your skills as well as in your career.
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
The Other Side
The way we are taught life, there is the other side the journey across to where is not a guaranteed safe one. Glamorous though, it has got its own price to pay. When we see people who have reached there strut their stuff, we feel like doing the same. They become muses for short lived fantasies that die quickly and come to life the few times that they can and then again die quickly, the whole process repeating itself over and over again thus making it a waste of a process to go through. Yet we go through it intentionally realizing that it is the closest that we can get to the other side from such a distance.
We repeatedly remind ourselves of the real world and how unrealistic it would be to head there. When we see potential, even more so when we can take it to where it can get the worth it deserves, we remind them and ourselves of the reality of life that it can only happen if it will it can never happen if it wont. The other side is a place one is lucky and privileged to be in. Potential plays no role in whether you deserve to get across or not. If you gain passage to the other side and its not where you want to be, you might as well make use of it. But who wouldn't? Life doesn't get any better.
The secret of the other side is that there weren't supposed to be two sides. That should have been the end and this side should have been the beginning. The problem is that when you do what you love doing, you lay it all on the line. That involves risk and leaving things to chance but there is no safety net under you- that's the adventure part. That what scares people. It holds them back from venturing across.
If no one can tell you any better and you don't know any better, figure it out for yourself. Figure out what you don't understand and what you want to know. For your own good, you wouldn't want to be as old as people who should have seen and known it all by virtue of their experience in life and be asked by someone as old as you are now about life and the way it works and be too ill-informed about it to give them the answer. If that were the only way to go about things, any other way around or about would only give you less. You cannot expect more out of life than what you put in.
Contributed by:Sunil Noronha
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Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
We repeatedly remind ourselves of the real world and how unrealistic it would be to head there. When we see potential, even more so when we can take it to where it can get the worth it deserves, we remind them and ourselves of the reality of life that it can only happen if it will it can never happen if it wont. The other side is a place one is lucky and privileged to be in. Potential plays no role in whether you deserve to get across or not. If you gain passage to the other side and its not where you want to be, you might as well make use of it. But who wouldn't? Life doesn't get any better.
The secret of the other side is that there weren't supposed to be two sides. That should have been the end and this side should have been the beginning. The problem is that when you do what you love doing, you lay it all on the line. That involves risk and leaving things to chance but there is no safety net under you- that's the adventure part. That what scares people. It holds them back from venturing across.
If no one can tell you any better and you don't know any better, figure it out for yourself. Figure out what you don't understand and what you want to know. For your own good, you wouldn't want to be as old as people who should have seen and known it all by virtue of their experience in life and be asked by someone as old as you are now about life and the way it works and be too ill-informed about it to give them the answer. If that were the only way to go about things, any other way around or about would only give you less. You cannot expect more out of life than what you put in.
Contributed by:Sunil Noronha
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
10 Ways to Reduce Commuting Stress
Do you get out of your car with a queasy stomach, a headache and your blood pressure registering through the roof? If you do, that energy vulture called stress may have sent your pulse skyrocketing. In a study conducted at the University of California at Irvine, researchers found that the stress of commuting takes a major toll on health. According to the study, it has direct physiological effects of raising blood pressure and releasing stress hormones into the body. Not only that, long commutes (more than 18 miles one way) may also increase the likelihood of having a heart attack due to exposure to high levels of air pollutants, which appears to be a risk factor for heart disease.
Although there is no antidote to stressful commuting, there are many ways to shoo off the energy vulture. Here is how to thrive while you drive.
1. Prepare in advance
One of the best ways to lessen the strain of road rage is to prepare everything the night before. Clothes, documents, attaché cases, and even packed lunches should be set the day before to avoid the morning rush. With everything champing at the bit, you'd save plenty of time to do your morning routines, devour a good breakfast and enjoy special moments with the family. Best of all, you can dash out the highway free of traffic congestion.
2. Sleep well and wake up early
A good night's sleep rejuvenates the body. Make it a habit to have enough sleep and to rise early. If you are already stressed-out the day before, an incomplete repose takes over cumulative stress effects into your life at work and at home. Your frustration levels at work eventually rises, your brainpower falters, and your mood at home sours. You have no energy left for enjoying life.
3. Juggle your work hours
Why pack the freeways with all the other "9-to-5"-ers when you can try a ten-to-six or an eight-to-four shift? Depending on your company's work policy, try to check out other shifts that fit your lifestyle. Choose one that would help you get rid of energy-depleting stress. Allow yourself to lighten your highway woes.
4. Share your ride
It may be a hassle to coordinate your arrival and departure with another person or two, but carpooling is worth it. Studies show that ridesharing lowers commuter stress significantly. With carpooling, there is less air and noise pollution, less traffic congestion, and you can relax more while someone else does the driving.
5. "Cocoon" in your car
Instead of being worked up when traffic is at a standstill, utilize your time wisely. Listen to the radio or pop in some music tapes to take your mind off the stop-and-go driving and traffic tie-ups. If you like to read but just cannot have time to flip pages of a book, check out books on cassette. Many libraries have full-length books on tape as well as abridged versions. You can even learn a new language or do some car exercises like shoulder rolls, neck extensions and tummy tucks to help you stay awake and relax.
6. Pillow your back and squirm
When you're standing, the lumbar area of your spine (the lower portion) normally curves inward, toward your abdomen. However, when you are sitting, it tends to slump outward squeezing your spinal disks and putting stress on them. According to back expert Malcolm Pope, Ph.D., director of the Iowa Spine Research Centre at the University of Iowa, it helps to support your back by tucking a rolled towel or a pillow in that lumbar section. In cases of longer drives, since sitting in one position for longer than 15 minutes gradually stiffens you even with a back pillow, make necessary adjustments for a comfy ride. For instance, you can try putting most of your weight on one buttock and then the other. Then, shift the position of your seat or your buttocks slightly. You may even try sliding down in your seat and sit up again for fun.
7. Work out after work
Since the evening rush is worse than the morning rush because of the compounded fatigue from the workday, it is best to wait out the traffic. Work out at a gym near your office or take meditation classes to relieve your stress. If you plan to go to dinner, see a movie or go shopping, try to do these things near work, delaying your departure enough to miss the maddening rush.
8. Give yourself a break
It may be a good idea to give yourself some day off from work. Many companies today offer compressed working hours or longer working days to give way to work-free days for you to unwind.
9. Move your office
If your job is a long drive ahead everyday, inquire at work if the company would allow you to work at home some days of the week or if you can work near your place. An alternative work schedule would make you feel less tense and in control thereby reducing stress.
10. Occasionally change your routine
An occasional change of commuting habits may be advisable too. Try walking or bicycling, as a a change. There's nothing like a good walk to ease tension especially when it means you don't have to get in your car and fight rush hour traffic.
By lessening the stress of getting to work, you are conserving enormous amounts of energy that may be lost over stressful commuting. It does not only leave you a lot more energy to do your job and become more productive but it also makes you feel good and gives you a good reason to always start your day right.
Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
Although there is no antidote to stressful commuting, there are many ways to shoo off the energy vulture. Here is how to thrive while you drive.
1. Prepare in advance
One of the best ways to lessen the strain of road rage is to prepare everything the night before. Clothes, documents, attaché cases, and even packed lunches should be set the day before to avoid the morning rush. With everything champing at the bit, you'd save plenty of time to do your morning routines, devour a good breakfast and enjoy special moments with the family. Best of all, you can dash out the highway free of traffic congestion.
2. Sleep well and wake up early
A good night's sleep rejuvenates the body. Make it a habit to have enough sleep and to rise early. If you are already stressed-out the day before, an incomplete repose takes over cumulative stress effects into your life at work and at home. Your frustration levels at work eventually rises, your brainpower falters, and your mood at home sours. You have no energy left for enjoying life.
3. Juggle your work hours
Why pack the freeways with all the other "9-to-5"-ers when you can try a ten-to-six or an eight-to-four shift? Depending on your company's work policy, try to check out other shifts that fit your lifestyle. Choose one that would help you get rid of energy-depleting stress. Allow yourself to lighten your highway woes.
4. Share your ride
It may be a hassle to coordinate your arrival and departure with another person or two, but carpooling is worth it. Studies show that ridesharing lowers commuter stress significantly. With carpooling, there is less air and noise pollution, less traffic congestion, and you can relax more while someone else does the driving.
5. "Cocoon" in your car
Instead of being worked up when traffic is at a standstill, utilize your time wisely. Listen to the radio or pop in some music tapes to take your mind off the stop-and-go driving and traffic tie-ups. If you like to read but just cannot have time to flip pages of a book, check out books on cassette. Many libraries have full-length books on tape as well as abridged versions. You can even learn a new language or do some car exercises like shoulder rolls, neck extensions and tummy tucks to help you stay awake and relax.
6. Pillow your back and squirm
When you're standing, the lumbar area of your spine (the lower portion) normally curves inward, toward your abdomen. However, when you are sitting, it tends to slump outward squeezing your spinal disks and putting stress on them. According to back expert Malcolm Pope, Ph.D., director of the Iowa Spine Research Centre at the University of Iowa, it helps to support your back by tucking a rolled towel or a pillow in that lumbar section. In cases of longer drives, since sitting in one position for longer than 15 minutes gradually stiffens you even with a back pillow, make necessary adjustments for a comfy ride. For instance, you can try putting most of your weight on one buttock and then the other. Then, shift the position of your seat or your buttocks slightly. You may even try sliding down in your seat and sit up again for fun.
7. Work out after work
Since the evening rush is worse than the morning rush because of the compounded fatigue from the workday, it is best to wait out the traffic. Work out at a gym near your office or take meditation classes to relieve your stress. If you plan to go to dinner, see a movie or go shopping, try to do these things near work, delaying your departure enough to miss the maddening rush.
8. Give yourself a break
It may be a good idea to give yourself some day off from work. Many companies today offer compressed working hours or longer working days to give way to work-free days for you to unwind.
9. Move your office
If your job is a long drive ahead everyday, inquire at work if the company would allow you to work at home some days of the week or if you can work near your place. An alternative work schedule would make you feel less tense and in control thereby reducing stress.
10. Occasionally change your routine
An occasional change of commuting habits may be advisable too. Try walking or bicycling, as a a change. There's nothing like a good walk to ease tension especially when it means you don't have to get in your car and fight rush hour traffic.
By lessening the stress of getting to work, you are conserving enormous amounts of energy that may be lost over stressful commuting. It does not only leave you a lot more energy to do your job and become more productive but it also makes you feel good and gives you a good reason to always start your day right.
Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
Reality is what we make it
When we are young, we dream dreams of a calibre that drifts further and further away from being achieved due to the onset of realities of life. You'll then have people who have been there and done that telling you that plain passion doesn't put food on the table and that's what you should concern your self with first. Over time when you think about it over, there's always someone who has reached there who reaches out to some ones heart who has told you so. Despite the advice they'd give, they love being taken over by the passion overflowing from their work. It gives them their regular dose of freedom from being bound to only be able to make ends meet and not being able to afford much more. If they relish being blessed by people in places to where they advise careful advancement, why don't they along with everybody else give people who find their place there the opportunity to get there?
That makes me question the distance between dreams and reality. Do we make it as hard as it is on ourselves? Have we created it, the very people who would detest it with all our might if we had the chance? Or in the process of telling and reminding ourselves that life's not easy, do we forget that we are all here for the same purpose and that it would only help us achieve it easier if we put aside out understandably selfish ways?
The next time you find yourself writing off someone or something like that remember that there is a system in place, which we are all, meant to be a part of. We are not thrown into this world and left for only the fittest to survive. We should stop trying so hard to guarantee our success. The harder we fight against the system in place, the more difficult life will be. Dreams don't have to be difficult. We deny ourselves the right to have them come true for us when we create the reality that we live in that we ourselves are held down by.
The next time you come across an idea that's noble don't kill it because one would only waste more time and energy pushing it through in this world where reality is cruel enough to let that remain an ideal only. Don't appreciate it ideologically and say that real life and reality is a much bigger thing to worry about. It would help you and everybody else if ideals were reality. If you cant say anything else don't say anything at all. Keep an eye on it and if it breaks through, you benefit at no cost of yours. Sometime somebody somewhere or the other will want to be reached out to and that'll be when nobleness will be given its due.
Contributed by:Sunil Noronha
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Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
That makes me question the distance between dreams and reality. Do we make it as hard as it is on ourselves? Have we created it, the very people who would detest it with all our might if we had the chance? Or in the process of telling and reminding ourselves that life's not easy, do we forget that we are all here for the same purpose and that it would only help us achieve it easier if we put aside out understandably selfish ways?
The next time you find yourself writing off someone or something like that remember that there is a system in place, which we are all, meant to be a part of. We are not thrown into this world and left for only the fittest to survive. We should stop trying so hard to guarantee our success. The harder we fight against the system in place, the more difficult life will be. Dreams don't have to be difficult. We deny ourselves the right to have them come true for us when we create the reality that we live in that we ourselves are held down by.
The next time you come across an idea that's noble don't kill it because one would only waste more time and energy pushing it through in this world where reality is cruel enough to let that remain an ideal only. Don't appreciate it ideologically and say that real life and reality is a much bigger thing to worry about. It would help you and everybody else if ideals were reality. If you cant say anything else don't say anything at all. Keep an eye on it and if it breaks through, you benefit at no cost of yours. Sometime somebody somewhere or the other will want to be reached out to and that'll be when nobleness will be given its due.
Contributed by:Sunil Noronha
Send in your articles for free publication
Part of the Dream Weave Walk network
To Believe is to Achieve
Do you know the story of the little girl who caught a fever that left her both deaf and blind at the tender age of two? But did she whine or cry at the hand that
Fate had dealt her? Did she live her life in untutored misery untouched by the world? Absolutely not . She learnt sign language. She learnt Braille. She graduated from Radcliffe in 1904. She became a writer and an orator of great repute. Who am I talking about? None other than Hellen Keller. The story of her life is a thumbnail sketch of dogged determination to overcome debilitating handicaps. It is the story of a woman whose desire to achieve a goal overcame even her physical handicaps. Helen Keller made a public success of her private and personal battle with her physical ailments.This glimpse into the life of Helen Keller teaches us a lesson that one can never forget-Desire to achieve a goal can overcome all odds. This is what motivation is all about.
Often the term motivation is thought to be limited to a meaningless word in a treatise of psychology with scant practical implications. But, to my way of thinking, motivation is inextricably woven into the very fabric of our emotional and physical lives. At the risk of sounding like a self-proclaimed preacher, I would insist that success in life is in fact the practical outcome of the desire or need to achieve a goal.Motivation is the measure of any success achieved in life. Success in any endeavour in life, be it a career or be it as mundane as house hunting, requires four elementary steps :
1. Identify a goal and focus on it to the exclusion of everything else.
2. Form an Action Plan. List out the requirements for achievement of such a goal.
3. List out the tools needed for achievement of such a goal.
4. Go for it with complete enthusiasm and determination.
For instance if your goal in life was to become a teacher, this is how you would achieve it.
1. 'I-will-become-a teacher' would be the talisman you would carry around with you all the time .A constant awareness of the goal is essential to any form of achievement.
2. The next step would be to find out the requirements and qualifications to become a teacher.
3. To earn such a qualification you would have to enroll for the necessary courses. Which courses ? What universities? After you have come to a decision in this regard you would have to follow it up with admission applications and necessary financial arrangements. If you cannot afford to quit a job you would just have to find some University running evening/night classes.
4. After the procedural formalities are done you would just have to knuckle down and
Work for your goal. Whenever you are weary and discouraged focus on your goal and chant the 'mantra' of motivation 'I -can-if-I-will'
But inspite of this 'magic motivation' or 'motivation wizardry' some of us might fail at our assigned tasks . Why? This may be for several reasons:
1. We may have more than one goal . This would automatically divide the focus. To take an analogy ,it would be like running two engines with one battery and obviously we are likely to 'run out of steam' a lot faster and so fall short of achieving either goal.
2. It may be that we are ambivalent about our goals. To put it simply we are not sure if it is really worth all the effort. Such reservations at the subconscious level would make our efforts half-hearted and hence the goal unachievable.
3. It may be that the goals we set are beyond are skills or inclination .It could be as mismatched as a seamstress attempting surgery or a tone-deaf attempting to become a musician of great repute. All the motivation in the world would not help in such a case.
4. It may be that we are afraid of failure so we attempt a task at the subconscious level without adequate tools so that on failing we can find an object to blame . This is self-defeating for in doing so we are holding ourselves up for sure defeat.
5. It maybe that we are simply too lazy to make the effort required to achieve a goal.
To simply dream of making it big is not enough. We have to work to achieve success.
To use an analogy we have to sing for our supper.
6. It maybe that our motivation has flagged and let us down.
In case of failure what we need to do is check out the goal, redraw the action plan, checkout on the adequacy of tools and once again get down to the difficult task ahead with equanimity and the power of certainty of success. Success will be ours.
We have here a ready-made recipe for success. Take one cup of desire for achievement. Add a cup of dogged determination. Sprinkle it liberally with human endeavour. Bake it in the fire of human intractability and steadfastness. Let it cool in the stream of objective evaluation. Then ice it over with -- 'to believe is to achieve'.
Sweet is the taste of success.
Contributed by: Najib
Send in your articles for free publication
Fate had dealt her? Did she live her life in untutored misery untouched by the world? Absolutely not . She learnt sign language. She learnt Braille. She graduated from Radcliffe in 1904. She became a writer and an orator of great repute. Who am I talking about? None other than Hellen Keller. The story of her life is a thumbnail sketch of dogged determination to overcome debilitating handicaps. It is the story of a woman whose desire to achieve a goal overcame even her physical handicaps. Helen Keller made a public success of her private and personal battle with her physical ailments.This glimpse into the life of Helen Keller teaches us a lesson that one can never forget-Desire to achieve a goal can overcome all odds. This is what motivation is all about.
Often the term motivation is thought to be limited to a meaningless word in a treatise of psychology with scant practical implications. But, to my way of thinking, motivation is inextricably woven into the very fabric of our emotional and physical lives. At the risk of sounding like a self-proclaimed preacher, I would insist that success in life is in fact the practical outcome of the desire or need to achieve a goal.Motivation is the measure of any success achieved in life. Success in any endeavour in life, be it a career or be it as mundane as house hunting, requires four elementary steps :
1. Identify a goal and focus on it to the exclusion of everything else.
2. Form an Action Plan. List out the requirements for achievement of such a goal.
3. List out the tools needed for achievement of such a goal.
4. Go for it with complete enthusiasm and determination.
For instance if your goal in life was to become a teacher, this is how you would achieve it.
1. 'I-will-become-a teacher' would be the talisman you would carry around with you all the time .A constant awareness of the goal is essential to any form of achievement.
2. The next step would be to find out the requirements and qualifications to become a teacher.
3. To earn such a qualification you would have to enroll for the necessary courses. Which courses ? What universities? After you have come to a decision in this regard you would have to follow it up with admission applications and necessary financial arrangements. If you cannot afford to quit a job you would just have to find some University running evening/night classes.
4. After the procedural formalities are done you would just have to knuckle down and
Work for your goal. Whenever you are weary and discouraged focus on your goal and chant the 'mantra' of motivation 'I -can-if-I-will'
But inspite of this 'magic motivation' or 'motivation wizardry' some of us might fail at our assigned tasks . Why? This may be for several reasons:
1. We may have more than one goal . This would automatically divide the focus. To take an analogy ,it would be like running two engines with one battery and obviously we are likely to 'run out of steam' a lot faster and so fall short of achieving either goal.
2. It may be that we are ambivalent about our goals. To put it simply we are not sure if it is really worth all the effort. Such reservations at the subconscious level would make our efforts half-hearted and hence the goal unachievable.
3. It may be that the goals we set are beyond are skills or inclination .It could be as mismatched as a seamstress attempting surgery or a tone-deaf attempting to become a musician of great repute. All the motivation in the world would not help in such a case.
4. It may be that we are afraid of failure so we attempt a task at the subconscious level without adequate tools so that on failing we can find an object to blame . This is self-defeating for in doing so we are holding ourselves up for sure defeat.
5. It maybe that we are simply too lazy to make the effort required to achieve a goal.
To simply dream of making it big is not enough. We have to work to achieve success.
To use an analogy we have to sing for our supper.
6. It maybe that our motivation has flagged and let us down.
In case of failure what we need to do is check out the goal, redraw the action plan, checkout on the adequacy of tools and once again get down to the difficult task ahead with equanimity and the power of certainty of success. Success will be ours.
We have here a ready-made recipe for success. Take one cup of desire for achievement. Add a cup of dogged determination. Sprinkle it liberally with human endeavour. Bake it in the fire of human intractability and steadfastness. Let it cool in the stream of objective evaluation. Then ice it over with -- 'to believe is to achieve'.
Sweet is the taste of success.
Contributed by: Najib
Send in your articles for free publication
The Little Boy
When that tiny fellow, carrying a tattered cloth bag, peered into our staff room one lazy summer day, little did I realize he would leave such an impression on me. He hesitated at the door for a couple of minutes before BN ( a colleague ) asked him very gently what he wanted. Looking much younger than his age....he told us later that he was eight though he looked about six....he stood there , a puny little thing, tentative at first but confident enough to say that he was looking for some work. With a smile hovering at the corner of his lips, BN told him that there wasn't anything that he could do around that place ( that, being a College ).
Meanwhile all of us, in the various corners of the room, had stopped our activities, much intrigued by the conversation between the two. Soon the others joined in , patronisingly telling the boy that he shouldn't be playing the fool there and that he should be in a school instead. The boy stood his ground and with a no-nonsense attitude announced that he was there to shine their shoes which looked pathetic in that heat , in any case...thereby earn some money which would ultimately take him to school...."And I can do a mighty good job of that too", he declared with some authority now. That quietened the voices in the staff room immediately; obviously taken aback by the boy's impudence .
Though a trifle startled, some of us had started feeling sorry for the smart aleck of a boy. It felt shameful to allow that little chap to do any work, let alone clean shoes. For some unknown reasons the vision of our own children started floating in front of our eyes. One of the ladies tenderly called him by her side and very discreetly, tried to hand over some money. The reaction of the boy left us all stunned. He turned around, eyes glinting with pride and said, " I don't accept charity, madam, allow me to earn my money"...with that, he promptly sat on the floor and without a word took out the sandals from her reluctant feet and proceeded to clean them. We all sat there dumbfounded...teachers all...but words eluded us at that moment.
Child Labour ? Or Dignity Of Labour ?
When the boy walked out of the staff room, a little later, with a fifty
rupee note in his hand, he had a broad smile on, leaving us all weak-kneed and bleary-eyed....
Contributed by:~ Indigo Iris
Meanwhile all of us, in the various corners of the room, had stopped our activities, much intrigued by the conversation between the two. Soon the others joined in , patronisingly telling the boy that he shouldn't be playing the fool there and that he should be in a school instead. The boy stood his ground and with a no-nonsense attitude announced that he was there to shine their shoes which looked pathetic in that heat , in any case...thereby earn some money which would ultimately take him to school...."And I can do a mighty good job of that too", he declared with some authority now. That quietened the voices in the staff room immediately; obviously taken aback by the boy's impudence .
Though a trifle startled, some of us had started feeling sorry for the smart aleck of a boy. It felt shameful to allow that little chap to do any work, let alone clean shoes. For some unknown reasons the vision of our own children started floating in front of our eyes. One of the ladies tenderly called him by her side and very discreetly, tried to hand over some money. The reaction of the boy left us all stunned. He turned around, eyes glinting with pride and said, " I don't accept charity, madam, allow me to earn my money"...with that, he promptly sat on the floor and without a word took out the sandals from her reluctant feet and proceeded to clean them. We all sat there dumbfounded...teachers all...but words eluded us at that moment.
Child Labour ? Or Dignity Of Labour ?
When the boy walked out of the staff room, a little later, with a fifty
rupee note in his hand, he had a broad smile on, leaving us all weak-kneed and bleary-eyed....
Contributed by:~ Indigo Iris
A lesson in the park
It was a usual scene -- a park teeming with joggers. Every sphere of life-- i.e. childhood, youth, and old age—was scattered all over the park. Sweating faces, sloshing paunches, and swift legs ruled the early morning hour of the park.
I was there sitting on a bench after taking a light stroll. Since, I was in the middle of the oval garden, I was able to reckon rounds that people were taking. Some took 20 laps of swift walk, while some preferred to only 5.
After a while a couple with an almost 10 years old boy entered the park and started their rounds of health. Both parents had clutched hands of the boy from either side. The boy was walking in the middle of his parents. They took one lap and completed second and went on. When this family crossed my eyes after the third lap, a little girl of six caught my attention. She was insisting her grandfather on playing football with her. It was obvious from grandpa’s gestures that due to his arthritis, he was trying to persuade the little lady to be confined to his lap. Grandpa tried to veer her attention from football and pointed his finger toward the sky to show a flock of birds. And I assumed (the constant stare of the girl toward the sky helped me assume) that the old chap conjured up a story then and there to placate the football passion of the girl. The girl lost into the story; I, into the Sky.
“How vast the bosom of the Sky is?” I thought. The decoration of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars weaves a spectacle for the eyes. There is very hardly any roof in this world as sumptuously accoutered as the Sky. I was enthralled at the grandeur of nature.
My attention pertaining to the glorification of the nature broke by the footsteps coming toward a bench beside mine. It was those three who had entered a while ago. After the tiring rounds of walk, they had come to relax on the bench. For some time they relished the breathtaking view around the park, before being disturbed by the honking horn of an ice-cream-man. The child tugged on the sari (a dressing piece of cloth for women in India) of her mother to let her know his demand of an ice cream cone. Mother complied with his demand and bought him a cone of ice cream.
I wondered why he himself didn’t reach out for the ice cream trolly, like many children do?
On closer examination, I came to know that he was unable to see. That is why his parents were helping him to finish up the ice cream. After devouring the delicious dollops, he rested his back on the rear part of the bench. His translucent eyeballs rolled from one corner to the other corner of his eyes tracing every sound that happened in the atmosphere. In fact the eyeballs were corresponding with the directions his ears gave him as to a sound. He was continuously active with his two organs to explore the surrounding he was in.
“What an irony!” I thought. “There is so much of color around him, but he was deprived of that.” My heart got filled with sympathetic feelings for him. I felt vicarious pain for his inability to see things. I cursed every thing from God to nature for the injustice done to this little soul.
With feelings of despondency, I made an approach to converse with him by asking his name. (His father erased skepticism in his eyes for a stranger’s voice by addressing me as uncle and told him to tell me his name.)
“Sumit” he sounded sonorously.
“In which class do you read, Sumit?” I asked.
“Class five”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“He sings very well, has won many music competitions too.” Informed his father.
“Oh! Is it?” “… Then why no have a music treat from you?”
The boy was shy to start with, but once he started singing (upon his mother’s encouragement), I was spellbound. The voice of his had a glimpse of aplomb, which can surmount any difficulties of life; the shimmer in his eyes had grains of grit, that can pierce any citadel of success; and the whole body of his had elements of ebullition, which can indefatigably encourage him to stay optimistic in life.
The song, which was a hymn, ended and ‘bravo’ spelt out of my mouth. His parents clapped.
The pleasant duration of morning was passing by quickly and the Sun was becoming a little bitter to bear. All three rose to take leave, I insisted to walk for some distance with them. Halfway our journey, I found a grocery shop. I went into it and bought a packet of chocolates for Sumit. I came out and gifted the packet to him in appreciation of his entertaining performance for me. He received the packet with élan; he was ecstatic. I could feel his emotions through his smiling lips. After a few minutes, we parted ways.
I was alone and strolling back to my destination. Some notions started springing up in my mind. They were troublesome for me. These views were about my prior contemplation about the kid. I thought why I felt pessimistic about the existence of the kid. The boy was full of life and I had described his life as drab and bland. Why I thought downside about the boy, only because he couldn’t see. Is it that only people with ability to see have the right to enjoy the gifts of life? No, life can be enjoyed even without the ability to see.
Enjoyment of life has nothing to do with the ability to see, but to the ability to feel. If one can feel life, then one is alive, otherwise dead. But this is not the situation with the ability to see. One can miss the light of eyes and at the same time enjoy the life to the full. I am not sure whether I was dead, when I thought hopeless things about the lad, but am sure about now that I am alive. Because, I am enlightened and know something more as to life than I did an hour or so before.
Finnaly, it dawned on me that I was utterly wrong in assessing his plight. And the acknowledgement of mistake was with a guilt feeling. That day I promised myself that I won’t fell sorry for any disabled person in the future, for this belittles the importance of their struggle and courage that they use to lead this life. The crux of my thinking session was that the moment I feel that somebody is disabled; I make myself disabled too. Because this way I manifest my disabilities to comprehend the import of their existence in encouraging us (the abled ones) to conquer the impediments of life without any grievances. Anyways life is a learning curve and everyone is learning something or the other by every passing moment. I have learnt a lesson too that I will remember until I die err as long as I live.
Contributed by:~Neeraj Kumar
I was there sitting on a bench after taking a light stroll. Since, I was in the middle of the oval garden, I was able to reckon rounds that people were taking. Some took 20 laps of swift walk, while some preferred to only 5.
After a while a couple with an almost 10 years old boy entered the park and started their rounds of health. Both parents had clutched hands of the boy from either side. The boy was walking in the middle of his parents. They took one lap and completed second and went on. When this family crossed my eyes after the third lap, a little girl of six caught my attention. She was insisting her grandfather on playing football with her. It was obvious from grandpa’s gestures that due to his arthritis, he was trying to persuade the little lady to be confined to his lap. Grandpa tried to veer her attention from football and pointed his finger toward the sky to show a flock of birds. And I assumed (the constant stare of the girl toward the sky helped me assume) that the old chap conjured up a story then and there to placate the football passion of the girl. The girl lost into the story; I, into the Sky.
“How vast the bosom of the Sky is?” I thought. The decoration of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars weaves a spectacle for the eyes. There is very hardly any roof in this world as sumptuously accoutered as the Sky. I was enthralled at the grandeur of nature.
My attention pertaining to the glorification of the nature broke by the footsteps coming toward a bench beside mine. It was those three who had entered a while ago. After the tiring rounds of walk, they had come to relax on the bench. For some time they relished the breathtaking view around the park, before being disturbed by the honking horn of an ice-cream-man. The child tugged on the sari (a dressing piece of cloth for women in India) of her mother to let her know his demand of an ice cream cone. Mother complied with his demand and bought him a cone of ice cream.
I wondered why he himself didn’t reach out for the ice cream trolly, like many children do?
On closer examination, I came to know that he was unable to see. That is why his parents were helping him to finish up the ice cream. After devouring the delicious dollops, he rested his back on the rear part of the bench. His translucent eyeballs rolled from one corner to the other corner of his eyes tracing every sound that happened in the atmosphere. In fact the eyeballs were corresponding with the directions his ears gave him as to a sound. He was continuously active with his two organs to explore the surrounding he was in.
“What an irony!” I thought. “There is so much of color around him, but he was deprived of that.” My heart got filled with sympathetic feelings for him. I felt vicarious pain for his inability to see things. I cursed every thing from God to nature for the injustice done to this little soul.
With feelings of despondency, I made an approach to converse with him by asking his name. (His father erased skepticism in his eyes for a stranger’s voice by addressing me as uncle and told him to tell me his name.)
“Sumit” he sounded sonorously.
“In which class do you read, Sumit?” I asked.
“Class five”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“He sings very well, has won many music competitions too.” Informed his father.
“Oh! Is it?” “… Then why no have a music treat from you?”
The boy was shy to start with, but once he started singing (upon his mother’s encouragement), I was spellbound. The voice of his had a glimpse of aplomb, which can surmount any difficulties of life; the shimmer in his eyes had grains of grit, that can pierce any citadel of success; and the whole body of his had elements of ebullition, which can indefatigably encourage him to stay optimistic in life.
The song, which was a hymn, ended and ‘bravo’ spelt out of my mouth. His parents clapped.
The pleasant duration of morning was passing by quickly and the Sun was becoming a little bitter to bear. All three rose to take leave, I insisted to walk for some distance with them. Halfway our journey, I found a grocery shop. I went into it and bought a packet of chocolates for Sumit. I came out and gifted the packet to him in appreciation of his entertaining performance for me. He received the packet with élan; he was ecstatic. I could feel his emotions through his smiling lips. After a few minutes, we parted ways.
I was alone and strolling back to my destination. Some notions started springing up in my mind. They were troublesome for me. These views were about my prior contemplation about the kid. I thought why I felt pessimistic about the existence of the kid. The boy was full of life and I had described his life as drab and bland. Why I thought downside about the boy, only because he couldn’t see. Is it that only people with ability to see have the right to enjoy the gifts of life? No, life can be enjoyed even without the ability to see.
Enjoyment of life has nothing to do with the ability to see, but to the ability to feel. If one can feel life, then one is alive, otherwise dead. But this is not the situation with the ability to see. One can miss the light of eyes and at the same time enjoy the life to the full. I am not sure whether I was dead, when I thought hopeless things about the lad, but am sure about now that I am alive. Because, I am enlightened and know something more as to life than I did an hour or so before.
Finnaly, it dawned on me that I was utterly wrong in assessing his plight. And the acknowledgement of mistake was with a guilt feeling. That day I promised myself that I won’t fell sorry for any disabled person in the future, for this belittles the importance of their struggle and courage that they use to lead this life. The crux of my thinking session was that the moment I feel that somebody is disabled; I make myself disabled too. Because this way I manifest my disabilities to comprehend the import of their existence in encouraging us (the abled ones) to conquer the impediments of life without any grievances. Anyways life is a learning curve and everyone is learning something or the other by every passing moment. I have learnt a lesson too that I will remember until I die err as long as I live.
Contributed by:~Neeraj Kumar
Caring in My Sister's Way
Last summer, I had an acute case of bronchitis. I was downright bummed. Summer for me meant sun, sand, sea…a gazillion trips to the mall or to my friends’ houses, or to another province. I was supposed to exhaust every excess fat on my calves, thighs and belly to hours and hours of fun. Instead I was stuck in the house, stuck with bronchitis.
I didn’t have a night’s worth of sleep since my cough attacks chose to antagonize the peaceful slumber of the entire household.
My sister, a sub-zero in the sensitivity department, would grumble about people not having enough sleep and that I should take dear old doggie’s job.
I wanted to cut off her oxygen supply. Bummer. I didn’t even have the voice to put her to place, only an ancient queen’s glare which, unfortunately, didn’t work.
Thank God for the good doctor. The expensive medicine he prescribed made its worth and soon my bout with bronchitis was over…sadly, so did summer.
Once again my lungs were pumped up for cleaning duty. While doing my room, I accidentally nudged a notebook from my cluttered desk (sis was always a human tornado). I recognized the all too familiar carefree scribbles revealing a prayer for me to be well again because it hurt seeing me suffer like that.
A tear dropped from my eyes- okay, okay. So the Niagara was in town. Who would know the brat felt that way about me? She, who had lived to contradict me, who had continuously stretched my patience to the limit. It was like she had grown a new head. The little weirdo was so beyond me. But this I finally know- my sis does care about me.
She had done the sweetest thing in my life without letting me know it. She could have rubbed it to my face and proclaimed it to the world to make me look like an ungrateful beast. But she didn’t do any of those things.
Sometimes, the most unthinkable of persons turn out to be the ones who truly care for us. They just find it awkward to be obvious. They don’t need an audience to boost their ego because their kindness is not for show. They are merely content that we are well.
Most of the time, we judge people by the way they treat us and by how they make us feel. We don’t bother to dig dipper, to skim below the surface of Jack or Jill. We never can know what is hidden in the flesh because we see only what our eyes expect to see, because we see only what they want us to see.
To little sis who would bet a week’s allowance to hear me say, thank you. You may get goose bumps as I am getting while writing this, but it comes from my heart.
Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano
I didn’t have a night’s worth of sleep since my cough attacks chose to antagonize the peaceful slumber of the entire household.
My sister, a sub-zero in the sensitivity department, would grumble about people not having enough sleep and that I should take dear old doggie’s job.
I wanted to cut off her oxygen supply. Bummer. I didn’t even have the voice to put her to place, only an ancient queen’s glare which, unfortunately, didn’t work.
Thank God for the good doctor. The expensive medicine he prescribed made its worth and soon my bout with bronchitis was over…sadly, so did summer.
Once again my lungs were pumped up for cleaning duty. While doing my room, I accidentally nudged a notebook from my cluttered desk (sis was always a human tornado). I recognized the all too familiar carefree scribbles revealing a prayer for me to be well again because it hurt seeing me suffer like that.
A tear dropped from my eyes- okay, okay. So the Niagara was in town. Who would know the brat felt that way about me? She, who had lived to contradict me, who had continuously stretched my patience to the limit. It was like she had grown a new head. The little weirdo was so beyond me. But this I finally know- my sis does care about me.
She had done the sweetest thing in my life without letting me know it. She could have rubbed it to my face and proclaimed it to the world to make me look like an ungrateful beast. But she didn’t do any of those things.
Sometimes, the most unthinkable of persons turn out to be the ones who truly care for us. They just find it awkward to be obvious. They don’t need an audience to boost their ego because their kindness is not for show. They are merely content that we are well.
Most of the time, we judge people by the way they treat us and by how they make us feel. We don’t bother to dig dipper, to skim below the surface of Jack or Jill. We never can know what is hidden in the flesh because we see only what our eyes expect to see, because we see only what they want us to see.
To little sis who would bet a week’s allowance to hear me say, thank you. You may get goose bumps as I am getting while writing this, but it comes from my heart.
Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano
The unhealthy divide
There are different types of separations on the surface of the globe: oceans separating land, mountains separating climate, and borders separating countries. And this demeanor of nature has, perhaps, influenced the life style of human beings on the earth too. Reason for this assumption is the life style of human society, which is replete with sundry divisions.
Cleavage between the black and the white, the rich and the poor, and the strong and the weak has been discussed seriously, but one division hasn’t been scrutinizes as them. And that division is: the division between the healthy and the indisposed population of the world.
However queer it may seem, this division is a reeking truth of today’s human society. If we leave out a handful of selfless NGO’s and generous celebrities, the society as a whole is very indifferent, very inconsiderate, and very insensitive towards the emotional needs of an ailed person.
Be the ailment due to accidents or physical vulnerability, stagnation is a word that smears with every ailing person. Wheel chairs and hospital beds sap energy and hope and all other positives that make a life worth living. The legs of patients get so weak that they struggle to keep pace with the rest of the world; the hands get so weak that they tremble to hold the gauntlet; the eyes get so weak that they grapple to hold delightful dreams. Even so, they are winners in their own right. Therefore, they deserve all respect in the world for their courage to fight, for their volition to win and for their endeavor to survive.
But often, they don’t get what they deserve. Their friends, partners and relatives (save for parents and siblings) try to steer clear of them as soon as the disease gets disclosed. Suddenly, the sick are unwanted; the sick are unproductive; the sick are out of contention and race.
The “healthy heard” of society, very soon, indulge itself in its own routine life for the quest of hollow materialistic success. I don’t mean that the chasing for success is bad, no, what I am saying is just to appreciate the contributions made in your life by that ill and to resurrect the hope for life in his/her heart too. Help the stagnant views of the diseased get wings of resplendent tomorrow.
The yelling, heard at regular intervals from some nook and corner of the world, to outcast the patients of Leprosy, T.B, Epilepsy, Aids from the social circle is still making humanity feel ashamed.
The disdain only shows that how brittle we are despite of making steels; how little we are despite of touching the sky; and how shallow we are despite of fathoming the oceans. It serves a purpose to be reminded here that the headway of present-day human race is the upshot of an evolution process entailing million years.
Now back to the subject of patients. When situation becomes unbearable for some patients, tolerating bitter pills and pointed jabs and indifferent behavior they succumb. But their capitulation is solemn and asks answer to the question: when the Homo sapiens will become humane sapiens?
However, this might not be too tough ask if we rinse our heart in pursuit of love, care and passion—the gifts bestowed upon us by the almighty to be human being in true sense. We must try to paint our soul with these three elements profusely and the time is no far when we see the lacuna between two leanings of behavioral pattern plugged for the progression of society and its inhabitants
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
Cleavage between the black and the white, the rich and the poor, and the strong and the weak has been discussed seriously, but one division hasn’t been scrutinizes as them. And that division is: the division between the healthy and the indisposed population of the world.
However queer it may seem, this division is a reeking truth of today’s human society. If we leave out a handful of selfless NGO’s and generous celebrities, the society as a whole is very indifferent, very inconsiderate, and very insensitive towards the emotional needs of an ailed person.
Be the ailment due to accidents or physical vulnerability, stagnation is a word that smears with every ailing person. Wheel chairs and hospital beds sap energy and hope and all other positives that make a life worth living. The legs of patients get so weak that they struggle to keep pace with the rest of the world; the hands get so weak that they tremble to hold the gauntlet; the eyes get so weak that they grapple to hold delightful dreams. Even so, they are winners in their own right. Therefore, they deserve all respect in the world for their courage to fight, for their volition to win and for their endeavor to survive.
But often, they don’t get what they deserve. Their friends, partners and relatives (save for parents and siblings) try to steer clear of them as soon as the disease gets disclosed. Suddenly, the sick are unwanted; the sick are unproductive; the sick are out of contention and race.
The “healthy heard” of society, very soon, indulge itself in its own routine life for the quest of hollow materialistic success. I don’t mean that the chasing for success is bad, no, what I am saying is just to appreciate the contributions made in your life by that ill and to resurrect the hope for life in his/her heart too. Help the stagnant views of the diseased get wings of resplendent tomorrow.
The yelling, heard at regular intervals from some nook and corner of the world, to outcast the patients of Leprosy, T.B, Epilepsy, Aids from the social circle is still making humanity feel ashamed.
The disdain only shows that how brittle we are despite of making steels; how little we are despite of touching the sky; and how shallow we are despite of fathoming the oceans. It serves a purpose to be reminded here that the headway of present-day human race is the upshot of an evolution process entailing million years.
Now back to the subject of patients. When situation becomes unbearable for some patients, tolerating bitter pills and pointed jabs and indifferent behavior they succumb. But their capitulation is solemn and asks answer to the question: when the Homo sapiens will become humane sapiens?
However, this might not be too tough ask if we rinse our heart in pursuit of love, care and passion—the gifts bestowed upon us by the almighty to be human being in true sense. We must try to paint our soul with these three elements profusely and the time is no far when we see the lacuna between two leanings of behavioral pattern plugged for the progression of society and its inhabitants
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
The Louisville Story
I'm sitting in my room with innumerable questions running through my head the same way a record player gets stuck on a certain part of a song on a vinyl.
"Why am I still alive?"
"Where does this luck come from?"
"Shouldn't we be in jail by now?"
"Did we even do anything of illegal merit?"
Christ. Adventures in this great country like what I just experienced are most definitely what life is all about. The man who tells no stories is the man who has not lived nor taken some sort of risk, and, by God, we risked it all in this most unusual, extreme circumstance.
Louisville, Kentucky is a city about thrice the size of Knoxville. For an eighteen year old meandering around with three underage high schoolers, it can be one of the most perilous places of your life. But goodness, if I keep going like this I'll tell the story in bits and pieces, and you'll never be able to turn all of those pieces into the journey we all survived somehow. Yes, somehow. Like always. But stories shouldn't be told in parts, especially good ones, unless you are one of those Greek bastards and you don't have the time to tell an entire story by word of mouth. Fortunately for me, I have all the time I need to write this story out. So, where to begin? Ah, yes. The night before seems like a good place, a night filled with overtones of safety and security.
Taylor and I had been skating around town whenever we met up will a fellow named Bronson Mills. For those of you know Bronson, he is a drug guru of sorts. At twenty-one years of age he has traveled all over these great states being experienced in the art of survival through drug use and connections with the right people. But I suppose that’s the only way to live, minus the drugs, unless that floats your boat, but I'm more of a land kind of guy.
Not long after meeting up with Bronson, Taylor and I found ourselves at his house discussing consciousness, rumors of LSD-25 being dumped into California's water supply during the sixties, the patches of hallucinogenic mushrooms growing wildly in national parks in Oregon, Grandfather Time and his tie-dye uniform, the Grateful Dead family, and thumb printing LSD.
I feel it is mandatory to describe exactly what thumb printing is, for it is a fascinating and horrifying concept. If ever you find yourself in California and in good standing with the Merry Pranksters, then you just may find yourself in the position of being allowed to thumbprint a pure LSD crystal. The procedure works like this: You lick your thumb, then touch the crystal, then lick your thumb again. What follows is about a year of full on tripping. If the Merry Pranksters allow you to do this, then it should also be remembered that they will take care of you for this entire year of delirium. For a solid year, you are held as a "prisoner" of sorts basically being pampered by a group of hoodlums. For some this would seem like a fashionable idea, especially to those of you who enjoy tripping, but to others would be total insanity. "One out of six people die from shock because of it," said Bronson. "You really have to stop yourself and think 'Do I want to do this?'"
Around twelve Taylor and I left Bronson's with a new destination in mind. Taylor and I both seemed to be suffering from some sort of horrible allergy problem so we figured the best thing to do was load up on cough drops, especially since we would be needed them for all the cigarette smoking that would be done the following day en route to Louisville for the moment we had all waited for - the Modest Mouse concert. Taylor and I next decided that shirts should be made to commemorate this event. We stopped at Wal-Mart and bought five T's of differing color. When we arrived at home, the only thing we could think to spray paint on them was various songs from various Modest Mouse albums. We then hopped in my bed and slept.
It was to be a glorious day of seeing the sights of a massive, beautiful town with a quick visit to the skate park finished up with the concert to end all concerts. Little did we know the horrors that awaited us...
The plan went something like this: Becky and her crew, which consisted of Cassandra and Stacy, would be picked up from school by Taylor and me after first period, to ensure that we made it to the concert on time and also just to be in good company. We would arrive in Louisville, skate the park, take some good ol' Myspace photos, then see Modest Mouse in concert followed by the quiet drive home as I drove while everyone else napped. At first glance you would think, "Sounds like fun, Dustin, why didn't you invite me?" Ye gods! The trip was more than worth it, but the cost was heavy, and today is one of those zombie days where it feels like at any moment you could wake up back at the Coyote listening to the tunes of Love As Laughter, Modest Mouse, and that other band whose name I don't recall, but thoroughly enjoyed, more so than I did Love As Laughter. Of course, both bands hold my respect, for I hold no musical talent, but I suppose, it's all in the ear as to whether or not you prefer one sound over another.
Taylor awoke to the noise of my cell phone ringing. We had slept in my bed, which made for an intimate scene between two heterosexual guys, but intimate nonetheless.
"Dustin, my mom isn't letting me leave until after second period."
The first scare of the day came from Becky. It wasn't as much a scare as it was a slowing down in the planned procedure. It was alright, of course. That just meant Taylor and I would be sleeping in a little later, for we still had to pick up Cassandra and Stacy after first period had ended. Finally, nine o' clock came around, and it was time for us to take showers. Separately, of course, you dirty minded bastards. We're not gay, just close. Intimate, so to speak.
Taylor and I waited patiently outside of West High, the "other" high school in town, until finally Cassandra approached the car.
"Has anyone called to get Stacy out yet?"
Another slowing down in the plan. Shit. Which one of silly teenagers would muster the courage to call a high school and sign one of our own out? And what if those office bastards decided they didn't buy the line we shot and called Stacy's psychotic mother. Then no Stacy would be in attendance for the concert she had bought all the tickets for. Unacceptable in my book. Cassandra told us she had to go home and that we should follow her to pick her up.
I told her I'd meet her there and that I'd make a phone call.
No, you silly children, I didn't call in Stacy's dismissal. No need to have some sort of strange kidnapping charge thrown on me by Sandra Lutz, for she would go so far as to do it. She is the kind of mother that figures out everything. A professional in her own field. And this instance was no difference. The phone call I made was to Becky's sister Stephanie.
"Just call in and say you're Sandra and that you want your daughter out of school by the end of second period. It'll all be smooth as glass."
Smooth as glass. Oh my, smooth indeed. When finally I arrived at Cassandra's house to drive her to Becky's house where some sort of female dressing and make-up ritual would ensue, Cassandra had more bad news. The school had figured that Stephanie wasn't really Sandra, so they did the other thing they knew to do: call Sandra and ask if it was really her that had called.
Oh, holy fools!
By the time we reached Becky's house, it was blatantly obvious that Stacy wasn't going on this trip. I can't describe the pain I felt when I finally came to realization of this fact. Christ! This wasn't fair at all. But viewing it from a Communistic viewpoint, it was for the good of the whole. Had Stacy gone with us, then that kidnapping charge would indeed be brought to surface, and I may not be writing this story right now.
Becky's father, who had received a phone call from Sandra saying the phone call to let Stacy out of school had been received from Stephanie's phone, decided to confront us about the conundrum. What happened wasn't what I expected.
Cassandra took the fall for the call. A noble thing, by most standards, but a dangerous thing nonetheless. Our trip could've been over right then. Lies are the only reason parents need to shut down a teenager's operations, and surely this was it. We weren't going to make it. But we did. We survived somehow.
The end of second period came was approaching, and the desire to see my girlfriend was beginning to become overwhelming. I ushered everyone into the car and began the drive down 160.
We sat in the parking lot and reminisced of times long past until Becky appeared in my rearview mirror.
"Stacy isn't coming."
It was a pretty heavy statement. Stacy, the one who had had the idea for the trip and paid for the tickets, wasn't even going to enjoy the sights of Louisville and the sounds of Modest Mouse, and this time, there was nothing any of us could do about it. Normally when a strange situation like this arises, we can find some way to get around it, or in some cases, walk straight through it, but this was incredibly different. The school was holding her hostage. Nothing less than a full on assault with machine guns and an Army issue Hummer could save the day. And so it was with heavy hearts that we moved on.
The next couple of hours were not as twisted at the fist few hours of the day had been. We drove in peace. It was a feeling that we wouldn't get much of that day, but at that time, in that car, on that road going who knows how fast with no sense of direction at all, for the directions had been turned into paper airplanes or hung from the ceiling of the car in decoration, we were at peace. The ride was filled with melodies from Taylor's soon to be dead iPod, laughter from all directions, and the sweet smell of brown sugar fig and Marlboro Smooth, the chosen cigarette of our group. I felt like the captain of a mighty boat that was drifting towards an island paradise.
"I think you should lay some mack down."
"I dunno, man. I just dunno."
"We'll see."
"So what do you think?"
"I think we make excellent match makers."
Louisville at last! What a brilliant town, I remember thinking. Absolutely beautiful! Astounding indeed! A city full of hope and dreams, a city where many famous people had been raised, city full of history and a certain kind of magic that I myself am somewhat familiar with.
We all decided that the first thing we needed to do was find the Coyote, the venue for tonight's show. As you enter Louisville from I-64, you come out on Jefferson Street. If you head south on this street for not much longer than a minute, you'll see the Coyote across the street and on your left. The Coyote is a small bar/club with a wide range of bands (Hanson, for instance) appearing on its stage. Christ! I'm getting ahead of myself again! I'll tell you more about the Coyote when we get there.
Our first stop was the skate park. What a magnificent skate park! But, Christ, what a wretched time I spent there. Rolling in on one of the concrete ramps, I snagged on thin air and found myself lying on my back with a knot on my head. Not a good way to start off a session at one of the greatest parks in the country, but it happens, I suppose. Eventually, I decided I had had enough of missing tricks and getting hurt. It was time to find food, but not before Louisville Skate Park had one more cruel gesture to show me. As I threw down my skate to jump on and ride off into the street, a bolt came loose and a wheel rolled right off. Needless to say I was airborne again.
The sight of the car was a relief. We were all beginning to become hungry and we were most definitely thirsty, due to the extreme heat. I opened the truck to lay my three-wheeled skateboard in along with other assorted items and watched Becky close it. And then it hit me. We had locked the keys in the truck.
Christ! What sort of individual would throw his car keys into his truck? That wasn't asking for trouble. That was commanding trouble to rain down upon us with all of his merry angels! Had we been home, this wouldn't have been so bad. I could've made a quick phone call and had a spare key brought to us, but what sort of fool would drive 4 hours just to bring us a spare key? No, I thought, we're going to have to dig our own way out of this grave.
I called numerous cellular telephone directories in search of a locksmith to no avail. There wasn't a Louisville location for any of the listings. I spoke to a nice woman who had no brains. I came to the conclusion that she was a very carefully constructed telephone recording, and screamed, "VIVA LA RESISTANCE," before I hung up abruptly.
My next idea proved more fruitful than the last. My companions and I cross the desert of the Louisville skate park to reach the Louisville skate shop. "Maybe they've got a phone book, or at least some cracked out pimp that'll do it for free if we auction one of you two-" referring to Becky and Cassandra-"out to him for a night." Of course this was a terrible joke to make at a time like this. We were all reaching maximum frustration, or at least what we thought was maximum frustration until much later in the night when we found how much nonsense we could really handle.
"Here's the book."
The phone book the man handed us looked as if it had risen out of King Arthur's tomb. It was in two pieces, and there were strange markings all over the pages. It was tie-dyed from strange spills. Finally, we found a number to call. There was no area code listed, so I was forced to ask the locals what the area code was here.
The Louisville locals don't take kindly to strangers. It's one thing if you're at the park talking about skateboard maneuvers, but when you flaunt your ignorance by asking what the area code was, they're smiles turn grim, and their knuckles turn white. A sense of fear washes over the asker.
"504," replied one of the bastards. We were no longer welcome in this part of the country.
If the Shark could talk, what sort of strange things would it tell to my friends? How many tales of drug-use or near-death experience would it conjure from beneath it's seemingly friendly appearance. Would it tell of past loves, or worse, past whores? Would it speak of tears and joys, or friendships and sorrows? Christ, good riddance. Just keep you're damn mouth shut, for all our sakes.
We sat by my car waiting for a phone call from a lock smithing service called Pop-Lock. It seemed decent enough. A woman who I assumed to be black due to her dialect told us it would be ten minutes before she would call back and give me a quote and a time for the locksmith to arrive. Alright, I thought, maybe an hour at most. We'll have time to get food and see Mouse.
"It will cost seventy-six dollars. He will arrive in one to two hours. Thank you for using Pop-Lock." The bastards had us by the throat. It was five thirty. If this man didn't come soon, then there would be no food for my Jews, and what kind of Moses would take his people somewhere without food? Christ, it was bad enough that Stacy wasn't here, we all received a lecture this morning, and the keys were locked in my truck, but to handle all of this confusion without a crumb? Gracious God! Lay mercy on we swine.
"Let's walk to White Castle!"
Yes, White Castle. It was almost a tourist attraction for us Tennessee folk. White Castle is equivalent to Morristown's Krystal. I had eaten there once before when I had made this trip with Anthony. I'm not sure if their burgers are better than Krystal's because it's something new and "exotic" or maybe, with the correct measurement of cooking oils, they have found a way to make a burger of higher quality. That memory of those glorious burgers was stained when a man wearing shorts in December tried to sell Anthony and me a pair of Air Jordan’s.
"What size you boys wear?"
Christ, I thought, he's going to cut off our feet and throw them in that box. We're as good as dead! The headlines will read: "TWO EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD BOYS WERE FOUND STUFFED INTO A DUMPSTER WITH THEIR FEET CUT OFF AND A METAL PIPE SHOVED UP THEIR RECTUM." Fortunately, my fear didn't come full circle. When we turned the man down, he looked like we had genuinely hurt him. Maybe he really did need help paying his rent or maybe he was too coked out to know the difference between Anthony being black and me being white. To hell with that trip!
We didn't make it to White Castle. A man called my phone.
"I'll be coming to your car in twenty minutes to open your lock."
Time to rally the troops!
"Come back to the car guys. I know we've already walked two miles in this heat, but I want to be there when he opens the truck."
The walk back was fun. More fun than the walk there. Becky coxed me into taking off my shoes and walking barefoot down the Louisville sidewalks. It was surprisingly refreshing. Then she surprised me again by offering to race to the car. A race? Christ, I hadn't run in ages. And the race was on. I'm sure I looked silly carrying a pair of Nike's and a woman's purse, but in those moments I felt fantastic.
Running is something that I was once great at. I used to run miles just for the fun of it. I suppose I was an addict to that runner's high. My running career came to a halt whenever I took up skating. It just lost its glow. But anytime I get the motivation to run, I do it, and by God it feels glorious. Becky beat me back to the car. We had left Taylor and Cassandra in our dust for they had decided to continue walking. When finally they arrived, the Pop-Lock van rolled onto the scene as if on cue. After waiting an hour in the blazing sun, it was a relief to see the man step out of the van.
"Hey, I'm Chad."
"Hi, Chad. Do you smoke?"
"Not cigarettes."
Fear and loathing.
Chad let me have his lighter. Becky looked at it for a moment, and then let out an audible noise of disgust. I looked at the lighter to see why. It was a chopper bearing resemblance to some sort of Hell's Angels dream ride. Had I been an expert or fanatic about motorcycles, I would've treasure the image, but I am not. I removed the wrapping around the lighter and exposed it for its true color - white.
It took Chad another hour (it was seven o' clock) to cut the key. He blamed it on faulty equipment, but we blamed it on the pot. We would get the only stoned locksmith in town.
Christ! Only twenty minutes to make it to the show before it began! Would we make it? It seemed to me at that moment that any number of horrible things could happen to throw us back to where we were before. What if we get hit? What if the car explodes for no reason? What if a mountain lion jumps in the back? We're doomed, I thought.
Surprisingly, we made it.
We were just about to cross the street to the venue when we heard, "You there!" Oh God, this was it. We're going to be mugged and raped. This is the end!
"Do you have a spare ticket? I'll give you forty dollars for it!"
Sigh of relief. We began crossing the street to reach the concert, but didn't even stop to think about the possibility of a car running us down, which very nearly happened to the man who asked for the ticket who was walking right beside of me, which would've meant that I'd also be dead also. Thankfully, the car came to a halt. Must be fate, I guess.
I hadn't heard the guy say he would give us forty dollars for it, and the next thing out of my mouth earned a slap from each of my friends.
"We'll give it to you for twenty."
At the time, it seemed like a terrible thing to do. Here we were with a ticket that could've easily gone for fifty, and I had practically given it away. It wasn't until later that we looked back on that moment and thought about the good karma it brought to us.
We had finally made it. It was seven thirty when we walked in and the first band, Love As Laughter, was just setting up their equipment. We decided that a round of Mountain Dew was in order to celebrate our survival of the trip so far, for it was only sheer luck that we'd even made it this far.
We made our way to the middle of the arena, for it would be a battle to reach the front and show off our handmade shirts. It wasn't until Modest Mouse hit the stage that we were within reaching distance of the floor.
The next couple of hours are a blur of dancing, strange people, and spilt beers, of which we didn't partake in. The Mouse performance was so intense that at times I found myself thinking that it wasn't real and that I would wake up back at work daydreaming about seeing Isaac Brock and his crew on stage. But, ye gods, this was happening! Twenty feet away from me was the man whose lyrics I had obsessed over for two years. And not just him! His entire Mouse army!
Goodness, the nostalgia is almost overwhelming. It was an emotional time for me. I was totally engulfed in some sort of trance that caused me to wave my hands in the air and move my body the way the Israelites had for their golden calf. Oh, good times.
I believe, and maybe this statement should be saved for later when the entire story is told, but I just cannot hold it in any longer, that the entire trip can be summed up in one of Modest Mouse's lyrics. If it takes shit to make bliss, then I feel pretty blissfully.
Oh, yes. Bliss indeed.
After the concert, all was glorious. The street lights were like stars and the roads were the gold we were looking for. The passing of cars and the murmur of voices was like some sort of melody played out on from God's own violin, for we all know that the true choice of instrument for heavenly folk is a violin and not that wretched harp.
But our hunger had been escalating since about four 'o clock. If we didn't find food soon, our collapse in the street would soon be upon us. As we were walking back to my car, marvelous lights filled our eyes.
Louisville's Fourth Street is something like a smaller version of New Orleans' Mardi Gras, only it closes earlier, and nudity and public drunkenness were not taken as well; however, our trip down this well-lit street was filled with both. We quickly determined that we didn't have the money to eat somewhere up-scale and the local cafeteria was closed after eleven. How unfortunate that it was only eleven five!
We meandered our way to an overhead bridge, which spanned the length of Fourth Street. There, we took a load off our feet by relaxing at some of the tables that were sitting out for businessmen in their rush lunches. Becky and I shared sweet words and kisses while recreating the events of the day passed. Taylor and Cassandra had picked a table to themselves, which was only appropriate for each table had only two chairs. Ah, yes. Kisses and cigarettes. What's better?
Oh yes, I know. Seeing a drunken man and woman stumble up the stairs at the base of the sidewalk. Ha ha. Oh, and what's this? Wow. That drunken lady really did just piss on the side of the wall. How are women even capable of that? Wow. And she really did just fall over in her own urine. Poor swine. These are the folks that I live to see. The decadence of America. How wonderfully amusing, yet horribly disfigured and troubling.
Troubling. Much like the hunger in our stomachs. We took the elevator down. Taylor and Cassandra were in front of us. Becky and I felt like waiting for the crosswalk sign to signal that it was safe to cross, but the other two of our group decided to risk it. A woman in a van narrowly missed them. I couldn't make out what she shouted at Taylor, but whatever it was was enough to cause him to throw up a certain unwelcome hand gesture. Christ, I hope that police officer doesn't mind. And he doesn't. Keep walking, keep you're head down. Smile when spoken to. Quick, short answers. Exhaustion and dehydration was setting in.
We half expected a parking ticket to be on the shark when we arrived.
"Nothing here. I guess you were right, Taylor!"
Yes, leave it up to Taylor to save the day. Wait, he hadn't done anything, only said:
"No need to worry."
Maybe his voice had dictated the future? Heavens! I better keep him around. Load him up on X and have him say good things all the time! Wait. That's totally illogical. Keep your head together, Dustin. It's only hunger.
We made our escape from Louisville down a one way road. I'm surprised we weren't pulled over and shot for such blatant disobedience of the law and also that we didn't enter the freeway going against the flow of traffic. Either situation would've been potentially fatal, but I would've much rather faced one thousand oncoming cars and semi-trucks than one bullet.
Sixty-five miles later and still there was no sign of a Taco Bell, the place we had all voted to eat at. In a desperate move, I wheeled the shark off of the interstate onto some exit outside of Lexington.
"I'll just ask where one is. I can't wait any longer for food." The general consensus in the car was the same. Everyone was starving. The gas station attendant was nice enough. She told me the directions, and sure enough, there were right.
We split our order into three separate orders, a potential fiasco for any Taco Bell worker at one, two, or maybe even three in the morning, for by now I've forgotten what times everything happened at. I only remember it happened.
The woman who handed us our food and exchanged our money was black and obviously a racist. She handed us one straw less than we needed, two packs of mild taco sauce, and tried to take most of Becky's change. Fortunately, we got that back and still managed to be polite as we drove off. It wasn't until I realized that everyone had a straw but me that I became somewhat angry. Of course anyone can make an accident, but this woman had pushed her luck too far. Thoughts crashing the shark into the window and demanding a refund swirled through my head. Yeah. Take it too far, way too far, and they won't have a clue what to do. They'll bow down before your every command. Shit, maybe I should burn the whole place down. I've got white linen sheets in my truck! We can have an old fashion KKK rally right in the middle of Kentucky.
But these thoughts soon fled my mind when I realized the absurdity of such things. Instead, I simply drove around to the window to ask for another straw. The conversation went like this.
"Hey, I need another straw please."
"There were three straws in there (as she hands me the straw)."
"Yeah, and we had four goddamn drinks."
Awkward silence followed by me driving off.
We ate in the parking lot, and laughed at my victory over racism the only way I knew to do it. As we were eating something strange happened. A Mexican and his woman pulled up to the front door of Taco Bell. They waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the woman who had served us came out with a Taco Bell bag. She handed it to the man who then handed her money, then stepped back into and disappeared into the back. The Mexican examined his load.
"Drug deal," I shouted through a mouthful of chicken burrito. And sure enough we were right. Taylor was the first to see the marijuana.
"There it is, in all of its green glory."
"Stop thinking like that man! We're straight-edge remember! Shun the temptation."
I remember thinking, "Christ that'd definitely mellow us all out a little." But what were we to do? Run up with our skateboards and beat it out of his hands? Yes, fantastic idea. I should do it. WHOA WHOA WHOA! Head down. Smile when spoken to. Eat your burrito.
Soon after, the Mexican drove off into the night to smoke or sell what he had just purchased.
It was at this time, while we were headed back to the interstate that Cassandra decided to tell us about how unlucky white lighters were. Christ! No wonder we had a stoned locksmith, racist servers at Taco Bell, and the next great horror of the night (or early morning, depending upon who you are.)
By now you're thinking, alright Dustin. When does this end? You're shooting bull now. I wish I could say that racism was the final terror we faced that night. But it'd be a lie, and some of the story would be lost in time if I didn't tell it honestly.
It was just on the other side of Lexington when I decided to stop for gas. It seemed like a quick run in, pay, pump, and run out kind of deal; however, the flashing lights behind me seemed to say otherwise.
Fucking hell. Everything that life could throw at us, we faced in this day, and now the final hammer was being dropped - the authority, the police.
"How are you guys tonight?"
"Pretty good, officer. We're just getting back form a concert in Louisville trying to make our way HOME!"
"I see, I see. Well you ran right through that stop sign back there and failed to signal your turn. Any of you been drinking tonight?"
A chorus of "No’s” and nervous laughter flooded the car. It was true we hadn't been drinking, or even partaking in drug use, but you never know when some asshole fresh pig straight from the slaughterhouse will decide to search your car. We were already running dangerously late, but if something went wrong, we were as good as dead.
"Well, I haven't decided whether or not I’ll give you a ticket. Do you all have ID? Are you all eighteen?"
Everyone except me claimed to have left their ID at home and also to be legal.
"Well, let me write down your names, date of birth, and social security number to check and make sure we don't have any runaway's."
The truth about the ages quickly surfaced, but the officer didn't seem to notice.
Christ something just occurred to me. "...don't have any runaway's." Eighteen year old individuals don't run away. They do what they want. That bastard knew all along. He just wanted to let us think we had gotten away with lying. Well, shit guys. I guess he wasn't so dumb after all...
Finally, the officer returned.
"Sorry it took so long. We had a report of a stolen car out of Michigan matching yours. I just had to make sure that you weren't thieves. Here's a warning. Drive safely and get home!"
A sigh of relief. We were off the hook. The next day, Taylor summed it up like this: "We should be in jail man. You and me should be waiting for our parents to post bond while Becky and Cassandra are sitting in their rooms crying. What the hell is up with our luck?" Luck, indeed. That was the topic of conversation for the rest of the time my companions were awake. I'm sorry to say this Stacy, but had you been there, I'd have probably been slapped with that kidnapping charge we laughed about. A blessing in disguise to me, but still terribly unfortunate to you. At least you'll get a shirt out of all this.
Strange luck I have. Anyone who comes around me always experiences it. It's something out of a movie. Becky calls it "the worst, best luck," for you see, I always find myself in the strangest, absolutely impossible to survive situations, and not only do I survive, but I do it with a degree of grace. If you ever want to experience this strange luck, then just call me up and offer a road trip. Sure enough, we'll almost die at least twenty times. At least.
The rest of the ride was quiet. Becky said she would stay awake so I wouldn't have to drive alone, but I knew has soon as I started playing with her hair that she was going to crash, which was alright. She's beautiful when she sleeps, and I wanted some time alone to consider the day. Had all of this nonsense really happened on account of a concert? Cassandra had said earlier that day, "We have gone through more than anyone to see this band." At the time, I wasn't so sure. Of course, we had gone through more than most just to see a band perform and even lost one of our friends on the way, but at that moment I couldn't be sure. Now, as I'm sitting in my room at three in the morning reflecting on the situations we endured, I am convinced she was right. We had fought like hell to stay afloat when all around us terrible things were happening. That's the spirit of us teenagers today, I suppose. You can't keep us down. We shape our world out to what we want it to be, and when we can't mold it right, we put up with it.
Finally, we had arrived back in Morristown, back down Panther Creek Drive, back up the street and down to hill to where Cassandra lived, where our female companions would be spending the morning, for it was already past six when we arrived.
"I love you."
"I love you."
Mwah.
Taylor and I, barely conscious by this time, somehow made our way to his house. The bastard made me sleep on the floor with no pillow and a sleeping bag. But that's the thing about us teenagers. When we can't change what we don't like, we put up with it.
Contributed by: William Steinbeck
"Why am I still alive?"
"Where does this luck come from?"
"Shouldn't we be in jail by now?"
"Did we even do anything of illegal merit?"
Christ. Adventures in this great country like what I just experienced are most definitely what life is all about. The man who tells no stories is the man who has not lived nor taken some sort of risk, and, by God, we risked it all in this most unusual, extreme circumstance.
Louisville, Kentucky is a city about thrice the size of Knoxville. For an eighteen year old meandering around with three underage high schoolers, it can be one of the most perilous places of your life. But goodness, if I keep going like this I'll tell the story in bits and pieces, and you'll never be able to turn all of those pieces into the journey we all survived somehow. Yes, somehow. Like always. But stories shouldn't be told in parts, especially good ones, unless you are one of those Greek bastards and you don't have the time to tell an entire story by word of mouth. Fortunately for me, I have all the time I need to write this story out. So, where to begin? Ah, yes. The night before seems like a good place, a night filled with overtones of safety and security.
Taylor and I had been skating around town whenever we met up will a fellow named Bronson Mills. For those of you know Bronson, he is a drug guru of sorts. At twenty-one years of age he has traveled all over these great states being experienced in the art of survival through drug use and connections with the right people. But I suppose that’s the only way to live, minus the drugs, unless that floats your boat, but I'm more of a land kind of guy.
Not long after meeting up with Bronson, Taylor and I found ourselves at his house discussing consciousness, rumors of LSD-25 being dumped into California's water supply during the sixties, the patches of hallucinogenic mushrooms growing wildly in national parks in Oregon, Grandfather Time and his tie-dye uniform, the Grateful Dead family, and thumb printing LSD.
I feel it is mandatory to describe exactly what thumb printing is, for it is a fascinating and horrifying concept. If ever you find yourself in California and in good standing with the Merry Pranksters, then you just may find yourself in the position of being allowed to thumbprint a pure LSD crystal. The procedure works like this: You lick your thumb, then touch the crystal, then lick your thumb again. What follows is about a year of full on tripping. If the Merry Pranksters allow you to do this, then it should also be remembered that they will take care of you for this entire year of delirium. For a solid year, you are held as a "prisoner" of sorts basically being pampered by a group of hoodlums. For some this would seem like a fashionable idea, especially to those of you who enjoy tripping, but to others would be total insanity. "One out of six people die from shock because of it," said Bronson. "You really have to stop yourself and think 'Do I want to do this?'"
Around twelve Taylor and I left Bronson's with a new destination in mind. Taylor and I both seemed to be suffering from some sort of horrible allergy problem so we figured the best thing to do was load up on cough drops, especially since we would be needed them for all the cigarette smoking that would be done the following day en route to Louisville for the moment we had all waited for - the Modest Mouse concert. Taylor and I next decided that shirts should be made to commemorate this event. We stopped at Wal-Mart and bought five T's of differing color. When we arrived at home, the only thing we could think to spray paint on them was various songs from various Modest Mouse albums. We then hopped in my bed and slept.
It was to be a glorious day of seeing the sights of a massive, beautiful town with a quick visit to the skate park finished up with the concert to end all concerts. Little did we know the horrors that awaited us...
The plan went something like this: Becky and her crew, which consisted of Cassandra and Stacy, would be picked up from school by Taylor and me after first period, to ensure that we made it to the concert on time and also just to be in good company. We would arrive in Louisville, skate the park, take some good ol' Myspace photos, then see Modest Mouse in concert followed by the quiet drive home as I drove while everyone else napped. At first glance you would think, "Sounds like fun, Dustin, why didn't you invite me?" Ye gods! The trip was more than worth it, but the cost was heavy, and today is one of those zombie days where it feels like at any moment you could wake up back at the Coyote listening to the tunes of Love As Laughter, Modest Mouse, and that other band whose name I don't recall, but thoroughly enjoyed, more so than I did Love As Laughter. Of course, both bands hold my respect, for I hold no musical talent, but I suppose, it's all in the ear as to whether or not you prefer one sound over another.
Taylor awoke to the noise of my cell phone ringing. We had slept in my bed, which made for an intimate scene between two heterosexual guys, but intimate nonetheless.
"Dustin, my mom isn't letting me leave until after second period."
The first scare of the day came from Becky. It wasn't as much a scare as it was a slowing down in the planned procedure. It was alright, of course. That just meant Taylor and I would be sleeping in a little later, for we still had to pick up Cassandra and Stacy after first period had ended. Finally, nine o' clock came around, and it was time for us to take showers. Separately, of course, you dirty minded bastards. We're not gay, just close. Intimate, so to speak.
Taylor and I waited patiently outside of West High, the "other" high school in town, until finally Cassandra approached the car.
"Has anyone called to get Stacy out yet?"
Another slowing down in the plan. Shit. Which one of silly teenagers would muster the courage to call a high school and sign one of our own out? And what if those office bastards decided they didn't buy the line we shot and called Stacy's psychotic mother. Then no Stacy would be in attendance for the concert she had bought all the tickets for. Unacceptable in my book. Cassandra told us she had to go home and that we should follow her to pick her up.
I told her I'd meet her there and that I'd make a phone call.
No, you silly children, I didn't call in Stacy's dismissal. No need to have some sort of strange kidnapping charge thrown on me by Sandra Lutz, for she would go so far as to do it. She is the kind of mother that figures out everything. A professional in her own field. And this instance was no difference. The phone call I made was to Becky's sister Stephanie.
"Just call in and say you're Sandra and that you want your daughter out of school by the end of second period. It'll all be smooth as glass."
Smooth as glass. Oh my, smooth indeed. When finally I arrived at Cassandra's house to drive her to Becky's house where some sort of female dressing and make-up ritual would ensue, Cassandra had more bad news. The school had figured that Stephanie wasn't really Sandra, so they did the other thing they knew to do: call Sandra and ask if it was really her that had called.
Oh, holy fools!
By the time we reached Becky's house, it was blatantly obvious that Stacy wasn't going on this trip. I can't describe the pain I felt when I finally came to realization of this fact. Christ! This wasn't fair at all. But viewing it from a Communistic viewpoint, it was for the good of the whole. Had Stacy gone with us, then that kidnapping charge would indeed be brought to surface, and I may not be writing this story right now.
Becky's father, who had received a phone call from Sandra saying the phone call to let Stacy out of school had been received from Stephanie's phone, decided to confront us about the conundrum. What happened wasn't what I expected.
Cassandra took the fall for the call. A noble thing, by most standards, but a dangerous thing nonetheless. Our trip could've been over right then. Lies are the only reason parents need to shut down a teenager's operations, and surely this was it. We weren't going to make it. But we did. We survived somehow.
The end of second period came was approaching, and the desire to see my girlfriend was beginning to become overwhelming. I ushered everyone into the car and began the drive down 160.
We sat in the parking lot and reminisced of times long past until Becky appeared in my rearview mirror.
"Stacy isn't coming."
It was a pretty heavy statement. Stacy, the one who had had the idea for the trip and paid for the tickets, wasn't even going to enjoy the sights of Louisville and the sounds of Modest Mouse, and this time, there was nothing any of us could do about it. Normally when a strange situation like this arises, we can find some way to get around it, or in some cases, walk straight through it, but this was incredibly different. The school was holding her hostage. Nothing less than a full on assault with machine guns and an Army issue Hummer could save the day. And so it was with heavy hearts that we moved on.
The next couple of hours were not as twisted at the fist few hours of the day had been. We drove in peace. It was a feeling that we wouldn't get much of that day, but at that time, in that car, on that road going who knows how fast with no sense of direction at all, for the directions had been turned into paper airplanes or hung from the ceiling of the car in decoration, we were at peace. The ride was filled with melodies from Taylor's soon to be dead iPod, laughter from all directions, and the sweet smell of brown sugar fig and Marlboro Smooth, the chosen cigarette of our group. I felt like the captain of a mighty boat that was drifting towards an island paradise.
"I think you should lay some mack down."
"I dunno, man. I just dunno."
"We'll see."
"So what do you think?"
"I think we make excellent match makers."
Louisville at last! What a brilliant town, I remember thinking. Absolutely beautiful! Astounding indeed! A city full of hope and dreams, a city where many famous people had been raised, city full of history and a certain kind of magic that I myself am somewhat familiar with.
We all decided that the first thing we needed to do was find the Coyote, the venue for tonight's show. As you enter Louisville from I-64, you come out on Jefferson Street. If you head south on this street for not much longer than a minute, you'll see the Coyote across the street and on your left. The Coyote is a small bar/club with a wide range of bands (Hanson, for instance) appearing on its stage. Christ! I'm getting ahead of myself again! I'll tell you more about the Coyote when we get there.
Our first stop was the skate park. What a magnificent skate park! But, Christ, what a wretched time I spent there. Rolling in on one of the concrete ramps, I snagged on thin air and found myself lying on my back with a knot on my head. Not a good way to start off a session at one of the greatest parks in the country, but it happens, I suppose. Eventually, I decided I had had enough of missing tricks and getting hurt. It was time to find food, but not before Louisville Skate Park had one more cruel gesture to show me. As I threw down my skate to jump on and ride off into the street, a bolt came loose and a wheel rolled right off. Needless to say I was airborne again.
The sight of the car was a relief. We were all beginning to become hungry and we were most definitely thirsty, due to the extreme heat. I opened the truck to lay my three-wheeled skateboard in along with other assorted items and watched Becky close it. And then it hit me. We had locked the keys in the truck.
Christ! What sort of individual would throw his car keys into his truck? That wasn't asking for trouble. That was commanding trouble to rain down upon us with all of his merry angels! Had we been home, this wouldn't have been so bad. I could've made a quick phone call and had a spare key brought to us, but what sort of fool would drive 4 hours just to bring us a spare key? No, I thought, we're going to have to dig our own way out of this grave.
I called numerous cellular telephone directories in search of a locksmith to no avail. There wasn't a Louisville location for any of the listings. I spoke to a nice woman who had no brains. I came to the conclusion that she was a very carefully constructed telephone recording, and screamed, "VIVA LA RESISTANCE," before I hung up abruptly.
My next idea proved more fruitful than the last. My companions and I cross the desert of the Louisville skate park to reach the Louisville skate shop. "Maybe they've got a phone book, or at least some cracked out pimp that'll do it for free if we auction one of you two-" referring to Becky and Cassandra-"out to him for a night." Of course this was a terrible joke to make at a time like this. We were all reaching maximum frustration, or at least what we thought was maximum frustration until much later in the night when we found how much nonsense we could really handle.
"Here's the book."
The phone book the man handed us looked as if it had risen out of King Arthur's tomb. It was in two pieces, and there were strange markings all over the pages. It was tie-dyed from strange spills. Finally, we found a number to call. There was no area code listed, so I was forced to ask the locals what the area code was here.
The Louisville locals don't take kindly to strangers. It's one thing if you're at the park talking about skateboard maneuvers, but when you flaunt your ignorance by asking what the area code was, they're smiles turn grim, and their knuckles turn white. A sense of fear washes over the asker.
"504," replied one of the bastards. We were no longer welcome in this part of the country.
If the Shark could talk, what sort of strange things would it tell to my friends? How many tales of drug-use or near-death experience would it conjure from beneath it's seemingly friendly appearance. Would it tell of past loves, or worse, past whores? Would it speak of tears and joys, or friendships and sorrows? Christ, good riddance. Just keep you're damn mouth shut, for all our sakes.
We sat by my car waiting for a phone call from a lock smithing service called Pop-Lock. It seemed decent enough. A woman who I assumed to be black due to her dialect told us it would be ten minutes before she would call back and give me a quote and a time for the locksmith to arrive. Alright, I thought, maybe an hour at most. We'll have time to get food and see Mouse.
"It will cost seventy-six dollars. He will arrive in one to two hours. Thank you for using Pop-Lock." The bastards had us by the throat. It was five thirty. If this man didn't come soon, then there would be no food for my Jews, and what kind of Moses would take his people somewhere without food? Christ, it was bad enough that Stacy wasn't here, we all received a lecture this morning, and the keys were locked in my truck, but to handle all of this confusion without a crumb? Gracious God! Lay mercy on we swine.
"Let's walk to White Castle!"
Yes, White Castle. It was almost a tourist attraction for us Tennessee folk. White Castle is equivalent to Morristown's Krystal. I had eaten there once before when I had made this trip with Anthony. I'm not sure if their burgers are better than Krystal's because it's something new and "exotic" or maybe, with the correct measurement of cooking oils, they have found a way to make a burger of higher quality. That memory of those glorious burgers was stained when a man wearing shorts in December tried to sell Anthony and me a pair of Air Jordan’s.
"What size you boys wear?"
Christ, I thought, he's going to cut off our feet and throw them in that box. We're as good as dead! The headlines will read: "TWO EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD BOYS WERE FOUND STUFFED INTO A DUMPSTER WITH THEIR FEET CUT OFF AND A METAL PIPE SHOVED UP THEIR RECTUM." Fortunately, my fear didn't come full circle. When we turned the man down, he looked like we had genuinely hurt him. Maybe he really did need help paying his rent or maybe he was too coked out to know the difference between Anthony being black and me being white. To hell with that trip!
We didn't make it to White Castle. A man called my phone.
"I'll be coming to your car in twenty minutes to open your lock."
Time to rally the troops!
"Come back to the car guys. I know we've already walked two miles in this heat, but I want to be there when he opens the truck."
The walk back was fun. More fun than the walk there. Becky coxed me into taking off my shoes and walking barefoot down the Louisville sidewalks. It was surprisingly refreshing. Then she surprised me again by offering to race to the car. A race? Christ, I hadn't run in ages. And the race was on. I'm sure I looked silly carrying a pair of Nike's and a woman's purse, but in those moments I felt fantastic.
Running is something that I was once great at. I used to run miles just for the fun of it. I suppose I was an addict to that runner's high. My running career came to a halt whenever I took up skating. It just lost its glow. But anytime I get the motivation to run, I do it, and by God it feels glorious. Becky beat me back to the car. We had left Taylor and Cassandra in our dust for they had decided to continue walking. When finally they arrived, the Pop-Lock van rolled onto the scene as if on cue. After waiting an hour in the blazing sun, it was a relief to see the man step out of the van.
"Hey, I'm Chad."
"Hi, Chad. Do you smoke?"
"Not cigarettes."
Fear and loathing.
Chad let me have his lighter. Becky looked at it for a moment, and then let out an audible noise of disgust. I looked at the lighter to see why. It was a chopper bearing resemblance to some sort of Hell's Angels dream ride. Had I been an expert or fanatic about motorcycles, I would've treasure the image, but I am not. I removed the wrapping around the lighter and exposed it for its true color - white.
It took Chad another hour (it was seven o' clock) to cut the key. He blamed it on faulty equipment, but we blamed it on the pot. We would get the only stoned locksmith in town.
Christ! Only twenty minutes to make it to the show before it began! Would we make it? It seemed to me at that moment that any number of horrible things could happen to throw us back to where we were before. What if we get hit? What if the car explodes for no reason? What if a mountain lion jumps in the back? We're doomed, I thought.
Surprisingly, we made it.
We were just about to cross the street to the venue when we heard, "You there!" Oh God, this was it. We're going to be mugged and raped. This is the end!
"Do you have a spare ticket? I'll give you forty dollars for it!"
Sigh of relief. We began crossing the street to reach the concert, but didn't even stop to think about the possibility of a car running us down, which very nearly happened to the man who asked for the ticket who was walking right beside of me, which would've meant that I'd also be dead also. Thankfully, the car came to a halt. Must be fate, I guess.
I hadn't heard the guy say he would give us forty dollars for it, and the next thing out of my mouth earned a slap from each of my friends.
"We'll give it to you for twenty."
At the time, it seemed like a terrible thing to do. Here we were with a ticket that could've easily gone for fifty, and I had practically given it away. It wasn't until later that we looked back on that moment and thought about the good karma it brought to us.
We had finally made it. It was seven thirty when we walked in and the first band, Love As Laughter, was just setting up their equipment. We decided that a round of Mountain Dew was in order to celebrate our survival of the trip so far, for it was only sheer luck that we'd even made it this far.
We made our way to the middle of the arena, for it would be a battle to reach the front and show off our handmade shirts. It wasn't until Modest Mouse hit the stage that we were within reaching distance of the floor.
The next couple of hours are a blur of dancing, strange people, and spilt beers, of which we didn't partake in. The Mouse performance was so intense that at times I found myself thinking that it wasn't real and that I would wake up back at work daydreaming about seeing Isaac Brock and his crew on stage. But, ye gods, this was happening! Twenty feet away from me was the man whose lyrics I had obsessed over for two years. And not just him! His entire Mouse army!
Goodness, the nostalgia is almost overwhelming. It was an emotional time for me. I was totally engulfed in some sort of trance that caused me to wave my hands in the air and move my body the way the Israelites had for their golden calf. Oh, good times.
I believe, and maybe this statement should be saved for later when the entire story is told, but I just cannot hold it in any longer, that the entire trip can be summed up in one of Modest Mouse's lyrics. If it takes shit to make bliss, then I feel pretty blissfully.
Oh, yes. Bliss indeed.
After the concert, all was glorious. The street lights were like stars and the roads were the gold we were looking for. The passing of cars and the murmur of voices was like some sort of melody played out on from God's own violin, for we all know that the true choice of instrument for heavenly folk is a violin and not that wretched harp.
But our hunger had been escalating since about four 'o clock. If we didn't find food soon, our collapse in the street would soon be upon us. As we were walking back to my car, marvelous lights filled our eyes.
Louisville's Fourth Street is something like a smaller version of New Orleans' Mardi Gras, only it closes earlier, and nudity and public drunkenness were not taken as well; however, our trip down this well-lit street was filled with both. We quickly determined that we didn't have the money to eat somewhere up-scale and the local cafeteria was closed after eleven. How unfortunate that it was only eleven five!
We meandered our way to an overhead bridge, which spanned the length of Fourth Street. There, we took a load off our feet by relaxing at some of the tables that were sitting out for businessmen in their rush lunches. Becky and I shared sweet words and kisses while recreating the events of the day passed. Taylor and Cassandra had picked a table to themselves, which was only appropriate for each table had only two chairs. Ah, yes. Kisses and cigarettes. What's better?
Oh yes, I know. Seeing a drunken man and woman stumble up the stairs at the base of the sidewalk. Ha ha. Oh, and what's this? Wow. That drunken lady really did just piss on the side of the wall. How are women even capable of that? Wow. And she really did just fall over in her own urine. Poor swine. These are the folks that I live to see. The decadence of America. How wonderfully amusing, yet horribly disfigured and troubling.
Troubling. Much like the hunger in our stomachs. We took the elevator down. Taylor and Cassandra were in front of us. Becky and I felt like waiting for the crosswalk sign to signal that it was safe to cross, but the other two of our group decided to risk it. A woman in a van narrowly missed them. I couldn't make out what she shouted at Taylor, but whatever it was was enough to cause him to throw up a certain unwelcome hand gesture. Christ, I hope that police officer doesn't mind. And he doesn't. Keep walking, keep you're head down. Smile when spoken to. Quick, short answers. Exhaustion and dehydration was setting in.
We half expected a parking ticket to be on the shark when we arrived.
"Nothing here. I guess you were right, Taylor!"
Yes, leave it up to Taylor to save the day. Wait, he hadn't done anything, only said:
"No need to worry."
Maybe his voice had dictated the future? Heavens! I better keep him around. Load him up on X and have him say good things all the time! Wait. That's totally illogical. Keep your head together, Dustin. It's only hunger.
We made our escape from Louisville down a one way road. I'm surprised we weren't pulled over and shot for such blatant disobedience of the law and also that we didn't enter the freeway going against the flow of traffic. Either situation would've been potentially fatal, but I would've much rather faced one thousand oncoming cars and semi-trucks than one bullet.
Sixty-five miles later and still there was no sign of a Taco Bell, the place we had all voted to eat at. In a desperate move, I wheeled the shark off of the interstate onto some exit outside of Lexington.
"I'll just ask where one is. I can't wait any longer for food." The general consensus in the car was the same. Everyone was starving. The gas station attendant was nice enough. She told me the directions, and sure enough, there were right.
We split our order into three separate orders, a potential fiasco for any Taco Bell worker at one, two, or maybe even three in the morning, for by now I've forgotten what times everything happened at. I only remember it happened.
The woman who handed us our food and exchanged our money was black and obviously a racist. She handed us one straw less than we needed, two packs of mild taco sauce, and tried to take most of Becky's change. Fortunately, we got that back and still managed to be polite as we drove off. It wasn't until I realized that everyone had a straw but me that I became somewhat angry. Of course anyone can make an accident, but this woman had pushed her luck too far. Thoughts crashing the shark into the window and demanding a refund swirled through my head. Yeah. Take it too far, way too far, and they won't have a clue what to do. They'll bow down before your every command. Shit, maybe I should burn the whole place down. I've got white linen sheets in my truck! We can have an old fashion KKK rally right in the middle of Kentucky.
But these thoughts soon fled my mind when I realized the absurdity of such things. Instead, I simply drove around to the window to ask for another straw. The conversation went like this.
"Hey, I need another straw please."
"There were three straws in there (as she hands me the straw)."
"Yeah, and we had four goddamn drinks."
Awkward silence followed by me driving off.
We ate in the parking lot, and laughed at my victory over racism the only way I knew to do it. As we were eating something strange happened. A Mexican and his woman pulled up to the front door of Taco Bell. They waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the woman who had served us came out with a Taco Bell bag. She handed it to the man who then handed her money, then stepped back into and disappeared into the back. The Mexican examined his load.
"Drug deal," I shouted through a mouthful of chicken burrito. And sure enough we were right. Taylor was the first to see the marijuana.
"There it is, in all of its green glory."
"Stop thinking like that man! We're straight-edge remember! Shun the temptation."
I remember thinking, "Christ that'd definitely mellow us all out a little." But what were we to do? Run up with our skateboards and beat it out of his hands? Yes, fantastic idea. I should do it. WHOA WHOA WHOA! Head down. Smile when spoken to. Eat your burrito.
Soon after, the Mexican drove off into the night to smoke or sell what he had just purchased.
It was at this time, while we were headed back to the interstate that Cassandra decided to tell us about how unlucky white lighters were. Christ! No wonder we had a stoned locksmith, racist servers at Taco Bell, and the next great horror of the night (or early morning, depending upon who you are.)
By now you're thinking, alright Dustin. When does this end? You're shooting bull now. I wish I could say that racism was the final terror we faced that night. But it'd be a lie, and some of the story would be lost in time if I didn't tell it honestly.
It was just on the other side of Lexington when I decided to stop for gas. It seemed like a quick run in, pay, pump, and run out kind of deal; however, the flashing lights behind me seemed to say otherwise.
Fucking hell. Everything that life could throw at us, we faced in this day, and now the final hammer was being dropped - the authority, the police.
"How are you guys tonight?"
"Pretty good, officer. We're just getting back form a concert in Louisville trying to make our way HOME!"
"I see, I see. Well you ran right through that stop sign back there and failed to signal your turn. Any of you been drinking tonight?"
A chorus of "No’s” and nervous laughter flooded the car. It was true we hadn't been drinking, or even partaking in drug use, but you never know when some asshole fresh pig straight from the slaughterhouse will decide to search your car. We were already running dangerously late, but if something went wrong, we were as good as dead.
"Well, I haven't decided whether or not I’ll give you a ticket. Do you all have ID? Are you all eighteen?"
Everyone except me claimed to have left their ID at home and also to be legal.
"Well, let me write down your names, date of birth, and social security number to check and make sure we don't have any runaway's."
The truth about the ages quickly surfaced, but the officer didn't seem to notice.
Christ something just occurred to me. "...don't have any runaway's." Eighteen year old individuals don't run away. They do what they want. That bastard knew all along. He just wanted to let us think we had gotten away with lying. Well, shit guys. I guess he wasn't so dumb after all...
Finally, the officer returned.
"Sorry it took so long. We had a report of a stolen car out of Michigan matching yours. I just had to make sure that you weren't thieves. Here's a warning. Drive safely and get home!"
A sigh of relief. We were off the hook. The next day, Taylor summed it up like this: "We should be in jail man. You and me should be waiting for our parents to post bond while Becky and Cassandra are sitting in their rooms crying. What the hell is up with our luck?" Luck, indeed. That was the topic of conversation for the rest of the time my companions were awake. I'm sorry to say this Stacy, but had you been there, I'd have probably been slapped with that kidnapping charge we laughed about. A blessing in disguise to me, but still terribly unfortunate to you. At least you'll get a shirt out of all this.
Strange luck I have. Anyone who comes around me always experiences it. It's something out of a movie. Becky calls it "the worst, best luck," for you see, I always find myself in the strangest, absolutely impossible to survive situations, and not only do I survive, but I do it with a degree of grace. If you ever want to experience this strange luck, then just call me up and offer a road trip. Sure enough, we'll almost die at least twenty times. At least.
The rest of the ride was quiet. Becky said she would stay awake so I wouldn't have to drive alone, but I knew has soon as I started playing with her hair that she was going to crash, which was alright. She's beautiful when she sleeps, and I wanted some time alone to consider the day. Had all of this nonsense really happened on account of a concert? Cassandra had said earlier that day, "We have gone through more than anyone to see this band." At the time, I wasn't so sure. Of course, we had gone through more than most just to see a band perform and even lost one of our friends on the way, but at that moment I couldn't be sure. Now, as I'm sitting in my room at three in the morning reflecting on the situations we endured, I am convinced she was right. We had fought like hell to stay afloat when all around us terrible things were happening. That's the spirit of us teenagers today, I suppose. You can't keep us down. We shape our world out to what we want it to be, and when we can't mold it right, we put up with it.
Finally, we had arrived back in Morristown, back down Panther Creek Drive, back up the street and down to hill to where Cassandra lived, where our female companions would be spending the morning, for it was already past six when we arrived.
"I love you."
"I love you."
Mwah.
Taylor and I, barely conscious by this time, somehow made our way to his house. The bastard made me sleep on the floor with no pillow and a sleeping bag. But that's the thing about us teenagers. When we can't change what we don't like, we put up with it.
Contributed by: William Steinbeck
A Fly on the wall
Would you like to be a 'fly in the ointment' ? A 'bee in the bonnet'? A 'snake in the grass'? A 'wolf in sheep's clothing'? I'm sure not. Neither have I ever desired to join the animal ilk.
But of late I am being driven by an unknown compulsion to be a fly on the wall. Hang on ! It has nothing to do with being an animal-o-phile in general or a fly-o-phile in particular. Nor does it have anything to do with a 'karma' dependent human -animal reincarnation. Hold on ! It also has nothing to do with any Freudian voyeuristic compulsions. Why then was a happy human suddenly gripped by a desire to be a fly on the wall.
Well it all started like this. In the last month or so I was working busy as a bee in the office, in the happy expectation of being promoted on account of good work done.But one fine day as I entered my office 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed', I was told that a junior colleague had been promoted in my stead. How had this unhappy state of affairs come about, I anxiously inquired.I was told that ameeting had been held by the board constituting the who's who of our organization and the decision taken. Something had gone wrong! But how ? And where ? Was it my work? Or was it a consideration extraneous to the official set-up?How could I find out? Simple. By being a fly on the wall.
With the passage of time the compulsion slowly faded but only to raise its insistent head at important times in my life.When my beloved jade glass went missing. When my interview for a coveted job was being rated. When my doctors put their heads together in the examination room to diagnose a small lump in my back as I waited outside and slowly climbed the walls in my anxiety. When my seven month-old son was hurt and was being operated under general anesthesia . Oh how I wished at times like these that I was a fly on the wall and privy to all that was happening inside closed doors.
However, many of my friends feel that being privy to existential. Secrets would take the zing out of life. That it is the inaccessibility of the shadowy depths of the world that add excitement and interest to life. And to be a fly on the wall would take away that extra something from life. Yes I suppose secret goings-on not only titillate human interest but also set the adrenalin pumping
Contributed by: Rachy Singh
But of late I am being driven by an unknown compulsion to be a fly on the wall. Hang on ! It has nothing to do with being an animal-o-phile in general or a fly-o-phile in particular. Nor does it have anything to do with a 'karma' dependent human -animal reincarnation. Hold on ! It also has nothing to do with any Freudian voyeuristic compulsions. Why then was a happy human suddenly gripped by a desire to be a fly on the wall.
Well it all started like this. In the last month or so I was working busy as a bee in the office, in the happy expectation of being promoted on account of good work done.But one fine day as I entered my office 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed', I was told that a junior colleague had been promoted in my stead. How had this unhappy state of affairs come about, I anxiously inquired.I was told that ameeting had been held by the board constituting the who's who of our organization and the decision taken. Something had gone wrong! But how ? And where ? Was it my work? Or was it a consideration extraneous to the official set-up?How could I find out? Simple. By being a fly on the wall.
With the passage of time the compulsion slowly faded but only to raise its insistent head at important times in my life.When my beloved jade glass went missing. When my interview for a coveted job was being rated. When my doctors put their heads together in the examination room to diagnose a small lump in my back as I waited outside and slowly climbed the walls in my anxiety. When my seven month-old son was hurt and was being operated under general anesthesia . Oh how I wished at times like these that I was a fly on the wall and privy to all that was happening inside closed doors.
However, many of my friends feel that being privy to existential. Secrets would take the zing out of life. That it is the inaccessibility of the shadowy depths of the world that add excitement and interest to life. And to be a fly on the wall would take away that extra something from life. Yes I suppose secret goings-on not only titillate human interest but also set the adrenalin pumping
Contributed by: Rachy Singh
The Joker
We all must have noticed that in life around that even in the most tragic and heart-wrenching situations, there would be a person who seems unconcerned, unaffected by the circumstances. He is a person, as it appears is someone who will never take life seriously. For him the life is just another joke, to be laughed away. No doubt humour does add spice to life, and it kind of smoothens the rough edges in the machine of life. It may appear that such people fritter away their precious lives in this casual and careless manner.
But everyone misses the tragedy behind the veneer of this joking, jovial, and apparently careless carefree human. People laugh at his antics, lighten their hearts and move on leaving him behind entrapped in his miseries. He feels that by sharing his joy they may share his misery. Everyone eats away the cake but no one bothers about the dirty old oven, that was on fire for hours, to bake the cake.
This is how life is, or is that how, life supposed to be ?
Contributed by: Kainaat Creations
But everyone misses the tragedy behind the veneer of this joking, jovial, and apparently careless carefree human. People laugh at his antics, lighten their hearts and move on leaving him behind entrapped in his miseries. He feels that by sharing his joy they may share his misery. Everyone eats away the cake but no one bothers about the dirty old oven, that was on fire for hours, to bake the cake.
This is how life is, or is that how, life supposed to be ?
Contributed by: Kainaat Creations
Lovers' quarrels
One minute you seem like lovesick turtledoves teasing, laughing and giggling with all your might. Then a few minutes later, you begin yelling and berating each other and a lover's quarrel is already in progress. A little bantering was all it took to stoke up a rising emotional tension.
Every now and then, no matter how close and intimate a couple is, an argument occasionally looms to create a tide in the relationship. Although sometimes it shakes a relationship down to its very core, if handled well, it is healthy and can help create lasting relationships. Here is a list of what couples like you usually argue about and what you should do whenever you are faced with another petty bickering.
Jealousy
Jealousy is a natural human emotion. It is not negative in itself. How people react to jealous feelings make it negative. Usually, jealousy stems from the lack of trust or lack of assurance from one's partner. It can also come from a low self-image or an inferiority complex. If you are the jealous one, learn to act by reason and not by emotion. Your jealousy is just a product of your own mental-emotional patterns that only exist in your head. Just because your lover admired something about another person, does not mean that you are loved any less, or that the person is more attractive than you are. Voice out how you feel to your partner so that you can discuss things and he can help you alleviate your jealousy. If your partner is the green-eyed monster, assure him of your devotion and reassure him of his innate worth as your love mate. Perhaps your partner needs more attention and affection than you are giving him.
Individual Differences
When you first met, it may be the similarities you found with each other that instantly created the bond and rapport. However, as you knew each other better, it is your differences that potentially fashioned the strength of your relationship. Hence, it is important that you value the differences that make you unique as a couple. Perhaps, there might be times when you may want to change your partner into your view of his potential. However, even if you would succeed in your crusade, chances are you would lose respect for him for allowing you to have done it and for not having the personal strength to be him. So it is better that you both learn to compromise and meet halfway every time a conflict surges. Be ready to recognize each other's weaknesses and learn to appreciate what the other has to offer. Instead of seeing yourselves as separate individuals, practise seeing each other as an aspect of yourselves. In this way, you shatter the illusion of separation and bridge the gap that's keeping you asunder.
Unfulfilled Expectations
When a dispute recurs but too many times like a bad case of athlete's foot but you have no clue as to what's really causing the problem, odds are it was because your partner did not meet your expectations or he didn't meet yours. When expectations are not met, a spat usually ushers in. Depending on the expectations you may want to concede in your relationship, it is highly commendable that you bring your expectations upfront from the very start of the relationship. Determine which expectations are most important to you and which are most important to your partner. Spend some time tossing around what you both desire and need from the relationship and what you must have and will not tolerate from each other. Remember, love works best when it involves both give and take.
You're-Wrong-I'm-Right Attitude
Instincts often tell us not to give up and admit defeat in times of disagreements especially if we are certain that we are right. Nevertheless, to think about it, does it really matter, who is right and who is not? In a relationship, it is never good to assert too much, if it means you could hurt your partner. Let go of having to "be right!" If you must speak up, do it lovingly. Never tell your partner that he is wrong straight in the face. If you do this, you may just stir a storm in a teacup and set about a violent outburst. Instead of having to be RIGHT, decide with your mate that it is more important to be HAPPY. Discuss in loving way areas of mutual concern then agree on certain terms so that you prevent yourselves from meshing with future disagreements.
Money Matters
When you're going through the honeymoon phase of your relationship, money may not be much of an issue. Nonetheless, as the relationship progresses, power struggles and control issues around money may just start surfacing. This creates tension that if not resolved, can put a serious damper on the relationship. Where critical differences exist in your financial expectations, try to negotiate. Work out a way of managing your finances that gives you both some control. In any case, if one is earning more than the other, he/she shouldn't hold all the control because even if the other is contributing less in the financial aspect, that does not mean he/she is contributing any less in other areas of the relationship. Over all of this, if there are still issues, sit and talk things over. Discussion and cooperation may not confer instant solutions to difficult financial issues, but knowing you and your partner agree about how to approach the situation will help maintain the zing in your relationship.
Arguments by nature are difficult and can even be hurtful and frustrating. Yet, they are a normal natural aspect of any relationship. Like the salt to meat dishes, they add flavour to the lives of couples and help build better relationships. On the other hand, if disputes are poorly handled, they can also potentially wreck a strong relationship. So, in order to avoid this, every disagreement should be carefully handled in a way that would boost relationship satisfaction and pave the way for new growth together. Truly, it is fun to fight and make up (and out) after knowing you have worked together through it all.
Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo
Every now and then, no matter how close and intimate a couple is, an argument occasionally looms to create a tide in the relationship. Although sometimes it shakes a relationship down to its very core, if handled well, it is healthy and can help create lasting relationships. Here is a list of what couples like you usually argue about and what you should do whenever you are faced with another petty bickering.
Jealousy
Jealousy is a natural human emotion. It is not negative in itself. How people react to jealous feelings make it negative. Usually, jealousy stems from the lack of trust or lack of assurance from one's partner. It can also come from a low self-image or an inferiority complex. If you are the jealous one, learn to act by reason and not by emotion. Your jealousy is just a product of your own mental-emotional patterns that only exist in your head. Just because your lover admired something about another person, does not mean that you are loved any less, or that the person is more attractive than you are. Voice out how you feel to your partner so that you can discuss things and he can help you alleviate your jealousy. If your partner is the green-eyed monster, assure him of your devotion and reassure him of his innate worth as your love mate. Perhaps your partner needs more attention and affection than you are giving him.
Individual Differences
When you first met, it may be the similarities you found with each other that instantly created the bond and rapport. However, as you knew each other better, it is your differences that potentially fashioned the strength of your relationship. Hence, it is important that you value the differences that make you unique as a couple. Perhaps, there might be times when you may want to change your partner into your view of his potential. However, even if you would succeed in your crusade, chances are you would lose respect for him for allowing you to have done it and for not having the personal strength to be him. So it is better that you both learn to compromise and meet halfway every time a conflict surges. Be ready to recognize each other's weaknesses and learn to appreciate what the other has to offer. Instead of seeing yourselves as separate individuals, practise seeing each other as an aspect of yourselves. In this way, you shatter the illusion of separation and bridge the gap that's keeping you asunder.
Unfulfilled Expectations
When a dispute recurs but too many times like a bad case of athlete's foot but you have no clue as to what's really causing the problem, odds are it was because your partner did not meet your expectations or he didn't meet yours. When expectations are not met, a spat usually ushers in. Depending on the expectations you may want to concede in your relationship, it is highly commendable that you bring your expectations upfront from the very start of the relationship. Determine which expectations are most important to you and which are most important to your partner. Spend some time tossing around what you both desire and need from the relationship and what you must have and will not tolerate from each other. Remember, love works best when it involves both give and take.
You're-Wrong-I'm-Right Attitude
Instincts often tell us not to give up and admit defeat in times of disagreements especially if we are certain that we are right. Nevertheless, to think about it, does it really matter, who is right and who is not? In a relationship, it is never good to assert too much, if it means you could hurt your partner. Let go of having to "be right!" If you must speak up, do it lovingly. Never tell your partner that he is wrong straight in the face. If you do this, you may just stir a storm in a teacup and set about a violent outburst. Instead of having to be RIGHT, decide with your mate that it is more important to be HAPPY. Discuss in loving way areas of mutual concern then agree on certain terms so that you prevent yourselves from meshing with future disagreements.
Money Matters
When you're going through the honeymoon phase of your relationship, money may not be much of an issue. Nonetheless, as the relationship progresses, power struggles and control issues around money may just start surfacing. This creates tension that if not resolved, can put a serious damper on the relationship. Where critical differences exist in your financial expectations, try to negotiate. Work out a way of managing your finances that gives you both some control. In any case, if one is earning more than the other, he/she shouldn't hold all the control because even if the other is contributing less in the financial aspect, that does not mean he/she is contributing any less in other areas of the relationship. Over all of this, if there are still issues, sit and talk things over. Discussion and cooperation may not confer instant solutions to difficult financial issues, but knowing you and your partner agree about how to approach the situation will help maintain the zing in your relationship.
Arguments by nature are difficult and can even be hurtful and frustrating. Yet, they are a normal natural aspect of any relationship. Like the salt to meat dishes, they add flavour to the lives of couples and help build better relationships. On the other hand, if disputes are poorly handled, they can also potentially wreck a strong relationship. So, in order to avoid this, every disagreement should be carefully handled in a way that would boost relationship satisfaction and pave the way for new growth together. Truly, it is fun to fight and make up (and out) after knowing you have worked together through it all.
Contributed by: Rachelle Arlin Credo
The System
Being good enough to make it- you might even say it is unnecessary. It is not about who deserves and who is not. There is a system of accreditation, through which you pass through, to successfully to make it. It can cause you to compromise on the way you wanted to make it but you are going to have to pass through the system if you want to make it anyway. Going through the system is the only way you can make it.
The system does not give you credit on merit. It has a predefined list of things that you can do for getting credits. This list is too general to cater to the development of the individual with the diversity of each of our specific abilities. If we were clever enough to realize that the credit would do us good, we would get the credit giving it first priority. That credit gives us the respect we need from people who can "get us there". Beyond a point, qualification, achievement, capacity and ability lose value and that respect takes us there. How you get it doesn't matter because once you get it, you are given charge and then you're free of the system and you can then handle matters how you wish to.
Through the system, we achieve our goals but it makes us compromise on our true essence in cases when there is a conflict of interest. We end up wasting the time when we have the most potential by earning our way up the system. We get through it by the time that time is over and a lot of time gets wasted in-between.
Because they say that every pleasure got its edge of pain, we should not make it so. The trouble we sometimes go through to enjoy happiness makes us unable to make the whole process worthwhile. The system passes on a lot of regret and unhappiness from one generation to the next. In any case, this price has to be paid. Everyone from the previous generation goes through the process and we have to go through it too compromising and giving something or the other up.
Are the future generations going to keep on regretting? Are dreams going to be a heavily priced commodity forever and ever? For how long will the regret go on? Is it too late too ask this question? Is it for us now, this generation, to refuse to take that regret on? Where will it go then? It cannot vanish into oblivion. Someone has to suffer that to happen. Who will? Are people willing to forget and forgo all that having to regret makes them lose in the end?
The system makes us depend on it (because it determines our success) and then when we have passed through it, all stripped of our strength, we depend on it to move on further. What we lost through it, we do not allow the next generation to have or attain by pushing them through the system to lose the same. The system can only be disabled if we do not allow it define our rise up towards our goals. If it has to be gone through anyway, for what we lose through compromises we should not blame it but press on until it breaks- at least for us. If we have what it takes, we will make it. What "gets us there" will be our own merit and abilities and we wont have anyone to oblige and nothing to regret to blame anyone or anything in the end.
Contributed by: Sunil Noronha
The system does not give you credit on merit. It has a predefined list of things that you can do for getting credits. This list is too general to cater to the development of the individual with the diversity of each of our specific abilities. If we were clever enough to realize that the credit would do us good, we would get the credit giving it first priority. That credit gives us the respect we need from people who can "get us there". Beyond a point, qualification, achievement, capacity and ability lose value and that respect takes us there. How you get it doesn't matter because once you get it, you are given charge and then you're free of the system and you can then handle matters how you wish to.
Through the system, we achieve our goals but it makes us compromise on our true essence in cases when there is a conflict of interest. We end up wasting the time when we have the most potential by earning our way up the system. We get through it by the time that time is over and a lot of time gets wasted in-between.
Because they say that every pleasure got its edge of pain, we should not make it so. The trouble we sometimes go through to enjoy happiness makes us unable to make the whole process worthwhile. The system passes on a lot of regret and unhappiness from one generation to the next. In any case, this price has to be paid. Everyone from the previous generation goes through the process and we have to go through it too compromising and giving something or the other up.
Are the future generations going to keep on regretting? Are dreams going to be a heavily priced commodity forever and ever? For how long will the regret go on? Is it too late too ask this question? Is it for us now, this generation, to refuse to take that regret on? Where will it go then? It cannot vanish into oblivion. Someone has to suffer that to happen. Who will? Are people willing to forget and forgo all that having to regret makes them lose in the end?
The system makes us depend on it (because it determines our success) and then when we have passed through it, all stripped of our strength, we depend on it to move on further. What we lost through it, we do not allow the next generation to have or attain by pushing them through the system to lose the same. The system can only be disabled if we do not allow it define our rise up towards our goals. If it has to be gone through anyway, for what we lose through compromises we should not blame it but press on until it breaks- at least for us. If we have what it takes, we will make it. What "gets us there" will be our own merit and abilities and we wont have anyone to oblige and nothing to regret to blame anyone or anything in the end.
Contributed by: Sunil Noronha
Attitudes
It took a move to the South and a culture shock from hell for me to learn that I was black. Of course I'm being sarcastic. I mean, I knew I was black. I grew up in a house with loads of mirrors. I knew that I had to have my hair hot combed and the little white girls at school didn't have to. I guess I should say that it took a move to the South for me to learn how important my being black was to everyone else.
I was a military brat so I didn't grow up in one solitary place. My scenery was always changing. I was so use to change that I didn't think that a move from California to Alabama would be that much of a change. Ah, how the youth walk in ignorance. Upon arriving at Saks Middle School, I was befriended by three nice white girls. The most popular white girls in the school. I was so relieved to have allies in this strange new world that I didn't notice that I was making all the black females at the school very uncomfortable. It's a good thing for me that people in the South aren't shy.
I remember that day in gym class as clear as Dasani.
"You Tasha?" An intimidating voice came from behind me. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the Middle of one of those great American Westerns.
"Yeah." I replied, turning around.
"You want to be white?" She demanded.
This flustered me. I started stuttering. I was pissed that I was loosing my cool.
"No!" I finally thought of in a witty comeback.
"Then why do you hang out with those white girls?"
Well, because they were the first people to befriend me in this hell.
"Because…" I began.
"And why do you talk so proper?"
I wasn't really aware of the fact that I spoke any differently than anyone else that spoke English, minus that slow Southern draw.
"Well, uh." By this time, her posse of thugs were backing her up.
"Where you from anyway? Why you speak so good? You think you better than us. You think you white? You Oreo."
Needless to say I came out of this interrogation alive. I heard everything as I spent the rest of my time growing up in the South. Oreo, gray girl, punk ass. Then, one day it dawned on me that it's very fishy that I have experienced more racism at the hands of black people than at the hands of any other race. And, I'm black.
The bottom line is that I'm not going to go out of my way to befriend someone simply because they look like me. It's not a great accomplishment to be the thing that Nature intended you to be. It's possible that this is a problem that is currently facing the black community.
The only people that can ensure the survival of the African-American community are black people. How the hell are we supposed to get stronger when we keep telling our own youth to belittle themselves. Why in the hell would you want to go and put more pressure on a black kid to be "more black," when the rest of society is going to expect him to be better?
Black people should train their people to run faster, jump higher, and speak better than anyone else. Maybe that's the problem in the black community. Maybe it isn't the "white folks," but a problem from within. Maybe we are handicapping our own youth. It is possible we are responsible for the 85% of black men in prison. Perhaps, we should look within to explain all the single black mothers on welfare. Maybe they aren't better because we aren't telling them that they should be. But, what do I know about black folks?
I'm just an Oreo.
Contributed by:Natasha Larry
I was a military brat so I didn't grow up in one solitary place. My scenery was always changing. I was so use to change that I didn't think that a move from California to Alabama would be that much of a change. Ah, how the youth walk in ignorance. Upon arriving at Saks Middle School, I was befriended by three nice white girls. The most popular white girls in the school. I was so relieved to have allies in this strange new world that I didn't notice that I was making all the black females at the school very uncomfortable. It's a good thing for me that people in the South aren't shy.
I remember that day in gym class as clear as Dasani.
"You Tasha?" An intimidating voice came from behind me. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the Middle of one of those great American Westerns.
"Yeah." I replied, turning around.
"You want to be white?" She demanded.
This flustered me. I started stuttering. I was pissed that I was loosing my cool.
"No!" I finally thought of in a witty comeback.
"Then why do you hang out with those white girls?"
Well, because they were the first people to befriend me in this hell.
"Because…" I began.
"And why do you talk so proper?"
I wasn't really aware of the fact that I spoke any differently than anyone else that spoke English, minus that slow Southern draw.
"Well, uh." By this time, her posse of thugs were backing her up.
"Where you from anyway? Why you speak so good? You think you better than us. You think you white? You Oreo."
Needless to say I came out of this interrogation alive. I heard everything as I spent the rest of my time growing up in the South. Oreo, gray girl, punk ass. Then, one day it dawned on me that it's very fishy that I have experienced more racism at the hands of black people than at the hands of any other race. And, I'm black.
The bottom line is that I'm not going to go out of my way to befriend someone simply because they look like me. It's not a great accomplishment to be the thing that Nature intended you to be. It's possible that this is a problem that is currently facing the black community.
The only people that can ensure the survival of the African-American community are black people. How the hell are we supposed to get stronger when we keep telling our own youth to belittle themselves. Why in the hell would you want to go and put more pressure on a black kid to be "more black," when the rest of society is going to expect him to be better?
Black people should train their people to run faster, jump higher, and speak better than anyone else. Maybe that's the problem in the black community. Maybe it isn't the "white folks," but a problem from within. Maybe we are handicapping our own youth. It is possible we are responsible for the 85% of black men in prison. Perhaps, we should look within to explain all the single black mothers on welfare. Maybe they aren't better because we aren't telling them that they should be. But, what do I know about black folks?
I'm just an Oreo.
Contributed by:Natasha Larry
The Circus: A Landscape Of The Unconscious
Anyone who's ever been to a Circus understands its power to captivate and thrill. But its enduring timelessness and mass appeal suggests that there just may be a lot more going on "underneath the big top."
Taken as a subconscious metaphor, the Circus holds many clues to the unconscious. Each Circus act, in fact, taps right into certain archetypal and timeless human dramas. Think about it. When something resonates with you, it's because at some level you recognize it. The fantastic nature of the Circus lulls us to a more vulnerable and child-like mindset - and yields access to our unconscious mind.
Clowns represent our raw emotions, unfettered by rules of convention or maturity. With rare exceptions, clowns are innocents, reacting to the world from the pure id of their being. Whether happy or sad - their feelings are unmistakably revealed by their faces in bold, colorful and exaggerated expressions. Their gestures and actions mirror this innocence, often with hilarious results!
The exception to the clown-as-innocent - the Evil Clown -- is so terrifying to children and adults alike that he has become a stock character in horror movies. What makes him so insidious is the duplicity of his mask. Because of his clown nature, he is perceived as a safe innocent - he is trusted. When he is revealed for what he is, the ensuing terror is doubled due to feelings of shock and betrayal.
If clowns represent pure emotion in the subconscious landscape, trapeze artists and tightrope walkers represent fears and phobias. There are, according to psychologists, two natural fears - fear of loud noises and fear of heights. In the surreal setting of the Circus, this natural fear of heights comes to represent all of our fears - natural and unnatural. For what is fear of heights if not the fear of death - the most terrifying feeling we can experience?
As we watch these aerialists fly through the air or balance tenuously on a narrow strip of rope, we feel our own fears surface and are torn between the desire to witness "death-defying" stunts or to cover our eyes and turn away. This tension is a ubiquitous human experience - it's the two distinct and divergent parts ourselves that are always at odds. We feel the part that wants to fly battling the other part of us that is afraid of the unknown, of failure, of death.
When we think of fear in the Circus environment, there's another image often comes to mind: that of the brave Lion Tamer. In addition, although his activities undoubtedly strike at our subconscious fears, his role is more important in the context of control and power. As human beings, we have a need for control over our environment. Nowhere is this more evident than in man's desire to master nature - or if you will, in the domestication of the wild. The Lion Tamer epitomizes control, wielding little more than a stick and a whip, he manages to bend some of the world's most ferocious beasts to his will. Who among us hasn't dreamed of that kind of power?
However, perhaps the most controversial element of the Circus is the realm of the freaks. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Circuses and carnival sideshows regularly featured humans with abnormalities and disabilities. During the sideshow heyday, people collected pictures and postcards of famous carnival "freaks" such as celebrity Siamese twins. In today's social and political climate, such overt exploitation is frowned upon, yet the fascination with "freaks" remains. Why?
Although most people realize that Circus freaks fascinate, very few understand their role as comforters. People of low self-esteem can find immediate relief by comparing themselves to the disfigured and disabled. In fact, history is full of examples of depraved indifference and cruelty toward those considered different or less fortunate. The simple and shocking conclusion is that looking down on others makes us feel better about ourselves. A bit on the chunky side? Go look at The Fat Lady - you'll feel better instantly. Annoyed with your brother? At least you're not attached to his head!
I wonder if Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud ever attended a Circus. I wonder what they would make of today's wildly surreal Cirque du Soleil. And I wonder about the future of the Circus. What will it look like a Century from now? And I believe the Circus will exist for generations to come. Because as an outward manifestation of the unconscious mind, it has the power to captivate and the relevance to endure.
Contributed by: ~ Moira Gallivan
Taken as a subconscious metaphor, the Circus holds many clues to the unconscious. Each Circus act, in fact, taps right into certain archetypal and timeless human dramas. Think about it. When something resonates with you, it's because at some level you recognize it. The fantastic nature of the Circus lulls us to a more vulnerable and child-like mindset - and yields access to our unconscious mind.
Clowns represent our raw emotions, unfettered by rules of convention or maturity. With rare exceptions, clowns are innocents, reacting to the world from the pure id of their being. Whether happy or sad - their feelings are unmistakably revealed by their faces in bold, colorful and exaggerated expressions. Their gestures and actions mirror this innocence, often with hilarious results!
The exception to the clown-as-innocent - the Evil Clown -- is so terrifying to children and adults alike that he has become a stock character in horror movies. What makes him so insidious is the duplicity of his mask. Because of his clown nature, he is perceived as a safe innocent - he is trusted. When he is revealed for what he is, the ensuing terror is doubled due to feelings of shock and betrayal.
If clowns represent pure emotion in the subconscious landscape, trapeze artists and tightrope walkers represent fears and phobias. There are, according to psychologists, two natural fears - fear of loud noises and fear of heights. In the surreal setting of the Circus, this natural fear of heights comes to represent all of our fears - natural and unnatural. For what is fear of heights if not the fear of death - the most terrifying feeling we can experience?
As we watch these aerialists fly through the air or balance tenuously on a narrow strip of rope, we feel our own fears surface and are torn between the desire to witness "death-defying" stunts or to cover our eyes and turn away. This tension is a ubiquitous human experience - it's the two distinct and divergent parts ourselves that are always at odds. We feel the part that wants to fly battling the other part of us that is afraid of the unknown, of failure, of death.
When we think of fear in the Circus environment, there's another image often comes to mind: that of the brave Lion Tamer. In addition, although his activities undoubtedly strike at our subconscious fears, his role is more important in the context of control and power. As human beings, we have a need for control over our environment. Nowhere is this more evident than in man's desire to master nature - or if you will, in the domestication of the wild. The Lion Tamer epitomizes control, wielding little more than a stick and a whip, he manages to bend some of the world's most ferocious beasts to his will. Who among us hasn't dreamed of that kind of power?
However, perhaps the most controversial element of the Circus is the realm of the freaks. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Circuses and carnival sideshows regularly featured humans with abnormalities and disabilities. During the sideshow heyday, people collected pictures and postcards of famous carnival "freaks" such as celebrity Siamese twins. In today's social and political climate, such overt exploitation is frowned upon, yet the fascination with "freaks" remains. Why?
Although most people realize that Circus freaks fascinate, very few understand their role as comforters. People of low self-esteem can find immediate relief by comparing themselves to the disfigured and disabled. In fact, history is full of examples of depraved indifference and cruelty toward those considered different or less fortunate. The simple and shocking conclusion is that looking down on others makes us feel better about ourselves. A bit on the chunky side? Go look at The Fat Lady - you'll feel better instantly. Annoyed with your brother? At least you're not attached to his head!
I wonder if Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud ever attended a Circus. I wonder what they would make of today's wildly surreal Cirque du Soleil. And I wonder about the future of the Circus. What will it look like a Century from now? And I believe the Circus will exist for generations to come. Because as an outward manifestation of the unconscious mind, it has the power to captivate and the relevance to endure.
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