sas

i like to think in shorthand. it's easier on my brain. i can remember more things this way...because the things i remember are more compact. for example: a tortilla with hummus and arugula. = arugahummadilla. say it. it's got a ring. and you won't forget it.

another example: swisau. for this, i know what you're thinking - i get it all the time. you're thinking of food, of a dish from the local chinese restaurant. you're thinking pork and maybe sweetsour sauce. but you're wrong.

instead, think complete relaxation. a lure on cold days. soothing on any day. cold. hot. tense. loose.
swisau. shorthand for swim, then sauna.

Shorthand, Arugahummadilla, and Swisau. SAS - try them. stat.

where the door only opens one way

Dingy yellow lights
Illuminate drip patterned stains of pale yellow, gray, brown
On cold cement and cinder cream walls.
The smell that comes with wearing a pair of jeans 7 days too many permeates the air.
Clinking, chattering, and coughing next door.
But I am alone.
There is no window, no handle on my door.
And I stare at the ceiling. At the dingy yellow lights.

church and trash

At times, I partake in certain activities only because doing them has been deemed socially as the ‘right’ thing to do.
One such instance: attending church.
Once, about two years ago, I went to church on Easter Sunday. It seemed like the right thing to do – visit a place that commemorates Jesus’ resurrection on a holiday thus designed. Everyone good goes to church on Easter. And I didn’t want to do wrong.
…The experience turned out to be bittersweet. Sweet because everyone in church was extremely friendly. --doling out honey-kissed smiles and sun-warmed handshakes. Bitter because no one seemed to know why they were there. It was scary. They chanted what they had memorized and repeated verses following the priest’s lead. But what baffled me is that no one seemed to consciously understand what he or she was saying. What they said was merely ritual. Maybe the conscious understanding of the chants was at one time mindfully processed. But why continue to repeat something that has already been understood?*

Another (recurring) instance: recycling.
I recycle. I am not exactly sure why except for the reason given to me by environmentalists: doing so saves the planet. Well to that I say, “Oh yeah?!”
I’ve been faithful to the cause for a long while now, mindlessly recycling because it is the ‘right’ thing to do. But recently I have been in a state of questioning. Does all this recycling, reducing, and reusing really actually slow the effects of global warming? Shouldn’t I be sure that all of my efforts to save the world are warranted? And, as the economist Steven Landsburg questions, is it the sacrifical ritual of recycling that I and declared environmentalists crave, or do we recycle because of our genuine concern for its consequences?*

Think.


...
*With these thoughts of skepticism, I am in no way trying to denounce faith or environmentalism, I am merely trying question why people do what they do. Insightful, humorous, and vengeful comments are greatly appreciated.

judging grocers

I purchased groceries at Trader Joe’s the other day, buying what I usually buy: tandoori naan, chocolate covered pretzels and, ummmm, around six bottles of wine. When I got up to the cashier station I found a very pleasant man waiting to scan my groceries. He was exuberant. Lively. Talkative. –like all Trader Joe’s employees.

I enjoyed his gregarious nature. I barely had to talk. Just listen. Listen and stand and stare. Stand and stare and think. Stare and think. Think.

I wondered: do grocers judge customers based on what they buy? With my balanced diet of bread, sugar, and alcohol, did the grocer label me as a health food junkie? What would he think if I had bought 10 heads of cabbage and 3 cans of lentil soup? That I’m fighting constipation?

I had to ask the cashier: “Do you form an opinion on people based on what groceries they buy?” The man smiled shyly and looked down. So I smiled in return, “I’ll take that as a yes.” I paused, then, “What’s the most interesting grocery personality you’ve met?”

He hesitated and smiled. The smile grew as he thought. Then he leaned in toward me, “Once, this lady…around 60 years old. She bought 12 gallons of milk. And 12 cans of salmon. She wore a beaten up sweatshirt patterned with embroidered cats. It was covered in hairs. That lady, I knew her story. Not much to figure out. I was blazened by her thematic approach to life.”

I had so much to comment on with his statement. So much to comment on. Everything but what I eventually said. I asked if blazened was a word. Then I walked home. And I judged his judging on the way.

Why I blog:

Have you ever been trapped in a box? A small box: measuring about 3 feet tall and 3 feet wide. And you were packed in so snugly, so tightly, that you rolled yourself into a ball and contorted your neck in so many 45-degree angles that your head just barely wedged itself into the only available corner. Packaging tape sealed the bulging seams; no air intruded or escaped. Have you ever been trapped in a box this tight?
Well, neither have I – at least not literally.
Although, at times in my life, my mind feels trapped in this way. Unable to move, to breathe, to loosen, or to express. Something prohibits it from communicating. The box does. The box barricades my thoughts from entering the minds of others. It is a metaphysical social detachment that’s origins and presence I cannot explain.
It is partially the face-to-face conversations that occur too fast to convey even slightly complex thoughts. Thoughts that wonder, that explain, and that feel.
Writing on a blog breaks me from the bounds of the tight and tightly packaged box. I deliberate on and materialize my ideas, and I free my mind from social exclusion by posting with confidence to the world (or at least to my three readers). And with such a communicative form, I am able to express, explain, and elaborate on thoughts that would previously be lost in the box’s interface. My mind then feels liberated, learned, cleansed, and at peace.
And I am no longer trapped in a box.