The big D

March 13th, 2004

This is totally a token post. Dexter is growing at an alarming rate, and he’s done a couple things that I really need to just jot down so I can read when they happened.

Two days ago, he mastered all the keys of the keyboard, while playing elmo keyboard-o-rama. You say “Press J” he presses J. You say “Where’s 8?” – he presses 8.

And then last night, he started walking on his tip toes. Funny thing to watch a kid do that for the first time. He’s only, what, 19 months old or somthing like that.

With the walking backwards and the shape matching, he’s pretty darn smart. Luckily it looks like Mariel’s jeans had more of an influence in the brains area then I did.

Posting and journaling

March 9th, 2004

I’ve almost completely lost the motivation to journal stuff. Nothing much is happening. Of course, when I started really putting effort into writing down the stuff I wasn’t saying, I was more motivated to do “stuff” (or I was in the mindset that made me value the “stuff” I was already doing more).

I think about it often – but only as an afterthought: “There goes another day, I should have written something down”.

We (the family) are caught in a stall. The future is chasing us down, and the options we have are incredibly hard to choose from. It’s becoming fairly obvious that we need to move. Our rent is consuming about half my post tax income. I get a check every two weeks, one of them goes to rent. There’s also a good chunk of debt we’ve piled up. One credit card almost maxed at 4 thousand, almost nothing in savings, a stock market account that I left alone to die lonely in hopes that something would swing the right way, and a checking account that belongs on a chutes and ladders board.

So – move. But to where. We’ve compiled a good amount of stuff to live with. I hate it. When you see a movie with or know someone who goes bonkers and wishes to shed themselves of all material wants – I’m close to that. The clothes that I never wear, the tupperware that gets used once every three months. I walk through the house sizing up the square footage that I’d need in a moving truck or a new house/condo/apartment in order to store the stuff. Down to where the posters would fit between the futon matress.

Also, I’m not sure I love to live in the Northeast. I love the sun (stupid computer nerd loves the sun). I’d love to live somewhere warmer. But how to move and leave the only place I’ve known. I am amazed at the level of attraction I have to this locale, despite the lack of interaction I have with the people (old friends/family) and the environment. How do you insert yourself into a community some place else? I don’t imagine that I’m much of an addition to the community here – or that it’s much of an asset to me. But how do you just move into a new place and make a go of it.

It’s this kind of sentiment that makes me want to move somewhere drastic. Like a foreign country, so taht I can learn all about all the injustices and barbarian societies of any place other the US. I no longer believe that the benefits of this great land out weigh all the stupid ignorance and avarice of the opulent slothful masses who enjoy them.

So then I spin off in that direction… could I even get a job that could support my family somewhere else in the world. Would Mariel even be able to live with me if she didn’t have any of the things that this place in the world offers her. I know what her answer would be to a question like that (probably the same as mine) – but I’m skeptical of everything people say about how well they could exist in different situations. I don’t know if I underestimate people, or the comfort of complacency.

Faster and faster, the permutations pile up and the facits explode and you run through them triming some branches while allowing for an acceptable perspective, cautious of mistakes, that grows orders faster then you could resolve.

And that’s it – it burns out. The wish to be thorough and complete is smothered by itself.

Flames need oxygen, right? If you compress air and feed it to a spark, you get a bigger bang. Why do candles go out when blown? It’s a simple question, probably a simple answer – but simple as it may be, I’ve never figured it out or taken the time to ask/read.

Too many options ahead make it hard to know which is the right one. Tough decisions are painful and easier.

I can’t explain why it hurts to smile so much

March 6th, 2004

I can remember being tickled, or just amused so much that my stomach wrenched. A happy ache. It’s so distinct from just cheerful, or a funny joke, or some movie.

Dexter is so cute – it hurts. I can watch him for minutes. (I realize that it would be more affective to say “hours” but honestly, who can watch anything without even a glance away for an hour? – so I say “minutes”).

10 minutes, I can watch him without barely blinking. Ten minutes is an eternity to watch something carefully. I think of aquariums, where nothing that spectacular happens – not like a fireworks display or something. You can’t watch an aquarium for that long without remembering that you have to breath. But Dexter – he’s so cute that it aches a little to watch him. He dances, or reads, or does a funny walk, or he remembers how cool elephants are and puts his hand to his lips and tries to make the noise. Or he doesn’t do much at all. He just sits and tries to figure out why the hell the marker can pass through the middle of the plastic letter O. Starts at the top, and moves it slowing over the marker to the bottom – picks up the marker slightly to pull it to the side so that he can do it again. Very slow – very deliberate. If he’s not formulating so very cool ideas about the information he’s collecting then he’s greatest actor ever born.

While playing with the trains, you can say “Where’s the otter” and he’ll walk over to his little tupperware shelf, open up the middle draw and search through the hunder flash cards and pull out the otter.

He knows how to type letters while playing a web game called elmo-key-orama. Say “can you press t”, he slowly does, elmo brushes his teeth.

There’s a music block game he got for christmas. You put the blocks in and it plays a different segment based on the side of the block that is up (or down). Well, just last night, I saw him standing at it for longer then usual, and when I made my way over to see, he was spinning the block in his hand to find the last “star” shape so that they all matched. First time he’s done that.

Study Guide for Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra

March 4th, 2004

Study Guide for Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Study guide for some nietzsche

Dictionary.com/pharisaicalness

March 2nd, 2004

Dictionary.com/pharisaicalness

This is what I meant when I challenged intent of people who use the word “hypocrital” when speaking blah blah blah