I decided to dump cable television about 2 years ago in favor of other pursuits and through a desire to save myself approximately $120.00 a month. That decision is quite possibly the best decision that I've made in the last few years and I have never looked back. I had become absolutely disillusioned and disgusted with the direction that the few channels that I watched were taking. Networks like The Discovery Channel, The History Channel and even The National Geographic Channel had subtly been shifting their programming away from programs devoted to nature, science and history to more mainstream shows. Mainstream being the scourge that is known as reality television. My disdain for this form of entertainment has been well documented for nearly ten years now. This originally was not the case though and during it's early day, I consumed it regularly.
Reality television really got it's start back in the early on a little station known as MTV. Remember MTV? You know, that channel that used to solely devoted to music and music videos. Back in the mid to late 80's and the early 90's I worshipped MTV. I still remember the world premier of Metallica's video "Enter Sandman" (which interestingly, I feel was the beginning of their fall from grace, but that's a story for another time). The things is, MTV used to be about music...MUSIC! I'm digressing though.
Anyway, MTV decided that it was time to expand it's programming and on May 21st, 1992 a little experiment in TV known as The Real World was broadcast for the first time. It was billed as "The true story, of seven people, picked to live in a loft in Soho, New York and have their lives taped, to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start being real. The Real World" (It's truly sad that I can remember this intro to the show to this day). This one television show would herald the eventual downfall of everything that was great about MTV and ultimately be responsible for the state of broadcast television today.
The first few seasons of The Real World actually weren't bad. In fact, the third season of the show, "The Real World: San Francisco" would have a lasting effect on how I view some social issues of modern society. The San Francisco cast featured a young Cuban-American gay man who was HIV positive named Pedro Zamora. Like many Americans, Pedro was the first exposure to gay men or anything of alternative lifestyles (is that even politically correct?) that I had. Pedro was determined to reach as many people and educate them about HIV and how it's contracted and spread. He took the concept of The Real World and used it to broadcast his tragic and inspirational story to millions of young people. This man was an extremely beautiful and courageous man, a true inspiration to the triumph of a human being faced with insurmountable odds. For many people, myself included, this man opened up our senses to one of the worst diseases to arise in the latter part of the 20th century. Through his story on The Real World, I came to accept people who are LBGT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) because Pedro humanized them. I think he did more for the LBGT community through his time on The Real World and anyone had done in the entire history of the movement. Unfortunately this was the early 90's and HAART therapies (Highly Active Antiretroviral Therapy) had not come into being yet, so being HIV positive was still a death sentence. I watched almost every episode of that season of The Real World and saw Pedro's daily struggles with his disease and his own mortality. It was very a very gripping and emotional story, to say the least. Sadly, Pedro died on November 11th, 1994, the day after the broadcast of the last episode of The Real World: San Francisco. I openly wept when I learned of his death and wish to this day that I could have met him to tell him how much of an inspiration he was and how much of an influence he would be on my ideals involving tolerance and acceptance of people who are different from. Through Pedro's story I matured as a human being and for I am very grateful Fortunately, Pedro's legacy lives on through various charitable and educational organizations founded in his name that are dedicated to fighting HIV and the spread of the disease. I will never forget Pedro Zamora and ironically, it's because of a reality television show.
The Real World: San Francisco was the pinnacle of the Real World series and a true testament of the power of broadcast media. To this day, I don't think I have ever seen anything on television that moved me as much as Pedro's story on The Real World. From here it was all downhill, MTV continued to produce seasons of The Real World with each season feeling more and more produced, edited and acted by the producers and cast members. MTV debuted Road Rules soon after and the fate of the network would march onward toward the dismal incarnation that it is today, a station with little to no music programming on it at all.
Reality television seemed to be mostly localized to MTV and a few other fringe networks for most of the 90's in the United States. However, on May 30th, 2000 reality television went mainstream in this country in a big way. The program known as Survivor (a program originally from the U.K.) debuted on CBS. I'm pretty sure everyone reading this has either seen or heard of the infamous (and still running) reality game show. I have to admit that I watched the majority of the second season that took place in the Australian Outback. Though I found it to be very engrossing, I couldn't help but have misgivings about the glamorization of scheming, lying, betrayals, backstabbing and the willingness to do just about anything just to win. Why would we glamorize virtues those kind of virtues? Doing anything just to win money? It's only a million dollars, which really isn't a large sum of money in this day and age after taxes. I most certainly would never sacrifice my personal ideals and dignity in the pursuit of money. Thoroughly disgusted, I stopped watching.
Unfortunately, I was in the minority in my views of the program and Survivor was an enormous hit in the United States. Soon, new programs began appearing that shared similar concepts as Survivor (The Amazing Race being a good example). Next thing you know, we have the hugely popular phenomenon of American Idol, which is basically a popularity contest between people who can kind of sing coupled with three celebrity judges (one of whom could be construed as nothing but a huge jackass). While I was married, I was forced to consume Survivor once again, The Amazing Race and Dancing With The Stars. It was during this period that my disdain of anything reality television related started to gain momentum. My wife, however, did not share my views on the subject and it was always a bit of a point of contention between us and may have had something to do with our parting of ways.
I was granted a respite from the onslaught of more and more ridiculously themed reality television fare during my two year experience on Kauai. Kauai was very refreshing for me since I didn't have television and the Hawaiian islands are about as far removed from mainstream US culture as you can get and still remain in the union. One other thing that I did not miss was the continuous onslaught of advertising that is associated with modern day broadcast television. Sorry Dad and Mary (long story).
Fast forward in time to 2009 when I resumed my relationship with cable television and mainstream American popular culture. It is then that I discover that reality television has not only gained in popularity, it had become a very significant part of just about every major television network's programming schedule. It was clear to me at this point that the United States was clearly addicted to the phenomenon and it most certainly was not going to go away. To make things worse, the content had not improved as far as promoting loving and respecting one another and tolerating opposing opinions and view points. We now had shows about people who were famous just for being famous, what the hell is that all about? The Discovery Channel, one of my perennial favorite channels, had begun broadcasting shows like Monster Garage and American Chopper (which ranks up there with the worst of the worst, in my opinion) back in the early 2000's and things had only gotten worse during my absence. Mythbusters had gained in popularity during that time and I enjoyed the early seasons of that immensely just because it showed how cool it is to use science in real world settings. Another program I enjoyed on the channel was The Storm Chasers, a program that documented a group of scientists chasing tornadoes across the midwest in an attempt to better understand the phenomenon and develop earlier detections methods. However, by the third season of The Storm Chasers, the legitimate research scientists had departed, leaving only a thrill seeking, wannabe meteorologist and an IMAX film producer to headline the show. Instead of focusing on tornadoes, the focus shifted to the competition and drama between the remaining protagonists. Even Mythbusters became formulaic and more about explosions than real science.
There had been other reality television programs that invaded The Discovery Channel during my absence, most notably, The Deadliest Catch. Having spent some time with the phenomenon against my will, I further became disenfranchised and vowed never to watch the Discovery Channel again. Now it seems, The Discovery Channel has all but abandoned programming about science, exploration and learning in favor reality television based loosely around the aforementioned themes. The story is the same with The History Channel and I won't even begin to discuss the crap that the Bravo and E' networks has given us.
Is America really that addicted to highly produced, possibly fabricated, and edited versions of people's lives and the associated drama that comes with them? What about the behaviors, lack of tolerance, morals, and philosophies that these shows frequently encourage, endorse or glamorize? Seriously, What. The. Fuck? What are we? Romans? What about the UFC and "professional" wrestling? It doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to see the similarities of these phenomenon to the gladitorial games conducted in those ancient times. I'm going to be honest and just say that I absolutely abhor it all.
Thus, I dumped cable and broadcast television completely and I most certainly don't see myself ever going back to it. Maybe I'm just too old, too liberal, or too idealistic for it all. I'm sticking to my ideals and if that makes me uncool, that's perfectly fine with me. With that, I hereby step down from my soapbox. It is my hope that anyone who reads this that regularly consumes reality television programming will think about things and maybe boycott the phenomenon, as I have....or maybe not. I am very eccentric, after all.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Carter, the other dingo.
Jack is the dingo that gets most of the press in my household and a lot of that is because he honestly believes that he is person. Jack seems to possess a lot of my more, shall we say, more eccentric qualities. As a result, the other dog in my household, Carter, is frequently relegated to the background. Well that changes today, today we are going to talk about Carter. Carter is a terrier whose story needs to be told and songs to be sung about him. Jack wants to rule the world, but Carter lives for something else entirely. It's time for Carter to stand in the limelight! By the way, since Jack honestly thinks he is a person, he views Carter as the dog in our household and has tendency to treat him as such.
Carter came to be a member of my household just over three years ago in the fall of 2009. I had been talking about getting a companion for Jack since he spends so much time alone in his crate and I had a lot of anxiety over it.. A coworker of mine happened to be perusing the local pound directory and came upon a doggie that was listed as a fox terrier. Intrigued, I went out to said fox terrier. To start out with, Carter is not a fox terrier. I'm not quite sure just what Carter is, he's tall like a rat terrier but his face is more like a Jack Russel terrier. I just say that he's a rat terrier for the time being. Anyway, this poor dog was found wandering a trail just south of town and he looked absolutely miserable in the pound. I went home that evening and thought a lot about him, I couldn't stand the thought of him being abandoned and placed in the pound, his face was haunting me. So, I adopted him a few days later.
Carter's name that the pound had given him was Scrappy, which did not sit well with me. He needed a proper name. Jack is named for Captain Jack Sparrow and Carter needed a similar, honorable name full of character. I decided to name him after the always smiling drummer from the Dave Matthews Band, Carter Beauford. I can hear everyone groaning over this and I stand by my decision to name him thus. I'm allowed to have one animal named after a member of my favorite band, at least his name isn't Dave. I think it's a good name and it suits him well.
When I brought Carter home, he and Jack sorted out the pecking order of the house terrier style. Terrier style meaning they humped each other for four hours straight. Apparently Jack's stamina won the day and he was crowned the alpha of the two of them. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced listening to two terriers hump the hell out of each other for four hours straight while you try to play video games. Jack may be the alpha but every time the two of them get into a scrap, Carter usually kicks the shit out of him and Carter isn't as tall and weighs 3 pounds less than Jack. This dog has heart, lots of heart. That's something that I find very endearing in a dog (I wouldn't have terriers if this was the case). Carter could steal the alpha status from Jack at any moment, the things is, he doesn't care about being the alpha for reasons that will become clear here in a little bit.
Carter fit in just fine in the household, he has a great personality, but he is a bit dim witted as far as terriers go, especially in comparison to Jack's megalomaniacal genius. Unfortunately, Carter is a bit of a nervous doggie, which makes me wonder if he wasn't abused in his former household. Jack trusts me implicitly but Carter gets nervous if I randomly show him the same level of affection that I'm used to giving Jack. That's not to say that he doesn't want affection, he's just more independent and wants his attention on his own terms. Carter has this habit of crawling up on my pillow just after I've crawled into bed and laying on his back for what I like to call "Carter Time". I scratch his belly to his heart's content and he grunts and groans.....like a piglet. It's really funny, Carter's snout is completely white and his coat is so thin there that you can see the pink skin that resides underneath. Thus, he loosk like a bit of a piglet and sounds like one too.
The first few months with Carter went by without much incident. If anything, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Jack. Jack is spilling over with character, whereas it didn't seem like Carter had much personality in that department. That all changed one day when Carter found a ball outside our apartment. Carter is absolutely bonkers for balls. It was like someone flipped a personality switch within him. For Carter it's all ball, all the time. This was a completely new experience for me, Jack couldn't care less for chasing balls and fetching them. In fact, I'm pretty sure Jack looks down on carter for his obsession. Carter on the other hand, lives to play ball, there is nothing else to him. When I come home from work, I let the dogs out and Jack jumps all over me demanding to know where the hell I've been. Not Carter. He goes straight for his ball without even a glance at me. His nightly ritual involves spending 15 minutes rooting with his ball in my pillows on my bed. He does this thing where he nudges the ball under the pillow, sticks his nose under the pillow and the ball and then flips the ball into the air and catches it when it comes down. It's really amazing to watch, he flips the ball up so high that it bounces against the wall before he catches it. Once he's done with rooting around in the pillows with the ball, it's at this time that he finally acknowledges me. There are days that I feel like my sole purpose in Carter's mind is to throw the ball for him. Let me tell you, Carter may be dimwitted when compared to Jack, but he is an absolute whiz when it comes to playing ball. He never ceases to amaze me, when he gives me the ball it's like he goes into some kind of focused trance. He shuts out the entire world and focuses on nothing but the ball in my hand. You absolutely cannot fake him out because his eyes never leave the ball. As a result, he can often catch the ball in the air as soon as it leaves my hand. He routinely catches the ball in his mouth directly after it bounces against the wall. It's a shame that I don't have more free time because he could be a world champion flyball dog.
At first it seemed like Carter didn't have a lot of character quirks like Jack, but that proved to be wrong. Carter is absolutely obsessed with the dog food dish being full. If the dish is not full, Carter is not happy. I free feed the dogs since Jack tends to be a bit of a grazer. If the dish is empty, Carter will whine incessantly and push the bowl around the kitchen until I get up and fill the dish. This isn't because Carter is hungry, it's because he's worried that there isn't going to be any more food. Ever. I think this comes from him being abandoned on a trail and he may have had to fend for himself for a time. Thus, he worries if there is going to be a next meal. Carter also like to roll and smoke his own cigars. Smoking cigars meaning he likes to eat his own shit. Jack finds this extremely distasteful and turns his nose up at Carter any time he observes him lighting up a stogie. I do believe that I have mostly broken Carter of this habit though I do catch him looking intently at a freshly passed specimen. It's really funny, he looks around to see if anyone is watching and then sort of casually places said cigar in his mouth, like he's lighting up a marijuana joint in public and is afraid someone is going to narc on him. Carter is unlike Jack in his sleeping habits too. Carter is a sort of "let's get up early and play ball" kind of dog, whereas Jack and I are very much about sleeping in. I think Carter waits for hours each morning for my telltale deep inhale and exhale that signifies that I am waking up. As soon as he hears this, he's out of the bed and has his ball in his mouth, ready to go. Carter also has what I like to call an "iron bladder", he can seriously go over twelve hours without having to pee. Jack gets me up at least twice a night to go out but Carter stays in bed for the duration. Also Carter has his favorite spot when I'm playing video games or watching a movie. Jack is usually snuggled up next to me, whereas Carter sits on top of the couch back, wrapped around my neck, it's just where he likes to be when he's tired of playing ball.
It may seem like Carter plays second fiddle to Jack and to some extent that is true. I've had Jack since he was a puppy and we really bonded strongly during our time on Kauai. That's not to say that I don't love Carter dearly, I just have a different sort of relationship with him than I do with Jack. Personality wise, Jack and Carter couldn't be more different if they tried. Appearance wise, it's the same, Jack is very regal and handsome, whereas Carter is cute in a piglet sort of way. They are different dogs, I'm not sure I could handle having another dog with Jack's personality, having one dog that thinks he is a person and wants to rule the world is enough. I'm very to have Carter and couldn't be happier with the fact that Carter joined our family, even if he drives me nuts wanting to play ball 24 hours a day.
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| Dingo riding shotgun. |
Carter came to be a member of my household just over three years ago in the fall of 2009. I had been talking about getting a companion for Jack since he spends so much time alone in his crate and I had a lot of anxiety over it.. A coworker of mine happened to be perusing the local pound directory and came upon a doggie that was listed as a fox terrier. Intrigued, I went out to said fox terrier. To start out with, Carter is not a fox terrier. I'm not quite sure just what Carter is, he's tall like a rat terrier but his face is more like a Jack Russel terrier. I just say that he's a rat terrier for the time being. Anyway, this poor dog was found wandering a trail just south of town and he looked absolutely miserable in the pound. I went home that evening and thought a lot about him, I couldn't stand the thought of him being abandoned and placed in the pound, his face was haunting me. So, I adopted him a few days later.
Carter's name that the pound had given him was Scrappy, which did not sit well with me. He needed a proper name. Jack is named for Captain Jack Sparrow and Carter needed a similar, honorable name full of character. I decided to name him after the always smiling drummer from the Dave Matthews Band, Carter Beauford. I can hear everyone groaning over this and I stand by my decision to name him thus. I'm allowed to have one animal named after a member of my favorite band, at least his name isn't Dave. I think it's a good name and it suits him well.
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| Speckled nose, speckled tummy. |
When I brought Carter home, he and Jack sorted out the pecking order of the house terrier style. Terrier style meaning they humped each other for four hours straight. Apparently Jack's stamina won the day and he was crowned the alpha of the two of them. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced listening to two terriers hump the hell out of each other for four hours straight while you try to play video games. Jack may be the alpha but every time the two of them get into a scrap, Carter usually kicks the shit out of him and Carter isn't as tall and weighs 3 pounds less than Jack. This dog has heart, lots of heart. That's something that I find very endearing in a dog (I wouldn't have terriers if this was the case). Carter could steal the alpha status from Jack at any moment, the things is, he doesn't care about being the alpha for reasons that will become clear here in a little bit.
 |
| We lost a lot of balls to that creek. |
The first few months with Carter went by without much incident. If anything, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Jack. Jack is spilling over with character, whereas it didn't seem like Carter had much personality in that department. That all changed one day when Carter found a ball outside our apartment. Carter is absolutely bonkers for balls. It was like someone flipped a personality switch within him. For Carter it's all ball, all the time. This was a completely new experience for me, Jack couldn't care less for chasing balls and fetching them. In fact, I'm pretty sure Jack looks down on carter for his obsession. Carter on the other hand, lives to play ball, there is nothing else to him. When I come home from work, I let the dogs out and Jack jumps all over me demanding to know where the hell I've been. Not Carter. He goes straight for his ball without even a glance at me. His nightly ritual involves spending 15 minutes rooting with his ball in my pillows on my bed. He does this thing where he nudges the ball under the pillow, sticks his nose under the pillow and the ball and then flips the ball into the air and catches it when it comes down. It's really amazing to watch, he flips the ball up so high that it bounces against the wall before he catches it. Once he's done with rooting around in the pillows with the ball, it's at this time that he finally acknowledges me. There are days that I feel like my sole purpose in Carter's mind is to throw the ball for him. Let me tell you, Carter may be dimwitted when compared to Jack, but he is an absolute whiz when it comes to playing ball. He never ceases to amaze me, when he gives me the ball it's like he goes into some kind of focused trance. He shuts out the entire world and focuses on nothing but the ball in my hand. You absolutely cannot fake him out because his eyes never leave the ball. As a result, he can often catch the ball in the air as soon as it leaves my hand. He routinely catches the ball in his mouth directly after it bounces against the wall. It's a shame that I don't have more free time because he could be a world champion flyball dog.
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| Throw the damn ball already. |
At first it seemed like Carter didn't have a lot of character quirks like Jack, but that proved to be wrong. Carter is absolutely obsessed with the dog food dish being full. If the dish is not full, Carter is not happy. I free feed the dogs since Jack tends to be a bit of a grazer. If the dish is empty, Carter will whine incessantly and push the bowl around the kitchen until I get up and fill the dish. This isn't because Carter is hungry, it's because he's worried that there isn't going to be any more food. Ever. I think this comes from him being abandoned on a trail and he may have had to fend for himself for a time. Thus, he worries if there is going to be a next meal. Carter also like to roll and smoke his own cigars. Smoking cigars meaning he likes to eat his own shit. Jack finds this extremely distasteful and turns his nose up at Carter any time he observes him lighting up a stogie. I do believe that I have mostly broken Carter of this habit though I do catch him looking intently at a freshly passed specimen. It's really funny, he looks around to see if anyone is watching and then sort of casually places said cigar in his mouth, like he's lighting up a marijuana joint in public and is afraid someone is going to narc on him. Carter is unlike Jack in his sleeping habits too. Carter is a sort of "let's get up early and play ball" kind of dog, whereas Jack and I are very much about sleeping in. I think Carter waits for hours each morning for my telltale deep inhale and exhale that signifies that I am waking up. As soon as he hears this, he's out of the bed and has his ball in his mouth, ready to go. Carter also has what I like to call an "iron bladder", he can seriously go over twelve hours without having to pee. Jack gets me up at least twice a night to go out but Carter stays in bed for the duration. Also Carter has his favorite spot when I'm playing video games or watching a movie. Jack is usually snuggled up next to me, whereas Carter sits on top of the couch back, wrapped around my neck, it's just where he likes to be when he's tired of playing ball.
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| Enthused dingo is enthused. |
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| Carter's favorite spot. |
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| Who can say no to a face like that? |
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Some dingos just want to watch the world burn......
I did something this weekend that I rarely do, I took the dingos to Petsmart to buy them some toys appropriate for their ferocious demeanor. Taking two very curious and hyper dingos into a store by myself is an experience in chaos, to say the least. Jack has his head in just about every bin and actively pulls dingo toys off of display hangers. Carter sniffs around and growl occasionally at people and dogs passing by. We were on a mission this weekend though, a friend of mine had suggested that I try purchasing a Kong Wubba since they are supposed to be nearly indestructible. I should have known better......
Jack has never been interested in toys, as far as toys being for playing with goes. Jack treats his toys like he would treat any squirrel or rodent, they are to be ripped limb from limb and their innards are spread across the apartment while he stands triumphant in all his terrible glory over their shattered forms. Toys are just another instrument of Jack's unending megalomania and are seen as nothing more than conquests of his divine will. I have yet to find a toy that kind stand up to 30 minutes of intense abuse from the scissoring action of Jack's jaws, great white sharks would be envious of the power of Jack's methodical sawing actions. I thought the Kong Wubba was going to stand the acid test though since I was told that the toy is "heeler tough". I hate to say it, but blue heelers just aren't in the same league as Jack is and was my hopes were soon thoroughly dashed. Jack ripped open one of the seams of his latest victim within 30 minutes and then began actively shredding what was left of the toy. Seriously, this thing was made of the same material as leashes and he tore it apart like it was tissue paper. Why can't he just play with the damn things as opposed to destroy them completely?
I feel bad for poor Carter, as soon as Jack finishes with his designated toy he sets upon Carter's toy with the same fury that he showed his own toy. All dingo toys die horrible, horrible deaths in my household, Jack persecutes them all with extreme prejudice. Jack is the best there is at what he does and what he does isn't very nice. The only thing that has stood the test of time in our household is this blue rubber ball that I bought for Carter three years ago. This ball is the very embodiment of courage and defiance and many songs should be sung in it's honor. That ball is Carter's absolute pride and joy and he expects me to throw it for him every waking moment of every day. Old Blue is the only dingo toy that Jack has not been able to demolish and it frustrates hime to know end. Jack steals Old Blue from Carter at least once each day and begins his ritual of trying to rend the ball into pieces. I've never seen Jack so determined about anything in my life, he tries and tries but just cannot defeat this ball for the life of him. If it weren't for Old Blue, I'm pretty sure Jack would have succeeded in taking over the world by now.
Three years of having a ferocious dingo try to rend you into little pieces is long time, so I decided to buy Carter a couple of new balls so Old Blue could retire to our empty dingo toy basket (empty because no toy has ever survived long enough to be retired in my apartment). So, I went back to Petsmart today and selected two new balls of different sizes for Carter to fawn and obsess over constantly. Jack has no interest in playing ball whatsoever like Carter does, balls are just another item to be destroyed to Jack. So, I came home with these two balls and Jack set on the smaller one with his usual voracity and Carter was left with the larger ball. Sure enough, 30 minutes later Jack had torn a large gaping hole in the small ball and he was poised to go "medieval on it's ass". I put the hapless ball out of it's misery by throwing it away and while I was doing this Jack stole Carter's other new ball and began the methodical process of destroying it too. The larger ball has managed to withstand Jack's first onslaught but he did manage to remove the squeaky plug from it and has frayed the rubber around the gaping hole that's left. I expect the ball's defenses will fail later this evening and Jack will have another notch in his belt from his latest conquest.
This means that Old Blue will not be able to retire to the comforts of the dingos' empty toy basket as was planned. Carter loves that ball more than he loves me, it's all he really lives for I think. Jack will continue his efforts to be Old Blue's ultimate undoing and I'm sure he will come up with new methods to torture the poor thing. So, I raise my glass in a toast of Old Blue for defying the odds and standing the test of time against a foe who is as unyielding as he is vicious. Here's to survival in the face of extreme adversity because some dingos just want to watch the world burn.....
Jack has never been interested in toys, as far as toys being for playing with goes. Jack treats his toys like he would treat any squirrel or rodent, they are to be ripped limb from limb and their innards are spread across the apartment while he stands triumphant in all his terrible glory over their shattered forms. Toys are just another instrument of Jack's unending megalomania and are seen as nothing more than conquests of his divine will. I have yet to find a toy that kind stand up to 30 minutes of intense abuse from the scissoring action of Jack's jaws, great white sharks would be envious of the power of Jack's methodical sawing actions. I thought the Kong Wubba was going to stand the acid test though since I was told that the toy is "heeler tough". I hate to say it, but blue heelers just aren't in the same league as Jack is and was my hopes were soon thoroughly dashed. Jack ripped open one of the seams of his latest victim within 30 minutes and then began actively shredding what was left of the toy. Seriously, this thing was made of the same material as leashes and he tore it apart like it was tissue paper. Why can't he just play with the damn things as opposed to destroy them completely?
I feel bad for poor Carter, as soon as Jack finishes with his designated toy he sets upon Carter's toy with the same fury that he showed his own toy. All dingo toys die horrible, horrible deaths in my household, Jack persecutes them all with extreme prejudice. Jack is the best there is at what he does and what he does isn't very nice. The only thing that has stood the test of time in our household is this blue rubber ball that I bought for Carter three years ago. This ball is the very embodiment of courage and defiance and many songs should be sung in it's honor. That ball is Carter's absolute pride and joy and he expects me to throw it for him every waking moment of every day. Old Blue is the only dingo toy that Jack has not been able to demolish and it frustrates hime to know end. Jack steals Old Blue from Carter at least once each day and begins his ritual of trying to rend the ball into pieces. I've never seen Jack so determined about anything in my life, he tries and tries but just cannot defeat this ball for the life of him. If it weren't for Old Blue, I'm pretty sure Jack would have succeeded in taking over the world by now.
Three years of having a ferocious dingo try to rend you into little pieces is long time, so I decided to buy Carter a couple of new balls so Old Blue could retire to our empty dingo toy basket (empty because no toy has ever survived long enough to be retired in my apartment). So, I went back to Petsmart today and selected two new balls of different sizes for Carter to fawn and obsess over constantly. Jack has no interest in playing ball whatsoever like Carter does, balls are just another item to be destroyed to Jack. So, I came home with these two balls and Jack set on the smaller one with his usual voracity and Carter was left with the larger ball. Sure enough, 30 minutes later Jack had torn a large gaping hole in the small ball and he was poised to go "medieval on it's ass". I put the hapless ball out of it's misery by throwing it away and while I was doing this Jack stole Carter's other new ball and began the methodical process of destroying it too. The larger ball has managed to withstand Jack's first onslaught but he did manage to remove the squeaky plug from it and has frayed the rubber around the gaping hole that's left. I expect the ball's defenses will fail later this evening and Jack will have another notch in his belt from his latest conquest.
This means that Old Blue will not be able to retire to the comforts of the dingos' empty toy basket as was planned. Carter loves that ball more than he loves me, it's all he really lives for I think. Jack will continue his efforts to be Old Blue's ultimate undoing and I'm sure he will come up with new methods to torture the poor thing. So, I raise my glass in a toast of Old Blue for defying the odds and standing the test of time against a foe who is as unyielding as he is vicious. Here's to survival in the face of extreme adversity because some dingos just want to watch the world burn.....
Sunday, January 13, 2013
I think it's time for a break from DMB at the Gorge
After much soul searching, I have decided to take a break from going to the Dave Matthews Band's three day concert at the Gorge this year. Those who know me well know that I pretty much eat and sleep DMB and DMB at the Gorge is the biggest event of the year for me. This isn't a decision that I make lightly but in light of my experiences there over the last two years, it's time for my first break since I lived on Kauai.
You see, two years ago I bumped into my ex-girlfriend there on the first day (the one who pretended she was in a coma for 6 months). This completely ruined the experience for me and I turned around and left for home after the first day. I was pretty badly rattled by the experience and just wanted to be home with the dogs. Someone who is capable of torturing someone for six months pretending to be in a coma could be capable of anything and since she had gone to the Gorge with me the prior two years, she knows exactly where I stay. Part of me believes that seeing her there was no coincidence. I had a good time the day I did stay but was very happy to be home and in a safe place for me after.
Last year I changed things up and went with some friends that I met within the last year. They stay at the Gorge campground proper each year and meet up with all kinds of friends from all over the country. I had heard things about staying at the campground at the Gorge and how it was nothing but a three day party but decided to find out for myself what the experience was really about. It turns out that the rumors that I had heard were true, it indeed a three day party. I pretty much left drinking behind back in the Summer of 2011 due to the negative effects that it has on my well being. I make an exception for DMB at the Gorge but was not prepared for the level of partying that was present though. I guess I'm just over that sort of thing now though I certainly don't judge anyone who does really party it up there. For a lot of people it's a chance to be away from their kids and the normal worries of every day life and try to recapture some of the care free experiences of yesteryear. I wholeheartedly think that's a good thing, it just isn't me anymore. I tried drinking on the first night and just didn't feel right about it so I took the next day off and felt out of place because I wasn't participating in things. What happened the next day was definitely a step in the wrong direction.
You see, I have a lot of social anxiety and don't do well in groups of people that I don't know. It's not that I didn't meet nice people, everyone that I met was really nice and were all huge DMB fans, like me. I was absolutely terrified though and just didn't feel like I fit in. Hoping to ease my anxiety some, I took some valium that had been subscribed to me in the past for such situations. This would have been just fine had I not decided to drink that day. Valium is a benzodiazepine and benzos do not mix with alcohol, it has a multiplexing effect similar to rohypnol (the date rape drug, which also happens to be a benzodiazepine). In essence, I had roofied myself. I woke up eight hours later (20 minutes before the concert started) in my tent, in a different shirt with absolutely no recollection of how I got there. Long story short, I passed out. Thankfully my friend (big thanks, your know who you are) dragged me to my tent to sleep things off. Naturally I was very embarrassed and ashamed of my stupidity. I had no idea what I had done or said prior to passing out and in my case that means I was not in any sort of control of my emotions. It was a bad, bad thing for me to do and I'm still beating myself up over it. I decided to buck up and spend the rest of the weekend chemical free but my social anxiety kept me from enjoying the experience at all. Like I said, I met a lot of very nice people, I just couldn't mix at all.
Needless to say, I went home dejected after the whole experience. If I couldn't form connections with people that love DMB as much as I do, how am I going to be able to form friendships at all? DMB at the Gorge is supposed to be an experience of belonging for me, not one of isolation, shame and embarrassment. This experience demoralized me so much that I became suicidal and ended up in the hospital for a short stay. I still have anxiety over the whole thing to this day. I can't believe I was so fucking stupid and was seriously questioning whether I would ever find a group of people where I felt like I belonged.
That's why it's time for a break, two years worth of heartbreak is just too much. I could go alone and stay where I usually camp but like I said, my ex-girlfriend knows exactly where to find me and capable of just about anything. Going alone also provokes it's own set of anxieties and insecurities, going alone is just out of the question. It really is time for a break.
There are other reasons not to go. For tickets and camping the price tag is close to $400.00 and I usually pay for this with my income tax return. My mountain bike is ten years old now and I would much rather put that money towards the purchase of a new one in hopes that it will inspire me to hit the trails with the dogs in ernest this year. The long term effects of this far outweigh a weekend at a concert, even if it is DMB.
I feel pretty good about my decision as whole right now though there is a certain level of sadness, which is to be expected. This really is a good decision for me right now. I still love DMB as much as ever and feel the new album is the best work they've done in close to 15 years. It's not like I can't go again next year, maybe with a close friend or female companion? I do plan catching the band this summer in Detroit which gives me a chance to spend time with my father and his wife. I'm sure that will just as fun for me even though the band is best experienced at the Gorge.
Most people are going to say, meh, what's the big deal? It's a pretty big deal for me, DMB is a huge deal for me. I connect with their music in ways that I cannot even begin to describe here. I think I'll just leave it at that. On a positive note, this is the last self-centric post that I'm going to write for a while. I think it's time for a little tongue in cheek humor for at least the next few posts!
You see, two years ago I bumped into my ex-girlfriend there on the first day (the one who pretended she was in a coma for 6 months). This completely ruined the experience for me and I turned around and left for home after the first day. I was pretty badly rattled by the experience and just wanted to be home with the dogs. Someone who is capable of torturing someone for six months pretending to be in a coma could be capable of anything and since she had gone to the Gorge with me the prior two years, she knows exactly where I stay. Part of me believes that seeing her there was no coincidence. I had a good time the day I did stay but was very happy to be home and in a safe place for me after.
Last year I changed things up and went with some friends that I met within the last year. They stay at the Gorge campground proper each year and meet up with all kinds of friends from all over the country. I had heard things about staying at the campground at the Gorge and how it was nothing but a three day party but decided to find out for myself what the experience was really about. It turns out that the rumors that I had heard were true, it indeed a three day party. I pretty much left drinking behind back in the Summer of 2011 due to the negative effects that it has on my well being. I make an exception for DMB at the Gorge but was not prepared for the level of partying that was present though. I guess I'm just over that sort of thing now though I certainly don't judge anyone who does really party it up there. For a lot of people it's a chance to be away from their kids and the normal worries of every day life and try to recapture some of the care free experiences of yesteryear. I wholeheartedly think that's a good thing, it just isn't me anymore. I tried drinking on the first night and just didn't feel right about it so I took the next day off and felt out of place because I wasn't participating in things. What happened the next day was definitely a step in the wrong direction.
You see, I have a lot of social anxiety and don't do well in groups of people that I don't know. It's not that I didn't meet nice people, everyone that I met was really nice and were all huge DMB fans, like me. I was absolutely terrified though and just didn't feel like I fit in. Hoping to ease my anxiety some, I took some valium that had been subscribed to me in the past for such situations. This would have been just fine had I not decided to drink that day. Valium is a benzodiazepine and benzos do not mix with alcohol, it has a multiplexing effect similar to rohypnol (the date rape drug, which also happens to be a benzodiazepine). In essence, I had roofied myself. I woke up eight hours later (20 minutes before the concert started) in my tent, in a different shirt with absolutely no recollection of how I got there. Long story short, I passed out. Thankfully my friend (big thanks, your know who you are) dragged me to my tent to sleep things off. Naturally I was very embarrassed and ashamed of my stupidity. I had no idea what I had done or said prior to passing out and in my case that means I was not in any sort of control of my emotions. It was a bad, bad thing for me to do and I'm still beating myself up over it. I decided to buck up and spend the rest of the weekend chemical free but my social anxiety kept me from enjoying the experience at all. Like I said, I met a lot of very nice people, I just couldn't mix at all.
Needless to say, I went home dejected after the whole experience. If I couldn't form connections with people that love DMB as much as I do, how am I going to be able to form friendships at all? DMB at the Gorge is supposed to be an experience of belonging for me, not one of isolation, shame and embarrassment. This experience demoralized me so much that I became suicidal and ended up in the hospital for a short stay. I still have anxiety over the whole thing to this day. I can't believe I was so fucking stupid and was seriously questioning whether I would ever find a group of people where I felt like I belonged.
That's why it's time for a break, two years worth of heartbreak is just too much. I could go alone and stay where I usually camp but like I said, my ex-girlfriend knows exactly where to find me and capable of just about anything. Going alone also provokes it's own set of anxieties and insecurities, going alone is just out of the question. It really is time for a break.
There are other reasons not to go. For tickets and camping the price tag is close to $400.00 and I usually pay for this with my income tax return. My mountain bike is ten years old now and I would much rather put that money towards the purchase of a new one in hopes that it will inspire me to hit the trails with the dogs in ernest this year. The long term effects of this far outweigh a weekend at a concert, even if it is DMB.
I feel pretty good about my decision as whole right now though there is a certain level of sadness, which is to be expected. This really is a good decision for me right now. I still love DMB as much as ever and feel the new album is the best work they've done in close to 15 years. It's not like I can't go again next year, maybe with a close friend or female companion? I do plan catching the band this summer in Detroit which gives me a chance to spend time with my father and his wife. I'm sure that will just as fun for me even though the band is best experienced at the Gorge.
Most people are going to say, meh, what's the big deal? It's a pretty big deal for me, DMB is a huge deal for me. I connect with their music in ways that I cannot even begin to describe here. I think I'll just leave it at that. On a positive note, this is the last self-centric post that I'm going to write for a while. I think it's time for a little tongue in cheek humor for at least the next few posts!
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Optimism, Pessimism, Depressive Realism, Cynicism, Naive Realism and Idealism....a study in " 'isms"
I've spent some time as of late analyzing my attitude towards life and what attitude I wish to have for it. Anyone who knows me would categorize me as a very cynical pessimist. I wholeheartedly agree with the cynicism part but I would argue with the pessimism part. Depressive Realism is a concept that states that depressed people actually have a more accurate perception of reality than normal, mentally healthy people do. I find this concept to be very interesting and find that I subscribe to many of ideas put forth in it's definition.
I've always believed in the idea that I see the world more clearly than most the rest of the world does. This, of course, is based on my perception of the world and that's where the idea that I'm a
depressive realist comes into question. Complex PTSD is in it's infancy as far as it's description, diagnosis and prognosis with treatment goes. According to Wikipedia, sufferers of CPTSD often have alterations in self perception, including "a sense of complete difference from others (may also include a sense of specialness, utter aloneness, belief no other person can understand, or nonhuman identity)" This statement pretty much sums up exactly how I've felt most of my life, especially the belief that no other person can understand me. The Wikipedia entry also talks about alterations in systems of meaning, specifically, "a sense of hopelessness and despair". This also applies directly to me and my attitude toward, life, interpersonal relationships and the human race in general.
Talking about perception and reality and the effects that they have on each other is a very slippery slope that I'm not going to delve too heavily into right now. The idea that my mental illness shapes my perception of reality is something that I struggle with constantly. I really want to believe that the concept of depressive realism is very plausible but as we've seen above, certain tenets of the description of CPTSD are in direct opposition the this idea. One of the therapists that I saw when I was away at an intensive outpatient program made this analogy as to how my mental illness shapes the way that I view the world.
The story goes that a couple went to visit the Tuscany coast in Italy for a vacation. Upon arrival they found everything to be as beautiful as they expected. As they explored various walking paths and hiking trails, they observed dog poop wherever they went. Mortified by this, they took a picture of said dog poop when they first encountered it on the side of the trail. Instead of moving on and taking notice of how beautiful the scenery was, they became obsessed with how inconsiderate they thought people were by not picking up their dog's waste in such wonderful place. So on they went through their entire trip, taking pictures and focusing on dog poop whenever they found it until it was time to go home. Once they got home, they showed their pictures. Naturally the first picture they showed was of dog poop and the couple and their friends had a good laugh about it. The next picture was, of course, of dog poop again. The couple's friends laugh again, though not as enthusiastically as before. Once they got to the third picture and subsequent pictures of dog poop, it becomes clear that the couple's sole attention was on the negativity of finding dog poop everywhere instead of just accepting it for what it is and enjoying the rest of their trip.
The therapist who told me this story told me that my illness makes it so that I only see dog poop wherever I go and miss out on all of the good things that are present in the world. At the time, this made a lot of sense to me and I started to think about the idea that my mind presents the world behind a filtering lens in the shade of dog poop. In other words, I see only the negative and therefore, obsess over it to the point that I can see nothing else. This begs the question, can I see anything in the world objectively or is my perception of reality really that skewed? My current idea as to how answer this question? Yes and no.
Being an outsider all of my life helped me develop one positive characteristic, I am extremely observant and try to look at things scientifically and develop a working theory of how things work, interact and what kind of outcomes/consequences/results can occur in situation. I seek to understand everything that I see, I want to know exactly how the world works, how people interact and what motivates them in life. This is the clinical side of my personality that I described a few post ago. Because my mind is so analytical, it makes me very well suited to science and most certainly had a lot to do with my choice in careers. I am constantly watching and observing things, be it my dogs, people walking past my coffee shop, people I work with, the world....etc. As a result, I have a working theory that the human race is ruining the planet we live on and that we will be the cause of our own undoing. I also see what it is that we are capable of as a species. We have this wonderful gift of conscious thought and we spend it in the pursuit of wealth, vanity and self servitude. The things that we are capable of accomplishing are so astounding but we are weighed down and ultimately underachieve spectacularly because of things like race, religious backgrounds and socio-economic status. This is not a post about my social, political, religious (specifically my lack of religious beliefs) or economic beliefs. It's about how I perceive the world and the human race in general. Because we are capable of conscious thought, we should strive to be more altruistic instead of selfish. So, is this my dog poop filter talking or is is the result of a great deal of observation and conscious thought? I honestly have no idea but I can tell you that the above examples are some of my most strongly held beliefs.
The very nature of my diagnosis begs the question, am I even truly capable of forming objective conclusion about anything, let alone the nature of the human race? Is my dog poop filter so strong that it effects every conscious though I have? These are difficult questions that most certainly don't have straightforward answers. This is where the concept of mindfulness comes into play. I have learned that I have to be mindful of every emotion and every thought that I have each and every day. I have analyze everything and determine if my response is my dog poop filter talking or a true interpretation of a situation. As you can guess, this isn't an easy task by any stretch of the imagination and I have been completely lax in practicing this for about 8 months now.
It takes so much energy to be mindful every second of every day and naturally, when I'm depressed, coming up with the energy to be mindful all the time becomes extremely difficult. Mindfulness is almost like the "spin" that political analysts like to use. Being mindful in my case means that I have to put a positive or optimistic spin on everyday situations in my life. I have friends who I work with who are incredibly proficient at being optimistic about almost everything. I spend half the time in awe of them and the other half wondering if there perceptions are in truth, reality. There's that perception vs. reality conundrum again. Mindfulness boils down to choice, I can choose to perceive things in a positive light and be the optimist or I can accept my dog poop filter interpretation of events and be the pessimist. My default option is always pessimism, unfortunately. That is why the conception of mindfulness is so important/essential to my recovery and continued growth as a human being.
Okay, I've talked about depressive realism, dog poop filters (negativity bias if you want to be precise), mindfulness, optimism and pessimism so far. I'm leaving out a key element to my personality though, cynicism. I am one cynical S.O.B., it's my primary defense mechanism and the source of almost all of my sense of humor. Cynicism, negativity bias and pessimism all have a lot of features in common with one another. For the longest time, I thought cynicism and sarcasm were one and the same, this is not the case though. One of the things that I have been taught through therapy is that sarcasm is considered to be nothing but displaced resentment by clinicians. If this truly is the case, it's no wonder that I'm so damn sarcastic. I don't subscribe completely to the above statement because I use sarcasm in my humor so much. We aren't talking about my sarcastic nature here though, we are talking about my cynicism (though it should be noted that the vast majority of my sarcasm comes from my cynicism). I am cynical as result of my upbringing and my experiences with my peers in grade school through high school. I am cynical because I am so observant. This goes back to my general opinion of the human race and the state that we are in right now. Being cynical is easy and is makes a great defense mechanism. Being cynical in my case discourages interaction with the world in the people in it because I am cynical about everything. Oh, I am so good about being cynical. Did I mention that I'm cynical about everything? I did because it's true. I moved to Kauai in part because I was so cynical about the "normal life" that someone in their mid-thirties and is married, is expected to live. I don't want to be your average United States citizen because I'm cynical. I work in the medical field because I'm cynical (though I am very cynical about the state of medicine in the United States today). I am so cynical that it would appear that I have unwittingly embraced a lot of concepts to be found in existential nihilism (I can't believe this philosophy actually exists, I thought I was the only person who thought this way). There is healthy cynicism and then there is Jon cynicism. Once again, am I so cynical because of my dog poop filter? I'm sure this is partly true but I'm sure that my intelligence plays a large role in this too. I would like to think that my intelligence results in a sense of naive realism but I am forced to question this because, once again, of my dog poop filter. The problem is, I like being cynical, I really like being cynical. Is it possible to be cynical about being cynical? I fear that being cynical is part of natural state of being and contributes greatly to my pessimistic nature. One major benefit of my cynicism is an extreme tendency to form my own opinions on subjects that may not follow the norm or majority. This is because I question everything but trust nothing that isn't backed up by scientific fact (clinical side of my personality again). A major drawback would be how my cynical attitude can affect the way I interact with people in general. This naturally feeds my nature of not trusting people and frequently results in dissociative behaviors on my part (not a good thing). Being mindful helps to counteract this to some degree but the dog poop filter is always in place.
Finally, I would talk a bit about my sense of ethical idealism. I hold very fast to my ideals and hold the rest of humanity to what I think should be our ideals as whole. As a result, I'm very cynical. Once again, I see what we are capable of as human beings and am ultimately disappointed because we seem to be unable to transcend our current state of society and achieve a form of utopia (altruism again). My father asks me at least once a year when I'm going to grow up, leave my blatant idealism behind, and join the real world. This always makes me sad because it means ultimately, this means that my father has given up on seeing the world change. Of course, his attitude is probably far more healthy and realistic than mine is because he accepts things as they are instead of pining for the impossible like I do. Here's a brain burner, does my adherence to certain ideals constitute a kind of anti-cynicism? My brain hurts too much to contemplate this question right now, I do intend to give it some serious thought though.
So, what have I learned tonight? Clearly, I am capable to whoring out to Wikipedia by linking endlessly to entries on philosophies and thought biases. Everything cycles back to perception versus reality and the existence of my dog poop filter. Mindfulness is the key to higher state of mental well-being for me. I question everything and as result, I am very cynical. Oh, what I mess I've made tonight, too much to digest right now. I hope your brain doesn't hurt as much as mine does right now and I hope all the crap I wrote tonight was worth your time.
I've always believed in the idea that I see the world more clearly than most the rest of the world does. This, of course, is based on my perception of the world and that's where the idea that I'm a
depressive realist comes into question. Complex PTSD is in it's infancy as far as it's description, diagnosis and prognosis with treatment goes. According to Wikipedia, sufferers of CPTSD often have alterations in self perception, including "a sense of complete difference from others (may also include a sense of specialness, utter aloneness, belief no other person can understand, or nonhuman identity)" This statement pretty much sums up exactly how I've felt most of my life, especially the belief that no other person can understand me. The Wikipedia entry also talks about alterations in systems of meaning, specifically, "a sense of hopelessness and despair". This also applies directly to me and my attitude toward, life, interpersonal relationships and the human race in general.
Talking about perception and reality and the effects that they have on each other is a very slippery slope that I'm not going to delve too heavily into right now. The idea that my mental illness shapes my perception of reality is something that I struggle with constantly. I really want to believe that the concept of depressive realism is very plausible but as we've seen above, certain tenets of the description of CPTSD are in direct opposition the this idea. One of the therapists that I saw when I was away at an intensive outpatient program made this analogy as to how my mental illness shapes the way that I view the world.
The story goes that a couple went to visit the Tuscany coast in Italy for a vacation. Upon arrival they found everything to be as beautiful as they expected. As they explored various walking paths and hiking trails, they observed dog poop wherever they went. Mortified by this, they took a picture of said dog poop when they first encountered it on the side of the trail. Instead of moving on and taking notice of how beautiful the scenery was, they became obsessed with how inconsiderate they thought people were by not picking up their dog's waste in such wonderful place. So on they went through their entire trip, taking pictures and focusing on dog poop whenever they found it until it was time to go home. Once they got home, they showed their pictures. Naturally the first picture they showed was of dog poop and the couple and their friends had a good laugh about it. The next picture was, of course, of dog poop again. The couple's friends laugh again, though not as enthusiastically as before. Once they got to the third picture and subsequent pictures of dog poop, it becomes clear that the couple's sole attention was on the negativity of finding dog poop everywhere instead of just accepting it for what it is and enjoying the rest of their trip.
The therapist who told me this story told me that my illness makes it so that I only see dog poop wherever I go and miss out on all of the good things that are present in the world. At the time, this made a lot of sense to me and I started to think about the idea that my mind presents the world behind a filtering lens in the shade of dog poop. In other words, I see only the negative and therefore, obsess over it to the point that I can see nothing else. This begs the question, can I see anything in the world objectively or is my perception of reality really that skewed? My current idea as to how answer this question? Yes and no.
Being an outsider all of my life helped me develop one positive characteristic, I am extremely observant and try to look at things scientifically and develop a working theory of how things work, interact and what kind of outcomes/consequences/results can occur in situation. I seek to understand everything that I see, I want to know exactly how the world works, how people interact and what motivates them in life. This is the clinical side of my personality that I described a few post ago. Because my mind is so analytical, it makes me very well suited to science and most certainly had a lot to do with my choice in careers. I am constantly watching and observing things, be it my dogs, people walking past my coffee shop, people I work with, the world....etc. As a result, I have a working theory that the human race is ruining the planet we live on and that we will be the cause of our own undoing. I also see what it is that we are capable of as a species. We have this wonderful gift of conscious thought and we spend it in the pursuit of wealth, vanity and self servitude. The things that we are capable of accomplishing are so astounding but we are weighed down and ultimately underachieve spectacularly because of things like race, religious backgrounds and socio-economic status. This is not a post about my social, political, religious (specifically my lack of religious beliefs) or economic beliefs. It's about how I perceive the world and the human race in general. Because we are capable of conscious thought, we should strive to be more altruistic instead of selfish. So, is this my dog poop filter talking or is is the result of a great deal of observation and conscious thought? I honestly have no idea but I can tell you that the above examples are some of my most strongly held beliefs.
The very nature of my diagnosis begs the question, am I even truly capable of forming objective conclusion about anything, let alone the nature of the human race? Is my dog poop filter so strong that it effects every conscious though I have? These are difficult questions that most certainly don't have straightforward answers. This is where the concept of mindfulness comes into play. I have learned that I have to be mindful of every emotion and every thought that I have each and every day. I have analyze everything and determine if my response is my dog poop filter talking or a true interpretation of a situation. As you can guess, this isn't an easy task by any stretch of the imagination and I have been completely lax in practicing this for about 8 months now.
It takes so much energy to be mindful every second of every day and naturally, when I'm depressed, coming up with the energy to be mindful all the time becomes extremely difficult. Mindfulness is almost like the "spin" that political analysts like to use. Being mindful in my case means that I have to put a positive or optimistic spin on everyday situations in my life. I have friends who I work with who are incredibly proficient at being optimistic about almost everything. I spend half the time in awe of them and the other half wondering if there perceptions are in truth, reality. There's that perception vs. reality conundrum again. Mindfulness boils down to choice, I can choose to perceive things in a positive light and be the optimist or I can accept my dog poop filter interpretation of events and be the pessimist. My default option is always pessimism, unfortunately. That is why the conception of mindfulness is so important/essential to my recovery and continued growth as a human being.
Okay, I've talked about depressive realism, dog poop filters (negativity bias if you want to be precise), mindfulness, optimism and pessimism so far. I'm leaving out a key element to my personality though, cynicism. I am one cynical S.O.B., it's my primary defense mechanism and the source of almost all of my sense of humor. Cynicism, negativity bias and pessimism all have a lot of features in common with one another. For the longest time, I thought cynicism and sarcasm were one and the same, this is not the case though. One of the things that I have been taught through therapy is that sarcasm is considered to be nothing but displaced resentment by clinicians. If this truly is the case, it's no wonder that I'm so damn sarcastic. I don't subscribe completely to the above statement because I use sarcasm in my humor so much. We aren't talking about my sarcastic nature here though, we are talking about my cynicism (though it should be noted that the vast majority of my sarcasm comes from my cynicism). I am cynical as result of my upbringing and my experiences with my peers in grade school through high school. I am cynical because I am so observant. This goes back to my general opinion of the human race and the state that we are in right now. Being cynical is easy and is makes a great defense mechanism. Being cynical in my case discourages interaction with the world in the people in it because I am cynical about everything. Oh, I am so good about being cynical. Did I mention that I'm cynical about everything? I did because it's true. I moved to Kauai in part because I was so cynical about the "normal life" that someone in their mid-thirties and is married, is expected to live. I don't want to be your average United States citizen because I'm cynical. I work in the medical field because I'm cynical (though I am very cynical about the state of medicine in the United States today). I am so cynical that it would appear that I have unwittingly embraced a lot of concepts to be found in existential nihilism (I can't believe this philosophy actually exists, I thought I was the only person who thought this way). There is healthy cynicism and then there is Jon cynicism. Once again, am I so cynical because of my dog poop filter? I'm sure this is partly true but I'm sure that my intelligence plays a large role in this too. I would like to think that my intelligence results in a sense of naive realism but I am forced to question this because, once again, of my dog poop filter. The problem is, I like being cynical, I really like being cynical. Is it possible to be cynical about being cynical? I fear that being cynical is part of natural state of being and contributes greatly to my pessimistic nature. One major benefit of my cynicism is an extreme tendency to form my own opinions on subjects that may not follow the norm or majority. This is because I question everything but trust nothing that isn't backed up by scientific fact (clinical side of my personality again). A major drawback would be how my cynical attitude can affect the way I interact with people in general. This naturally feeds my nature of not trusting people and frequently results in dissociative behaviors on my part (not a good thing). Being mindful helps to counteract this to some degree but the dog poop filter is always in place.
Finally, I would talk a bit about my sense of ethical idealism. I hold very fast to my ideals and hold the rest of humanity to what I think should be our ideals as whole. As a result, I'm very cynical. Once again, I see what we are capable of as human beings and am ultimately disappointed because we seem to be unable to transcend our current state of society and achieve a form of utopia (altruism again). My father asks me at least once a year when I'm going to grow up, leave my blatant idealism behind, and join the real world. This always makes me sad because it means ultimately, this means that my father has given up on seeing the world change. Of course, his attitude is probably far more healthy and realistic than mine is because he accepts things as they are instead of pining for the impossible like I do. Here's a brain burner, does my adherence to certain ideals constitute a kind of anti-cynicism? My brain hurts too much to contemplate this question right now, I do intend to give it some serious thought though.
So, what have I learned tonight? Clearly, I am capable to whoring out to Wikipedia by linking endlessly to entries on philosophies and thought biases. Everything cycles back to perception versus reality and the existence of my dog poop filter. Mindfulness is the key to higher state of mental well-being for me. I question everything and as result, I am very cynical. Oh, what I mess I've made tonight, too much to digest right now. I hope your brain doesn't hurt as much as mine does right now and I hope all the crap I wrote tonight was worth your time.
Monday, January 7, 2013
The legacy of Doctor Who
I recently joined Pinterest a few months ago. Pinterest had been on my radar since last year but I thought it was a new experience aimed primarily at women's interests. I can say that I most certainly like this new social experience and hope it manages to stick around for the duration.
Pinterest is a great way for people to find and share pictures and tidbits on their favorite passions. My pins tend to center around comic book characters, epic sports cars, random favorite anime series and other science fiction odds and ends. Pinterest even provides various categories for you to browse based upon your general interests and I find that I frequently browse the Geek category.
The thing is, the category may be called Geek but what it really should be called "Pining for Dr. Who and Sherlock Fan Girl Pins". Let me get this out of the way, I am a true nerd/geek (whichever you choose) and I am very much "Old School". I have met and know more than my fair share of women who are true, Old School nerds/geeks like me. Old School meaning that the person in question has been this way ever since they can remember. Science fiction has always dominated my interests and most likely will continue to do so until I pass on into the next world (can the next world be cyberpunk please?).
"What does this have to do with the Geek category of Pinterest?", you ask. Okay, go to the Pinterest website and browse the Geek category for 5 minutes. What do you predominantly see? Pins gushing over how adorable David Tenant, Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch are. Now, I know next to nothing about this Sherlock show that can be found on BBC and BBC America, but I do know a thing or two about Dr. Who. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that I know far more about Dr. Who than 90% of these fan girls posting about how awesome Doctor number s10 and 11 are.
You see, the BBC rebooted Dr. Who back in 2005 after more than a decade without airing the various adventures of the Gallifreyan Time Lord and his ever present "Companions" in his Time And Relative Dimension In Space (TARDIS). This new series is quite excellent from what I've seen and the Doctor has been played by 3 separate actors over the last 7 years. Doctors 9, 10 and 11 (Christopher Eccleston, David Tenant and Math Smith respectively) have all done an excellent job of furthering the mystery, intrigue and quirkiness of the character. As a result, there are now legions of new Dr. Who fans, a much greater percentage of them women than ever before, fawning over the Doctor. All of these new found fans aren't real Whovians (as they call themselves) in my mind and need to understand and respect the immense history this show has.
When I was 7 years old and visiting my father in Minneapolis during the summer, I stumbled onto this strange science fiction show starring a tall man with curly hair in a hat, a very multicolored scarf and an English accent, playing on PBS every day. The production value was shabby at best and the monsters looked very fake but the show was the coolest thing next to Star Trek that I had ever seen. This show was Dr. Who, of course, and I had started watching during the Tom Baker years. No one I knew or talked to had ever heard of this show and I soon discovered that Dr. Who had been around for a very long time, even back then in the early 80's. I only got to watch Dr. Who when I was visiting Dad because he had cable, which something that my mother never believed in. When I was able to, I watched the show religiously and came to know about such things as Daleks (a villain that I've had a life long obsession with), Cybermen, The Master, Sontarans and Silurians. I didn't just experience Tom Baker (the 5th incarnation) as the Doctor, I spent time with Patrick Troughton (2nd), Jon Pertwee (3rd), Peter Davison (5th) and even an episode or two of Colin Baker (6th). Some of the episodes I watched were so old that they were still in black and white.
Like I said, I never once encountered anyone else who knew what Dr. Who was or had even heard of it. It was like my own little secret, daily science fiction television show. Eventually Dr. Who all but disappeared in the 90's and I left it behind..... until 2005. Dr. Who came roaring back with a new face, and new companion and a much higher production value than anything seen before. During that roughly 15 year gap, my science fiction tastes had matured considerably and regarded anything science fiction to be found on television to be of questionable quality. I'm not someone who consumes mass quantities of television (I haven't had any television service for close to two years now and have gone long periods of time without it in the past) so the return of Dr. Who was a minor blip on my radar. I did tune in to watch the return of the Daleks and Cybermen and was very satisfied with the stories told. Here we are six years later and Dr. Who is huge franchise now.... full of fan girls dreaming of being whisked away in the middle of the night by a handsome stranger with an English accent and his blue police box.
I am still a Dr. Who fan and will always be what I consider to be a true Whovian. I love Dr. Who for it's science fiction, not because the Doctor happens to be dashing. I welcome the legions of new fans who now love the series, I just hope that they take the time to experience the Doctor the way he was originally and become true fans and not just a bunch of hopeless romantics. This article is not meant to be sexist in any way, there are old school Dr. Who fans who happen to be women. If any of them happen to be perusing this post I have one question: Will you marry me? Seriously.
Now that's Old School, how about pining for these guys?
Pinterest is a great way for people to find and share pictures and tidbits on their favorite passions. My pins tend to center around comic book characters, epic sports cars, random favorite anime series and other science fiction odds and ends. Pinterest even provides various categories for you to browse based upon your general interests and I find that I frequently browse the Geek category.
The thing is, the category may be called Geek but what it really should be called "Pining for Dr. Who and Sherlock Fan Girl Pins". Let me get this out of the way, I am a true nerd/geek (whichever you choose) and I am very much "Old School". I have met and know more than my fair share of women who are true, Old School nerds/geeks like me. Old School meaning that the person in question has been this way ever since they can remember. Science fiction has always dominated my interests and most likely will continue to do so until I pass on into the next world (can the next world be cyberpunk please?).
"What does this have to do with the Geek category of Pinterest?", you ask. Okay, go to the Pinterest website and browse the Geek category for 5 minutes. What do you predominantly see? Pins gushing over how adorable David Tenant, Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch are. Now, I know next to nothing about this Sherlock show that can be found on BBC and BBC America, but I do know a thing or two about Dr. Who. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that I know far more about Dr. Who than 90% of these fan girls posting about how awesome Doctor number s10 and 11 are.
You see, the BBC rebooted Dr. Who back in 2005 after more than a decade without airing the various adventures of the Gallifreyan Time Lord and his ever present "Companions" in his Time And Relative Dimension In Space (TARDIS). This new series is quite excellent from what I've seen and the Doctor has been played by 3 separate actors over the last 7 years. Doctors 9, 10 and 11 (Christopher Eccleston, David Tenant and Math Smith respectively) have all done an excellent job of furthering the mystery, intrigue and quirkiness of the character. As a result, there are now legions of new Dr. Who fans, a much greater percentage of them women than ever before, fawning over the Doctor. All of these new found fans aren't real Whovians (as they call themselves) in my mind and need to understand and respect the immense history this show has.
When I was 7 years old and visiting my father in Minneapolis during the summer, I stumbled onto this strange science fiction show starring a tall man with curly hair in a hat, a very multicolored scarf and an English accent, playing on PBS every day. The production value was shabby at best and the monsters looked very fake but the show was the coolest thing next to Star Trek that I had ever seen. This show was Dr. Who, of course, and I had started watching during the Tom Baker years. No one I knew or talked to had ever heard of this show and I soon discovered that Dr. Who had been around for a very long time, even back then in the early 80's. I only got to watch Dr. Who when I was visiting Dad because he had cable, which something that my mother never believed in. When I was able to, I watched the show religiously and came to know about such things as Daleks (a villain that I've had a life long obsession with), Cybermen, The Master, Sontarans and Silurians. I didn't just experience Tom Baker (the 5th incarnation) as the Doctor, I spent time with Patrick Troughton (2nd), Jon Pertwee (3rd), Peter Davison (5th) and even an episode or two of Colin Baker (6th). Some of the episodes I watched were so old that they were still in black and white.
Like I said, I never once encountered anyone else who knew what Dr. Who was or had even heard of it. It was like my own little secret, daily science fiction television show. Eventually Dr. Who all but disappeared in the 90's and I left it behind..... until 2005. Dr. Who came roaring back with a new face, and new companion and a much higher production value than anything seen before. During that roughly 15 year gap, my science fiction tastes had matured considerably and regarded anything science fiction to be found on television to be of questionable quality. I'm not someone who consumes mass quantities of television (I haven't had any television service for close to two years now and have gone long periods of time without it in the past) so the return of Dr. Who was a minor blip on my radar. I did tune in to watch the return of the Daleks and Cybermen and was very satisfied with the stories told. Here we are six years later and Dr. Who is huge franchise now.... full of fan girls dreaming of being whisked away in the middle of the night by a handsome stranger with an English accent and his blue police box.
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