may 27, 2003 - 07:23 - crashing these keys for jesus
a well observed, but rarely understood phenomenon:
the amount of time it takes a person to truly unwind from the more banal
trials of life (i.e. work), is always inversely proportional to the amount
of time it takes to again become dangerously rewound (stressed).
that said, after walking into the office this a.m., the velocity by which
my truly carefree demeanor (meticulously constructed over the course of a
four day weekend) dissipated into an emotionally overburdened wreck of a
psyche surpised even me.
...and work hasn't even started yet:
ignoring, for a moment, the improbable queue of email that has compiled
within my corporate inbox, i open a private note from an infrequent, almost
unrecognized, sender. it contains a curt, but potent news
announcement:
an announcement also presented by a local paper, in a
diluted format
that seems to suggest little more substance than a mere commuter-traffic
annoyance; jack learns that a once familiar face has now been lost forever.
to be fair, i cannot say that i really knew
her
personally; instead, I knew of her, having seen her face (and her bike)
around local café's with a frequency that was almost predictable as sunshine
in santa cruz.
it is as if someone has removed a framed portrait from a room
filled to capacity with nothing but other framed portraits. in all
probability, were this room, specifically this portrait, to remain
undisturbed, I probably would have never noticed it individually in any
particular detail.
instead, i find that it is the vacuum of its absence that haunts me.
-a new square of unabashed nothingness that incites madness with the
improbable efficiency by which it draws in my eyes.
if this room contains faces of those whom i've met, then this sudden
whiteness, a focal point for reflection for those that i've lost.
as if to further complicate the risks inherent in navigating such an
emotional minefield, one must consider other glaring implications of this
news: she died on a bike. she died on a curve that i know all to
well. she died at age 23.
of course, this is about this time that my mother signs onto Y!
messenger, and inquires, "how is your day going?"
a dirty truth: (sssssssh) every scooterist/motorcyclist on the planet,
no matter how bad-ass they think they are, misleads or flat-out lies to their
mother when this subject comes up.
--it's true, i bet even for the h.s. thompson's 'hell's angels.'
the simple reality? yes. RIDING ON TWO WHEELS IS DANGEROUS!
only a fool can discount such a time-proven truth, and evidence to
the contrary is clearly irrefutable.
there, i said it. (please don't point it out again, we know).
in fact, i read somewhere once that being a motorcyclist was like being a
grimy earth-bound astronaut with a propensity for interesting X-rays.
( i still think this description is particularly apt.)
which begs the question: why do we do it then?
it would be presumptuous for me to suggest that there was a global truth;
variance in response is as certain as variance in personality.
for me, it's freedom; not the (pedestrian) freedom of traffic,
or parking, or gas consumption that many riders might suggest, but the
freedom from the distraction of self.
riding a bike fast, (perhaps too fast), through a city, through a forest,
along the ocean, (anywhere) demands an acute presence of mind that
predicates one's attention to a continuous stream of instants (NOW) that
affords no opportunity for dilution of thought.
in a nutshell, you're not thinking about shoes, or taxes, or cigarettes, or
love, or even sex when the world is bending around your personal bubble of
velocity, streaming past your shoulder, and disappearing within the infinite
depth that follows you in violently shaking bar-end mirrors.
--but no freedom comes without a price, and for Krystal this freedom bore the
ultimate cost.
that said, i refuse to hang my helmet, i refuse to cower in my bedroom, i
refuse to not face the day. without knowing her closely, i can
say without blinking that Krystal would certainly agree.
i mean, who can assure me that that the same, violent end might not come
in a terrible workplace accident, perhaps involving a malfunctioning Xerox
machine and a pair of bent scissors?
life is about living. live it. RIDE SAFE.
(speaking of, I have that damn inbox to attend to).
may 21, 2003 - 19:13 - two dollar dentist
ever feel like the world has just gone too crazy to comprehend?
me too. below is an excerpt of an actual letter i've just
handed to my postman.
Dr. Drill U. Twice*
Santa Cruz, CA
Dear Sir or Madam:
I wanted to express my frustration upon receipt of your most recent
billing correspondence.
I recognize that in the health industry, there are quite often large
disconnects between when a customer is seen or attended by your staff,
pays their deductible, and when you are actually able to receive proper
payment from the insurance company.
In a perfect world, you would be able to accurately calculate a client's
responsibility outside of coverage provided by their insurance, and bill
them once, probably at the time of service. This allows for straightforward
record keeping, (on everyone's behalf), and ensures that you receive your
proper payment for services rendered.
I do recognize that we don't live in a perfect world, but sometimes it
amazes me how ludicrous the present world has become.
I just received a bill from you for the sum of $2.00. I have not been seen
by your establishment for almost a year, and have not even lived in the
state of California for over a year and a half. (In dental terms, at least
two regular checkup cycles! )
This bill has arrived at my door with very little explanation as to its
origination, other than the obscure term, 'Balance Forward,' as described
within its manuscript. This vacuum of information leaves me only to suspect
that this is a reflection of my last service at your establishment. --A service that I believe I will have now made three discrete payments for.
To top this off, you have kindly provided a pre-addressed envelope, but
one that is not nearly the same size nor format as that of your actual bill.
Excuse my presumption, but it's almost as if you're going out of your
way to be unprofessional.
Between the cumulative postage (.39 x 2), check printing fees (~$.20), and
the annoyance of having to carefully fold my remittance into your oddly
shaped envelope, you have now cost me at least an additional ~$.90.
Roughly 50% of your bill.
Add to this your cost of paper, toner, and postage (for billing), not to
mention the wages of the poor employee that is then forced to unfold my
carefully creased remittance (at great risk of work-distracting paper cuts),
then peripheral costs for this transaction have surely exceeded the
actual balance that you have suggested I continue to owe.
(Then again, perhaps 'Balance Forward' is a clever way for you to bill me for the time it will take your administrative staff to process my bill? - perversely cyclical, but clever nonetheless).
I do hope that you find occasion to spend my $2.00 on something useful;
perhaps a rubber stamp? Let me suggest, "
PAID IN FULL", it's a classic, and surely one of my personal
favorites.
Regards,
JACK!
P.S. - Please accept my apologies in advance for any paper cuts received in
the unfolding of this letter. The dentist made me do it.
* - of course, this is a false name. who would be foolish enough
to visit a dentist with such a moniker?
may 12, 2003 - 20:57 - ipod + mc = end of me?
last week, i broke down and submitted to the rampant consumerism that
steve jobs demands of me on a eerily predictable (quarterly?) basis:
...after year(s) of unsatiated lust, my wanton desires find
de-vice. meet io:
| it's not as bad as you might think; i did find a way to squeeze
a little better deal through the closing days of my ADC membership,
but this shiny bit of kit still represents a decandent foray into a
world i'm not too familiar with: cutting-edge gadget hipness.
for the moment, i bask in the glow of heavenly geek-cred: the precious
days where your gadget has not yet been technically outdated, and
you still have not yet received the bill.
(admittedly, it's usually questionable about which of the above
will happen first).
|
|
anyway, that's not really the premise for my post. (besides,
the ipod is a week old now, so it's old hat.) --instead, i
digress into a recent insight to the possible ramifications of io
in my life.
with 15 gb of music-stuffing potential, io is the first device i've
owned which holds the promise of being able to deliver more than an
hour of continuous music w/o repeating a track, or requiring
'fiddling.' (i.e. flipping tapes, swapping cd's). endowed
in such a way, io is uniquely suited for the highly illegal practice
of wiring headphones into a motorcycle helmet.
(any prior attempt might condem the rider to having to listen to
any particular artist, or set of songs, on repeat, for infinity).
so: being unseasonably sunny, today was the prototype launch:
- leathers : check
- boots : check
- motorbike: check
- ipod : check
..........
jack sets io the ipod to random, selects 'pop' playlist, presses play
and stores in interior coat pocket. io dutifully selects 'this
is hardcore' by pulp, and begins spinning away.
10 minutes later, jack, io, and tomahome (the motorbike) are now
on the very fringe of town, carving a line through commuter traffic
for the nearest mountain road. --it takes about that long to
realize that having io as a riding partner might just be a bad idea.
quite simply: i know now that it's surprisingly easy to drain out that
'quiet voice in the back of your head', (oft refered to as one's conscience).
surely, almost everyone is familiar with the quiet nagging doubts:
'maybe this isn't such a good idea', or,
'perhaps you might want to slow down a bit before
that next corner'?
imagine, for an instant, that you're straddling a yellow bike,
deep in the woods, deep in the throttle, and you were to replace that
skin-saving interior dialogue with a particularily rocking live rendition
of 'is this it', by the strokes?
in retrospect, it's a miracle i survived.
( more )
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