A Day in the Life of Chaos

Last night I was sitting on the couch watching the film Up In The Air, when something very down to Earth hit me.  In a way, I am glad I wasn't watching An American Werewolf in London.  If I had been I might have shit myself.  There is a scene at the beginning when two friends are walking across the moors on a foggy night somewhere in the English countryside.  There is a howl, then a growl and well, you can imagine what comes next. The movie was playing and I found myself completely enraptured by George Clooney's characterization of a solitary man living a solitary life when I heard this sound like a creature being eaten alive.  It was one of the most horrific noises I have ever heard.  The screech was bone chilling as it called out through the night. I looked around and remembered my Corgi mutt Hillary was outside.  I had this image of her being torn limb for limb and I stood with terror in my heart as I looked out into the dark abyss.   There is a forest behind my house,

There is a quiet revolution sweeping across the men of America and perhaps the world.  It may not be pretty but it is real.  Driven to the depths of despair, crime and depravity men are gradually rubbing their stubbly cheeks saying, "I am mad as hell and I am not going to take it anymore!"  Okay, maybe that was from the movie Network but we are still mad as hell or at least lighter in the wallet then we want to be. What is the source of this depravity?  What could cause such consternation?  It is a daily ritual exercised not by choice but by necessity.   The act of  of slicing follicles known simply as, shaving.  I can still remember being a child and watching the Gillette commercials.  A perfect cut as a blade sliced through not one but two cylindrical tubes representing hairs.  It lifted them and then excised a perfect cut releasing the tubes into the simulated skin providing the perfect shave.  It was followed by a commercial for Aqua Velva as a sexy woman ran her han

My mom would be surprised if she was alive today.  She spent a large amount of her childhood growing up in the South.  For my part, as the heir to her life experience,  I was the victim of turnip greens and salt rising bread.  I have to admit, the okra grew on me.  While she had lived in the North since graduating from college if you listened carefully you could still hear that twang in her voice.  Her parents spent their last years in Louisiana and her brother still lives in Birmingham, Alabama.  Her son was a product of the North, literally.  I grew up in Alaska probably closer to Canadian than American.  Okay, Canadian with out the socialism surrounded by guns and anti-federalism.  Come to think of it, maybe I was the only socialist non-Canadian Canadian in the state.  Well, Canada aside today I call Columbia, South Carolina my home. If my mother were alive today she would have been shocked but perhaps a little bit proud.  I am not sure why, maybe it's a Southern thing.  Wh

Everyone has a different definition of what friendship means.  It is a concept nearly as complex as love.  True friendship is something I have spent my life searching for like a prospector looking for a seam of gold.  Growing up I was fortunate to have lived in one place.  I developed a couple friends that I shared almost my entire youth with.  We were neighbors and in many ways brothers.  While connected to my familiar environment I always felt myself reaching to a world beyond.  Those were the days of letters and I eagerly wrote to pen palls I made around the world.  I had friends in Germany, England, Sweden and the Philippines.  I actually ended up marrying my friend from the Philippines but that is a long story for another time. There was something special about learning from other people in seemingly exotic places.  I discovered different points of view and a feeling that while far away, peoples thoughts, dreams and desires in life were very much the same.  It instilled in me

There are few things in life that really qualify as life changing. Something that alters your outlook and changes the way you live your life. The other day, I just may have found one of them. How did this happen? I watched a film called Food Inc. Every American should watch this film . It is not a judgmental movie. It is not trying to push a point of view or an agenda. The whole goal of the film is to explain where our food comes from and what we are eating. It seems such a simple question, I thought it was one I could easily answer. In truth, it was not. It didn't transform me into a vegan or a vegetarian. I didn't stop using deodorant or grow my hair long. It didn't send me to the red neck wonderland to equip myself for the hunt. It did however make me think. Anything in life that makes us think can't be that bad. In America we market to the world. We sell our products, our images and our brands. We are arguably some of the most effective on the

Last night I dreamed of my mother. Of course we all dream of our mothers yet mine has been dead now for eleven years. It was one of those dreams where she seemed so real. I could speak to her and for a few hours or maybe minutes, I felt like she was still alive. I wonder if dreams are a gift or a torture. Do they help us remember or resolve conflicts in our mind? When my mother passed away from cancer I had so many mixed feelings. So many unresolved issues that could never be resolved. Yet some how, in the face of loss, the issues didn't seem so important anymore. If I could give anyone advice that has a parent still living it would be to find a way to set aside the anger. Your chance to know a person you have taken for granted for most of your life is so fleeting, don't waste it. Don't let it escape your grasp. Unfortunately we are all likely to repeat the same mistakes. It seems that so often the qualities that we love and admire about a person are not

Life dealt me a cruel twist of fate. I hardly knew my grandfather. Probably it was for the best. He was a southern racist of the likes I am not proud. He lived his life out in Shreveport, Louisiana surrounded by the right wing refusing to admit they lost the war. When he died my mother received her share of gold Krugerrands he had sheltered in a safe deposit box. Why gold Krugerrands? Because they were from South Africa and he liked how the white government there kept the black people in their place. I am sure there were many good things about my grandfather but his racism was certainly not among them. Well, while my mother got the gold coins it was certainly not a kings ransom. She was however, quite happy to cash them in and spend them on something long forgotten. My grandfather's inheritance for me came before his death and it was quite different. I inherited my grandfathers genes. He was a brilliant geologist yet sadly, his scientific intellect did not pass m

"Beauty isn't only skin deep." Oh we all know that but who really believes it? In a world where our icons are the beautiful and whom are about as far from reality as I am from flying into space, it makes me wonder what the true definition of beauty is. Men are particularly challenged when we try to define it. We are taught from the beginning of our lives that beauty and the sex symbol go hand in hand. Beauty is defined by an actress in a pornographic movie or a model in a Victoria Secrets catalog. It is the 20 something in a tight dress swaying her hips as she walks down the street drawing our eyes and with them our desires. Reality of course reminds us of our inherent fear by paying homage to our middle-aged bodies. This fear speaks like an oracle to the Greeks and shames us into never trying to make a real contact. In truth the vast majority of us were never able to make contact even pre-middle age. We prefer to speculate with our friends or in our minds

So when did I grow old? All around me there are signs but I can't see them? I can't feel them. I think anyone that has a child feels it the most. One day they say something and immediately their mind turns on itself and asks the question, were those words from my mouth or my parents? Last night I was playing a video game on my son's Xbox. I was engaged with some alien civilization but that's not what is important. Over and over again, my son's friends kept sending messages asking me to join their party. Sadly, I am quite certain they assumed it was Noah playing and not his 42 year old father. I seriously doubt a 12 year old wanted to "party" with me. Despite this cruel reality, I felt oddly offended. I mean wasn't it within the realm of possibility in their little minds that the player could actually be Noah's father? Come on kids, I grew up in the era when video games were invented. Doesn't that count for something? Of course

Well today we enter the blogging world. No, there are no followers, it is simply an attempt to be. Isn't that what we all want anyway? Just to be. There is something beautiful about the written word that is often lost in the text based communication of this age. We have been on a slippery slope traveling downward at an ever increasing rate. Sometimes from a distance I look at the life of my 93 year old grandmother. I think of the change she has seen in America and the world. The changes seem so dramatic, so historic. She has witnessed world wars and amazing developments in technology. Her living memory touches the memory of those who knew the nation when it was still young. When I compare her life to my own I feel as if I am standing still. While this may be the result of my myopic vision perhaps one of the biggest changes of my life, a little less than half of hers, is the written word itself. When I was young we wrote letters. We waited for a response to come. I re