Fear of Flying

Distractions come in many forms, and sometimes I think that I like most of them. Even contemplating the variety of forms they take, and the particular spectrums they might sparkle the announcement of their presence with, fills many moments with pleasant diversion. As my focus on a particular project narrows the number of distractions grows by displacement. A laser-sharp focus could create an entire universe of distraction.

“There is an art, it [The HGG] says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. Pick a nice day, [The HGG] suggests, and try it. The first part is easy. All it requires is simply the ability to throw yourself forward with all your weight, and the willingness not to mind that it's going to hurt. That is, it's going to hurt if you fail to miss the ground. Most people fail to miss the ground, and if they are really trying properly, the likelihood is that they will fail to miss it fairly hard.
Clearly, it is the second part, the missing, which presents the difficulties.” – Douglas Adams from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

The other night I remained awake till the earliest sounds of morning lulled me into a few hours late sleep. If not for the threat of a day spent paying for my night I would have fought harder to maintain my wakeful attention for those last few hours as well.

Some sleepless nights are forced on me by stressful circumstances. Sleep cowers in fear to avoid being contaminated by the mind’s obsessive replaying of the day’s events. Rejection, disappointment, disillusionment, heartbreak, inadequacy, embarrassment, cuts deep and shallow play over and over. I think once is enough for most hurts, but the sleep-deprived subconscious has some need to recapture the excruciating nuances of each hurtful moment. Tossing and turning like a fresh caught fish, and then –just as sleep tiptoes in- I am waken by some ill defined impact-like jolt.

The other night was something different. Sleep waited patiently as I explored the tactile potentials of exciting possibilities. Each imagined situation was assembled with interesting distractions from the day’s wanderings mixed with exciting ideas. When I focused on any element it would unfold in detail until it presented me with another comfortable situation to try out. The feeling of a saturating wellness was only slightly displaced by a free-floating gleeful expectation. It was a psychological equivalent of trying out overstuffed lounging chairs in an infinite showroom; a lovely saleswoman patiently waiting to take me by the hand and lead me to the next chair everytime I settled in.

When I woke I had an impulse to go shopping for a new queen-sized bed, but that sort of endeavor is best avoided on days following too-little sleep.

I often run to clear my mind of things. Troubles drive me out the door, and the fact that they wait for me extends my run. I will sometimes make a mental list of all sorts of troubling and annoying things just before going out for a run. This way I can load up the emotional hopper in preparation for the run. I sometimes imagine one of those trucks that empty porta-potties diving down the highway with a secret valve that allows its contents to leak out on the road open and spewing.

The other day I ran while recreating a series of awkwardly pleasant experiences in my mind. I caught myself laughing at spastically timed intervals. I said hello to strangers I passed with a little too much enthusiasm. I pictured myself as I was –the crazed giggling sweat-drenched middle aged waddling man- and laughed a couple more times. My pace-time sucked, but I would have kept going forever if my legs did not hurt as much as they do after a long run.

When I catch a pretty woman out of the corner of my eye while running I sometimes stumble. When I later recall the incident I usually smile a slight knowing smile. That does not mean I enjoy stumbling while out running.

Then again there is the possibility that if I stumble just right I will find myself flying.

Reason to Par-Tay

It was two hundred and seventeen years ago today, on November 10th 1793 (20 Brumaire, Year II), that the French revolution’s National Convention celebrated their “Festival of Reason”. In a move that makes indescribable sense to me the “Cult of Reason” persuaded Pierre Gaspard Chaumette to call for the instalation of a “Godess of Reason”. Chaumette was an unabashed male chauvenist who’s enduring quotes include many where he admonishes women to “know their place” (which was being domestic, and if they could manage it, pretty). Yet he viewed the personification of that reason he wished to genuflect before as female. In order to be entirely clear that reason was feminine Sophie Momoro (née Fournier) was chosen to personify her.

The party sounds like it was a blast. The medieval cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris was transformed into a modern “Temple of Reason”. An altar to liberty was installed over the old one, and the inscription "To Philosophy" was carved into the church facade. Contemporary accounts reported the Festival of Reason as a "lurid", "licentious" affair of scandalous "depravities".

Eventually Maximilien Robespierre would supplant the atheist-leaning Cult of Reason with a solidly Deist Cult of the Supreme Being. Robespierre’s parties were often much less fun.

Robespierre’s Solides jailed both Sophie and her husband, the later was guillotined. When the sentence of death was announced for her husband Sophie was broken. As she wept she was taunted: “The Goddess of Reason has not been at all reasonable during the day!”

Sophie was imprisoned from March until May of 1794. Even the Solides could not execute her for simply being beautiful. By the time she was released (destitute and alone) from prison she was so described: "This goddess is very terrestrial: she has only passable features, frightful teeth, and a clumsy form”.

Both reason and beauty, it seems, can be erased by the focused effort of man.

2+2=5 for very large values of 2

The midterm elections this past Tuesday were very popular. For the first time I can remember I had to wait a considerable amount of time in line before voting. At the computer screen ballot machines a group of four folks stood staring at the screens in apparent disbelief. I had run over the ballot ahead of time so my actual voting took almost four minutes (timed) but the four folks who had begun “voting” before I arrived took almost twenty minutes. There is something admirably spontaneous about showing up to a polling place to be surprised about what you are being asked to vote on.

Smart candidates should take advantage of the last minute voters and change their names to reflect popular views on hot button topics. I think a candidate named “Second-amendment prolife” would be a shoe-in for anything in my voting district. Imagine the look on the Supreme Court justice’s face as he swore “Death-panel Birther” in for president of the US.

WAR IS PEACE

There are outcomes which I am resignedly uncomfortable with (like the defeat of my favorite candidate for Governor by a more than 33% margin), but more that I am ambiguous about.

A couple of thousand miles away Christine O’Donnell’s campaign went down in flames. There was something oddly entertaining about the idea that she might be in the US senate. Somewhere in my mind I store a fantastical picture of a grainy surveillance film featuring her and Rand Paul half-dressed as giant chickens while offering bong-hits of ground retread rubber to Aqua-Buddha. Despite this being filed away as another unfulfillable fantasy I’m sure that the new congress will provide ample opportunities for voyeuristic entertainment.

Jerry Brown was re-elected as Governor of California, and pot is still not legal. I am trying to be interested in this; there was a time when those California results would have been the center of many a conversation as opposed to being buried in the center of a blog entry.

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

Even races where I was interested I feel ambiguous about the outcomes. In Massachusett’s Pittsfield's 3rd Berkshire District the initiative to allow women to go topless with no more consequence than me failed. Perhaps it is because I am getting older and young women look more like my daughters and old women look more like old men, but I am non-pulsed by this result.

So too the Denver initiative to establish an “ET” commission. I enjoyed talking about UFO’s and “The new Area 51” leading up to the election, but the resounding 84:12 defeat was not at all uncomfortable. Someone had pointed out that the establishment of the commission was a feeble attempt to validate a fringe religion’s belief system as plausible; would I want a creation research commission formed in Salt Lake? I began wondering if there already was a CRC in Utah, and I decided there probably was.

The only thing that still disturbs me was the track several campaigns took of presenting physical issues as democratically amendable options. What is it with the idea of global climate change that makes it an issue people think they can vote on? At least one candidate (who was thankfully not elected; if only by a slim margin) stated: “I will believe in Global Climate Change when a majority of Americans believe in it”. An educated electorate would demand that their politicians know the difference between a matter of physical reality and a matter of public opinion.

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

I imagine future ballot measures outlawing gravity with campaigns that promise “flying without wings”. Perhaps we can abolish the limiting speed of light velocity so inconveniently established in the special theory of relativity: “Travel to distant galaxies in seconds; meet interesting aliens”. The feds would then need to establish an ET commission like the one Denver defeated.

The only aliens featuring prominently in my local elections were those from south of the border. If I expect any campaign promises to be fulfilled the one to enact a “stronger than Arizona’s” immigration policy for Utah is one.

Sometime around 1984 I heard a version of the Dead Kennedy’s song “California Uber Alles” (which Jell-O wrote about Jerry Brown) re-written for Ronald Reagan. The song was titled “We’ve got a bigger problem now!”

“Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows.” -- George Orwell