And now for this week's steaming pile of bad sense...

One of those catalogs full of useless crap came in the mail. This caught my eye:

"Easy in, easy out!"

Looking at that hair, I suspect "Cathy" (see the mug) is a mental patient they hijacked into doing this ad, because you'd have to be fucking crazy to zip yourself into a portable electric meatbag. And it really IS portable by the way; look how it folds away neatly for travel!

"FS" is Fucking Screwed if his wife falls asleep, or slips in the shower, or locks herself out of the house, or ODs on whatever shit she
must be taking if she thinks putting her paralyzed husband in a heated sack is a good idea.

January 12, 2011.

It ain't about me for the moment.

January 11, 2011.

No blog tonight.

January 10, 2011.

Three years ago I decided to grow a set of balls and do something I really wanted in spite of great, vociferous, nearly rabid protest from another department. I enrolled in a rigorous masters program for acupuncture in a school founded by Chinese doctors. I've been, and still am doing, marketing for 13 years now. It can be fun and creative and require deep thinking but it is always a stretch; I just can't quite get my heart in it. Because of circumstances (these also involve the other department, and I'm not thrilled about it) I've had to keep working in that field the whole time I'm at school so I could pay all the bills, meaning the program will take me years. It's been hard watching all of my classmates enter the clinic and start treating patients and then graduate. Hopefully in the next few months I will take the entrance exam myself so I too can treat actual patients in acupuncture. But those are side points. The different turn I started to take three years ago is becoming real. In a way, kind of, as of today.

Halfway into my time at school I took the required classes in "Tuina," which means "push/grasp," a vigorous form of traditional massage, and physical therapy of sorts, that can be used to treat nearly all the conditions acupuncture treats. Tuina requires physical conditioning and technique similar to what you'd develop doing qi gong or martial arts. That's one of the reasons I felt drawn to it and decided to go beyond the classes required for the masters' and complete the certification program my school offers in Tuina. I've finished the clinic internship for the Tuina program and have a few academic classes to wrap up. Six months ago I decided to be proactive (hate that word) which is sometimes unusual for me and lay the groundwork so I could start working in the field when I'm done. My plan was to start working doing Tuina while completing the masters'.

As of today I sealed the deal on a rental space. You don't have to have any kind of license to practice massage in the city so technically I can begin working before getting the actual certificate. I guess you could say today I also did my first treatment as a professional. I'm doing a trade with the woman I will be subletting from who is a massage therapist in a different discipline.

Next Monday will be my first day at work in a totally different career that I have actively chosen, and worked for, and in many ways suffered for (there's a brutal financial hit that comes from working freelance or for very small firms so you can go to school, since big employers suck and don't like employees going to school, and also a lot of stress trying to be successful at work while also going to school under the pressure of paying a mortgage for a house I'm now not even living in). I may not have any patients lined up with only a week to prepare; only today I started sending out emails to everyone I know; but the place is so cheap it doesn't matter. I'll bring my Mac and work on my marketing stuff while I'm there. In a couple weeks I will have patients. Not sure from where, but I know it will be so.

You know when people say "it's really happening" when something they've worked toward for a long time starts to take shape? I've heard my fellow students say that when they enter the clinic to do acupuncture. I feel like that today, having taken the step of securing this place to see clients. I wanted to write it down somewhere. (I could write a whole, long, separate post about all the fear that comes up when you do something important which, because it is important, is very different than what you've been doing). Since I don't keep a private journal anymore I'm writing it here and projecting it out into the internet, and I know nobody else will quite understand the way it feels to me. So thanks for listening in as I celebrate a small milestone in the development of my balls (I had to bring this back down to the nuts. Can't let it get too serious in here).

-Eric

Good song for a Monday.

Dukkha

[I]

I talked to my son's class about Buddhism Friday.

I'm no exemplar; while it is an everyday practice, most of my practice involves reciting bits of theory in my head while forgetting to actually live them on a moment to moment basis, every day. Why? Because it's fucking hard. Why? Because life is hard.

Sometimes I think life is just a repeated kick in the balls, all because of my mind. I didn't quite put it that way to the kids. But that sentence contains, actually, the First and Second Noble Truths. Life is suffering, and all suffering arises from the way we think.

I've read the word "suffering" is a mistranslation of "dukkha," which actually means "out of kilter," like a wagon wheel on a crooked axle. Life doesn't make sense. Sometimes it's dookie. But there's a way out...

Paint Sample Rejects.

We were picking out paint samples today for the basement. The names, like "Mint Shake," "Sun Shower," "Afternoon Tea" are almost as important a factor in choosing paint as the way it looks. "Omelet" was ruled out immediately: too greasy. The name should sound like a Real Simple magazine cover, making you picture a tangerine rind floating in a tumbler of spring water. Here are some others that didn't make the cut:

Snot Bubble©          Skidmark                    
Red Rocket              Afternoon Delight           
Martin Sheen           Puckered Pink            
Mahogany Cleft       Porn Dungeon       
Collie's Breath         Urinal Cake Teal
Anal Mist                 Morning Wood
Bleached Asshole

You're an asshole for dying, George Carlin, you funny fucker.

Things my father taught me.

The songs your parents played sometimes remain your favorites. You hear them as an adult and they hijack your consciousness back to inviolate memories of childhood, pure and perfect and protected from sadness, grief and regret. Here's one of mine. Thanks Dad.

The last post was dumb. This is better.

I mean really, who's the black private dick who's a sex machine to all the chicks?

Universe in a grain of sand etc. etc.

I want to be a mail man, or a buddhist monk.

I am at my very best driving and listening to the radio, or walking around doing shit like going to the bank (when I'm making a deposit). Sweeping the floor. Taking the dogs out. I worry very little in these moments. The sea of troubles is kind of off somewhere in the distance during those times.

Sitting down sucks. Computers suck. Can I at least use a typewriter? Fuck this! Couldn't I have been born an ancient Chinese scholar who only writes with a brush, if I have to write? House husband or early-retired person would also work.

Right now, though, I'm planted in front of this hot piece of plastic agonizing over the right words for shit that bores me. I'm going to try to adopt the same mindset. Mindfulness. Any moment is as good as any other. Feeling my fingers on the smooth keys. Ignoring the tendinitis. Casting off the sickly glare of this little fucking screen. Shit. It's not working. Neither am I.

Listen to this.

I wish I knew some exhortations in Spanish because if I did I would shout them.

The BEST man? Really?

This is what happens when you let me be in your wedding photos.

The definition of "conflicted..."

...your kids are sad, going back to their mother's care after a weekend with Dad (note I say mother's "care" and not "house;" I still own that shit, goddamnit) but feeling pretty good that, if they have to be sad, at least it's about leaving you.

The Sunday blues.

Ezra wailed, sniffling and gasping at bedtime tonight thinking about school tomorrow. I'm his Dad and we are alike, and I remember the uniquely damning dreadful weight of Monday that I've felt many times since, but never quite so bad as in fourth grade at the end of Christmas holiday. It was a good holiday. If I think too hard about how good it was, sledding with the kids, watching cartoons, seeing Tron, picking out and then watching them open their presents, playing Just Dance 2 on the Wii with the whole family, or even just driving to Target talking about random shit and listening to the Beastie Boys, I'm likely to wail and sniffle and gasp too.

Today's quote.

"Things are never absolutely perfect. They're just good, or cool."
-Ambrose

Rockin New Year's Eve.

Happy New Year to everybody. Here's how we spent ours.

Wii fit.

Beth achieving "Professional" status on the ski jump.

Beth flapping her wings like a little bird.

Beth getting knocked off the high-altitude obstacle course.

Bite Mii.

If anybody other than the friendly, animated Wii Fit Balance Board told me I was 15 pounds overweight and physically 8 years older than my age, that person would likely get smacked upside the head. Thankfully, the same gaming console that shares this information also provides opportunities to shoot, stab, kick and blow up people safely without anyone really getting hurt.

Minding the Younglings for the day.

Does YOUR babysitter teach your kids how to use The Force?