Holy Shit, I Forgot About the Final Blog Post

I'm undecided as to whether or not I will be continuing with this blog.  I may add to it from time to time, but I like to write on paper.  I like to scribble shit out when I don't like it.  I still think I'm pretty indifferent about the whole blog scene.  I think it's cool to have such informal medium with a massive, growing audience, but I don't really know if I enjoy it.  I won't know until I'm through being required to contribute.  I tend to focus more on fewer, more intimate interactions.  I like reading groups and smoke circles (most of the time they're the same event with my crowd).  I like to see peoples' face when they talk to me.  I hope that doesn't mean I'm a serial killer or something--I know the answer to that anyway.  I just seem to require more in an encounter.  I am an in-person kind of guy.  When lines are reasonable, I avoid the self-checkout lines.  I have never and will never "tweet."  I will always piss my friends off by not responding to an invite on Facebook, simply because I will not have seen it.  I really have nothing against the burgeoning online community.  In fact, it is my hope, that one day, this online society and global communication will replace religion.  It could happen, you can imagine.  It's easy, if you try. 

Haha, wow.  That's why I don't know about the blog thing--I feel alright saying any old thing. 

And so does everyone else.

Enneagram Make-Up Post

<div align="center"> <table style="color: black; background: #eeeeee"border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2"> <tr> <td bgcolor="#eeeeee"> <div align="center"> Enneagram Test Results <table style="color: black; background: #dddddd" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="4" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td>Type 1 </td> <td>Perfectionism</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||</td> <td width="30">46%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 2</td> <td> Helpfulness</td> <td width="50">||||||||||||</td> <td width="30">50%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 3</td> <td> Image Focus</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 66%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 4</td> <td>Hypersensitivity</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 58%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 5</td> <td> Detachment</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 74%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 6</td> <td>Anxiety</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 54%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 7</td> <td> Adventurousness</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 66%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 8</td> <td>Aggressiveness</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 74%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 9</td> <td>Calmness</td> <td width="50">||||||</td> <td width="30"> 26%</td> </tr> </table> </div> </td> </tr> </table> <a href="http://similarminds.com/enneagram_word.html">Take Free Enneagram Word Test</a><br><font size="1"><a href="http://similarminds.com">personality tests by similarminds.com</a></font></div>


So, 9types says I am split between 5 and 8.  I guess this makes me a "thinking leader."  I suppose this is a fairly accurate description of my personality.  I am usually pretty consumed in thought.  A Thinker is supposed to spend a lot of time trying to understand the world.  This is especially accurate for me.  I have great difficulty dealing with the unfairness that plagues most of our existence. I tremble indignation at every injustice, me and Che.  This mindset works simultaneously with my second, equally measured trait.  A Leader is supposed feel that the world is unjust and that strong people like me are supposed to "defend the weak."  I really think this is true of me.  I have lost more than one relationship because of my inability to stand aside when I could speak up to "injustice" of most any kind.  I don't like feeling guilty.  I think these descriptions are pretty accurate of my personality.  I hate to be so easily categorized, but I guess this simple little quiz was enough to suss me out.

I thought the directions for equilibrium were pretty interesting.  I guess I need to focus on myself instead of controlling others and really observe and analyze the world in order to be at peace.  Well, it sounds like good advice to me.  Here's to all the money I just saved on a therapist. 

Didn't I, my dear?

I haven't read much this semester, but I have been on a frantic search for some new quality music for the last year or two.  I had become all too rooted in listening to only music from my ipod. Then, a couple months ago, with the addition of Pandora Internet Radio (if you haven't tried it or a site like it, make plans) into my life, I found all kinds of good stuff.  Along with being reminded of how much I used to love Citizen Cope and Gov't Mule, I was introduced to some nice young Londoners who perform under the band name Mumford & Sons.  My title is from the refrain of their hit "Little Lion Man."  I like this song, but the rest of the tracks on their "Sigh No More" album are where I really found a reason to keep listening.

I borrowed the album from a hipster friend who always has the latest music that no one has heard of. While Mumford & Sons are a little more well-known than most of her collection, they have a sound that lacks that mainstream punch or pop or whatever it is that makes Lady Gaga and T-Pain sound like they do. I added it to my iPod and proceeded to bask in 4-piece (4 band members playing 4 instruments) magnificence. They have a melancholy tone that pulls on your must intimate of emotions. Their blistering strum patterns and bittersweet melodies produce an unrivaled sound in the world of folk-grass. And then there's the vocals.  As a one-time vocal performance major, I am often let down by the vocals of folk-type groups, where singing usually takes backseat to the instrumental focus.  The voices of Mumford & Sons blend something fierce and the harmony is just plain kick-ass.  Also, there stuff is fun as hell to play.  I really think these young musicians have formed a powerful and unique ensemble that will be making beautiful music for years to come.

Hindsight's 20/20

I have now experienced the end of nine college semesters, six of which were here at the University of Montana.  For me, the trouble is knowing that you can, in fact, completely lose motivation, drop out for a semester or two, re-register and head back to classes.  This is not a good thing to know.  It's a worse thing to practice. 

I'm nine semesters in and I'm only mildly confident in my major of choice (Ecology).  The only thing I am sure of is my need for a Bachelor's degree in something, since they're being given out like fuckin french fries these days.  With all the crazy things we've dreamed up for people to do with their time on Earth, asking someone to choose at or near my age just seems cruel.

However, now that the end of the semester is upon us, I feel every part of me that has matured at least a little since high school telling me what every college student needs to hear when motivation is hard to find.  It's only another couple of weeks, suck it up and enjoy it before you miss it.  Personally, I have encountered several points in my life where I wished I had slowed down a bit and enjoyed the process for what it was.  I don't want to have to encounter this feeling again merely with hindsight.  I've made it a personal goal to really just buckle down, grind it out and have a good time doing it.  I think it's all about realizing just how you're going to look back at this time in your life and acting accordingly.

Business Trip

I knew a kid who was on The Price Is Right.  He won two bicycles, a treadmill, a queen-sized bedroom furniture set, a 42-inch TV and he won his showcase which included:   speedboat, a six-person hot tub and a trip to Turks & Caicos.  He lived in a dorm at the time, so he sold everything except the trip.  He was on his way to the airport with his girlfriend when an oncoming car (driven by a sleepy bookstore clerk) drifted into their lane just in time to kill the kid I knew.  The Price Is Right changed his life. 

I was relieved to finally pull into the long-term parking garage of the San Jose airport.  I found a reasonable spot on the third level.  I was going through my entire trip to figure if I had forgotten to pack anything I would need.  It was far too late to go back for anything, but I continued with the mental activity. 

My mother had drowned in a river two miles from my childhood home six days ago.  My younger sister died in the same river while trying to save my mother.  Their deaths made the front page of the newspaper, along with a picture of my father and older brother, both crying.  I hadn't cried on any of the six days since I heard the news.  I was sad, sure, but not that broken up about it.  I don't know why.  

I lacked the intensity that my brother and father seemed to experience.  The same intensity that my girlfriend apparently found necessary in a mate.  I packed for my trip this morning in a room with two empty dressers drawers and a note explaining my shortcomings as a normal human being.  I was sad she left me, sure, but I wasn't broken up about it.  She said she couldn't bear to be with someone who was "so emotionally dead inside."  I thought her use of the word dead was a tad insensitive, even for someone like me.  My mother and sister were the ones who were dead now.  My father and older brother were the ones who were crying.  I was the one running through a parking garage trying to catch a flight to Cincinnati.

 I saw the reverse lights for just a split second.  In that time, I managed only to consider changing my path to avoid a conflict with the much heavier SUV.  I knew they (the driver of the SUV) couldn't have seen me at all.  Maybe I didn't know they would pull out of the spot so quickly.  Well, they did.  I felt the cold of the pavement on my cheek just before it became dark.  The last thing I thought was that I didn't move out of the way.  I was sad that I didn't move, sure, but I don't know if I was broken up about it.   

Blink

I fucked with the radio knobs some more.  Good music is hard to find.  It is harder to find in Nowhere, MT.  Grain fields on the other hand... I turned the radio off.  The purr of the car’s motor remained. 

            “Good music is hard to find.” I said.

            “Yes it is,” she offered, “if you’re a music snob.”  She didn’t look at me.  I could see the better half of her left breast in that dress.  She looked inviting.  Her hair on her exposed shoulders.  Her thighs, what I could see of them.  What I couldn’t.

“How much should I spend?” she asked.

“If it’s good shit, get as much as you can.  If it isn’t, don’t.”  Her gaze remained straight ahead.  In the three years we’d been “us,” I had come to know her profile the best.  I could draw her profile perfectly from memory. 

She slowed to a stop and shifted into park.  She looked at me.  I blinked and regretted it.  She was meant to be admired.  I handed her all the cash I had.  She added it to her own modest stack and threw the wad into her purse.

“I’ll be right back,” she said without much thought, “I love you.”  She was out of the car before I could respond.  I watched her walk half a block.  She stepped up to the door and paused for a brief second.  I thought she might turn to the car and smile.  I wanted her to.  She opened the door and was gone.  I settled in and rolled a fat solo to pass the time.  I looked outside the car for witnesses, lit ‘er up and took a hit.  Switched hands.  Took another.

“I smoke two joints in the mornin...” I sang quietly to the smoke swirling inside the car.  We’d be okay, I thought.  We just need this little score to get through the weekend.  We aren’t dumb.  We’ve discussed how much of our lives our habit had claimed.  Not to mention the money.  We’ve agreed to stop after this weekend.  We’ll get our shit together then.  It’ll be like it was. Happy. I looked down to find a roach in my hand.  It could’ve been five minutes or fifty.  I looked up and saw her walking towards the car.  How long had it been?  I sat up straight in my seat.  She got in and started the car.  Her gaze straight ahead.  She pulled a corner bag of crystal from her purse.  She handed it to me.  It was more than I was expecting. 
"How much?" I asked.
"It was a good deal," We were only a few blocks away when she pulled into the gas station.  “I need to use the bathroom.” she explained.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” she said without looking.  She left.  I sat there, roach in one hand and a sack of crystal in the other.  I opened her purse to deposit our cache.  I noticed a wad of bills inside.

           

What not to do.

Well, please let me start by explaining that there has never been a more ironic event in all of history than me giving writing tips to someone else. I don't think I have ever written more than two sentences of a paper before midnight, ever. So, what better way to utilize my knowledge than to give tips on what not to do when you write a paper:

1. Do not procrastinate. I know this isn't really a tip--it's something we should be masters of by now (the point where we are paying for our education). However, if you are like me, you are quick to figure how late you can wait to start the paper the minute you receive the assignment. This is bad. The more often you write (five one-hour sessions are much more beneficial than one five hour session), the easier your paper will be to write.

2. When you're writing, do not stop! Just keep writing. Even if it is total shit. So much time can be spent staring at your heading and the blank document that lay below it. Use this time to edit whatever nonsense you've mananaged to get down. This will prove a much more efficient use of whatever time you dedicate to writing

3. Don't be completely rigid when it comes to your topic. Upon research, you may find that it would be easier to change your thesis statement a little. Reward yourself for this observation and give the change a try. It could be that break you need to wrap the thing up or meet the length requirement.

4. Do not copy and paste, then edit in word. This will just end up exposing your lack of mastery of word formattting and make you paper awfully choppy.

5. Do not write your paper while under the influence. As enticing it may sound, there is a devastatingly low success rate when it comes to drunk writing. On top of a broken computer, you'll end up with a paper that is made up of 50% quotes from whatever songs you were listening to Anne maybe some lines from Rocky.

one truth, one lie and one truth.

Shortly after graduating high school, I took a road trip with a couple friends.  We ended up coming home (me to Missoula and them to Boise) through Tillamook County, Oregon.  I approached an unmarked, fish-hook turn going a mite faster than suggested and had a head-on with a Winnebago.  We all managed to basically walk away from it, except my car.

While in Germany, I took a pub crawl tour of the Bavarian beer gardens in Munich.  I received taunts from a kiwi (a bloke who hails from New Zealand) who claimed "No Yank will ever out drink anyone except an Asian!"  I proceded to drink this guy under the table with the support of some friends who dragged my ass home.  I still don't actually remember the other guy passing out, I have only pictures and friends to tell of how it all went down.

I was born and raised here in missoula.  My parents moved here from California while my mother was pregnant with me.  My dad had family who lived here in Missoula and my parents moved here without seeing it once. They relied purely on the fantastic recomendations of our family.  

Cognition

After reading the excerpt given to us on Friday, I have a few thoughts to share.  There are plenty of inter-woven issues pressing the entire world at this very moment, complete with dynamic characters and twisting plot line.  People watch TV to be entertained first and foremost.  When I get ready for a much anticipated movie or television show, I smoke a joint. I don't do a sudoku to warm my brain up for some real thinking time.  I sure as hell don't watch the screen for any kind of actual intellectual stimulation.  I imagine the only reason people enjoy these "multi-threaders" is because, to quote the great Ernest Borgnine in Baseketball, "People today have attention spans that can only be measured in nano-seconds."  They start a new scene with pretty new faces every couple minutes because that is what it takes to keep people from flipping the channel.  Shows are made to do your thinking for you.  How much personal emotion you decide to throw into watching them, however, is entirely up to you.

Red Dwarf is a late 80's/early 90's British science-fiction sitcom which provides a wonderful escape from all that heavy thinking about Tony Soprano's latest contribution to the East River.  It features four main characters: a human (maybe the last in existence), an android created to serve humans, a hologram of a dead human and a humanoid derived from 3 million years of the isolated evolution of the common house cat.  They are stuck 3 million light-years away from Earth and, consequently, 3 million years into the future.  Their journey home takes them on 8 seasons of strange and laughable adventures, each more ridiculous than the last.  And my favorite feature of the show, it can be enjoyed while engaging in any number of additional activities.  The activities may include, but are not limited to:  doing homework, cleaning, making a playlist, folding laundry or managing finances.  Of course, if you can enjoy the dry silliness that is British humor, the show is entertaining enough as a solo activity.  The show tells a story for a half an hour and then rolls the credits. 

It makes me cringe to think of how many people will die without knowing how to navigate a newspaper, while being able to recount the plot of Lost in its entirety.  People will watch the news for thirty minutes, watching everything a station wants you to know for an average of 30 seconds a story.  People will not pick up a newspaper for thirty minutes to read the full story of whatever the please.  The personal pursuit of knowledge without some kind of finger pointing the way.  I'm with Mike Judge's Idiocracy; people seem quite content with letting Hollywood guide their cognition.  If you have doubts, take a look at the Science-Fiction Channel's new name and logo (It's SyFy, just for the record).

Op-eds, in a word.

Geert Wilders is the leader of the Dutch Parliament's Freedom Party.  Geert Wilders does not like Muslims. He does not want any Muslims in or around the vicinity of the Netherlands.  He thinks Muslims are "retarded."  This thinking and his public expression of these thoughts has led him into some trouble with the Dutch court.  He currently faces up to sixteen months and $10,000 for his words.  Melody Moezzi is a Muslim-American.  She believes in free speech for everyone, including Mr. Wilders--despite his position towards Moezzi's culture (she does not agree with Iran's current regime, btw).  She starts off with a dose of ethos, clarifying her political and social views, as well as boasting her unique perspective as a Muslim, "outspoken writer and attorney."  Then she ends with some pathos, likening the story unto what would happen to her, should she return to Iran after speaking out against the way they run things over yonder seas.  Overall, I agree with Moezzi--freedom of speech for all.  But I don't think that Geert is crazy, well not any crazier than anyone who believes their religion is better than someone else's.  Crazy is crazy is crazy. 

Judith S. Beck has a Ph.D. in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. She deals with many people who suffer from a belief that they are, in some way, inherently wrong.  These people hate drawing any kind of attention to themselves.  They feel entitled to nothing. This makes me shudder with a sickening grief (pathos ?).  I imagine that most of us have, at some point in our lives, felt inadequate or inferior in some way. I couldn't imagine feeling like that all the time.  This idea of everyone judging everything you do is something most people ditch in elementary school or earlier.  A small degree of it stays with us through adolescence (everyone in class in watching me).  The other day I was watching this adorable kid play with one of those car-shopping cart things and I looked up to see five or six other people just staring at this kid.  He then looked up and saw six or seven people just staring at him.  He retreated between his mothers legs.  It's no wonder we grow up with the belief that everyone is watching and judging everything we do--while we're young and cute, everyone does watch everything we do. 

So Google has apparently introduced a newer version of Google search, enticingly named "Google Instant."  Bunmi Zalob doesn't think Google should "waste their time helping us waste our time."  She offers little Ethos, but tries to fill you up with a heavily sarcastic hit of logos.  It packs a wallop of laughter, I tell you what.  I chuckled anyway.  She gives one of the all-time greatest pie-graph prefaces, in my opinion: "The graph below is based on data collected from my assumptions."  This provides me with all the Ethos I needed to finish the article in a hurry and click over to the "Blogger" tab to finish this very post. Fin.

The Free Frontier

While the term "Mongo" itself is new to me, the idea of sharing with strangers is something I've been part of on both ends.  I've lived downtown at a few places now, mostly Front St, and furniture moves around there more than the homeless. I've picked up a chair (which I sit in while I write this), a folf disc or two and some bitchin BBQ-ware.  And I put out a couch which was gone in under two hours.  It was really cool to be a part of this totally random act of sharing. It wasn't fulfilling or anything, it was just kind of neat--the idea that something as simple as putting a free sign on something you lay near the sidewalk can be beneficial in so many ways. The most important benefit, I think, is what the process does to change our way of thinking.

In her trash article, Nagle describes how the problem with our trash output is a cognitive issue. I feel that when you do something like give away things that you would otherwise throw away, you are forced to consider the future of your trash.  You have to think about things from a broader, more long term perspective.  Sure this thing has no use to me now, but it may prove useful or even necessary for someone else.  I was quite alarmed to discover that the process of "mongoing" is illegal.  But resourceful people find a way around that with things like craigslist and freecycle.org. 

There was an article in the Independent a while back that featured an article about a woman who had outfitted something  like 80% of her house with "mongo"ed stuff--decorations and artwork included.  "Every single thing you see is future trash," says Nagle. An observation that should certainly leave you with something to think about. With so many people in the world, I believe that any action which simultaneously limits trash output and helps somebody else along their journey is, at least, progressive. 

A "symbiotic, probiotic colony of yeast and bacteria."

Kombucha tea is a popular product in most health food stores. It is made by combining a culture of yeast and bacteria with a mixture of black tea and sugar according to a kombucha website.  It tastes something like a carbonated (by means of natural fermentation) sweet vinegar. Don't scoff, people love this shit. I got interested in Kombucha after it's raw form was pulled from shelves.  The FDA did a random alcohol test on some batches of GT Millenium's raw kombucha tea (which claims an alcohol content of <0.05%).  What they found was an average of 3-4%.  Needless to say, this caused a stir.  And then it caused another stir--some people are lost without this stuff. 


I work at the Good Food Store and i've seen, firsthand, into the depths of raw fermented yeast tea withdrawl. Customers claim (many before it was taken off the shelves) that "it gives you a fantastic boost of energy unrivaled on earth."  "It can improve liver problems, circulation and it works on nail fungus!" "It helps with exzema and psoriasis and can lower your blood pressure!"  "After you have two, you feel like you could run a marathon"...yeah well, I feel pretty great when i'm buzzed too. When it was on sale, we could've hired a person just to restock the raw kombucha 8 hours a day.  Each bacteria junkie smiling, eyes-closed at one another, sharing a secret source of pure, fermented awesomeness.   One website calls it a "miracle used around the world for centuries." There are loads of people in Missoula who brew the raw stuff in their homes. 


Well, we still carry a pasteurized version of kombucha--as does the UC Market and a large handful of other stores. But I haven't heard a single customer rave about the health benefits of pasteurized fermented yeast tea.  Of course, i'm sure there are tons of people riding a high from an hour of having Dr. Oz injected into their brain, just looking for the "kombucha" printed on a bottle when they toss ten of them into their baskets.  They don't notice it's not raw and then they're stuck with something containing only "trace amounts" of the benficial probiotic bacteria (world tea news). Well, maybe the placebo effect will lower their blood pressure.

Numero Uno

I am Ryan.  My credits say I am a junior--though I've been going to school (on and off) since 2005.  I folf regularly and am quite fond of playing the guitar--mostly Neil Young, Tom Petty, Bob Dylan, Dave Matthews, and the like. Looking forward to getting my first electric and adding some new songs to the repertoire. I work at the Good Food Store and really like to backpack. I live with my girlfriend Laura and my flop-eared bunny Gracie.


I haven't read nearly as many titles as I'd like.  I'm currently reading as much Kurt Vonnegut as I can get my hands on--Wampeters Foma and Granfaloons, Armageddon in Retrospect, Slaughterhouse Five...  Right now it's Cat's Cradle.  Lately, other than Kurt, I quite enjoyed Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman.  I like some of the commonly-studied classics: A River Runs Through It, To Kill A Mockingbird,  1984,  Alas, Babylon,  All The Pretty Horses.  I'm a big fan of most Michael Crichton books. Some Other titles I can recall enjoying: Ishmael by Daniel Quinn, Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris, Ender's Game (and the rest of the Ender Series) by Orson Scott Card, Where the Wild Things Were by William Stolzenburg, Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Marie Rilke.  Oh, and as far as poetry goes...huge fan of Robert Service.