Thursday, July 21, 2016

To the Gun Control Opposition

To the people who resisted President Obama's executive actions on gun control, please take note.

"I believe in the Second Amendment, there written on paper, that guarantees the right to bear arms," Obama said. "No matter how many times people try to twist my words around, I taught constitutional law. I know a little bit about this. But I also believe that we can find ways to reduce gun violence consistent with the Second Amendment." Can't we all sacrifice a little for the safety of our citizens? This refusal to accept ANY limitations, ANY restrictions, ANY compromise is extremely selfish. Do you really intend to take the government by force one day? Is that really on your itinerary? Besides that, note the words of your beloved Second Amendment, 'A well-regulated militia...' How can you define every jackass owning all the guns he wants as "well-regulated"? To me, "well-regulated" includes extensive training, specific weaponry and a duty to more than just selfish 'redneck patriotism.' All you're really fighting for is your personal right to own whatever guns you want, regardless of how you dress it up. If you take a minute, I bet you can think of 10 people who you would like to see denied a gun purchase. Open your mind and I bet you'll easily come up with a short list of people who SHOULD NOT own guns. Even Thomas Jefferson would have put limitations on who could own guns if the kind of firearms which exist today existed in his time.

I guess I'll just eat ants

I remember as a child having a particularly pathetic moment when I was feeling really down on myself. I felt like nobody cared. I ate ants. I don't remember why but I was feeling miserable and I felt that somehow eating ants was what I deserved, and that if I deserved better than that then someone would stop me. I think I was alone, so nobody would have seen. But that, just being left alone so much, made me feel neglected.
I don't know what was happening or who would have been around who might have been responsible for me. I don't remember why I was eating anything. I just remember this really pathetic feeling. Feeling sorry for myself. The bitter taste of the ants. Then I felt sorry for the ants.
I don't ever want my daughter to feel that way. It makes me really sad thinking that she ever might. I know I wasn't terribly mistreated and abused. My childhood - my life - was never that bad. But still, the way I felt, I hate to think I could allow my cherished and beloved child to ever feel that way. I know that sometimes we have to hit bottom to know where it is, and to realize how far above it we usually are. But I hope she doesn't feel so worthless and unwanted as I felt in that moment while she's still a child. I hope she can make it another 5 years before she experiences the utter misery that is being a teenage girl. I don't know how old I was when I ate ants, but I wouldn't have been more than 10. Anyway, something to focus on, to try to make sure she doesn't have an experience like this.

Friday, July 15, 2016

Corporate Stooge.

I'm not cut out for this lifestyle of meetings and corporate obedience. I'm starting to feel that my days are numbered. I'd better line up something good to take on the burden of paying the bills. Even if I try, I don't know how much longer I'll last in this business of streamlined marketing and structured everything, with a total lack of independent style.
I keep being requested to attend these meetings and I keep missing them. I'm not used to having the expectation put on me to be somewhere at a specific minute for a non-specific amount of time to listen to people say, "Do you think...?" "Yes, I think..." "And what about...?" "That's a good question, we'll get Bob on the next call."
Let's say the meeting is at 1. I'll be aware of it at 11:30, then I'll go to lunch, then I get back at 1:40 to realize that I completely spaced it. Even if I only have 5 minutes to wait, I'll get distracted by whatever I'm filling my time with, and I'll realize 15 minutes later that I'm 10 minutes late for the call. I don't like it! I don't know what I want instead, but this doesn't feel like it.
Today the conference call is at 7:30 am. Now, I don't get into the office until about 9, but the meeting hosts are on the east coast, so the meeting is ridiculously early for us westerners. So I have to call in from home, in my robe, with my first cup of coffee. I'm taking notes on a sheet of printer paper with a golf pencil. I've got 3 or 4 minutes to go, and I'm sure I'll lose track of time and be late. I've been thinking for the past 14 years that "this corporate thing isn't so bad. It's not like in the movies and whatnot." Well that's because we weren't a typical corporation, as portrayed in the movies and whatnot. But now it's getting that way. I'm starting to feel really stifled, unappreciated and out of place.
Well, I have to dial in now.
Okay, well that's over. 20 minutes later and I was able to tell them, "yes, I'm a graphic designer. Yes, I know how to stretch one end of a vector shape without distorting the curves at the other end." Funny how much doubt some people have that other people understand anything. It's okay, better safe than sorry.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

In Death - The game you're not supposed to think of

Have you ever heard of this guy moot? I hadn't. And already I've lost the game. There, did it again.

I've always thought (and endlessly written and blogged about it) that my writing style sucks. I don't like the level from within myself that I write. Much too deep. I feel like I don't know enough about what the rest of the world thinks about to connect with them on a shared level; my stuff always comes from deep within my psyche, so much so that I'm afraid people won't relate.

I'll tell you this, though, and it's from way deep: I've addressed previously how I am glad fame never found me. On the other hand, I've lived much of my life with the intent that someday people will care what I did. For this I'm counting on death to help me out. I have definitely noticed that death makes a person more interesting to the remaining living. I'm hoping that, when I'm dead, all the things I've written, played, recorded or performed will become interesting. And there's so much. I just hope somebody knows where to find it. I don't think my wife will care to make everything I've done public, but I hope somebody will care to. She'd be the one to talk to. She's got my old cassettes, videos, passwords to my sites, etc. Tell her I asked you to come get it. I'll get some papers drawn up.

I realize that none of my stuff is quite good enough to make it on its own, but I'm counting on the interest level of my daughter's fans and the morbid fascination people have with the dead to boost the interest factor. Then there's the sheer volume of stuff. I think there's something at least noteworthy if not admirable about someone who loved his art so much that he kept at it in spite of the lack of outside interest/recognition.

I can understand that some of my friends might feel slighted by my implication that I don't have any fans. Please don't take it like that. I don't think of you as fans BECAUSE I think of you as friends. You can be both, and I guess I discount you as a fan because of my own insecurities. I appreciate your support. I guess I don't know what makes a fan. I guess I feel like my friends support me because they're my friends, not because my shit is any good. Also, I don't know what having to come to terms with the fact that people like me because of my talent as a writer and/or performer would do to my personality. I'm really afraid that I would become an asshole. Having a bunch of fans would almost force me to accept that, at least in some ways, I AM better than you/others, and I'm not excited about getting to that place.

In closing (maybe? Stream-of-consciousness going on here) understand that what I really want in death is for anyone who liked anything I did to take it and use it. Cover it, adapt it, whatever, give me posthumous credit and give the royalties to my family.

Love,
David