It's one year to the (not-at-all-facetious) End of the World...

...do you know where your children are?

Recycling Jobs

Beep, beep, beep that incessantly chipper robot sound reminds me I'm still here. “Hello, how are you doing today, sir?” As though anyone gives two shits about anyone else these days. That reminds me: “Would you like paper or plastic?” I mean, I once had a goal or a dream or some reasonable facsimile thereof. I once had credibility in the career world and now look at me. I'm starting from the bottom again. It's not that I'm better than anyone else, but for fuck's sake, I've done this before – a very long time ago. Back when I was a shy teenager, a mild twenty year old. But now I'm salty; salty and comparatively wizened as well. I've done things – seen things – that some of these people can't possibly even conceive of, but I'm the one who's stuck here, wrapping up their meat; placing it far away from their potatoes. Perhaps some of these people, this constant line of people, have accomplished things I can't fathom. Its possible I'm bagging a Vice Lord's chicken pot pie or placing a container of Juicy Juice into the bag of a Tech CEO whose code powers my cell phone. But that's not the point.

What is it that makes this American dream tick? Were some in righter places than others at the appropriate time? Did they have the requisite degree program or drive or ambition that I supposedly don't? Did they have better opportunities than I do? Because here I am, doing things I long ago thought I'd never have to do again. It has to be the economic downturn, right? It must be my lack of skilled labor. I mean I'm not alone here: Pete over there is pushing fifty, still popping buttons on a keypad, shoving produce past an infrared scanner. Carmella has to have a stranglehold on her mid-forties, yet she's running around the store like a speed-freak chinchilla, gathering discarded items and voiding purchases. How could this “land of opportunity” go so far south?

Did we fly to close to the sun on those fabled wings of wax – our egos spoon-fed by chain restaurants and the rusted laurels beneath our own asses? Empires always seem to falter when they find themselves too stuffed on their own entrails to watch the chair sliding out from under them – a sort of colossi sight-gag. It's no different with our own flaccid dynasty than it was with the Greeks cum Romans, or the Mongols cum China, or the Zulus cum the English cum themselves. The serpent eats its own tail, a fact littered like confetti throughout history, yet ignored to this day by those who write history in their own gilded images. A fact perhaps ignored by myself amongst others who thought that their might and understanding and abilities would preclude them from the same fate befallen those who came before them; those who dared think such ideas themselves.

And here I stand, “Thank you for shopping with us, sir,” among those who chewed the fat until fat became bone and the marrow was all but sipped away. Its far from the end of the world, but with continual ignorance it easily could be the end of our shallow dominion. “Have a great evening.” Am I thankful to be working? Yes. Am I pleased to be on a recidivist career path? Hell no. But until I have nothing more than the shirt on my back and the empty shell of a house for shelter, it still keeps food in my refrigerator and the lights on. “Hi there. Did you find everything alright today, ma'am?”

Beep. Beep. Beep...

Lovely California Home (fiction in 55 or less)

She hired the hitman, paying him ten thousand dollars. The hitman splattered her lover’s wife across the wall of their lovely southern Californian home. Now their love could flourish. On his way home from his “business trip” he collapsed. The cancer was stage four – he had a week to live. No happy ending for them.

What is Absurd anyway?

The question may arise in the course of this blog - what exactly do I mean when I refer to the Absurd? Well, allow me to elucidate.

The Absurd is, by its very nature, a personal condition. In classical philosophy, the Absurd often refers to the thin, filmy division between the logical/rational world, the emotional world and the search for meaning in a world without any intrinsic purpose. In the works of Camus, amongst others, our world is a place containing no coherent reason for existence; one which hinges upon our observations and the constructed realities of those around us (as witnessed by Camus' Stranger, who acts according to his own desires, mostly due to his disconnect from other people; or the heroic characters of the Plague who choose to live and thrive in the face of overwhelming odds).

Philosophic absurdity stems from Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard - also recognized as the father of atheistic and theistic existentialism - and represents his attempt to understand the nature of this seemingly meaningless universe. It was his positing that, in the face of such bewildering situations human beings could turn to several different outlooks, the primary ones being: either accept that meaningless and seek to create meaning for ourselves, or we could choose to make a "leap of faith" (Kierkegaard is recognized as the first to coin this concept).

But the polemics of philosophy aside, what does the absurd mean to us? To me? Well, it represents a conscious understanding that our world is boundless and shapeless beyond our own understanding of it. It suggest that we construct our comprehensive view of our world and our life from our observations, as well as from the constructs others have built - the infrastructure of culture so to speak.

This notion of a self-made world, can help us to understand why one person grows up to become a dentist, and the other a serial arsonist. Now of course Absurdist ideas don't account for the influence of heredity, and this may be a modern chip in its armor, but that's a topic for an entirely different essay. That aside, Absurdism remains an intriguing worldview, one which sets aside the notion of a contrived, circumscribed universe and allows our observations to mold the shape of the universe. Our universe is not necessarily static and rigid, like the one prescribed by culture or religion.

But most of all, it reminds me to seek out other people and other cultures; to broaden my ideological and emotional contact with my world. For if we never explore beyond ourselves, we risk becoming one-dimensional entities in our self-defined universes.

Eleven Reasons Austin is Kick-Ass

1. There is a brilliance to downtown, especially when it shines through a hazy November night.

2. T-Shirts and shorts are not-irregular accoutrements in December.

3. How many different shows could I go to on a weekly basis in Madison, WI? 10-12. How many shows can i go to in Austin on a nightly basis? 10-15. Sweetness!

4. Bats under a bridge - fuck yeah!

5. Did I mention muthafuckin' shorts in mothafuckin' December!

6. Hungry around bar time? Walk down the street, towards the nearest mobile cart to burritos, pizza, veggie dogs, gyros and various other moderately overpriced delights all from the comfort of your boozy swagger.

7. The drive time from Madison to the Gulf Coast is approximately 23 hours. The drive time from Austin to the Gulf Coast is approximately 3.5 hours. Once those oil balls dissipate, its time for some serious coastal action.

8. You get a free gun when you buy a hundred dollars worth of booze (just kidding Austinians!).

9. Pizza made with beer in the crust!

10. Because to my difficulties navigating in new places - perhaps due to my easy directional disorientation (yes, I was one of those kids that made the L and backwards L in school) - I appreciate cities with street layouts and names that make sense: one of these being Willie Nelson Boulevard!

11. Terror Tuesdays at the Alamo Drafthouse!