The struggle of the songless

Tonight, I held the DVD of "Happy Feet" in my hands, wavering about whether to feed it to the DVD player like a fish to a, well, penguin.

On the one hand, I thought, I am not five years old - at least, most of time. St Paul instructs us to put away childish things - you know, like the murderous tools with which he persecuted and murdered crowds of Christians. So, I piously stuffed childhood into a tattered box of dusty keepsakes, though it is an open question of whether I - or anyone - grew up. It all depends upon what 0ne means by "grow up," and I don't think anyone in our confounded society of everlasting adolescence has a goddamn clue.

But I digress - got a problem with that? Anyway, Happy Feet, at first glance, struck me as a Disneyesque puker that would do more to tug heartstrings and parental pocketbooks than satisfy the needs of the searching soul. Besides, penguins are getting too much press these days, what with March of the Penguins, HF, and an upcoming attraction with surfing penguins.

Still, in spite of all this, I figured I had the damn video from Netflix, so I might as well see it so I can send it back. OK, then, I watch it, and, while not artistically overwhelmed, I did enjoy it. I was most struck by the "love song" that the emperor penguins used to match mates. Whether or not this is scientifically accurate, it implied an idea of greater interest to me: that each living thing has its special quality that sets it apart.

We call this quality many things: talent, gift, niche, spirit, charism, essence, etc. Heidegger called it the Being of a being, an ineffable phenomenon that "presents" itself in its "unconcealment." I may be getting lost here, but the point is that each being has something about it that makes it special. Speaking of humans, it is our spirit, an essence that has basic similarities yet infinite differences among individuals.

Returning to the idea from Happy Feet, one might say each of us has his or her own "soul song," that special expression of his or her unique Being, that sets him or her apart and, quite often, lends itself to a unique niche in the larger community. In the movie, the song gave the penguin its place, and so the songless Mumbo was ostracized. The same thing, it seems, happens in human society.

So what happens to those who are songless? What happens to those who have nothing of their soul to give or share, nothing of themselves to contribute? Two things happen: they go broke or they go mad - most often, both. They are the homeless, the mentally ill, and the wandering. They are also the poor souls slaving away in hellish jobs that stifle their spirit. In any case, it raises the question of whether these lost souls become lost because (a) they have no song, (b) they cannot find their song, or (c) there is no opportunity for their song to be sung.

I believe it is a combination of the latter two factors. In other words, no soul is songless, is nondescript, in itself. Rather, the person has not found a means for expressing it. Nor has he or she found the right time and space in which to share expression.

I am rambling and getting sleepy, so I will punctuate the point with a rant: I am feeling lost and songless right now. I have not discovered the point to my existence, the gift I am to give, the niche I am to fill, and it frustrates the hell out of me. What if I don't have a song, after all? That cannot be, so it is all the more infuriating that it's there and I cannot find it or share it. What is my sound, my muse, my voice? I yearn to go beyond the vicious cycle of blah blah blah and say something with my being, something that will make my life worthwhile and echo beyond my death.

But all is silence, now, silence amidst the noisy bullshit of my brain and the useless American culture that never shuts up. So you can all go to hell, because you judgmental wretches all helped get me there; and I didn't need any help. Yes, I blame all the "you's" past, present, and future who tell me how to live, what I'm doing wrong, why I don't measure up, and other such spiteful shit. Certainly, I blame myself as well: that part is easy. Yet the beauty of a blog that no one reads is that I can go beyond myself and vent, let go, shout, shout, let it all out like Tears for Fears.

Yet, like the story from Harlan Ellison, I have no mouth and must scream, so I shout, and no words come out, except the useless drivel that is filling my blog. Curse it, you, me, everything.

Up with pro sports, down with poor sports!

Many people avoid pro sports because they simply lack the interest: ok, granted. But there is a vile breed of sophisticates who despise sports not just because of the idiotic athletes, but because sports, simply, are beneath them. In other words if diversions were placed on a scale, sports would be at the lower end of the totem pole.

That, I believe, is elitist ivory-tower idiocy. To the art critics, movie reviewers, preachers, and other pundits who pan pro sports, I say: get over yourselves! There is no way to rank forms of diversion, since diversion, by nature, is a matter of taste, not logic, choice, not nature.

It is simply enjoyable to watch the best craftsmen ply their trade. Anyone, I think, can relate to that. Whether the trade be art, music, or sports, the principle holds. In this vein, I see a certain beauty in watching the best playing their games - especially football, basketball, and baseball, which are the sports of my experience.

Now, there are those who despise professional sports because they believe pro athletes are selfish, spoiled simpletons with bling-bling ringing in their ears. To a great extent, I agree with these people....but more on that in a separate rant. Tune in later for a sampling of the athletes and teams that disgust me.

For now, it is enough to say "up with pro sports," and down with the poor sports who trash the games that so many enjoy...simply out of spite.

That having been said - GOLF SUCKS!!! Tune in later for a rant on this subject.

I blog, therefore I am

Descartes once said "I think, therefore, I am." Yet he no longer is, so therefore he must no longer be thinking.

I, however, still am, and therefore I am still thinking. What am I thinking? People ask me that all the time, and not always in a nice way! Well, that is what this blog is all about - my thoughts, views, and opinions. I need somewhere to put them - otherwise, my brain will burst, and I will join Descartes in the thoughtless realm of nonexistence.

Enough about me, let's talk about you.....or, rather, let's not. Unless I know you personally, you are nothing more than an email address to me, and therefore are completely insignificant in the world of my blog.

Nonetheless, I leave the choice of responding to my posts up to you, and I leave the choice of reading or deleting your responses up to me.

Welcome to my world.