The Adventures of LitBoy: Bill Brent's Blog

COMMERCE REDUX, or REDUCTIO AD COMMERCIUM

So I had a rather radical response to the events surrounding THIS POST, and I thought I would follow up a bit.

I was all set to go to Traffic Court to fight my speeding ticket, using the strategy outlined HERE and HERE.

But then I got cold feet.

Well, not really. I mean, yes, I was scared enough that I was rehearsing at least some bit of my court appearance on a daily basis for weeks. And then I realized it was keeping me from writing. A lot of my creative thought was diverted into how I would stage what would probably end up being a two-minute appearance at the local police station in the town that issued the ticket.

I had backup strategies, even. I was all set to spend an afternoon touring and photographing signage for all the other school zones I could find in Puna and South Hilo districts, thus creating documentary evidence that the stretch of Hawaii State Highway 139 where I was busted did not display sufficient posting for a school zone. Aside from one easily missed speed limit sign, there is NO signage depicting kids in a crosswalk, the words "SCHOOL ZONE", or any such warning. No blinking yellow light. None of that.

But then I learned from the District Court here that I could not subpoena the traffic cop until after the judge had heard my case. In other words, I was not allowed to demand that the officer who had clocked me and pulled me over be brought in for questioning and made accountable, with full documentation supporting his evidence against me, until after an uninvolved third party (the judge) had most likely already ruled against me, based on my testimony at his hearing, which would be, in effect, bearing witness against myself. So I thought, "This system really sucks! And I could be writing instead."

And then I got the wild idea to put away the minivan.

In other words, to simply pay the ticket without:

- enduring bumper-to-bumper traffic on the one-lane highway leading to my appearance at the Kea'au police station on a Friday morning between 7:30 and 8:30 a.m.,
- spending an afternoon taking photos (and then an evening selecting, cropping, and printing the pics via computer),
- continuing to waste valuable writing time rehearsing my appearance,
- and, most importantly, suffering further anxiety and anger attacks.

It embarrasses me a bit to admit that I'd been having those attacks. I wasted my partner's time, and my weekly consultation time with my writing coach at least once on this stupid ticket matter. I tried detachment, afformations, conscious breathing, taking naps, going for walks, and still I felt rage and panic. Helpless anger. So maybe that's a personal limitation, but it's well within the range of ordinary human behavior.

A lot of my outrage had to do with the outrageous fine. If I had been knowingly breaking the speed limit, I don't think I would have felt quite so incensed at having to pay a $172 fine for a harmless infraction. I didn't damage anything or endanger anyone. This was a cut-and-dried case of a local gendarme ringing up the register for the county coffers. Based on my monthly disability income of less than $800, which goes for my rent and utilities, as well as occasional incidentals like, um food, this was a heavy hit to the checkbook.

Garaging the minivan, on the other hand, would allow me to save:

- roughly $100 on the vehicle insurance, given as a refund for the current six-month period,
- roughly $500 per year on fuel costs (averaging $40 per month; no, I don't drive much),
- the annual $500 for my bare-bones vehicle insurance before the inevitable rate increase;
- the annual $100 DMV vehicle fee,
- any risk of an accident in the vehicle.

So that's a savings of roughly $1,200 per year, based on my meager use of the minivan.

The real reason to fight a ticket, as many of us know, is to avoid taking the hit to one's insurance rates. Since I have such bare-bones coverage, mine would not have been too bad, but still would have cost me an additional estimated $330 over the next three years. Plus, the infraction appears on the insurance industry's database for a total of five years, which increases my rates if I want to switch insurance carriers, or need to, such as in the event of a move to a non-covered state.

Now, unlike many of us, I have the luxury of living with someone who drives, has a working vehicle, and already has me listed as a secondary driver on the insurance policy. So it's just a matter of my continuing to minimize my driving trips, pitching in for gas or the like now and then, and I'm covered.

So I paid the ticket at the District Court office in Hilo, using my credit card (might as well rack up a few air miles), just after the card's monthly closing date, so at least I'm getting the maximum cash flow possible before the pay-off hits. Meanwhile, I've already banked my policy cancellation refund check from the insurance company, which covers half the ticket's cost. The same day I got that check, I also made roughly $60 from unrelated, unexpected income. So, in other words, the fine is more or less covered.

The real lesson here extends beyond my rather trivial tale of woe. It's really about how each of us does business with the world, and how you can become more aware of the real cost of doing your business. Better awareness for you equals better choices on how you spend your money.

Now, I'm not saying all of us should rush out and garage our cars – for most of us, that would still be impractical – but it's important to recognize the hidden costs of ownership. Most of us, I believe, give far more of our paycheck to banks and insurance companies than we need to.

You see, the real cost-of-living increases for most Americans over the past three or four decades have come NOT in the area of consumer goods, but in two major areas: INSURANCE (health insurance, mostly) and HOUSING (mortgage payments, largely). You can find out about that HERE, on YouTube, in an informative presentation about the collapse of the American middle class. [NOTE: You can skip the first six minutes, since that is the introduction of the speaker and other formalities.] The speaker is Elizabeth Warren, who teaches contract law, bankruptcy, and commercial law at Harvard Law School.

- Health coverage goes to an insurance company (before I bit the bullet in 2003 and declared disability, I was paying about $600 a month in group coverage), and
- Mortgage payments go to a bank (in my case, I pay housing rent to someone who has a monthly mortgage to pay).

If Americans plan to make it through the next decade or so of economic woes with any semblance of our current quality of life intact, then we need to start looking now at how to cut back on ALL our costs of living, not just the obvious ones. Garaging my minivan seems a bit extreme, but so far, I've been making do without one for a month, and it hasn't significantly affected my quality of my life. On the other hand, once I factor in my estimated rate increase, I'm saving about $1,500 per year by NOT running a vehicle I was only getting minimal use from anyhow. That may not seem like much to someone who considers himself in the middle class, but for someone with an annual disability income of about $10,000, that is huge. I've just slashed my annual cost of living by 15 percent!

That is 15 percent per annum that I can now grow a bit of interest on, and which will enable me to travel from Hawaii to the mainland, whenever I need to. Yes, it would be easy to settle for being "poor," and to state that there is nothing I can do about it. But that's a defeatist perspective. I'd rather reframe my situation and state, "Okay, I'm going to adopt a Southeast Asian Immigrant Mentality." Here are some examples of how I am doing that, and so can you:

- keep rent cheap;
- cut expenses to the bone (especially any recurring ones);
- buy fresh or grow your own (it's healthier and cheaper);
- stay home (don't spend money on "keeping up appearances");
- keep your work ethic strong;
- develop your skills so you can make better money;
- remember that your opportunities here are better than elsewhere;
- eschew instant gratification for the promise of a better tomorrow;
- don't pay retail; shop in the discount markets when it saves you money;
- keep money circulating within your own community.
- and save some for a rainy day, preferably in an interest-bearing account, where it's not too easy to withdraw.

Remember when we used to call this Yankee frugality?

It's worth thinking about.

---

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2008.06.01, 2:55 a.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

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This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars and my annual goal of $200. Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

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I AM INWINCIBLE!

GAH.

I go for my usual half-hour walk around 5:30 p.m. It is my first time this week without any head covering, so of course I get hit by a raincloud about eight minutes in. I run most of the way back home. The rain stops. Frustrated but determined to do something with my now pumped-up heart energy, I yank our shovel out of the ground, where it has been propping up a new sapling purchased at last week's Plant It Hawaii sale; the young potted tree is prone to falling over until I can get it in the ground.

I start digging into the lava cinder soil in the corner of our front lawn, a hole I have been digging for the last several days. Eight inches down, I have hit solid rock, as with everywhere here, so I decide to go for width rather than depth. Something tells me that if I persist within this particular spot, I will be rewarded.

In frustration, I start banging the metal shovel head against the rock floor, chipping away at an angle. The floor starts to give, breaking up a bit to yield several chunks small enough to fit within my palm. I excavate the chunks, along with the copious lava cinder generated by my widening. Then I sense a larger, looser chunk of rock at the base of this hole -- the true mother lode here. By digging on all sides, and widening out the hole even further, I determine that this boulder is nearly a foot across and quite deep. If only I could get Madam Pele to give it up.

So I get a small trowel to prop this giant, loosening chunk on one side while I attempt to pry it out with the shovel. It is growing dark, and so far I have a few small rocks, several shovelfuls' worth of cinder, and one mosquito bite to show for my efforts. Yet I persist; this is no longer about a hole in the ground; it is about my frustration with the Hawaiian elements, and my fierce determination to move on with my life. I am tired of digging holes. I want this bounteous Hawaiian earth to sustain us, and I especially want to enjoy someday a tall glass of lemonade taken from the tree that I am resolved to plant within this niche.

Five minutes more, and I feel a small blister forming beneath these garden gloves. I dig into the earth with my fingers and yank at the boulder. It yields. The hole is now a good six inches deeper, enough at last to plant this lemon tree. It is dark now. Tomorrow I will return to put this tree into the hole and nurture it within Pele's stubborn yet fecund earth.

--BB ... Angry White Male?

---

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2008.05.08, 8:30 p.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

20.00 / $200.00 (10.0%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars and my annual goal of $200. Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

All original materials here on LitBoy.com (writing, photos, drawings, graphics, etc.) belong to Bill Brent. If you want to re-use something here, please ask. Higher resolution images are available.

OUR SAD COMMERCE

Earlier this week, I spent the entire day, and a fair amount of the night (blessed be insomnia) doing online research to debate a speeding ticket I got in mid-March.

When A Highway Is Not A Highway

I got my ticket on Hawaii State Highway 139, better known as Old Keaau-Pahoa Road. The posted speed limit on that road is 25 MPH, a fact that is easy to miss when you turn off Highway 130 (the main highway, speed limit 55MPH), drive around a 20 MPH bend (see picture 1), and onto a wide straightaway that looks very much like a busy, mixed-use street in California that would have a speed limit of at least 35 MPH. (See picture 2.) In fact, it is difficult to drive on Highway 139 at 25 MPH. In order to maintain such a slow rate of travel on this road, one must use the brake pedal nearly constantly to compensate for the inherent forward momentum of most vehicles.

A school sits quite a distance back from Highway 139, and is therefore hard to see. The single northbound speed limit sign is small and white, and likewise terribly nondescript. By contrast, there are two speed limit signs in the southbound direction, and they are much harder to miss.

The weather was dry and clear. My time of travel was mid-morning. There was not a pedestrian in sight along the entire corridor. Thus, no one was in danger from my rate of travel, which was commensurate with every other car on my side of the highway.

Of course, none of this common-sense judgment counts when you are cited for a speeding infraction. Issuing a ticket for a non-harmful moving violation is an example of an absolute remedy. (Click HERE to see what I think of those.)

So what we have here is the classic speed trap. Now, most of us have been caught in one of these at some point in our driving history, and we've wished that the attending officer would have a heart and let us off with a warning. No such luck, in my case. I was issued a ticket  for driving over 40 in a 25 MPH zone.

And he got me, fair and square, right?

No. It's completely covert, and completely unfair. The whole vehicle industry is in on the chase. It's all about the money. This sad commerce encompasses everyone from the municipalities to the judicial system to the insurance corporations to the car manufacturers to the law enforcement agencies.

You and I, whom they treat as people (i.e., citizens and customers) when they want to sell us their products or collect our taxes, are actually, in spirit, the pigeons in their sights, the dumb clucks in their slaughterhouse, the innocent ducks in their shooting blinds. Pulling over motorists like us, who have unknowingly run afoul of the law, and penalizing to the tune of $172 for a first offense, is unconscionable.

But that's not where it ends. According to my insurer, it will cost me an additional estimated $330 in increased insurance rates over the next three years if I do not fight this ticket and prevail. So now we are over $500 in total losses.

How cold. But them's the choices.

A rather novel option, and an extreme one which I am likely to take regardless of the outcome, entails removing my plates from the vehicle and tendering them to the folks at Hawaii DMV. This allows me to cancel the policy altogether. It also uncomplicates my life yet again, because when I choose this option, no longer will I have to buy gas for this vehicle, pay its annual registration fee, finance its maintenance, or support Hawaii's hefty insurance premiums. I figure that this can save me roughly $1,500 over the next eighteen months. End of the chase.

So perhaps one absolute remedy deserves another. Any tax that is applied absolutely, regardless of income, is a REGRESSIVE TAX. This applies to the issuance of speeding tickets, a great example of how absolute power corrupts absolutely. When the remedy is handed down to us from on high, as if it were our heads on a platter, an absolute remedy is probably the only way to fight back – from the bottom up. Opt out.

But back to the present case. I have spent over twenty hours this week studying various defenses against the court's upholding the validity of this ticket. It would certainly be easier to pay the $172 and the increased insurance premiums, and get on with my life. For "my life," however, the total penalty is equal to one month's rent, which is also 60% of my monthly disability income.

Now, many people could not afford to take the time off work to go to court and fight this ticket, and their chances of prevailing would be slim at best. So perhaps I should be grateful for the "option" of disrupting my sleep over the next five or six weeks while I rehearse my day in court. Well, no. I'm not grateful for yet another "learning experience" that has nothing to do with safety and security, and everything to do with PREDATORY CONTROL

.

In fact, I was only on Highway 139 because I was running an errand as a favor for a family member. So much for good deeds, eh?

Nah. I'm not  really bitter, just wiser. Society's questionable institutions just keep pushing me further and further beyond the margins of ordinary social reality, and into a strange and lonely limbo. Fortunately, I am content for now to keep my own company. I am also lucky that our family has another vehicle I can use on the rare occasions henceforth when I need to venture out of my reclusive residence here in the forest primeval. So we'll go with that for a while and see how it works out.

Besides, one less car on the road means one less tiny contribution to the oil crisis, and global warming, or whatever you want to call it when GLACIER NATIONAL PARK is well on its way to losing its namesake glaciers and becoming merely a generic "National Park."

But I digress. The real point is, our society will have one less player in the sad game of commerce that passes for our authentic experience. Let the freeze-out begin. May the glaciers prevail

- - - - -

1. My related links:

   (a) UNCOMPLICATE MY LIFE, part 1

   (b) UNCOMPLICATE MY LIFE, part 2

2. Other related traffic citation links:

   (a) This page provides an introduction to laser technology, as used to clock moving vehicles. The TIPMRA site is broad, and apparently one of the few legitimate sites to help prepare a defense against a speeding ticket. Surf around a bit and read at least this and the next two pages. (TIPMRA is "armpit" spelled backwards; thus it's a play on the phrase "the long arm of the law.")

TIPMRA has a for-pay section as well. My own opinion is that TIPMRA has its bills to pay; however, if the basic information you need is widely available on the Web for free, then you should not have to pay for it. Buyers beware any emotionally based appeals to your pocketbook. You're in deep enough already, right?

- NOTE: I paid for what appeared to be the best of these fee-based services and was not impressed. I have since requested a refund of my $19.95. Most of these sites will also try to sell you a radar detector, which will do little if any good to protect you against a laser-emitting device. Plus, they can't really keep the information current and locale-specific anyhow, particularly for laser-based citations, as more and more states grant "judicial notice" to laser citations. ("Judicial notice" means: evidence beyond dispute). It's all spy versus spy, it all costs money, and thus it all will complicate your life. So why bother?

    (b) SPEED TRAP EXCHANGE is a site run as a service by the National Motorists Association (a fee-based membership organization starting at about $3 per month) where visitors can post what they believe are speedtraps. Check out SPEED TRAP LISTINGS to read up on speed traps in your area, listed by state, then click around on the rest of the site. NMA also keeps a blog, which you can read by clicking HERE.

- Read it and weep -- however, forewarned is forearmed.

P.S. "An ounce of prevention" advice: If you get a traffic ticket, start shopping around for competitive rates on your auto insurance. The insurance industry's databases are connected nationwide, so if one company knows you are looking, they all do. So if your insurer knows you are looking for a better deal, it may prevent them from increasing your rate.

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Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2008.03.30, 12:45 p.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. Keeping it online costs me $200 per year. That's before paying me for my writing, photography, or anything else I do here. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

20.00 / $199.90 (10.0%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars (after the funds processor takes its cut). Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

Just Say No to Real ID

Greetings — my name is Bill Brent. If you are complacent, I'm here to annoy you. If you are belligerent, then I'm here to empower you.

Our beloved Federal Government wants to get into the cattle-herding business. They want to tag you and brand you so they can track your moves.

The Real ID National Security Card spells the end of any real privacy for you. I've been through this nonsense before. In the early 1990s, as a person with HIV, I was compelled to receive treatment at San Francisco General Hospital's Ward 86 using an assumed name, lest I be subject to a government round-up of infected persons. I had access to private coverage at the time, but my doctor, who had faithfully maintained my confidentiality, had to retire due to his own HIV concerns, whereas the rich doctors I queried as replacements refused to keep this information off the record.

Therefore, in self-defense, I became a tax burden on the public. See how government security works? It's just the opposite of government by the people, for the people: Security by and for the government usually equals less life, liberty, and prosperity for you.

I'm not pretending to have a corner on the logical reasons we need to oppose this plan by all means possible. Here are two pretty good summaries. You can listen to Montana governor Brian Schweitzer by clicking HERE [Click on "Listen Now".] ...

...and read a print article from Fox News by clicking HERE.

In any case, here are my two cents on why this plan needs to be struck down:

First, the government is once again sticking its greedy little snout where it doesn't belong – up our rectums, and our spouses', and our children's, and our friends'. This plan comes from the same corporate-brained fools who want to keep us enmeshed in the Middle East in an endless "war on terror." Figure that if the Gov is creating terror with its war on terror, then it will be creating nationwide disruption of the peace with its National Security scam. If Real ID makes you feel safer in your bed at night, then just bend over and smile. If not, then do what Nancy Reagan once recommended – Just Say No! They can't lock us all up at once.

Second, on a more personal note to friends, relatives, and colleagues: If you ever want to see me on the mainland U.S. again, then you will do what lies within your power to oppose this plan, because I will not submit to fingerprinting yet again (Feds, go see California DMV), or a retina scan. The pleasure I once derived from air travel is long gone anyhow, due to the current appalling conditions at airports and in coach class. So, if need be, I will die on this rotting patch of jungle lava before I will apply willingly for a National Identification Card.

Even California, which was once pro-Real ID, is now backing off. Details HERE.

 

Finally, here is a good site to bookmark for ongoing information and activism regarding the Real ID scam:

-- The latest news.

-- CLICK ON YOUR STATE to send a letter to your state legislators today.

The personal is the political. Power to the people! Ignorance of moral law is no excuse for Federal abuse.

---

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2008.03.20, 7:40 p.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. Keeping it online costs me $200 per year. That's before paying me for my writing, photography, or anything else I do here. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

20.00 / $199.90 (10.0%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars (after the funds processor takes its cut). Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

All original materials here on LitBoy.com (writing, photos, drawings, graphics, etc.) belong to Bill Brent. If you want to re-use something here, please ask. Higher resolution images are available.

Be SPECIFIC when you wish for change.

Here is a NEGATIVE example of change:

The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68

And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday

Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe

You laugh he said you think you're immune

Go look at your eyes they're full of moon

You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you

All those pretty lies pretty lies

When you gonna realise they're only pretty lies

Only pretty lies just pretty lies

He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer and he pushed

Three buttons and the thing began to whirr

And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie

And she said "Drink up now it's gettin' on time to close"

"Richard, you haven't really changed" I said

It's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head

You got tombs in your eyes but the songs you punched are dreaming

Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet

When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?

Oh and love can be so sweet Love so sweet

Richard got married to a figure skater

And he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator

And he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on

And all the house lights left up bright

I'm gonna blow this damn candle out

I don't want nobody comin' over to my table

I got nothing to talk to anybody about

All good dreamers pass this way some day

Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes dark cafes

Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away

Only a phase these dark cafe days

Copyright © 1970; Joni Mitchell

I've heard this damned song over a hundred times, and it still makes me cry.

Perhaps you find a lot of Ms. Mitchell's material just too depressive, especially if you've never been an alcoholic or an addict. Where this piece really gets me lies in that last verse. Both of her characters are stuck in the same prison, using alcohol to tack their boats against the winds of change; their circumstances only look different on the outside.

And, of course, the dissipation continues all the while; it's only a slower and more insidious form of change.

That's the plight of eternal dreamers, in a nutshell.

Nutshell = nut's hell.

And American Dreamers are eternal dreamers. Y'all know the word for it by now, so say it with me: DENIAL.

Think of it this way: W is a fundamentalist dry-drunk dreamer whose administration has leveraged his privilege to create more negative change, arguably, than any other in American history. Now, the four oldest Justices are liberal thinkers. God help us if we put another Republican into the Oval Office. Do you want to see a real nut's hell? Just wait until the Supreme Court is stacked with conservative thinkers for the next several decades. You can kiss goodbye whatever remains of your already-reamed civil liberties.

So, yes, I'm suggesting that you choose the lesser of two evils. Obama is certainly a pretty man to tell you pretty lies (after all, he is a lawyer), but he is still our best shot at undoing the current administration's heinous damages to our civil liberties. (The war in Iraq will probably continue regardless of who gets the gavel.)

Now, no one who is reading this is likely to suffer more under one or two terms of Democratic rule than she is under a Republican heir to the current nut's hell. In the bargain, we might get a couple of new Justices on the Supreme Court who will sometimes rule in the best interest of the individual, rather than the corporation. That's the real reason to vote for a President.

"Only a phase these dark cafe days" is an expression of hope and futility. Optimism or wishful thinking? We sell off the present in the belief of a better future. In a nut's hell, this is the concluding message of THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald. He would know; he was an alcoholic. And I think that's exactly where this nation is at this orgastic moment in history. "Orgastic" is the word Fitzgerald coined to describe an orgy of spending. But whether it's balling or malling, it all leads to exhaustion at some point. And thus we are enmeshed in the big-box paradox we've built: Pandora is vast. And microcosmic.

Are you out shopping for a home in the current foreclosure-glutted market? Take it from one realtor who spoke off the record: "Home" is a high-gloss box that rusts in the rain. You can't take it with you. Remember the moral of a different song, a much simpler one: "The cheese stands alone." And the bank is where they keep the cheese. What's a bank, then? Just a big, cold box.

So more about high-gloss boxes: It really doesn't matter whether we're talking about buying a new house or a new large-screen TV. Did any of you just get reamed yet again by technology "upgrades"? I'm talking about big-box Wal-Mart's switch from HD DVD to Blu-Ray.

That's the kind of bait and switch, negative change you can expect more of as long as you'll put up with it.

Society is an addict. We've been bred for it. How long will you wait to bottom out?

Here are a few ideas to get you off the gloss and on the road to recovery:

Blog Action Day Post: Consumption

Uncomplicate My Life, part one

Uncomplicate My Life, part two

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Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2008.03.02, 8:25 p.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. Keeping it online costs me $200 per year. That's before paying me for my writing, photography, or anything else I do here. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

20.00 / $199.90 (10.0%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars (after the funds processor takes its cut). Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

All original materials here on LitBoy.com (writing, photos, drawings, graphics, etc.) belong to Bill Brent. If you want to re-use something here, please ask. Higher resolution images are available.

UNCOMPLICATE MY LIFE, part 2

—for M. A.—

The power to make choices that reflect your true priorities and concerns is perhaps the most amazing gift any human can possess.
    --me, from part 1,  HERE.

There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart ... pursue those.
     --Michael Nolan

(NOTE: I don't know which Michael Nolan he is, but his thought popped up on my homepage while I was writing this article. If you like quotes, you can check out this ThinkExist homepage, too.

Also, this article is part 2 in an ongoing series. If you want more ideas about how to manage your life, CLICK HERE, and part 1 will open up in a new window. If you find this series useful or enjoyable, please consider leaving a tip of $2 or more in the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Thanks!)

---

Our choices determine whether we succeed or fail at uncomplicating our lives.

The quality of the energy we bring to these choices is really important. To become more successful at uncomplicating your life, start by noticing when you make choices or act with partial energy.

"Partial energy" is present:

-    whenever we do things half-heartedly;

-    when we feel overwhelmed or "blocked" (especially when we cave in to pressure from others);

-    when we find ourselves wishing that we were doing something else;

-    when we are distracted (full attention is critical to success);

-    when we are high on alcohol or some other drug (that's always a bad time to make a decision, especially an important one, or one involving someone who loves and trusts us);

-    and especially when we are indecisive. You never need to make a decision when you are feeling indecisive! That would be crazy, wouldn't it?

In all of these cases, it is better to wait until the time is right. In other words, save your power for something you can focus on with your full energy. Bringing your partial energy to anything is a waste of your valuable time.

Remember that you own the right to change your mind about choices you have previously made. No one can take that away from you — unless you let them.

If you sign a contract, and then you change your mind, maybe you will have to live with the consequences. But maybe there's a way to break it! I have had to break contracts, and sometimes I had to be pretty pushy about it to get my way, but it was always worth it. Or maybe there's a way to change your agreement so that it is something you can live with. Really rich people do this all the time, and they get away with it; why shouldn't you? (Often their lawyers call it a "loophole.") You'd be surprised what you can change, once you bring your full energy to changing it. Sometimes a commitment turns out to be a bad choice. It complicates life in a painful way, and the only way to uncomplicate life and stop the pain is to break the commitment.

We all find ourselves faced with tough choices. When you are feeling the pressure of being at the bottom of the heap, sometimes any decision, however ill-advised, is better than making no choice at all, just so you can feel as though you are moving forward. These are usually pretty desperate measures, though. If you can step back and view your situation from a different perspective, even for a moment, you may help yourself avoid an even greater, less reversible disaster a minute from now.

In other words, kiddo, look before you leap! When you come to a decision point, you can think of a crosswalk. You wouldn't want to walk across the street without looking for traffic first. The bigger the decision, the busier the street. So be sure that you have checked carefully before you make your move, and then make it with your full energy. (Stop walking once you're halfway across? Yikes!)

There are many ways you can check out the street before you cross:

-    ask yourself which choice feels most right to you;

-    ask yourself about the best and worst possible outcomes that could result from your choice;

-    ask someone whose opinion you trust;

-    ask someone else, just in case they're wrong! Ha ha ha! But don't spend all day worrying about it. Most choices are pretty easy once we're being honest with ourselves. More on that in a moment.

-    wait for a sign (some kind of "green light" — for example, something you overhear, or read in the paper, or simply realize all of a sudden, by yourself.)

I need to talk about this idea of being "honest with ourselves," because "denial" has become such an evil buzz-word nowadays. It seems like if you want to disapprove of someone else's choices, all you have to do is claim that they're in "denial" about something. Now, I'm not saying that everyone does this manipulative kind of behavior, or that it's always an unjustified judgment call. Still, it has become easy to point fingers and substitute the "D" word for doing the harder but more rewarding work of thinking your way through a situation from the other guy's perspective. (Often we call this "empathy.")

Remember that you can't really control anyone else's choices for very long. That's a very good way to make yourself sick with anger and hate. Again, it is better to take this partial energy you are wasting on trying to bend someone else's choices, and move toward your own goals with full energy and unbending purpose.

If you want good role models for full energy and unbending purpose, try watching animals. Other species are seldom lackadaisical about doing anything! Our pets, such as cats and dogs, seem to indulge in this luxurious laziness more often, but that is probably because they have been unduly influenced by foolish humans!

Yet even we foolish humans can achieve our goals with the certainty borne of a clear mind and a glad heart.

So I leave you with this thought:

Whenever you can meet your goals and have fun while you are doing it, then you are living in Paradise.
    -- me, again

That is what full energy looks like. Why do you deserve to settle for less?

Uncomplicate your life.

---

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2007.06.23, 8:10 a.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. Keeping it online costs me $200 per year. That's before paying me for my writing, photography, or anything else I do here. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

43.55 / $199.90 (21.8%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars (after the funds processor takes its cut). Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

All original materials here on LitBoy.com (writing, photos, drawings, graphics, etc.) belong to Bill Brent. If you want to re-use something here, please ask. Higher resolution images are available.

NOVEL-WRITING LOG: There's something about "Monday" (29 days and counting)

Here's to serendipity.

Today it paid to be obsessive — er, meticulous and scrupulous. I spent much of the day reviewing my life history from roughly 2002 to 2004 (a/k/a Bill's "Lost" Period). I have a pretty good system set up for keeping the chronicle organized (journal entries, letters, etc.), and it's geared to make retrieving what I want as painless as possible.

So I was trying to dredge up a moment from about four years ago. I had lost my enterprise in 2002 due to a bad business deal. I'd left the city and was trying to figure out just who I wanted to be when I grew up, once I awoke from my grief.

Meanwhile, I was partying to numb the pain. It was Monday morning, around 6 a.m., and I was seated on the cozy bed of the small-town pot dealer who owned the rustic house on the hill. He was toasting cynically to the poor S.O.B.'s who were just then dragging their sorry butts out of bed and preparing to start the work week ... whereas the four of us present at his place were winding down our little orgy. I was starting to think seriously about getting some sleep.

So, yes, he'd defied the work ethic, but (seeing as he'd managed to con nearly every major player in town once or twice) he'd also defied community respect and, as I would soon come to learn, much in the way of self-respect or self-knowledge. Isolation couched in defiance looks rather grim on an aspiring sextogenarian, but that was his bargain with the world, and for the motley crew of crank-sniffing, pot-smoking, beer-swilling party-dudes just then assembled at his place, he was a rebel hero. For a moment, thanks to him, we established a beachhead of solidarity in the war against the normal.

Ho-hum. You ever notice how guys like this love to talk politics — they've got an opinion on everything — but the last thing they can acknowledge is their own set of shortcomings?

Anyhow, just then, he said something rather memorable that included the word "Monday." So today I searched for any documents containing the word "Monday," just to see if I had made note of his toast, or could otherwise summon my description of the scene.

Well, no. However, in the process, I've now summoned and shared it with you ... and I've learned a lot about my own Mondays.

I tend to like them. A lot of work gets done. It's a day of lists and calls and reflections on the weekend. Even during my relatively short partying phase, I made a bad slacker. I still got things done. I got caught up on two years' worth of unfiled taxes and successfully filed for bankruptcy (my lawyer's aide said I had the most "fabulous" set of paperwork he'd seen in a dozen years on the job); I started a new enterprise; I maintained an extensive correspondence with many business colleagues and friends. I traveled around the country on a shoestring budget. There were business projects I could have backed out of, but I'd made commitments to colleagues, and I kept my promises as much as I could. I continued to write my own work and get it published.

So, anyhow, here's to Mondays, and to all of us who've fallen into the cracks and are making an earnest effort to crawl out and get our lives back on track.

During today's meanderings (I must have read through eighty documents), I managed to paste another 1,200 words into the first draft of the right-brain novel. It's a mess, but it's my mess, which means it's at least a sequentially organized mess that has something to do with moving the plot ahead. The boy can't help it. So here's today's tally:

Bill's Left-Brain Novel,
as of June 18, 2007:

66,674 / 90,000 (74.1%) [unchanged]

 

Bill's Right-Brain Novel,
as of June 18, 2007:

19,068 / 50,000 (38.1%)

---

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Bill Brent

[this page last updated: 2007.06.19, 12:35 a.m. Hawaii time]

LitBoy.com is a professional blog. Keeping it online costs me $200 per year. That's before paying me for my writing, photography, or anything else I do here. If you enjoy this blog, please use the Tip Jar at the top of this page. Your two-dollar minimum donation helps keep this banner-free site alive. It's quick and easy!

43.55 / $199.90 (21.8%)

This meter displays this year's contributions to date in U.S. dollars (after the funds processor takes its cut). Make a donation, watch the meter rise! Usually I post your contribution on my next blog post.

All original materials here on LitBoy.com (writing, photos, drawings, graphics, etc.) belong to Bill Brent. If you want to re-use something here, please ask. Higher resolution images are available.

ICON TACT (a work in progress)

When a bully beats you up at school, he usually provokes you with a specious reason for the attack; it almost always involves calling you a fag. But what if it's true? What if it's not? And what if you're too young to know? What's the difference?

Yet many "believe" the bully, possibly because it's easier than standing up for the victim. Some of them even join the bullying game. They snub you. Start rumors. Smash in your locker. Steal your lunch from under your desk and toss it around the class while the teacher isn't looking. He's a boring old coot anyhow. Let's have some fun.

When just getting from class to class (don't make eye contact) without being ridiculed (don't listen) or pushed around (pretend it's not happening) became impossible (go home and beat up the furniture), I tried to enlist grown-ups to help defend me. You can imagine how well that worked. The father of the bully who'd started the whole mess stonewalled the Vice Principal during an awkward conference with my parents: "There's nothing wrong here." (Denial.) "I don't see a problem." (Cuz I kick his ass at home – that's how he learned to do it at school.)

Boys will be boys, right?

Unless you're a faggot. Then you're … something else. Kind of non-human. Kind of without rights. Kind of like beat-up furniture. Totally uncool.

Real-life evil tends to be more banal than the Biblical version, the James Bond villain version, or even the suicide terrorist version.  It doesn’t take a war to make people’s lives hell, especially a sensitive and impressionable twelve-year-old's.

I was a happy child who abhorred violence. No one ever told me to be a pacifist. It just made sense not to hit others. Good boys didn't do that. Dad never kicked my ass, but neither did he teach me how to fight, or explain that someday I might have to defend myself. So my being victimized for no good reason was a surprising and uncomfortable dilemma for all concerned. How uncool.

So let's examine playground politics, which is where kids begin to practice the politics of grown-ups. If the victim points fingers, does that mean the victim is crying wolf? Accusing the no-longer-innocent bystanders of a conspiracy? It's not cool  to be uncool: Playground Rule #1. Also Liberal Rule #1. Yet liberals typically adore hysterical conspiracy theories, in which there is always a bully. Usually he's a James Bond villain. Mr. Big Oil, for instance. How hypocritical.

The only thing that worked, even a little, was to unleash my pent-up fury on an unsuspecting bully who was yet again blocking my path one morning before eighth-grade classes. Not the original bully, but one who wasn't quite as evil, some perennial loser who'd been kicked out of my Boy Scout troop for bad behavior. After a year and a half of routine abuse, I had finally had enough. It wasn't a conscious decision; I just found myself punching him back with all the rage, sorrow, and hatred that this fucked-up school had infected me with. I was not going to lose this time. So much for pacifism.

Once it became clear that I was winning the fight, suddenly I became "cool." Kids were cheering me on. But then I stopped it. A sharp feeling pierced me; it was roughly equal parts mercy, self-consciousness at being observed, self-disgust, and a sudden loathing and horror of humanity. In any case, totally uncool. And the crowd's howls of disapproval were chilling. I ran away, hid behind the P.E. building, and cried for an hour — not for myself, but for how lost we all were. How uncool.

Yet three days later, the bully approached me and apologized. That was a first. Lesson learned at last: If you're a punching bag, punch back. You'll be sore later anyway, so why be a sore loser?

Once you stop ignoring bullies, you can never really go back, though it can take years to stop smelling like a victim. I remember in college, in second semester acting class, the teacher gave us an exercise: to walk at random through the large black room and make eye contact with every other student we passed. After a few minutes, the instructor told all us kids to silently pick one person to gang up on. Quickly I was pushed around the black box by the collective glare.

But, hey, presence is what it takes to make a star, right? And attaining icon status usually entails starting out as an iconoclast. Playground politics never really change. Queers are cast out because we make others uncomfortably aware of their tenuous political condition through our iconoclastic presence. This doesn't mean we freaks won't be back later in life to take away their lunch money, once we're cool. Hey, we can even charge their kids admission to watch our bully pulpit antics. Queer guys for straight eyes. How cool is that?

We also tend to magnify any doubts they may have about their own identity. How uncool. Yet haven't we been kind to those who have claimed to be straight — even those who lashed out at us for what they refused to see as a mirror? That's icon tact.

Maybe this was the problem all along, then. Maybe, back in seventh grade, I held eye contact just a moment too long with that very first bully, and it all came tumbling down to this iconoclastic rap.

"You're too trusting," Mom used to tell me. "You care too much about others."

Or not. Maybe I'm too cool for that now. What's the difference?