Less is More (Buckminster Fuller)

  I felt terrible. I've not been able enjoy any book I read or anything I do for about two weeks now and most of that I've felt like I was on acid. Moreover, I keep pouring beverages down my throat and spending money. I didn't want anything material, but I wanted to want something. Saturday I was all ready just to sit in the usual patio seat at the cafe me and Linda go to and enjoy a cold tea, but even before I opened the tea someone kept interjecting comments to us without actually asking if she could join our conversation so I could say no. Linda didn't seem to mind her, but I felt like there was a flat plane separating my head into an upper left half and a lower right half. Then I went inside the cafe and got on the net, but that went all wrong. We still had to go to Rite-Aid for pills and buy ingredients to cook something vegetarian for dinner. Experience was telling me I needed to pray and also try to coax the active part of my nature from looking for what I can take from others into looking for what I could give. It's true I was missing a lot of what I usually feel I need in order to be there for others, but I also decided a few years back I wanted to be so much a part of the solution that you could actually throw me into a national disaster area with nothing that anybody else didn't have and I'd still be trying to help people just as much as I'd be trying to help myself. My experience Saturday is telling me I still have a way to go. I was good about not grouching at anyone, but I still needed more "retail therapy" to put my head back together. Namely, when Linda was driving us to Rite-Aid I asked if I could shop in the Goodwill bookstore while she got her meds and I also asked if we could shop for dinner at Trader Joe's instead of at SaveMart.
   I got Aesop's Fables at Goodwill and read one of the Fables. Cool. I also got a book about haunted happenings in our area (Monterey Bay region in California). The Greeks almost always make me feel better when I read them. I think throughout time a lot of different people from a lot of different cultures have felt that way about the Ancient Greeks, or even the modern Greeks. I should probably find out more about the modern Greeks.
  So we ended up at Trader Joe's not knowing what we were going to buy, but I find I can actually shop there that way and end up with a better menu than if I go to a different market with a list. It illustrates exactly what I mean by package culture, because the sections are arranged more the way I think of the different foodstuffs than the sections in most markets are. And if I know a package of green beans are Fair Trade and grown in Mexico-- basically if I know where they're from specifically-- then I might feel like they are a delicacy and I might make a meal out of just green beans, but I get ahead of myself.
  So I scanned the chips and salsa and dried fruit shelf just because it was the first one I saw and I was looking for inspiration. I said to Linda, "You don't like polenta, do you?"
  She said, "It's all right."
  "Could you get into eating polenta tonight?"
  "I guess. I mean, I could." But we had never made it before and didn't know the ingredients exactly. So I looked at the stuffed pasta and sushi. None of it looked good to Linda and it looked too expensive. There was a readymade butternut squash and tomato and meat sauce and cheese thing that looked really good to me, but it was five dollars each. Ordinarily I would have bought it, but we were trying to meet each other halfway on our decisions. Besides, Linda's daughter has a garden so she eats a lot of butternut squash. I was talking about how sick I was of stir-fried vegetables and rice, because I've eaten then so much in my life, but then I said I still like basmati rice and Linda asked what that was. I said, "You've had it before. It's very perfumy. It tastes life saffron. It's in a lot of Indian food."
  "Like curry?"
  "Yeah." My eye glanced over at the fresh sauces and I though of the package of green beans with cheese sauce and basmati rice on the side. Linda didn't like the thought of cheese sauce, but we still had half a thing of fresh pesto at home and though it doesn't go with green beans colorwise it might actually taste good. We actually agreed on that and then picked up a pound of mozzarella just to have around for the fat content (it being winter and all) and I even had the presence of mind not to buy a beverage, because we still had  half of a two litre bottle of Sprite at home.
  Dinner turned out great. What made shopping different was I started thinking more like my family raised me to when I went into the store. that is to say, I pretended to be French. Less is almost always more. Of course, that expression is more Californian than French, but it has je ne sais quois.

On Leaving My Job at Second Story Respite

   A change of life...It is a euphemism for something that for me has been so mysterious and so overwhelming I despaired of ever finding a way of talking about it or containing its damage to my life. Basically, it expresses itself in more frequent panic and paranoia attacks and in performance anxiety and loss of memory whenever anyone asks me a question at work. I'm going to miss the cleaning chemicals, but I'll be looking for another job soon, and I will still be cleaning my own room.
   My coworkers clapped and laughed when I said why I was quitting. There are other forty year olds there.  Some of them said they could really relate. For me, mental health is one of those professions whee you have to be enthusiastic and confident and know your stuff, and I just lost the thread somehow. In my profession we call it "burn-out." But people said to stay in touch and some encouraged me to call them on their private numbers.
   The Second Story Respite House, in Santa Cruz, California, is a two-week come-and-go-as-you-please facility for people with lived history of serious psychiatric diagnosis where we believe in enforcing as few rules as possible on our guests. Sometimes the place can be chaotic, but I usually found it really fun, and many guests have asked to come back. I still feel really grounded when I'm on the property, which is really different from the way I usually feel when I leave a job. Once I even slept over in one of the guest's rooms WHILE THEY WERE THERE, but that's a whole story in itself. They didn't seem to mind.
  I would be willing to stay at the respite as a guest even now after I've worked there for a year, and less likely to check myself into a mental hospital. And I'd be less likely to do that, too, because a couple of time in the past year I've felt really upset and wanted to go to the hospital, but then I think I should put my money where my mouth is and go to the respite, but I work at the respite so I don't want to go there either, and then I just find a way to tough it out. Also, because the respite is almost entirely staffed by mental health clients or former mental health clients, they often know exactly what to say when I call to make me feel strong enough that I can go back into my life and deal, which is what I'm going to have to do eventually anyway even if I end up getting locked up for my own good and can't do anything.
  I can't be sure about the respite's website, but you can probably find it under Second Story Respite House on Google.

what the-?

Just typing into outer space here. I tried to select an image from Nicki Minaj's posts and comment on it in my blog and I found my system was thoroughly taken apart. And, yes, I too am softer than a gay person (pardon the offensive reference, people, but Nicki Minaj says one thing and then I respond and pretty soon everyone's offended.) I'm thinking it's just another example of me being paranoid if I think Nicki Minaj hacked my system, but that was the very last site I was at and I was reading there song lyrics that said literally "you are softer than a gay person," which I'll own up, and "tell me how you like my new lyrics." I didn't click like, because I don't like them, and now my system's hacked. I'm beginning to think I don't like hiphop music anymore.

#2 Victoria's Secret

Before Christmas, my girlfriend talked me into watching the Victoria Secret fashion show and I had one of those alchemical sulphur reactions that the alchemists used to try to avoid at all costs or they'd have to start the opus over again. I even thought the models were blowing kisses at me, Tim Conger, as I sat in my chair (horribile escritu!). A lot of the time I'm following the thread of a participation mystique  just because I want my life to be less boring. Anyway, I knew I was being a travesty as a man but I made up my mind I was going to buy my girlfriend a "Love Pink" shirt from Victoria's Secret. But I felt it was shameful because although I knew I had good taste and was demonstrating it, the poverty I could see all around me as represented by the Occupy movements made me feel like I had to really go slow on buying vessels of corporate "free enterprise" for Christmas. Also, my own familly has always encouraged me to buy a little bit, or a lot, less for myself and those close to me than I want to, because I was born with strong spiritual leanings and shouldn't get sucked into lusting after everything physical all the time. And I had to look at my own motives for buying my girlfriend such gorgeous fool's gold stuff. But what I discovered when I searched my soul is I just wanted to live in the imaginary world created by all those designers and by Nikki Minaj's performance and her wonderful insulting song and the models and Maroon 5 and everyone looked so happy...In short, I was bit. I was in love with a store. I'm getting better. See entry #3

#3 "Very Sexy (for men)"

On blogger, we compose in the reverse order as it appears on the screen so I'm writing this first. I bought this fragrance for myself at Victoria Secret this weekend that is a butane cartridge that says only "Very Sexy (for men)" and it says its fragrance is a "bold mixture of bergamot, ginger and sandalwood" but all I smell is a musky churchy scent. I think I'm a little disappointed. But at least I didn't break down and buy Axe body wash. Mostly I bought it because I needed to feel my way into wearing deodorant more often and the participation mystique I've been in around Victoria's Secret products made it inevitable I'd buy it as a prompt to myself to do SOMETHING about my body odor. But I'll probably wear more often Ralph Lauren Polo cologne that I bought last year, because I really really chose the scent carefully and I still think it was a good choice. Unless I don't wear it. As for deodorant itself, Linda turned me on to Arm and Hammer roll-on and it's nice because it's odorless. But you have to actually wear it.
  All in all I feel good about my decision to never buy Axe deodorant. It just seemed like shearing Samson or something. But that doesn't mean I can't take better care of myself.
  Yes, I've started brushing my teeth more often--almost every day. Man, I wish I had brushed and flossed more before I lost all my back teeth! I have to nibble everything to death. And, yes, I feel really unattractive. But I'm still a good writer (or so she wrote) and when I work I work really hard, which is different (ahem) from the way I worked when I was younger. Work ethic pays.

On All Us Broken Dishwashers

    Hi Aunt Jane. I'll send you an individual email soon, but I wanted to post something to your comment, since I really like getting comments. I don't know what it is about we men that, relative to women, makes our ability to get tasks done so dependent on our moods. I'll be praying for your dishwasher, but ask him to pray that I get better soon, too, because I am taking a few months off from a job I really enjoy that was keeping me very fit and active and I don't have the money for an exercise-bike or any of that nonsense. Well, I'm just as into buying things as the next person and quite a bit more so than a lot of our family, so I won't fault anyone for buying an exercise-bike. But cleaning the house builds a lot of upper body strength and then you can walk around the block once a day and before you know it, you're Charles Atlas. But I still wish I weren't taking time off from work and I'm going to get another job in the meantime until I can get more training and feel more ready for the situations that were coming up. Pray for my career. Or pray for whatever you like, but I'll be praying for all the broken dishwashers. Your affectionate nephew, Tim

New Year, Change of blog name.

New year, change of blog name. I was feeling like the name "brillocommentblog" wasn't working for me, but I wanted to keep the reference to pop art because I'm an Andy Warhol freak. I also got to thinking that what's new this year is I have a counselling job where I work with my hands a lot and cleaning products are my new best friends. Really. But I don't actually like using brillo that much, or any other kind of steel wool product. It makes me feel like I'm rubbing my fingernails on a chalkboard. What I really like are those combination scrubber and sponges we call "scrunges." I think "myscrunge" is a better site name, because it's clearer and keeps the connotation of "cleaning the house" which is what I like to do in my writing. Much of my writing is kind of shocking, but only in a muckraking sort of way.

Reflection on An Image of a Mural by Keith Haring

A friend of mine at work named Nina showed interest in my blogging and shared with me images of Keith Haring's murals and how to post images on my blog. I asked her to post this one to demonstrate and she did. Now for some thoughts on this image of a mural: The square with a smile and three eyes reminds me of the pyramid with one eye on US currency, because of the one in the very center and because of the simple shape. To me, the only psychological difference is its novelty. But that's just a feeling. But it's my feeling. The cuts in the dark parts of the eyes make it look to me as if the figure were looking at the fence, as if about to jump over or as if beckoning the viewer to jump over. Maybe I'm all alone in that feeling. But the orange color of the wall makes me think they wouldn't have let that painting stand on a building where climbing the fence were really not-okay. It looks like a mural in a playground or handball court.

What is Lyracy?

A way of sharing responsiblity for the moraql implications of a group's actions, by putting one's own conscience at stake more. It is a discuourse that aims to hold to a happy medium by plainly stating the merits of an evil or selfish course of action as if it makes a certain sense, which it probably does,  as well as the merits of an altruistic or even religious action as if it concealed an ulterior motive, which it certainly could. The aim is only to think outside the box in practical affairs, and to keep moral consideration alive, by  always begging the question. It also helps to build group identity by including a circle of people in the best fruits of each other's thinking and the circle can always widen.
  The immediate practical effect on group action is slight if any, particularly in a workplace, but it cannot help but affect participants in a deeper way if they are willingly participating. The good and evil of a person's nature can begin to rest on a very broad base.
   I'm going to trim my little essay a lot here so the thoughts may be a little choppy. Sometimes being misunderstood is the most effective way to get your ideas out there. (Yes, I want to be famous more than I want more money.) Tu Wei-Ming of Harvard University wrote a book called "Confucian Thought: selfhood as creative transformation" and I need to credit him with a lot of inspiration credit for what I'm writing here. It's a very good book, if hard to read and using specialized philosophical language. It was worth my time to read the whole thing.  Anyway, events sometimes suppress any kind of real historical dialectic from happening, even a material one and even an idealistic one, but in times of greatest ideological homogeneity people can still clown around about the right and wrong ways of accomplishing practical things and lyracy is the exaggeration of that process.

Post of 1/4/12

  A charming young pirate woman known to me only by the name "Smasheltooth Flossing" has recommended I write my dreams down here in my site. What's really funny is the whole time she was telling me that, I was thinking about how only the night before I had had a very convincing dream of having a three-way with someone I didn't recognize and Lisa Edelstein, who used to play the administrator on the TV show "House." Having given it some thought, I am not going to describe that dream in this forum. But I've spoken to young Smasheltooth at other times and I understand that where she is coming from is she likes to see a person present themselves in a way that bypasses their conscious control. Makes sense for a pirate to feel that way. We also talked about putting my I Ching hexagrams on the blog. But probably I won't do that either. Sorry, Smasheltooth, in my own blog my conscious mind rules supreme. Nice try, though.
  You know, I've given it some thought and I have come to believe that although it is tempting to think that certain styles of magic are best suited to different personality disorders, that the best mentalists are sociopaths and sleight of hand people should probably be very down to earth sane people, I am beginning to believe to be a truly gifted mentalist you must by nature be completely psychotic. Case in point, two weeks ago I was talking to my therapist about how I've come to believe the kindest way to write a holiday card is to observe as much as you can about the recipient and write it all down, because most people like to feel observed even if occasionally our feelings are hurt or our paranoia or panic is triggered. To speak really truthfully, the more it triggers us, the more we like it. It helps if the person triggering us really is talking about us so we don't have to feel like we need more meds. It shows great vulnerability on the part of the person making the disclosure. Problem: my therapist seems to be among those who don't like to feel observed by their clients, because she cancelled yesterday's appointment with only five hour's notice and said she was sick and going on vacation for three weeks and wasn't ready to make an appointment with me when she got back, that she needed to think about it. And I hadn't been planning to mess with her head at all. I just wanted to get help with my stuff, vis find out what she thought about a new development in my life I felt funny about, like usual. Anyway, I'm really mad at her. Good to be posting again, I'm really done posting fiction in this forum, because it's too much work, but