Notes from the Petting Zoo

Every morning, we wake up, we are faced with a choice. We might deny we have a choice, but we do, in fact, have that choice. It is framed as a question:

Will I be different today?

At first blush, it might seem an innocent enough question. Will I be different today? Most of us don’t realize we can be. Most of us don’t realize that every morning, when we open our eyes, we are starting a day brand new. A clean slate.

It can be tricky because everyone around us usually expects us to be like we were yesterday, like we were last week, like we’ve been for as long as they’ve known us. This is a lot of inertia to overcome, but we can do it, of course.

Every morning, we make that decision. We might make the default decision to just keep doing our life the way we did it yesterday and the day before, or we might decide to do our life a little bit differently this day, or to make a big change, or to learn a new thing, or to be a completely different person, just to see if maybe we’ve grown comfortable in a rut that we’re otherwise unwelcome to adopt.

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The best kind of advice is when people offer you a better reason to do what you want than you could come up with on your own.

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“He who does not try, will not succeed” while somewhat true, is not logically equivalent to “he who tries, succeeds.” We want it to be. Oh yes, we want it to be. But it’s not.

This is not to say we shouldn’t try, not to say our reach shouldn’t exceed our grasp, but more like reminding us that every time we leap, we always stand the chance of falling.

And this is okay. Character is not made by falling. Character is made by getting back up, dusting yourself off, figuring out how not to fall the same way, and leaping again.

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Confidence is like a tomato. Really much tastier and sweeter and better for you if you grow it yourself.

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I know a lot of people with a “must avoid” list. I think most of us do. For example, I must avoid eggplant, because eating it burns my mouth in some kind of unpleasant (but nontoxic) allergic reaction. I also tend to steer clear of anyone who claims that they rely heavily on their “empathic sense”. And cars without seatbelts. Our lists have objects, places, circumstances, behaviors, conditions, towns, stores, even people on them.

Most of these to me, of course, make perfectly good sense, but I wonder if there’s a limit to our “must avoid” list.

I wonder if there’s some critical mass and once our “must avoid” list gets too big, we have to start throwing out useful things about ourselves to make room for the file boxes full of cross-referenced and dependent “must avoid” files (for example, avoiding the color purple, because it reminds you of these purple corduroy pants you had as a child, and that reminds you of the corduroy pants worn by a previous lover who’s father drunkenly made a pass at you). I think that limit is actually pretty low.

If we cross that limit too far, if our “must avoid” list gets too big, or too overwhelming, I think it takes us over and we become merely a support system to keep alive a bundle of psychosocial tics and twitches. We become our list of things-we-must-avoid.

We should avoid that.

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I’m not asking for much, I think, nor am I thinking I am asking for it in too much of a hurry, but would it really be too much for me to understand just how exactly the world makes sense?

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“Phase IV”

The desert’s baking
Heat and shifting sand hides traps
Planted by the ants.

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I don’t like movies that “make me think”. Or books, or plays or saucy puppet shows.

This is not to say I don’t like thinking (I do, in fact), nor should it be construed as a condemnation of movies, books, etc. that illuminate an otherwise hidden or tricky problem, or that reveal more and interesting bits of the Human Condition (I think they’re great).

I just don’t like being “made” to think.

I prefer my media to reward me if I think about it deeper.

This is a system that makes more sense to me. I don’t want to have to exert extra work (make myself think) to enjoy a movie — I should enjoy the movie as-is. But if I decide to think more deeply on the issues presented in the movie, then I should find reward and pleasure at the search. That will encourage me to keep doing so in the future. “Making” me think just gets my resentment going, especially if the movie was otherwise shitty.

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I’ve been bitten many times by ants. It’s no fun. In Phoenix and in Scottsdale, Arizona, those big ants are not “harmless” by any stretch of the imagination.

I watched a friend of mine get bitten all over the face and neck by a bunch of them.

My brother was bitten many times on the legs by another batch.

I watched horses freaking out as their legs were bitten repeatedly by what seemed like a concerted attack.

I saw an ant mound in Phoenix that was so big I thought it was a small hill, and a dead rattlesnake being dragged into the large complex of holes at the top. A rattlesnake!

So, it’s a fine morning when I read about “Ferocious ants bite like a bullet” (definitely check out the video, by the way — imagine a group of nasty biting ants… that can fling themselves at you!)

and

“Fierce ants build ‘torture rack’”
my favorite quote: “Once the prey is well secured by jaws fastening all its extremities, it is stretched over the platform like an ancient sacrifice to the gods.”

and

“Australians on alert for ‘invincible’ ant“

and

“Ant supercolony dominates Europe”
SUPERCOLONY?! Anyone seen the old movie “Phase IV”?

Suddenly, my worries about accidentally stumbling into a nest of Myrmecia gulosa doesn’t seem so bad when there are supercolonies of bullet-speed flying aggressive ants.

However, thanks to the Wildlife of Sidney fact file on gulosa, I am, in fact, even more screwed if I run across these bastards. They just don’t seem like good neighbors. I think Australia might consider changing its motto to “Everything will kill you here.”

So, sure, watch the skies. Beware of space aliens or bird flu. Whatever. Me, I’m keeping my eyes on the ground.

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Most everyone is convinced that they’re doing the best they can, that they’re the “good guy” in any situation.

As long as we remember this and try to work with it as an underpinning to our interactions, then we tend to get on better with the folks around us.

Of course, this can be a real challenge at times.

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I taught myself how to pick locks.

I admit this is an unusual skill, but I was fond of the Jim DiGriz books as a kid, and had read more than a few pages of the Anarchists Cookbook as a teenager, and was amused to read the exploits of Richard Feynman.

So, somewhere in there, I started studying locks and in particular lockpicking. One year for my birthday, my friend Charlie gave me a very nice lockpicking set, which accelerated my learning. I practiced a lot. I managed to open quite a few locks.

On a bet, I managed to get through the door and Schlage bolt lock of a friend in less than five minutes (alas, I ruined the lock, but I did replace it).

I helped a friend break into his apartment when he locked his keys in there. That took about forty-five seconds and it seemed to spook him a lot. I think he said “It really scares me how fast you can get past my lock,” to which I recall replying “Your lock is shit.”

I tried helping a woman break into her car when she left her keys inside. I tried being very careful, so as to not damage the lock, but after a few minutes, I couldn’t do it.

A year later, I tried helping a different woman break into her car for her keys and I got through that slightly older lock in about a minute and a half.

So, I can pick some locks.

One day, I was walking down the road, past a bunch of new half-million dollar homes in a nearby development. Very expensive homes. I noticed something. I noticed they all had the same kind of shitty mass-produced locks. I mean, based on what I could tell from the street. For 95% or more of people walking around, this was sufficient, but it suddenly struck me that I could pick all of these locks. Probably each door would take a minute, maybe two at the most. And here’s the kicker — I wasn’t very good at picking locks. I was okay, but compared to a couple of friends I knew, I was actually quite slow.

To a certain percentage of people, a small percentage of those who have bothered to learn this somewhat tricky, but not-too-difficult skill, there are no such things as locks. The doors might as well have no locks at all!

That was a very weird realization, and part of it was thinking of me as a member of this group (albeit a slightly slow and clumsy member).

More importantly, to me, is that it cast a very harsh light on the question “What is security?” It sure ain’t a single lock. What is security for me? Is it not making myself a big target? Is it understanding enough about odds and percentages to realize that 90% of the people who would want to rob me would probably be stopped by a locked door? Or is the percentage that high? I’ve known a lot of people who were robbed, and most of those locks were either kicked out or screwdrivered out (oh dear, where is the art in that?!).

This makes me think a lot about security, what degree of security is possible, and at what cost to my pleasure of life. A lot of these questions still don’t have answers, though.

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The bottle says “Refill only with Kikkoman”. I think about this. Why would it say that? Is there some trick to this? Why can’t I fill it with some other kind of soy sauce? Yoshida’s is good. Maybe I like the Kikkoman bottle but Yoshida sauce. Why can’t I combine the two?

Is there something about non-Kikkoman sauce that’s dangerous? Maybe non-Kikkoman sauce is dangerous? Maybe non-Kikkoman sauce causes Something Bad to happen when it’s put in this bottle.

Then again, maybe it is Kikkoman sauce. Maybe there’s something about Kikkoman sauce… and the bottle. Maybe the glass has a substance in it that reacts favorably to Kikkoman soy sauce. Maybe when Kikkoman soy sauce is put into this particular type of glass, something wonderful happens, there’s some kind of reaction and the resulting soy sauce is particularly delicious. It doesn’t have to be much, just a catalyst sort of thing.

And the warning? Maybe the catalyst reacts unfavorably with soy sauce that doesn’t have some special additive. Maybe if I put non-Kikkoman soy sauce into the bottle, it curdles, or boils, or transforms into a mutagenic compound that will make my lips puff up and bleed, or that will damage my brain until I am so forgetful that I can’t think creatively and — slave to my new master — am only able to follow the most simple directions, and only when written down.

Maybe “Refill only with Kikkoman” is only the beginning.

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Wouldn’t it be neat if hotel rooms had copies of the Bible and copies of the Necronomicon? I think I know which one would be read the most.

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Groveling never won anything worth winning.

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Love is finding out that right here and right now is where you belong. You fit perfectly in the Universe when you feel love. It can happen anywhere, any time, and with people, places, things, whatever. It’s like the clouds clearing and the sun filling you up and everything is right with the world.

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According to CNN (motto: Look! “news”!),

“Shuttle countdown test goes smoothly”

NASA scientists declare “we managed to test all the numbers from ten all the way down to one and they all seem to be in working order. 5 was a little dodgy, but we were able to patch it up in time to contine without delay.”

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Why is it “I want to swim in your ocean” romantic, yet “I want to slip in your puddle” not?

(here comes the rain again…)

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I avoided Star Trek: the Next Generation for almost an entire season. Watching the first episode annoyed me too much. Seemed like everybody had special powers and there was a miserable telepath and a dishonored Klingon and a blind guy with a hairpiece over his eyes, and an android that wanted to be a person and so on and so forth.

So, I avoided it for a while.

The tale of coming back is for another reflection, but for now, suffice to say I came back.

And in one episode, I watched a very cool and influential thing.

Riker was having some sort of personal problem with some other character. He always was a little snotty that way. He was asking Picard to transfer him to Sullen Duties instead, so he wouldn’t have to feel grumpy. I remember at the time thinking “Christ, what a puss-bag” and then Picard asks “Is there a professional reason for requesting this?” After a moment’s hesitation, Riker replied “no,” and Picard said “Then get the fuck back to work, you goddamn drama queen and stop bothering me with your stupid drama queen antics.”

Actually, he didn’t say this, but he might as well have.

It was a great response.

It’s funny what influences you. This influenced me. I try to keep my work and my life separate. I think this is a good thing. And I think I might even have used a very similar line to “Do you have a professional reason for asking this?” sometime in the past. Can’t remember. But it’s ready, just in case.

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Sometimes you never know where you stand with someone. Sometimes you eventually find out. Sometimes you never do. Sometimes you just have to tell yourself that’s as much as you will ever know, really.

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I was raised on Star Trek. I swear I was watching it from the first episode as a baby. I also watched it religiously in reruns.

As a wee lad, I spent some time in the hospital, and it was customary for me to wave bye to my parents, who came to visit every night. One night, however, Star Trek was on and I was entranced. After the episode was over, I realized that I’d not waved goodbye from the window. So, I raced to the nurse’s station, called my parents and begged them to come back to the hospital so that I could wave bye properly to them. Sadly, they declined.

Since then, I made it a point to always wave bye to them. They also seemingly made it a point to never leave until Star Trek was over.

Seems to have been a fair deal.

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