Wednesday, April 30, 2003 :::
The Unicycle: A Most Desperate Cry For Attention.
Believe it or not, sitting down to write the kinds of things posted on this website takes some inspiration. Yes, it’s true, these little nuggets of half-baked philosophy and commentary don’t always come pouring forth whenever I sit opposite the blank white screen of my computer. Truth is most writers imagine themselves to be shepherds of random and wandering words each of which, if arranged just so, make up significant ideas. We see ourselves as these forensic artists that detect, cull, and strain trace amounts of genius from the garbage and static of what makes up our conscience lives. It is a process- start to finish- regardless of how it is done. And sometimes we require a little nudge from the world.
I am always looking for things that draw parallels. I find there to be tremendous power in analogy and metaphor. There are no situations that stand alone and beyond comparison. There are always lines and in these lines come lessons. Writing has never been anything greater than that. It is about drawing associations, telling stories with universal themes, and about articulating ideas in terms with which the reader can identify while scarcely being able to duplicate it. No big secret here, it’s just the way things are.
Here’s the part about the Unicycle. I am certain you were wondering where the hell this sermonizing was going.
Yesterday I was walking across the University North Texas campus and I saw something that just bothered the hell out of me. There I was, walking along and minding my own business when along comes a guy on a fucking unicycle. A FUCKING UNICYCLE… It took a moment of watching this hippie awkwardly pedal himself down the sidewalk before I realized what I was really seeing. In that moment before realization is where inspiration comes from. It is in that moment we draw the lines that make what we see turn into what we say.
I used that moment to ponder the practical application of the Unicycle in modern day transportation.
FACTS:
(~) A Unicycle doesn’t go any faster than a standard issue bicycle.
(~) A Unicycle doesn’t get more inches of travel per revolution of the pedals.
(~) A Unicycle certainly doesn’t afford any additional mobility or maneuverability should an untimely pothole, rabid Bichon Frise, or junkie with an AIDS infected needle suddenly block your path.
(~) A Unicycle is not any easier to learn than a bicycle. In fact, I would contend that a Unicycle requires a higher degree of skill, time, and commitment than its two-wheeled counterpart.
I ran these facts through the thought-shredder and on the other side I saw what I was supposed to see: the desperate cry for attention. This guy was not trying to get from point A to point B. He wasn’t heading home from UNT’s Building of Clown Studies where he is majoring in Unicycle Techniques and Methodologies. This guy just wanted some attention. He just wanted someone, anyone, to look outside their self-involved world of drama and nightmares and say to themselves, “Hey, there’s something you don’t see everyday, a guy on a fucking unicycle!”.
Then I started to think about the people. The people we all work with and live with and eat with and sleep with that just want a little attention. My company is full of them. People who rant, or rave, or bitch, or scream, or politick, or kick ass, or kiss ass, or repose in the tragedy or violence of others…they all just want to be noticed. They are just not as flagrant in their wants as the guy on the Unicycle.
It started out as an outrage. How dare this selfish hippie try to pull me out of my ritual of self-celebration and narcissism just to validate his choice of single-wheeled transportation? But after I squelched the desire to push the dirty hippie off the unicycle into a pile of broken limbs and burnt hash stink, I realized that I drew a line. And after I draw the line, after my make the association, after I learn the lesson…I move on.
That having been said, Unicycles are pretty stupid means of self-transport.
::: posted by Mike at 5:58 PM
Monday, April 07, 2003 :::
Roll Call Of The Honorable Dead.
I do not need to know their names. I do not need to know that their hometown of Nowhere, Kansas won’t be the same without them. I do not need to see pictures of uniformed and dough-eyed soldiers. I do not need to hear the sobbing of parents and siblings; of wives and children. I do not need to know their life passions or the way they would like to be remembered. I do not need recollections of their past conquests, achievements, or milestones. I do not need to know the opinions of their friends. And I do not need to be reminded that each name is a life interwoven with the complexities of human interaction.
I need to know they died in the pursuit of their mission. I need to know that their mission is just. I need to know that their death was not in vain. I need to reconcile the actions of force with the consequences of action. I need to know that the names will not be used as statistics to settle irrelevant debates nor be marked with asterisks on the roll call of the honorable dead…fallen soldiers of meaningless conflict. And I need to know that we are not playing favorites with the dead.
::: posted by Mike at 8:53 AM
