Et in Arcadia Ego...

What do you do when you see a ghost? What do you do when you become one?

I saw my father this morning. The man who created me 32 years ago and left me (and everyone else) 23 years ago showed himself this morning. I see him often, actually, but normally he looks fuzzy; his features seeming to blend into those of my mother. This morning, he was crystal clear. As I pushed into my cheeks, I saw his respond under the pressure of my finger. I saw the mouth that spit on the inside of the car window when I was a child - the eyes that stared at the television as I jumped on his back - the nose that took its last breath in a hospital bed in Flushing, New York, in September 1986, alone.

He's haunted me for 23 years, and today was no less. I stared at his clear form as I washed my face. Sometimes he's not a ghost. Most times he's a shadow. A father's shadow never fades. Never lessens. It only grows. The more you do, the more you realize that you can't do enough. The more disappointment you find. The more failure becomes every option. And this morning he stared at me. He pleaded with me to live up to his dreams. I now realize, all of my dreams are his.

The plaque that bears his name where he rests, is a sign in my mind; a memento mori. It reminds me that nothing that I can do will suffice. And, no matter how successful I may become in the eyes of this world, his future and present will beckon me.

Carpe Diem!...

I'm tryin'... !

Non Sequitur(s) on Death... (Or, Death and the Spider)

What is it about death? Is it really that painful? Scary? It certainly is unwelcome by most of us, but can it really be that bad, if all of us have to eventually do it?

Well, what does one have to do with the other? That is, what does the fact that we all have to die, have to do with whether or not it is as bad as many of us believe it will be?

I don't know. But it seems like there is something there to be mined.

Last night, I saw a jumping spider on my stove and I debated whether or not I should kill it. I ultimately decided not to, because I don't generally like killing things just because they scare me, or gross me out, or inconvenience me in some other cosmetic way. I do make an exception to this for house centipedes though. Anyway, only if something is a real threat, will I deem it necessary to kill it - roaches (disease), mice and rats, (bites, disease), large spiders and insects (bites). Flies, small spiders, and anything else I can "catch and release", usually get just that - caught and released.

So, as I mentioned, I decided it wasn't necessary to kill the spider, and since spiders kill other insects, I may even be serving a purpose by letting it live. Besides, how would I like it if I were minding my business and a giant napkin squashed the life out of me and flushed me down the toilet or threw me in a trashcan. Any conscious part of me after that would likely think I had lived a pretty useless and meaningless existence if something else could so casually kill me without a second thought. Then my life meant nothing. So, I tapped the stove, which I knew would startle it and cause it to run off and hide. It did. I was pleased.

Not too long after, I hear my girlfriend pounding on the kitchen counter (I was in bed). "What are you doing?" I asked with all the innocence of a toddler about to enter a crime scene. "Trying to kill this jumping spider" she replied. "I got it!" she celebrated. I wasn't as celebratory, but I didn't tell her that.

For a second, I hated that spider for it's stupidity. I thought "You idiot! I spared your life, only so you could return to the scene of the crime to be killed less than an hour later!! Maybe it was your time, and maybe you deserved it." But my second thought was "What was I trying to spare this spider from?" Spiders live in a life and death struggle everyday. They know the risks of their lives better than anyone else. Everytime they face off with a mantis or have a run-in with a predatory bird, they are reminded soundly of the deadly struggles of life (if they survive these encounters).

(And here's the non sequitur part, because on the surface, what I'm about to say has nothing to do with what I just said, but somehow - for me - they're connected - I haven't found the exact connection though - but I'm looking...)

So why are we any different? Are we any different? Somehow the death of that spider has led me to the conclusion that death is probably not all that bad, or, if it is, life is meaningless anyway, so who cares?

If life is meaningless what do I care if I go to work, get paid, have a child, rob a bank, kick a cat, or whatever? Therein, lies a paradox, because I do care (to some degree) about those things. Some, more than others, but I care, nonetheless. But I care within the context of knowing (for me) that these things are all ultimately meaningless, and it is something I've struggled with since I became an atheist (or Adeist - if you've read my earlier article).

It doesn't bother me that everything is pointless. Rather, it bothers me that everything is pointless and that I'm here anyway. Because, why? Why be here at all then? I find some peace in the idea that I'm just one of the many processes in the Universe - a flail - if you will, but ultimately, pointless or not, life is damn enjoyable. Why have it to lose it? I suppose if I had a gambler's outlook on life this idea would suffice, but I don't and it doesn't.

I'm in no hurry to leave life (at least not yet), but I have to wonder what the point is.

There's really no ending to this post and there's not much within it that one could connect (without being in my head). Just some thoughts that are somehow and for some reason conflated within me and had to get them out...

And... ?

So here I am, 2:34pm on Monday, March 9th, 2009, sitting in the office, stressing over a spreadsheet that will track the path of "lost" grant money allotted to us by the county. And I could not care any less than I do right now. At least I don't think so. If this money is not accounted for, the department I work in could be in dire straits and lose many jobs (mine among them), and the school on a larger scale, will likely feel the impact as well.

And so the fuck what.

My boss is a wonderful woman. I remarked to my mother that working for her is like working for family. You can't beat that. Many of my co-workers - likewise. But frankly, who cares? I mean, if the school doesn't re-obtain this funding and starts to suffer for it, it won't be the worst thing (in my view) because my only gain from it is a pittance of a weekly paycheck.

I'm over-reacting to some degree, of course. I just came off of a weekend where I completed work on photo installations for a world-premiere of a play, met two muralists, and appeared at a reading where I was a part of the creative arts world - not just a pencil-pushing, spreadsheet-generating, number-crunching, data miner. I did what I loved and people liked it and if not, they still respected me for who I was and what I do. Here, I'm just someone they can replace easily if they need to.

So of course, this falls into the category of narcissism, and just like that, I'm propelled into an understanding of celebrities and the like who go "Do you know who I am?"

"I don't care about your grant spreadsheet! I'm a photographer whose work will appear in a world-premiere play this very week. Do you know who I am?!"

No one. But still, at this stage of my life, where opportunities are appearing in front of me every single day and where people care about what I have to say and equally so, how I say it, I feel I am only a short time away from casting off the work-a-day shackles and tackling something infinitely more interesting and important in my opinion - my own life...

An Open Window...

I sat down at my desk early this morning with a sense I hadn't experienced in a long time - if ever; a sense of accomplishment. Cleveland has all of a sudden turned into a place of possibility for me - this city, dubbed "foreclosureville" by the New York Times, this city, deemed on life support (if not dead) by many who live here or know of it. This city, rotting from a disease called "The Past", that has the automotive and corporate rats abandoning ship while the crew of artists and small businesspeople work tirelessly to keep it afloat over the financial deep.

I could not imagine, when leaving New York City, the Mecca of American arts & culture, the anointed and supposed land of creative opportunity, and heading for Cleveland, a city pronounced by many these days as DOA, that it would be the place where everything I could want would be. I came to the city that (at the time) was widely accepted to be the fourth poorest in the entire nation, and found a job almost immediately. I quit that job and found another almost immediately after that. They both paid substantially less than I made in NYC, but allowed me to have a standard of living here that was impossible in NYC - even while making 1/4 of my weekly NYC salary.

I've met several artists, all very serious and motivated. In NYC, I managed to meet only a few, and there was such a social ladder-climbing game, that they would only associate with you if they felt you could advance their career. I went from a plankton in an ocean to a perch in a lake. Not a big fish, mind you - but at least swimming and respected - as opposed to drifting on the current at the bottom of the food chain. We hunt together in schools and share the catch, as opposed to fighting each other for it.

In addition, despite the fact that I LOVED my NYC apartment, and we had a lot of space in it, relative to other NY'ers, considering what we paid, I now have an even better apartment (albeit, with one less bedroom and still unfurnished), in a better location (relative to NYC) and I pay just half of what I paid in NY. The equivalent apartment in NYC (in proximity to arts, culture, events and nightlife) would likely be a loft in Chelsea.

And now I reevaluate my plans to move to California. As much as I really want to go for the lifestyle and weather, it'll be the same "people-wise". Here, we have good Summer weather and the people are so much better. Overall, Clevelanders are not as liberal, however, in the particular areas that I frequent, they are.

As of Friday March 6th, I have completed my first professional / credited project with the Cleveland Public Theater, have assisted for a friend on a photo shoot of an American Idol contestant, have met filmmakers, painters and musicians (and have spent meaningful time with them - not just shaken their hands), have met a striking muralist in my lobby who I can't wait to work with, have attended several cultural events I could never afford in NYC, have become friends with the Executive Artistic Director of the Public Theater, and may have a chance to revive my (previously believed-dead) project "Whips & Chains". I did stand-up comedy multiple times at the Cleveland Improv. And all of this is in one year and seven months. I lived, worked and struggled in NYC for 30 years. I have little to show for it.

What adds to the wonder is that Cleveland is not (as many suspect) a po-dunk city (when it comes to arts and culture). The Cleveland Orchestra is one of the "Big Five" American Orchestras (New York , Chicago, Philadelphia, and Boston housing the others). The Cleveland Public Theater is one of the most well-known and respected theaters in the country. Case-Western University is on par with Ivy-League Universities. The Cleveland Institutes of Music and Art and the Cleveland Museum of Art curators and staff are routinely courted by NYC, Chicago and other "Major City" museums and conservatories. In fact, the director of the Cleveland Museum of Art just left to head up the Met in NY. Being at the top of the Cleveland art world puts you a step away from the world market. Not to say that's my interest, but it is to say I was unaware. I married NY before I had sufficiently dated (which happens as a New Yorker).

And so, for possibly the first time in my life, I feel like I'm achieving. I feel happy (that is, as happy as I can be - so this says a lot). I am part of a (slowly) rising power couple in the art community here and that is seductive. Los Angeles? NY? Chicago? Cleveland?

There's a saying (that I'll paraphrase): When life closes a door, it opens a window...

With so many doors closed on me, it's good to slide the pane open, sit on the ledge for once and breathe, watching the workmen repair the broken door below.

Whose Chair is it Anyway?...

The woman whose job of mine it was to sit in for while she was out recovering from a stroke, returned Monday. Her return has thrown everyone for a loop, as she has returned far sooner than expected and without much notice. I can imagine that in many circumstances this would be welcome. You can dismiss your temp (and the exorbitant temp service fees) as well as have your REAL employee back, who actually knows how to do the job correctly and has access to resources your temp didn't (databases, networks, files, etc.). Not only would everything be more or less back to normal, you might even expect to see a phantom boost in production (phantom - because it's not a REAL boost - just a return to "normal" production as opposed to what you lost with the training and learning curve of a new but temporary employee).
Well, not here.
Almost no one is pleased about the return of this woman, whom they seemingly lost so much to when she left. The few who are pleased (or at least not threatened) by her return are only notable for the lilliputian nature of their numbers.
Now, this should likely come as no true surprise to me, as I was well-informed of the "nature of the beast" when I began the replacement assignment. Not only did my co-worker and immediate superior inform me, but people would often come by to talk to one of them, or to inquire when I started this new assignment (because I previously worked in other departments in the same building, where said people frequently saw me) and would drop horrific forewarnings whenever I reached for anything or so much as squirmed in my chair, like "If Stella were here, she would have a fit", or "I know Stella can't wait to have her desk back", and my personal favorite "Don't let Stella know you did that". Oftentimes (in fact EVERY time) the most I was doing was typing or reaching for a sheet of paper, or using the stapler - things normally expected of a person working in an office - but not those sitting in for "Stella". Apparently, the very idea of even having someone sit in to complete some of the work she left behind was blasphemous.
However, it all became clear to me just how heavy-handed she was and how she was able to wield so much fear-assisted power when she actually called in (while she was supposed to be recovering). She simply called to flat-out tell me (a stranger to her) "Don't touch anything on my desk. Leave it just the way you found it." All of her important things in the office (like important files that I needed access to, in order to do some of my job) were already locked away (by her) anyway, so I told her this was fine by me, but with no actual intention of following through (with those few things that were accessible to me), as I wasn't being paid to sit still with my hands folded for eight (eventually ten) hours a day.

I should also note that I began the assignment in November and she left on sick leave in September - there were two months between her vacation of the position and the start of my assignment. (This comes to play later in this posting... )

All the while I worked in her place, I put everything back where I found it, every night, for the duration of my time at her desk. In addition, I went out of my way to not physically move anything that I could not easily put back, even if it was VERY MUCH in my way. I worked this way to the point that MY WORK on the desk was completely disorganized, because when I took her space, I tried to fit every piece of paperwork or utensil that I needed into the small amount of empty spaces that were available. When I needed a file that I had created or brought with me, or some office supplies that I ordered, etc., I had to dig through massive stacks I had built just to not touch any of her things. My co-worker and superior had gotten to the point where they were nearly ordering me to get rid of "Stella's" stuff (box it neatly and put it away) and make the desk mine so I could have more workspace and have a neater space to work in.
I informed them that I didn't want to do that, knowing the type of person she was, and that I would rather continue trying to work around her lästiggeist (to coin a term) than to create potential for future friction. As well, I told them that if I moved anything, it would be just my luck that she would return the next week and "have a fit", as it were.
Well, this went on through November and December 2008 and partially into January of 2009 (at which point she had already been gone almost five months). Finally, with a mountain of paperwork on my desk, I agreed that it was unreasonable and ridiculous to work this way, and finally decided to go ahead and (very neatly and very carefully) box her things up in an organized way and put them away. At this point, it was being made fairly clear that they didn't really didn't expect her back at all.
Finally some space to work. I decided to leave her pictures and religious implements where they were - just in case. That way, I'd only have to put files back and not pictures (and have to try to figure out how they were arranged). This was mid-January. On February 16th, "Stella" stopped in to announce that she would be returning on February 23rd.
Everyone was surprised of course - except me.
I was hurried to a new office for the "Return of Stella" and when she arrived on that Monday, she promptly began complaining about how her desk (which I had completely cleaned off and restored) was a complete mess, how I "filled up" the one drawer she had left unlocked with "shit" (I put ONE labelmaker in there - which she personally kept upon her return, by the way, though I had ordered it for the whole office) and complained that she had to reorganize everything (though it was the same as when she left it). She also complained that one or more of her pictures were missing (which they weren't) and that "someone" (me) had stolen "her" chair, which "they" (I) hadn't, and had replaced it with a broken one (again - didn't happen).
All of that nonsense and bullshit brings me to this: Why are our lives as people so mundane and uneventful, why are we so disillusioned and bitter, that we "fight" over chairs in an office where none of the chairs belong to us anyway? Because that is what it has come down to. Having had our youthful dreams of being singers, dancers, musicians, magicians, astronauts, presidents, firemen, millionaires dashed against the rocks of reality in this turbulent ocean of life, we've instead been reduced to pen-hogging, chair-claiming, title-mongering, adult children.
We covet the next employees' cubicle and guard our post-it notes with a ferocity normally reserved for light infantry. We hide paperclips and staples and we consider this important work while we're filling the coffers of some overpaid executive. The collapse of the American Dream is not just about greedy corporate executives, it's about the people who buy into the system that creates them. The executives get to be millionaires and musicians and presidents because they throw a roll of tape and some white-out at ten people, and while we fight over it, they get rich. And it's OUR fault as much as theirs, because we allow it - and the ones in control know it.
I feel anger toward this woman individually, but I also feel pity - for all of us. She thinks some of her family pictures are missing and that it's my fault. I never touched those pictures, but even if I had, what would I have done with the family pictures of a complete stranger? This is what she wakes up for? To come into a job she probably didn't aspire to, to complain about trivialities and fight over which chair she gets?
Her life (like all of ours) is likely already marred by disappointment after disappointment, and finally, she has to claim some minor (even trivial) victories to maintain sanity. This clawing-at-sanity of course forces her into insanity. This is what we've ALL been reduced to. And we continue to do this while asking for change at the top.
We're doing the same thing, but now we want different results.

A Short Musing on Simone...

Beautiful... (but does not see it)

Brilliant... (but does not believe it)

Giving... (but rarely receiving)

Infuriating... (hey, nobody's perfect)

My life's savior, my (not always) better half, perfect, flawed, paining, pained, fun, loving wife.

I hope we have 31 more - times infinity...

Happy Birthday... :)