Motorcycle Musings

I know, I know...it's been a while. I'm not really sure what to say. I haven't quite been suffering from writer's block or anything, I just haven't quite been in the mood to express how I feel per se. I've left the majority of the anger and self loathing for my diary, and decided what is left, a few philosophical musings if you will, should be posted here. My life has been going through a transition period... job hunt, graduating school, reassessing friendships, etc. And while I usually welcome change, this one in particular has presented some sobering epiphanies, such as: perhaps I'm not meant to be a writer, love is a faint memory, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need a root canal.

Life is truly fascinating, and not always in the speechless adoration of a sunset kind. Sometimes it's more like the morbid magnetism of a motorcycle accident, seducing our eyes to ingest the potentially macabre manifestation of Newton's Laws as we drive by. Sometimes we're frustrated and inconvenienced passersby, sometimes we're the motorcycle, and in other cases, we're the motorcyclyst who wonders how his life became a wreck. This is the risk one takes by driving a bike I suppose, or not using hand signals.

As we all know, life isn't comprised of an endless network of perfectly paved tunnels and highways devoid of cars, but an intricate web of twists and turns decorated with rocks, potholes, pedestrians, rain, and inevitably, other motorists. To say that navigating all of these obstacles is a challenge would be an egregious understatement, and to top it all off, you're not given a map, or a manual. We're merely comforted with the knowledge that crashing isn't a question of "if", but of "when".

My birthday is quickly approaching, and while I have no qualms about my age or getting older, I'm not entirely sure where all that time went, or what in God's name I was doing seemingly wasting it. I was raised in a laid back culture, one with an entirely different attitude and outlook towards the concept of time than the U.S. Consequently, I've always scoffed at people hustling about, planning, setting goals, in states of constant worry, and stressing over one thing or another. Maybe the busy ants and squirrels toiling away gathering and accumulating things know what they're doing after all, but hard as I try, I'm programmed to only go where the wind blows, and to amass only as much as I can carry.

Frankly, I don't think this strategy has worked out too well, but who really knows whether or not flossing everyday would have prevented the root canal. Perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps it has always been a question of "when" and not "if". In either case, the timing is perfect. Just like life I've noticed. Everything working in perfect harmony and balance, just as it should be...ants toiling, squirrels collecting, suns setting, and motorcycles careening towards their inevitable state of rest.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This was and excellent end to a fantastically well written story. The books became progressively more intriguing, and Salander's story did not disappoint. I must admit however, that at the end of Lisbeth's long and arduous plight, with no one left to combat you very much feel the same way she does, not really knowing what to do with yourself. I highly recommend these books and it is a only with a bitter-sweetness that I am free to start a new one; I didn't want them to end, but I am always elated to delve into a new adventure.


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The Glass Castle

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I thoroughly enjoyed this book. By the third page I knew I was going to like it. Jeannette's story-telling is magical and enlightening. It's amazing how her recollections keep you suspended in place of simultaneous disbelief, humor, and horror.

Although many of her memories are funny, her book reminds us of the indomitable and hopeful spirit of children, as well as the very real consequences of perpetual disappointment on their impressionable hearts and minds. Walls makes you revel in every small victory for the family, and sympathize during their chronic struggles. Although at times you want to shake some sense into her parents, or replace them altogether, you can't help but ponder the paradox of our struggles shaping who we become.



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Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


So, I enjoyed this book overall, although I think it may have been hyped a little much. Everyone that saw me carrying it around professed how amazing it was. I definitely liked it, but was not blown away. I found it challenging to read through much of the Swedish words at first, and you're not really hooked until a little past the half-way mark.

I definitely love Salander's character. She simultaneously typifies absolute strength and vulnerability, encapsulated in a hardened shell entirely impenetrable by the world's worst cretins. She thrives in the face of despair, is fatally calculating, and seems to have only one weakness....Mikael Blomkvist, an investigative reporter who is the other protagonist in the story.

I did enjoy this read, and will continue reading the rest in the series, especially after discovering what inspired the author to write them. Besides, Lisbeth Salander is like a crime magnet attached to dynamite filled with fury, and I can't wait to see who or what lights the fuse next. I've also heard a lot of positive feedback about the movie, but I'm not going get my hopes up. Movies are inevitably better when I watch them with little or no expectation.



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What the Dog Saw

What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Another great book by Malcom Gladwell. His ability to weave scientific research and social experiments into exciting stories is unsurpassed. Gladwell has an uncanny ability to dissect seemingly innocuous facts and observations, and spin engaging tales. With a unique perspective, he forces you to challenge conventional wisdom and think about why things are done they way they are. A fast read with varied material that is sure to entertain and educate regardless of your interests.

Operation Just Cause

22 years ago today I was fast asleep. Under the veil of darkness, navy seals swam stealthily towards their targets. Weapons were locked and loaded and night vision goggles snapped into position. The overly confident enemy sharpened their blades of corruption. Bombs fell…whistling merrily as they descended upon poverty. Bullets flew, their traces glowing through the night like fireflies at warp speed. Cannons blasted; helicopters were hovering dragons spewing fire upon fortresses. Explosives were anonymously planted like carefully placed parcels under the Christmas tree.

City blocks singed. Ashes fell for what seemed like weeks. Looting was done casually and without remorse. Old appliances replaced new ones. Some fell from windows as shiny new microwaves and toaster ovens found their posts. People intently looked for matching shoes in heaps of merchandise strewn about, as if they were in the store during a sale. I saw one kid pulling a dryer on a sheet of cardboard, his friend pushing from behind, grinning with satisfaction over their bounty. Everyone in the city had new clothes, but this was far from a fortuitous holiday as thousands were suddenly homeless, refugees in their own streets.

The months, weeks, and days leading up to the conflict were filled with minor inconveniences. Sometimes we had to stay late at school for safety reasons. Infantrymen and their German Shepherds patrolled the school grounds. M16’s were as commonplace as backpacks and school books. With a multitude of military installations in the country, military personnel, vehicles, and weapons were ubiquitous ornaments on a tropical backdrop.

Curfews were eventually implemented. Checkpoints and searches became the protocol. Unlike airport security, we welcomed soldiers into our homes as it made us feel safe and gave us brief moments to express our appreciation. I remember my step-mom would make sandwiches and give them cookies, sodas, and caprisuns. It was obvious they appreciated the hospitality and the reprieve from their usual rations. I imagined some of them bragged to their buddies, while others stuffed their cargo pockets and greedily enjoyed their snacks in solitude.

Armored vehicles patrolled the streets instead of police cruisers. Tensions were measured by words from the phonetic alphabet...Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta, indicating the degree of alert. Things eventually became tense. Stories of Americans being detained and harassed quickly circulated. A car was shot up. Servicemen were killed. Panama’s dictator declared war. Weeks later he surrendered, blanketed by blaring rock n roll music.

Somewhere in the night, a new president was sworn in; a barrage of missiles and bullets pierced the humid air. Families huddled close together, a corrupt dictator fled, and bombs peppered the city like a falling deck of cards. Somewhere in the night, a teenage boy was dreaming as an invasion took place. 22 years ago today…I was fast asleep.

Southern Comfort

I recently read a friend's blog post where she had confessed to reading an article that suggested Southern manners shouldn't be taught to children because they are demeaning given their historical context. This immediately made me think of similar complaints that we tend to hear in more frequency during the holidays.

The idea of not teaching children manners is unfathomable to me. It points to a fundamental problem with society; not only people's aversion to teaching discipline and respect if it has any relation to religion or an undesirable historical context, but also to an egotistical and illusory concept of entitlement masked by a desire for political correctness.

Look, I say yes ma'am and no sir, because it's how I was raised to show respect to my elders, strangers, and to those for whom I work. If you find it offensive, express that to me and I shall refrain from saying it to you, out of respect. But to get enraged because it was said to begin with, or for you to want such practices eliminated from a child's upbringing because you are so vehemently insecure, hyper-sensitive, think the world should bend to your will, or because they have some historical context which you find offensive is a little ridiculous.

Unfortunately, most of our history as a race is littered with war, slavery, death, slaughter, and sacrifice, but from those ashes and from that bloodshed we have emerged, evolved, and hopefully gleaned the positive to pass on to future generations. It's inconceivable to me that people continue to hold on to the past and to victimize themselves and entire groups of people. Everything we do today has roots in some pagan ritual, some form of organized religion, some travesty, a rite of passage, or as a result of overcoming adversity in order to survive. Perhaps we should get rid of Thanksgiving because Indians were killed and Christmas because, God forbid, there's a baby involved who was believed to be a forgiver of sin. While we're at it, let's stop calling our country America because, for all intents and purposes, its a term mired in the genocide of indigenous people.

Okay, so perhaps Christopher Columbus day is a little stupid. I'll give you that. But I am going to continue opening doors, offering my seat, wishing people a Merry Christmas, saying yes and no Ma'am, and eventually teach my children to do the same. I would venture to say that anyone who takes offense to such trivial cultural gestures of politeness has issues far beyond what can be fixed by the mere elimination of them. I don't get offended when a Japanese person bows as he greets me, when Muslims witness Ramadan, or when the Chinese celebrate the new year a month after the rest of the world has, and do so in the name of warding off a mythical lion who apparently is afraid of loud noises and the color red. Who would have thought?

In the spirit of good will, peace, and family, I think we should embrace each other's cultural differences and spread good intention and cheer, regardless of why or how we came to do such things. In the end, we can't change our origins anyway, we can however choose to take these opportunities to share in the merriment, company, and joy of others, whether there is a nativity scene under a tree or the faint glow of a Menorah's candles on a mantelpiece. In either case, I'll be having a few drinks.....I hope that doesn't offend you.