Compassion

I recently came across this exercise that I'm trying to do and I think you'll find it interesting. It's only something to ponder but it immediately seemed as if it was worthwhile. The exercise is aimed at building a sense of compassion within me. There are times in life when I get fed up at people who wrong me, even if in a greater perspective, these imagined wrongs are minor. The one example that always gets me is a car that cuts me off on the highway. It happens a lot here and I always feel that someone is getting something over on me. It's a feeling of helplessness yet I always know that the potential for it to happen is always there. I get defensive and it always seems throw me into a negative spiral of frustration. So what if, instead of getting mad at that that person, I attempt to understand that person's suffering. Obviously, the self-importance that makes a person cut off another, and even endangers them, has to originate from some internal wound that causes them to suffer. Everyone suffers. So what if I imagine that suffering as a cloud of black smoke eminating from their body. And what if every one on my block had some black smoke eminating from them. And what if every living being had black smoke eminating them. What if I were to inhale this black smoke and take it into the the very depths of my body. And the black smoke somehow lessened my own pride and self-importance, the kind of feelings that make me want to seek revenge on the driver who cut me off. And by diminishing my self-importance or the things that make me feel injured becuase of the suffering of others, I developed a greater capacity for compassion. I understand suddenly why this driver has to cut me off. And it would be better if this person were in the world and began to heal from the suffering. What if that compassion were to manifest itself as the white light and steam that eminated from me when I exhaled? The white light then has the ability to heal that driver and all other living beings who suffer, even to the slightest degree. Doing this exercise may not have a direct impact on this person, but it exercises my compassion muscle and makes it stronger. And after doing this exercise everyday for a little while, it somehow allows me to not feel as wronged as I had in this past when I get cut off by another driver. And I need not take revenge or feel the need to raise the middle fingered salute. I also read an article about a study that showed physiological changes in the brains of monks who practiced this exercise while meditating. They were happier and the proof could be seen with an MRI.
One time I got into mountain biking and I started out as a couch potato and I soon realized that after biking 20-plus miles every weekend, my thighs became as thick as tree trunks. I was always the last person up the hill but I could tell how the little bit of work over a long period paid off.

Opine

The World's Greatest Writer sat down to his keyboard, enthralled with the limitless possibilities that the blog universe held. Overwhelmed by this, he went back to his coffee and decided to call it a day.

On the Cusp of a New Sound

From seemingly out of nowhere, a new sound was about to capture the ears of America and overcome the barriers of a dead radio culture and a deeply fractured Internet music distribution. Emanating from a garage deep in the bowels a forgotten little town, in a humidty-drenched climate, that sound ruminated from a band that was unfortunately named "Inbred Mutants". In disproportionate contradiction to the amount of talent and creativity they exhibited, they were about to change things for ever with a new sonic paradigm for a post-emo world, behind the most unlikely of "hits". The song's title, "Shitty Pity Party" would go on to set wolrd sales records despite a channel that had been rapaciously savaged by file sharing after hears of pent-up frustrations help up artificially by a corrupt organized crime syndicate. But at this moment, the creative spark was just germinating.

Was it Spectrum or rectum?

The two words are so similar that its almost uncanny. I read an article yesterday in the Philadelphia Inquirer how the parent company will tear down the old arena to make way for a new entertainment and retail complex. Good riddance, I say. Yes, some of my favorite concerts of all time were performed there (Grateful Dead, Allman Bros., Jeff Beck) but I'd have to say that with all the wistful memories that are pouring out, one of the single most scary moments of my life took place there.
It was March of 1987 and I'm going to my first GD concert. It's a cold, windy day in March and as is the tradition of going to GD concerts, we arrive early to party in the parking lot. But it's so cold you can barely hold that freshly rolled spliff between your finger tips. Everybody's looking forward to the show but most likely it's so cold that people just want to get indoors. Here's the problem, the geniuses at Spectacor, or whatever company was running that dump at the time, decided they could double book the facility that day with some sort of pro-wrestling show in the afternoon. The transition period of breaking down the wrestling set, and setting up the rock concert equipment is taking way too long. The show is about to start and still the doors are not open (not that the Dead ever started on time). I'm in line outside the arena with my date and suddenly there is a big crowd forming in the cement steps up to the Spectrum gates. Everyone knows there's a bottleneck going into these things, but this time, no one is moving forward. The crowd is packing in and pushing more and more. The forward momentum is in inches and the pressure coming from the back is immense. With my date infront of me, there is a girl in back of me and we're becoming more intimate with each other than either of us had ever expected. I get trapped against a stairway railing and I'm getting pushed up the stairs with no where to go, left or right. Suddenly, there is is big trash can in front of me and I get pushed into it. With my heart racing, I'm pushing to my right to avoid it but there's a solid wall of people against me with no give. I basically have to knock this can over over and straddle it to move forward. I'm hearing other people in the crowd yelling about people falling over and almost getting trampled. There is a palpable feeling of panic in the air.
This is by far the most unnerved I've ever felt in a big crowd, with no exaggeration. Thoughts of a Who concert and people getting trampled in Cincinnati are foremost in my mind (Yes, that's right, I'm the eternal optimist).
So we finally get in relatively unscathed, and the concert is great and everything. Afterwards, we go out to the car where we're supposed to meet the couple who drove us there. The car is gone. Luckily, there are other folks we came up with who can drive us home. As it turns out my friend's wife had passed out in the crowd and hit her head on the cement outside the vaunted Spectrum. She was immediately rushed to the hospital. A great time was not had by all.
Ed Snider, I hope you made a lot of fricking money that day by double booking two major events and almost getting people trampled. There was another time where a friend of mine came into the Spectrum on his own two feet and left in an ambulance stretcher, but that was no fault of the Spectrum's.
On balance, I had many great times there at the Spectrum, far more numerous than the bad times but this one bad time will never be forgotten. And for that one moment, I say Good Bye, you old cruddy building.

All Behold: Monkeytooth Cometh

Are you sick and tired of people who brag about how cute their child/pet is? We'll you're in luck 'cause this is one of those times. We often personify our Pomeranian mongrel by voicing a high-pitched intonation as to what we think she is saying or what she might say if she actually had a voice. We talk at her and she just sits there, sometimes eagerly wagging her tail. The dog hardly barks and while she's intelligent by dog standards, the dialogue that we assign to her is mostly beyond her comprehension, we're thinking - the wife and I. At first, it started out as a bad impression of some foreign national who works behind the counter at a convenience store but now the voice has evolved into a cartoonish character - kind of like Puck in the old Hercules cartoons on TV. It's usually a voice of defiance, as in "Come, Emily, time for your medicine." and she just sits there, on the couch wagging her tail. But this is what we think she is says in a high-pitched voice: "No, I'm not going, bitches. Ha-Ha!" And these go on with elaborations and variations. In fact, the voice is so high-pitched now that only Megan can do the Emily voice and I can only do a pale imitation.

What really gets Emily excited and interactive is that rare occassion when we eat at the dinner table and she parks conveniently underfoot, anxiously awaiting ground scores. One night I'm eating pork chops and it was during hockey season (this become relevant later). I'm chewing at the bone and I'm try to clean the thing of every single molecule of meat because it is so savory. But I just can't get to those spaces. My jaw is to big and my tooth pattern circumference just won't let be get into those nooks and crannies. Just as I'm about to give up when I see a very anxious 12-pound dog who is sitting politely, wagging vigorously and cocking her small head to the side. "Ha, Ha, Monkeytooth," she said in the high-pitched voice. It dawned on me that the dog's snout would be perfect for getting at those molecules of meat that I missed. So, she saw me eating the bone, and not doing a very good job at it because I'm a primate with poorly adapted jaw structure. So not only does the Emily voice have a pitch, it has a cadence. You know that little organ riff they play at hockey games right before the faceoff, you know the one they do to get the home crowd into it "Deh-deh, duh-duh-duh," Now repeat that with the words "Ha, Ha Monkeytooth."