For me, one of the most tedious type of post is the navel gazing ‘blogging about blogging’ variety. But it is my party and I’ll be narcissistic and self-indulgent if I want to. Truth be told, I don’t even like the word – blog. Sounds lumpy and clumsy and trivial. While certainly trivial, I don’t think the genre necessarily deserves a moniker that sounds a bit like a bodily function. Still and all, better than a ‘tweet’, I suppose.

All this faff and circumstance is designed to mask the central point – I think I might be running out of steam.

I started a blog for the sole reason of keeping my family and friends updated with photos, videos and cute stories about Boy Z. A virtual remedy for the very real distance that I’d placed between us. It served that purpose well.

Somewhere along the way, however, I decided that blogging gave me other opportunities. It afforded me a means to practice my writing – a notebook for the modern aspiring author.  I wanted to branch out from my job as a lab rat into the amorphous field of scientific communication, so I started to use my blog as a sharpening stone to hone my craft. But rather than being good practice, my blog posts tend to be hastily constructed and unedited dumps.

I also discovered the therapeutic power of the media. On days where things were getting out of control,  getting too much for me, I could dump everything onto the internet and get it out of my system. Then people started to read my site and I started to get a bit nervous and uncomfortable about putting so much of myself out there.

And as more people started to read, I began to become addicted to having an audience. I started watching my stats obsessively and tallying up comments as a reflection of the quality of a post. I started to write for my audience, worked out the type of post that would get me the most positive feedback. In spite of being painfully shy in a small group or one-on-one setting, I love a crowd. I love to perform. That’s why enjoy my job – lecturing is little more than a weekly performance. Lately that is what blogging has become for me.

And I don’t know what I’m doing any more.

Maggie, who I love, described blogging as “the modern writer’s bourbon in the bottom drawer”. That thought has been stuck in my head for the last couple of weeks. I’m not sure what the line meant to her, but to me it’s that dark distraction that whispers constantly, quietly “Drink me.” An easy alternative to more productive tasks, more difficult jobs that, while initially soothing, can eat away a day’s work. A golden diversion that leads to nothing except more meaningless words in the ether.

I feel like I need to pull it together – need to focus on something real. Need to write, really write. I’ve had two years of practice. It might be time to get off the proverbial pot. I guess I just don’t know what the point of this is anymore. I’m certainly never going to make a living by running a personal blog. It isn’t improving my writing. I can’t use my blog as therapy anymore and I don’t even think I’m doing a very good job at the original stated purpose of this blog.

So what’s the point?

(I was going to end this post here. Click publish and move on. But then I came up with the answer to that rhetorical question).

One thing that I haven’t considered in this barrage of pointless introspection is the relationships that blogging has opened up for me. The connections. The friendships. I guess that’s what they are.

Some of you were friends in ‘real life’. I’ve met some of you after connecting via blogging and made fast friends. I’ve ‘known’ some of you for so long that I feel like we’ve met. Some of you inspire me with your words - moving me to laughter or tears, even in the same post. Some of us are sharing a journey around the world and some of us a journey round and around (and around) our kids – the maddest among us are doing both. There are those of you with whom I share much more in common than most people know. Some of you have been kind enough to send me tones of home and some of you keep me up to date with new tunes.**

I’m still skeptical of internet relationships. Always will be. I’m not sure if the connections made through blogging are real friendships, but more and more they are starting to feel that way. So, I guess if there is a reason to keep going, these relationships – such as they are – would be it.

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*Where are my presents?

**There was no way I was going to get everyone in here. So, if I missed you out I apologize. It wasn’t intentional.

Josh Ottum’s debut album, “Like the Season” isn’t due until September. But if the debut single is any indication of what the Seattle based singer-songwriter is going to offer, then it will be worth the wait for the LP. Playful indie pop in the vein of Ben Kweller, Josh Ritter and Sufjan Stevens on his radio-frendlier days. Keep an eye out for his debut from Cheap Lullaby Records.

Image credits:

Birthday 1

Birthday 2

Birthday 3

I’ve got not much to say, but wanted to move my fab spider photo down the page a bit. Aha! How about this. For Mother’s Day, I commissioned a portrait of Boy Z for Dr. O’C. I’m a patron of the arts. Like a renaissance merchant, I am. I left it a bit late, as is genetically dictated by my Y chromosome, but the painting is all but done.

Here’s the original…

…and the portrait.

Jennifer Chevais, who blogs at No Place Like It, was my choice of artist. I love her whimsical illustrations and when she wrote a post about doing commissioned portraits, I knew I had my Mother’s Day present sorted. Dr. O’C’s asked for just a couple of minor touch ups, but we’re both thrilled with the portrait. Can’t wait to get it hung.

So if you’re in the market for a portrait, check out Jennifer’s Etsy site. She does wonderful work at a reasonable price.

In the link love vein, if you come around often you may have noticed that I have rotating header images. I’ve added a new one to the field – a capture from blogging buddy Not Afraid To Use It. She risked life, limb and a smashed up car for this one…

…and I think it makes a great addition.

Happy now, arachnophobes? Don’t scroll down too far…

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I’m hooked on Brooklyn alt-country act the Basement Band’s latest LP. It’s solid, splendidly written Americana in the vein of The Jayhawks and early Son Volt. The Brooklyn quintet is the latest I’ve heard in what seems to be an explosion of talented young country acts that are making the rounds these days – they fit in nicely with The Avett Brothers, A.A. Bondy, The Felice Brothers and others. There’s not a weak track on “Until the Evening Came” and the male-female dual vocals on a number of songs are to die for. Check out The Basement Band’s “Until the Evening Came” on .

But this post isn’t just a plug for someone else’s blog. A post that I read this morning got to me in a way that I didn’t expect, that I didn’t desire and that threw me for a loop. Go and read it. I’ll wait…

As I read it, the thesis of her post – and I certainly don’t mean to be flip (just uncommonly concise) – is that life is random, horrible things happen to innocent people who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and you have to constantly be on guard to make sure that you or your family don’t get killed, raped or both. She paints a grimly realistic picture of the world, one that I’ve seen in crime dramas and Hollywood movies, but never believed was entirely representative of the world in which you and I live. What’s troubling is that in Trouble’s experience, it is real. I know her to be a real person thus the world she describes must be real.

The conundrum for me is that I believe her to be wrong. Her post sort of flies in the face of my personal world view, the philosophy that keeps me trudging happily through the world.

There are two parts to this optimistic world view of mine. First – we, as a species, are inherently good. Flawed? Certainly. Ignorant? Most probably. Are there exceptions? Absolutely. There are individual humans who have done horrible and reprehensible things. There will be more. But I have to believe that these are rare aberrant individuals. We are a social species, I have to believe that the vast majority of us wants the best for our fellow man. I have to believe that most of us want to help the poor and weak and want little more than a peaceful happy life.

Second, I don’t believe that life is random. I know I’m a scientist and a irreligious one at that, but I believe that I have seen pretty strong evidence that life is far from random. Even biologically, a lot of processes that we’ve always thought of as random are not. Mutation for example, the driving force of evolution. Not a completely random process. Like certain parts of the genome, certain people attract trouble.

I am firm in my conviction that there is a governing force in the world*. What that force is – mutation, gravity, Buddha, the Flying Spaghetti Monster or the Baby Jesus – I don’t know and I don’t really care. I believe that some kind of higher power (whatever you want to call it) is out there and has my best interests at heart. If that weren’t the case, well I’ve done enough stupid things in my times that I probably wouldn’t be writing this. I don’t know how to explain the horror that Trouble has encountered in her experience. I don’t know how to explain war and poverty and natural disaster. That’s a question that is well above my pay grade.

I’m not a Pollyanna. I’ve been around the block a couple of times. I have been exposed to the darker side of humanity. My homes have been burgled four times. I got randomly roughed up by a couple of gangsters on a bus in Seattle. I’ve been ripped off on more than one occasion. I’ve been unfortunate enough to run up on all manner of nasty people in my day to day wanderings and have been truly unfortunate to find myself in relationships with one or two of them.

Shit, most definitely, happens.

But the shit that has happened for me has been essential in making me who I am today. Rather than making me more pessimistic about my fellow man or spawning an inclination to blame these things on the chaotic nature of the world, these things have made me more optimistic, more compassionate and more convinced that the world is an OK place.

If my two beliefs are true then I don’t have to live in fear. And I don’t. I get up in the morning with the contented feeling that things are going to be OK and I put my head on the pillow that night with the relief generated by things having been OK.

In short. Shit does happen, but it doesn’t happen by chance. Some people are shitty, but most aren’t.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe if the unthinkable had happened to me or a loved one I would have a different perspective. I hope that I never find out.

What do you think? Is life a series of random events? Are human beings inherently good or evil?

Big questions for a Wednesday lunchtime.

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* Let me just clarify. This is not to say that I believe in an intelligent designer or a creator god. Not a bit, but there’s a whole gaping chasm between the concept of completely random biological processes and the dude with the beard on the cloud hurling lightning bolts. OK?

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Image credits:

Good vs evil 1

Good vs evil 2

Good vs evil 3

Flint Michigan’s Kinetic Stereokids released their sophomore LP, “Kid Moves” earlier this year. Think Beck, Mogwai or the Beastie Boys – beat-heavy, sample-laden, sonic alchemy. If you like this track, check out the rest of the album from .

It’s starting to feel like Autumn in South Australia – a little bit cooler, shorter days, the occasional drop of moisture in the air – which means that we’ll be doing less of this….

…on Boy Z and Papa Party Days.

But not to worry. We’ve been working on some indoor entertainment. A lot of you may not know this but, being the good father that I am, I’ve made Boy Z’s troubled teenage years much easier for him. In a moment of parental brilliance, Formerly Fun’s Chris and I have arranged a marriage between Boy Z and her Bebe. Before you get all liberal, freedom of choice-sque and human rights-y on me, just think about it. How much easier would the age of 15 be knowing that you’ve got a beautiful California girl waiting for you? 90% of teenage angst vaporised. He’ll thank me for it.

At any rate, Chris is forever showing off her Bebe’s dance moves and I’ve started to worry a bit. Boy Z hasn’t demonstrated much in the rhythm department. What’s he going to do at the wedding? There’s nothing worse than watching the groom stumble and bumble through the first dance. Well, as the summer days turn a bit cooler and we have more time indoors, I’ve decided that one of my paternal obligations is to teach Boy Z to dance.

If you have a look below, I think you’ll agree that we’re doing pretty well. It’s a bit manic punk rock right now and the only song he’ll dance to is the Barenaked Ladies’ “It’s All Been Done”. But it’s absolutely worth hearing that song 647 times in the last few days to watch this kind of unspoiled joy.

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Still no internet at home and with a four day weekend ahead of us, I doubt that it will be getting sorted for the short term. So, my continued apologies for infrequent posting and commenting. Oh, and a festive holiday weekend to you all, gentle readers.

We’ll be dancing.

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The Barenaked Ladies’ “Stunt” is available from .

Won’t matter though, because I won’t be around. In fact, this could very well be my last post ever. I seem to have contracted some sort of Antipodean Death Plague and it’s all I can do to tap out these words with weak shaking fingers. It’s been nice knowing you all and I’m grateful now that I did the post about my funeral music when I did – prescient indeed.

For my last post, I’ve got another interview for you all. Unfortunately, it’s just an interview of me. I don’t usually do memes, but I saw this interview meme on People In The Sun and I’m a sucker for a bit of self-importance. So, I asked for some questions from my buddy in Baltimore and what follows is our ‘conversation’:

PIS: You gonna have another baby or what?

AFM: Why on earth would I want to do something like that? You have one, when’s the last time you made it out the door to work with a clean shirt? When is the last time you spent a Sunday afternoon reading a good book? When is the last time you spent a whole day without talking baby talk at least once. Double my misery? Are you shitting me?

PIS: If you had one day to have your hair back, what style would it be?

AFM: I’ve kind of come to terms with my hair loss, I’m not going to obsess about it or join up with the Rogaine, hair replacement and toupee crowds. But that’s not the question. If I had it back… I never wore a mohawk, I think I’d go with that for a little while – just to establish my punk rock credibility.

PIS: How come you’re not a nerd? Or are you? Or are you just one of them inter-lectuals?

AFM: I don’t know the answer to this question. I was definitely a nerd in high school. I don’t know what a nerd is anymore. Isn’t it a good thing these days? Does it make me a nerd to not know what a nerd is? Probably.

OK, I’ve googled “What is a nerd?” Here’s what Wikipedia, the arbiter of everything, has to say:

Nerd is a term often bearing a derogatory connotation or stereotype, that refers to a person who passionately pursues intellectual activities, esoteric knowledge, or other obscure interests that are age inappropriate rather than engaging in more social or popular activities. Therefore, a nerd is often excluded from physical activity and considered a loner by peers, or will tend to associate with like-minded people.

Well, that sounds a fair bit like me. So…

PIS: When was the last time you were violent?

AFM: What the hell are you talking about, fucker? Do you want to step outside?

Seriously, though, I’m a pacifist. The last time I was in a fight I was probably 13 or so. I suspect that I would have lost. I’m also a bit of a wuss and, apparently, a nerd.

PIS: What do you feel guilty about?

AFM:  I don’t really do guilt, I think that it’s kind of an unnatural emotion thrust upon us by four thousand years of Judeo-Christian badgering. I have a few regrets. Actually – with apologies to Paul Anka -  regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few too mention. I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption.

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Now this interview meme reminded me of something that Neil at Citizen of the Month started last year. He called it the Great Interview Experiment and it basically involved a lot of bloggers interviewing each other. I got totally sucked into it and not only did I meet a couple of bloggers who I still read today, but it inspired me to keep doing interviews – mostly of musicians and scientists -  something that still fills space on A Free Man today.

Well, with apologies to Neil, I would like to revive the Great Interview Experiment. Call it Interview 2009. I’d love it if you guys would participate. It’s a great way to meet new bloggers, learn a bit more about some of your favorites, to get some attention for your site and to feel, even for a moment, like a celebrity.

Here’s how it’s going to work. Leave a comment telling me that you want to play along. I’ll interview the first person to comment.. That person will post their interview on their site and then interview the second person who comments. That person will post their interview, and in turn, interview the third. The only way that it works is if everyone holds up their end of the bargain. If you have no intention of doing an interview yourself, then don’t bother commenting. I’ll post links to all the interviews and sort of moderate things. If it takes off, I’ll set up a separate page on my site with links to all the interviews. If it doesn’t take off, well, my self-esteem will take a hit. But I’ll probably be dead anyway, so what does it matter. Remember – The Pogues.

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Sid Vicious’ version of “My Way” can be found on “Sid Vicious Selected Favorites” available from .

Image credit:

Podium

For a perfect example of the beautiful complexity of genetics illustrated, check out this father-son photo from Not Afraid To Use It. About says it all. Without further ado, a few of my favorite things genetical:

I found a couple of great posts about the genetics of autism. Now, to clarify, I’m not a big fan of autism per se, but I got embroiled (in a minor way) in the controversy with this post on the autism-MMR vaccine sham. Since then, I’ve followed the new research on autism with some interest. A post over at Highlight Health describes two genome-wide genetic analyses that identified five genetic loci that contribute to autism susceptibility, lending more support to the argument that autism is largely a heritable disorder. Kristina Chew, of AutismVox, thinks that geneticists sometimes go a bit far, however. Her response to a “sweeping” new theory that an evolutionary tug-of-war between parental genetic contributions is astutely skeptical. And of course, As is the case with any genetic disorder, there is an environmental component to consider. Reviewing an odd study out of Cornell, the Great Beyond details an assertion that autism rates are higher in rainy parts of the world. Take of it what you will, folks.

I’ve become increasingly fascinated with human evolution and in the genomic era research into our roots is just burgeoning. This month, Daniel McArthur at Genetic Future writes about one of the new tools available to evolutionary geneticists and gives an example of its use to look at positive selection at certain human genetic loci. One of the more interesting stories from this field is of the pair of skeletons found in a mass grave in Germany locked in an intimate embrace. The Great Beyond describes the DNA analysis that revealed that the 4600 year old remains were of a parent and child  and appear, with fractured skulls and an arrowhead in the spine, to have been unfortunate victims of humanity’s penchant for genocide. Of course, none of this may matter according to UCL’s Steve Jones (as reported on Dick Dawkins dot net) who says that human evolution is done due to a dearth of older fathers. Jones argues that genetic variation comes, in part, from mutations that men accumulateas they get older. Don’t worry, Steve, I think there are plenty of toxins about to keep us mutating.

Speaking of junk science,  there was some new junk on junk DNA released as a press release from the Genome Institute of Singapore. As Bayblab points out, this is a new and disturbing way of publishing your results – skip all the hassle of peer review and editing and just throw it out there to the mainstream press. Shame really, because this is my third topic of choice – epigenetics. Yann Klimentidis, on his blog, recounts some recent research looking at epigenetic changes in utero brought on by environmental stress. Zamp Bionews has more about epigenetic control of offspring fertility, which in this case is regulated by small RNAs apparently passed on maternally. Alex at The Daily Transcript has RNA, if not epigenetic, regulation in his post describing how each RNA binding protein in yeast tends to associate with mRNAs of a particular type. He hypothesizes that the expression of entire classes of genes may be subject to coordinated regulation at the level of mRNA metabolism.

And finally this month, a technical brief for those of you doing the hard work of science rather than just writing about it.  Sandra, who blogs at Discovering Biology in a Digital World, tells us about a new BLAST feature that allows users to create a custom database. Sandra goes through a step-by-step tut and generates a viral phylogeny. For those Ph.D. students out there in the “Nothing Works Doldrums”, Nick at Bite Size Bio has some reassuring words for you – sometimes things just don’t work. That’s biology.

Next month’s Mendel’s Garden will be hosted by Another Blasted Weblog. If you’re interested in submitting, you can do so here.

1. Recycling, South Australia style.

2. History podcasts. Two of my favorites are Dan Carlin’s “Hardcore History” and Mike Duncan’s “The History of Rome”. The latter is up and running again after a hiatus that went on far too long. Check out my interview with Duncan from a few months ago and look forward, hopefully, to one with Carlin in the not to distant future. These guys tell history the way it should be told.

3. This weekend, while driving through the beige plains of South Australia, I had an epiphany: the music that I enjoy the most, the stuff that always turns my crank when it pops up on the iPod, is Americana. Call it Country & Western, alt*country, hick licks, whatever – if it’s got a bit of twang, strong songwriting and a loping beat, I dig it the most. Runaway Dorothy is a Tarheel quartet that ticks all the right boxes for A Free Man. They were kind enough to send me their debut LP, “The Arc”, a while back and the more I listen to it, the more I like it. They’re unsigned and blogger friendly, so check out the track below and if you like what you hear buy the record!

4. Saxondale. A new Free Man commenter (and old friend) introduced me to this BBC comedy starring the incomparable Steve Coogan a couple of years ago. Watching Season 1 again on my iPod has been making my commute shorter for the last couple of weeks. Got Season 2 Captain Sensible?

5. To rip off Time Magazine – you. For inexplicable reasons, your underwhelming correspondent has been the recipient of a flurry of blog awards lately. Thanks to Father Muskrat, Strange Scottish Girl, My Boyfriend Is A Pirate, Mongolian Girl, and Trooper Thorn (though his was misguided). Thanks a lot to these guys and all of you that take some time out of your day to waste it with me.

6. A day off with this monkey.

That’s not Timmins, Boy Z.

Back with you properly soon, I’ve got all sorts of good things planned for you. Why, oh why, did I give them essay questions on their exam?

I’ll be back here later for the last Deep South Smack Talk of the season – the Clean, Old Fashioned Hate edition.

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I have no idea what Canadian artist Richard Marchand’s illustration “Gone Fishin’” has to do with fishing, but it seemed dead appropriate for my guest post today.

It rained yesterday – Australian drought my ass. It rained on A Free Man and Boy Party Day, which meant that we were house bound for the bulk of the day. Boy Z has risen to toddlerhood proper and I just want to say that I now have sympathy for all you stay-at-home-parents. The boy is an insubordinate destructicon (he gets it from his Mother). Here’s hoping that this mythological Australian summer kicks in soon or I may go back to working five days a week.

My sanity was preserved by  the arrival of two overseas packages yesterda. First, in the morning mail, was a box of Georgia schwag from Just Jessie containing more paraphenalia to make Boy Z the best dressed Little Dawg in the Southern Hemisphere. Even better, though, was DVDs of the first four games of the year – back when we still thought we were good. Watching the Bulldogs run all over Georgia Southern kept Boy Z quiet for a good two minutes.

With the afternoon post, my sanity was at a breaking point – the terrorist was on the verge of winning.  Then my hardworking postman rang the bell again, this time with a box full of Obama paraphernalia kindly shipped my way by Alice of 10,000 Monkeys and a Camera – her campaign leftovers. It was a veritable treasure trove of all things Obama, including some t-shirts, stickers, buttons, posters (one of which is my favorite campaign image) and even Democratic mints. There was a notable shortage of Obama gear in Oz, so Alice’s package was a great treat for a fervent supporter of the president-elect. Plus, the stickers and pins distracted Boy Z for a fair few minutes. Although, I suspect that I’ll be finding Obama-Biden stickers stuck about the place for a few days.

My most heartfelt thanks to both Jessie and Alice!

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In lieu of an accompanying track, I’d like to point you to the Aquarium Drunkard who has a whole album of a show played by Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash in 1969. Two of my favorite artists of all time – magical. Check it out here.

Regrettably, I’ve got some diaries from the mid-90’s as well, but while Arizaphale was cooking up a beautiful baby girl in Britain, I was wandering the streets of Seattle pretty much aimlessly. I pulled out one of my diaries from the Spring of ‘95 just to have a little trip down memory lane. Let me set the stage for you. I was 23 years old, in the previous winter my life had taken an ugly turn. My brief and unfortunate marriage (one day I’ll give y’all the goods on this) had fallen apart sending me into a spiral of self-pity, self-destruction and substance abuse. I had quit a stable, but boring, job to pursue a “career” as a freelance photographer.

Things start off inauspiciously…

27 March 1995

…I guess what I’m trying to do is come to terms with what is either the long awaited achievement of happiness and success that I’ve been striving for or the complete loss of touch with reality that I’ve expected for years…

(Spoiler: It’s the latter)

30 March 1995

I think that the last 48 hours have been some of the happiest of my life – beginning Wenesday morning – woke up early – downtown to drop of film with KK at 11 – got a little work through him. Ran into NW in Westlake Park and sat in the sun with him for a while – watched women and talked shit… 

(I’ll spare you the details – booze, drugs, work, women, delusions of grandeur. And then, two days later…)

1 April – Bauhaus*

Trying to stay up while things are falling apart around me. Money – there is none – work – there is little. I’ve got to stay on it somehow – I’m not sure how to stay sane?

And then…

2 April -Bauhaus

Seattle is gray and drizzly – still short(er) of money – survival in question I’m not unhappy – frightened, unhappy and somehow depressed – a general disdain for people again – the unadulterated adoration for life has, not surprisingly, disappeared. God is dead and noone cares. 

So, we’ve learned that I was an unstable, self-important yet self-loathing, misanthropic dickhead. Let’s see what else we can glean from the lost diaries of A Free Man*. What was a typical day like in the Spring of ‘95?

4 June 1995

Another fucking hangover – smoke to cure it – went out last night with P and M – drank shitloads of beer at Linda’ – talked shit about philosophy and literature – Henry Miller, suicide, bullshit. We drank way to much at Linda’s and then more at Beatnix later on. Blew a shitload of money. Ate ecstasy, which did not work – went to the Re-bar for a while – took half a tab of acid which did work. I spotted a waitress who was just a dream, slicked back hair, collar, translucent clothes – so I tore my ad out of The Stranger and said “Hi. My name is Chris. This is who I am. I’d like to take you out for a drink.” She, of course, didn’t jump on the Chris-wagon (cringe) but she told me her name and to come back and see her. On the way somewhere, I found half a bottle of Jim Beam which we drank in the bushes near City Market with a drunken Indian bum. We needed food and went up to Broadway – M bought Taco Bell…

The glamorous life of the American hipster. There are days and days of entries like this, recollections of nights of drinking, drugs and failing to pick up women. It should come as no surprise, then, that there are nearly an equal number of entries like this:

6 June 95 – #7 Bus

Just when I think my life might be under control, I am even further gone – more bounced checks – head in space. M wants to go to NYC, I may go with him. I think that it’s definitely time to get out of Seattle. Things are closing in around me – a noose of sorts (drama queen). Escape seems the only option. At the studio, things began to deteriorate – cancelled shoot, someone who was supposed to pick up some prints and pay didn’t. K broke my lamp. God damn. God damn. I’m plastic I’m a smokescreen. I need to be saved. I’m shaking like a speed freak. I’m at fucking Bauhaus of all goddamned places. I’m not in control of my life.

And repeat. Repeatedly. Every now and again, there are moments of surprising clarity:

3 May ‘95 – Volunteer Park

…the practical purpose of this journal is an effective surrogate memory. Something I can refer to in the future that will define this period of my life – I know that change is inevitable – I feel it all around me all the time – I don’t know, however, if the change is going to be good…I think I may have already forgotten some of the lessons I’ve learned. That is what I need to remember – what I learn. Right now I’m learning:

1.  Pot and bourbon are bad for motivation.
2. I treat women badly.
3. Money is the most destructive, consuming factor for my soul.
4. What feels good is not always what is best for you.

Not particularly groundbreaking, but surprisingly clearheaded. Of course, the following day:

…bought more pot, got drunk with rednecks in Tukwila on a Friday night, blew off the only woman I’ve had sex with in a while…

I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details. But let’s take a look at how it ends, the last entry:

23 June 95 – Bauhaus

Is new hope, renewed hope, the key to my survival, my evolution, my success? I don’t know. Three months ago: “I’m excited to see where things lead…” two days ago “no more now.”

I guess what needs to happen is salvation. But salvation tends to not come when you call it. Have to work for it. Salvation lies within oneself. I want to find it. I’m going to find it.

I’m going to go home. Listen to Jane’s Addiction. Work.

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It didn’t quite work that way. It took me another decade to find what I was looking for and it wasn’t within me.

When I write a post like I did the other day, I’m still flabbergasted that they are my words. I spent so much of my teens and twenties being erratic, depressed, manic, drunk, high and, above all, unhappy. Sometimes I wish I could go back to Seattle in 1995 and smack my 23 year old self in the head and say, “It’s not that hard, dumb ass. You put one foot in front of the other and get the hell on with it. Live in the day.”

I will take one piece of advice from a 1995 not-so-free man. I’m going to listen to Jane’s Addiction and do some work.

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*I apparently spent an incredible amount of time in this Capitol Hill coffee shop.

** With apologies to Sue Townsend.

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With the erratically enforced no major label music here, I thought that Chris Smither’s cover of the song that inspired this post’s title was a better choice. Smither is a Florida born finger pickin’ folkie and this Dylan cover is nearly as good as the original. Buy his latest, “Leaving the Light On” here.