In My Life

Our lives are works of art and should be appreciated as such.

There are colors, shapes, and themes. People, events, and feelings.

Positive and negative space. Things that happened and things that didn't.

We live our lives and fill our individual canvases.

There is a red and black slash of rage and hurt, a tranquil face, a splat of joyful yellow and blue, a tree, a house, a hand, someone fading into the distance, smudges, and corrections.

Periods of a life take up separate portions of the canvass. Feelers of paint, and pencil spreading out and intertwining in all directions beginning to sketch out what is to come.

Our paintings can be appreciated in stages. We can stop. We can take a step back, and take in who we are; what our life has been; who we can become; and what our life can be.

And at the end we each have a masterpiece.

They are what they are, and exactly what their creators made them to be.

Joyful, tragic, content, ironic, sad, heroic, ugly, and beautiful.

Haiku #4

I sit unfulfilled

time is my only restraint

I know what I want

Doodle 7

I drew this during my mock calls today.

Haiku #3

standing on the verge

life sent its choices my way

left, right, up, or down?

Up

If I find my life unexpectedly cut short...

I hope it's because I am staring up in wonder, and don't see the car that kills me.

I want the last thing I see to be the vast expanse of clouds and sky above me.

*Leaving work today I was struck by the most epic sky I have ever seen. I figure that after having seen that, I can die a happy person.

A Concert Alone

She couldn't make it.

I got the hint.

I went alone.

The lights dimmed.

The music oozed smokily.

Surrounding, penetrating, and moving.

Piano, sax, cello, and vocals.

Sweet Nothings

I am an addict.

There are some mornings where the entirety of my body and soul desires no more than a hot steaming mug of coffee.

Preferably a dark roast.

With cup in hand, I find myself whispering sweet nothings to it.

"Darlin' you smellin' good."

"Sweet thang, where you been all my life?"

"So dark, so rich, so smooth- Baby I'm in love with you."

Standing barefoot in my dark blue robe, I do my best Barry White "Ooooh, yeah."

Come as You Are, as You Were, What You Want Us to See

We all project an image that is what we want the world to take us for. Sure, there are variations and extremes, but everyone does it.

There is a delicate balance when dealing with people and their affectations. I feel that it is more polite to see a person as what they want to be seen as. At the same time it is important to not be deceived by a more harmful affectation.

To be politely aware, I guess.

Not that the person one wants to be is necessarily invalid or false; it just adds complexity to one's character.

Besides, I think that the natural process of choosing the person we become is through these affectations. There are people we admire, traits we want to possess, and we make them our own.

I want to be like Uncle Iroh from Avatar...

Not a Replacement, but an Addition

Hey everybody, I just started a new fiction project called The Journal of an Unsound Mind. You can check it out at:

http://unsoundjournal.blogspot.com/

Haiku #2

old man in his car

reverse, drive, reverse again

he waves merrily

Willpower

When life sends it's fire your way;

What do you do?

Do you crumple beneath the malevolent fists of misfortune?

Lying there gasping for breath, do you give in and die?

No.

You stand undaunted; shaking your fist and screaming back into the storm.

Disapproval

"Umm... Scott... when are you going to shave?"

"I dunno... Why?"

"Well... I don't want... a brother with a beard."

"What? Why?"

"Just... because."

"But why don't you want a brother with a beard?"

"Well... you are 21 and people will think you are like... 35."

"What if you grew a beard? You'd be 5, but everyone would think you were at least 12."

"Woah! That would be Crazy!"

Haiku #1

red jalapeño

fiery capsaicin

calls seductively

Who Knows?

Maybe in a different life.

Not regretting, just thinking.

Her beautiful smile.

Her matter of fact way of speaking.

She is younger, but so much older.

Life hasn't treated her well, but it has shaped her.

Tattoos, cigarettes, piercings, and her deep eyes.

Because of Lance

Coffee Shop Manifesto

I have been to many coffee shops. I have seen what they can be, and what they can become.

I have realized that with love, dedication, and time a coffee shop can be a community center. A coffee shop can be that place where "everybody knows your name." A coffee shop can be a forum for life in all of its shades and forms. Sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, and soul.

This is what I am in love with.

I have decided that this is my calling.

My coffee shop will:

1. be welcoming

2. encourage hugs

3. have good coffee

4. have two copies of the newspaper

5. offer a student discount

6. have movie nights

7. offer a free cup of coffee and a pastry to anyone willing to play an instrument

8. have an extensive library of books

9. have a "give one; take one" book exchange system

10. have poetry slams

11. have community potlucks in the park during the summer

12. have all night "studythons" during finals week

13. have a "work for your coffee option"

14. maintain environmentally friendly behaviors

15. have a great sound system

16. have a "I bought a cup for you board"

17. have regular employee appreciation dinners

18. encourage impromptu dancing/singing

19. encourage openness, respect, and conversation

20. have a customer of the month award

21. have a bucket of dog treats on site for any dog out on a walk

Not Again

I am the weepy type; always have been, always will be.

It's my genes. I try very hard not to be, but sometimes I just can't help it.

I remember when my uncle Chris was moving to Florida. I had just gotten into art, and I wanted to draw him a picture for his new house.

Chris was always the one who encouraged the artist in me. He bought me a nice set of paints for my birthday one year. He told me to always practice and to never do drugs.

I drew him a picture. The colors were good, and the shading was perfect. My Mom and I went shopping for a frame. I framed it, wrapped it, and took it to the family dinner at Grandpa's house that night.

At dinner I gave it to my uncle, he loved it, and thanked me profusely.

And I lost it.

Tears of happiness, love, joy, well wishes, and gratitude to be sure... but still tears.

So in this tear-free medium, I want to express my happiness, love, joy well wishes, and most of all gratitude to all the people in my life who stand by my side in solidarity.

Center Point

"...knowledge is a quality of man, and so is ignorance; truthfulness is a quality of man, so is falsehood; trustworthiness and treachery, justice and injustice, are qualities of man, and so forth. Briefly, all the perfections and virtues, and all the vices, are qualities of man."

- Abdu'l Baha

This is the human condition; a series of contradictions. It is our gift, curse, and duty to be all and none of these. To shift, balance, and juggle every facet of who we are.

I

I will accept my strengths.

I will accept my imperfections.

I will befriend who I am.

Sad. Joyful. Serious. Silly. Angry. Jealous. Trusting. Vindictive. Forgiving. Shy. Outgoing. Overenthusiastic. Insecure. Confident. Pure. Lustful. Self-conscious. Ambivalent. Wise. Ignorant. Empathetic. Fluid. Stubborn. Insightful. Shallow. Weak. Strong.

So often I get caught up in what I feel that I need to be, and all of the reasons why I am not.

I think that I need to see myself as a being moving forward on a path towards betterment in all things; and not as a being that would be great if certain traits could just be lanced off.

Roto-Rooter

I am not supposed to talk about politics or religion with customers at my bookstore, but that doesn't prevent the customers from talking about politics and religion to me.

"Where would I find books by conservatives? Limbaugh, O'reiley, Beck?"

Upstairs in the politics section.

"Show me."

Okay

"That Glenn Beck has some great ideas."

I watched Glenn Beck offer to take topless pictures of a fellow reporter.

"Yup we should put somebody like Beck in charge. Get rid of this Hussein guy."

Hussein doesn't pretend to pour gasoline on people.

"I can't believe all of the shit he is trying to pull!"

What? Like giving you healthcare?

"You know, it's your generation that is going to pay for all crap he's doing."

I left him with the trinity.

Obama is just the Roto-Rooter guy.

His tool: a bazillion dollar pipe snake.

His job: to clear the steaming pile that the people in control for the last 30 years let build up in the pipes.

The guy was right though, I am the one who is stuck with the bill.

Renegade

I felt powerful today.

I felt limber, fast, and strong.

I don't usually strive for "power" in a physical sense.

But today I just felt like I could kick somebody's ass.

Alex

My friend gave life to a baby boy today.

Words cannot express the magnitude of this event, nor my absolute reverence for it. If there is such a thing as a miracle, it is childbirth.

I love you Summer, Greg, and Alex.

"I'M UP HERE."

I was driving home from work caught up in my thoughts. My moody music blaring and resonating with my moody mood. I was going a little too fast.

I like to put my little Corolla through its paces.

Coming to an abrupt stop at a light, I looked out to my left and was struck by an expansive view of the sky. My usual five foot five inch perspective shot out into the emptiness and I felt small.

It was good for me.

(The picture was taken later in Sugarhouse.)

Subscribers

To all the people who read my blog through the email notifications:

I have added a music playlist to the blog site and I am going to choose a theme song for each post. Think of it as a double whammy of Scotty entertainment. So... you might miss out on something special if you just read the email. For instance; the theme song for my last post is "where do you go?" by No Mercy... Like I said, you might miss out on something special. 

Road Trippin'

Some of my fondest memories during High School were driving with my friends.

We never required anything special to do. Music, Halo, food, a trampoline, a car, and each other were all we needed. We usually met at my house and went from there.

Two would play Halo and one would read.

One would draw, one would play DJ, and two would talk.

All five would have deep philosophical discussion.

One would do a backflip, two would try to copy, one would say "screw it" and do a front flip.

Four would call: "SHOTGUN NO BATTLE!!" driver wold shake his head.

One would drive, four would play DJ, all five would sing along.

"WHERE DO YOU WHERE DO YOU GO MY LOVELY!!!???"

The woman stopped at the light next to us starts laughing.

We would drive around in circles through the city, sharing anger, rejection, love, aggression, and joy through the songs we chose.

Audioslave

The Beatles

Beck

Blind Melon

Breaking Benjamin

Cake

Cat Power

Dispatch

Eve 6

Everlast

Foo Fighters

Franz Ferdinand

Gnarls Barkley

Godsmack

Gorillaz

Incubus

Interpol

Jimmy Eat World

Johnny Cash

The Kill Bill Soundtracks

Led Zeppelin

Linkin Park

Moby

Modest Mouse

Muse

Nirvana

Our Lady Peace

P.O.D

Placebo

Queens of the Stone Age

Radiohead

Red Hot Chili Peppers

Saliva

Snow Patrol

Soundgarden

Stained

Stone Temple Pilots

Sublime

Tenacious D

Weezer

We didn't talk, we felt.

The wind blew across our faces, and the street lamps blurred as they passed.

Doodle 5

Imagination is the key.

Little Chicken

"Run free!!! For now..."

I find the idea of "free range" meat horribly ironic. We make sure the animal has the best life possible. The best life possible before we snatch it from the verdant fields full of flowers, butterflies, and sunshine and kill it.

"Free range" is definitely more humane than the mass produced parade that is fed into our nation's huge industrial meat grinders; but still...

Doodle 4

Genesis

"LET THERE BE SMOOTHIES!!" sayeth the Lord thy Scott. And there were. In the sea and in the sky and in the field. And the smoothies were great and numerous; raspberry, strawberry, orange, mango, pineapple, and mixed fruit. And on the Wednesday He partook of that which he had created. And He saw that they were good.

Play That Funky Doughnut White Boy

Every now and again I want a doughnut. This craving usually hits around 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. 

The Beast: "A doughnut sounds good right now."

Scott: "I don't need a doughnut."

The Beast: "Yes you do."

Scott: "Maybe I'll just have an orange. "

The Beast: "Ba ha ha... an orange, don't make me laugh."

Scott: "I'd have to drive to the store, It's not worth it."

The Beast: "CHOCOLATE COVERED PASTRY"

Scott: "Fine! But I'm only getting one."

The Beast: (sinister chuckle)

*Scott exits stage left; sound of car starting

And so I find myself walking through the front doors of Dans. I select my pastry... better make that three. (Chocolate, no sprinkles) I walk to the checkout where I have the gall to interrupt the checker's conversation with the bag boy. 

"Doughnuts... this late... wow." She says.

*awkward silence*

She starts entering in the code for the doughnuts on the keypad.

"They're not for me, They're for a friend." I say.

*awkward silence*

"I'm not an addict. I promise." I say.

"Yup." She says. "Two dollars and thirty one cents."

I give her a five. 

She gives me my change.

*awkward silence as the receipt prints*

"Well thanks for buying all our doughnuts!" She says, with a big impatient smile and wide eyes.

 

* Scott grabs bag of doughnuts and exits stage right; sound of car starting

My Mortality

"I might die right now. "

The thought doesn't stem from any sort of depression, sadness, anger, or woe. The thought is just me facing reality.

I might loose control of my car... and die.

I might be struck by lightning... and die.

I might get something caught in my throat... and die.

I might be trampled by a herd of cows... and die.

I might just be in the wrong place at the wrong time... and die.

Whenever I start thinking about my mortality, I ask myself: "Would I be o.k. if I died right now?"

I don't mean this in a literal sense; my body would be dead and I wouldn't have the rest of my life to live. So no, obviously I would not be o.k.

The question is more of a check in: "Am I content with my life up until now?"

When the answer is "yes" my muscles relax and all worries just kinda melt away. I take a second to smile at death. Sometimes I even whisper "bring it on."

He hasn't so far.

Doodle 3

The Old Man

I have worked at Borders Bookstore for almost 3 years now. One of the reasons I love working there is that by nature bookstores attract a very diverse clientele. The liberal, the conservative, the artsy, the sciency, the cooks, the conspiracy theorists, the creepers, and the people who get mad when we don't have green lightsabers.

The last person I helped today was an old man.  He was disheveled, sewaty, breathing hard, and smiling.

I asked him how he was today.

Grinning and squinting his eyes he said: "Oh, as good as I can be. How about you?"

I told him I was fine, and asked if I could help him find anything.

Clearing his throat, and in a rueful tone he said: "Yes... I am looking for any books you may have on stopping hearing loss, or maybe any books on recovering lost hearing."

I remember my Great Grandpa Joe sitting in his big chair, propped up by pillows. I told Grandpa how sunday school was through a microphone that connected to the stereo that connected to his bulky headphones. 

 

I wanted very much to help this man. He was so sincere; so determined. He had a problem, and he was set on finding out how to go about fixing it.

I told him that I would look it up in the computer.

He stood to my left, leaning a little on the information desk catching his breath. The search results came and we didn't carry anything on hearing loss in the store. The books listed as "availible to order" taunted me. 

I told him that we didn't have anything in the store. His smile faded.

I told him that I could take him up to the section that those books would be in... just in case.

"Yeah, I'll take a look there." His eyes were hope.

I headed towards the stairs and pointed to the elevator saying that he could take it if he would like. 

"No, no." He followed me up

There are are two levels at Borders with two landings on the staircase as it winds upwards.

As we climbed, his breathing grew heavier and his steps slowed. I reached the top and stood there uncomfortably. Should I look at him as he struggled up the last set of stairs? Maybe smile encouragingly? Should I look away? Pretend to adjust a book and leave him alone with the last few steps of torment?

I couldn't decide.

He reached the top and sighed. "Alrighty." 

We  arrived at the "Health and Wellness" section. I put one hand on my chin and used the other to touch and move aside books as I combed the shelves for books on hearing loss prevention.

There weren't any.

I told him that I didn't see any. 

"Oh, well... Ok."

Looking at the shelves dejectedly I saw some sort of family health encyclopedia thing. I snatched it off the shelf and flipped to the index desperately.

"There we are, Hearing Loss: page 349." I said.

Smiling, he took the book from me. "Good man." 

He strode off to find a seat.

The New Pen

A new pen has potential energy.

I like to think of myself as a casual writer/artist, and there is nothing more exciting to me than picking up a new writing utensil. I spend considerable time at Reul's art supply trying out new things before purchasing. 

I look at smoothness, ink flow, line diameter, color, width, and weight. 

I imagine all of the things it will create in its life; letters, numbers, doodles, scribbles, notes, lists, and inkblots on my hands.

I pull off the cap and it begins.

Dance Dance Revolution

On wednesday I hopped up onto the minfo desk, raised my clenched fist, closed my eyes, and proclaimed like king Leonidas : "THIS. IS. FOR. ERICAAAAAA!" Then I danced. The sun shone and the angels played fiddles made of clouds to accompany me and my most glorious river dance. And Mat's heart grew three sizes that day.

Feel Good Inc.

In your life I want you to find something that makes you feel good. Not something that temporarily rewards a success or achievement. Nor something that merely lifts you up when you are down. I want you to find a true "feelgood". Something that impacts you positively when you don't necessarily need or expect it. I want you to find Something that makes you feel good in a "stick to your ribs" kind of way. I want you to find it; acknowledge it; and embrace it because it satisfies, contents, and fulfills you.

Speak For Me Cat Power

Speak for me Cat Power: I believe in you. You keep on runnin'. Baby Doll you are in this hole; shaking paper, nude as the news as the king rides by. He turns down hate, love, and communication. The coat is always on the sleepwaker, his song to bobby. Don't explain how you may know him and he war, or say the fate of the human carbine. I don't Blame you, it makes no sense. You brave the troubled waters of the sea of love on your silver stallion with your salty dog. They tell me enough, the water and air. Good clean fun in the cross bones style. I believe you when you say the american flag is on top of the house of the rising sun. Yesterday is here and the living proof is in the red apples, wild as the wind. What would the community think of your evolution? Good woman walking the paths of victory, you are free. Maybe not; unfortunate fool. A werewolf with your metal heart. She's a ramblin' (wo)man left lonely. Where is my love? After it all, I've lost someone. I found a reason; 3 times the wonderwall, an empty shell with great expectations.

Sunset

I love to read. I would read in a box, with a fox, with a mouse, in a house, here or there, I'll read anywhere Sam-I-am. 

There is a little lookout above Wasatch Boulevard, between 4500 South and that big industrial contraption at the mouth Big Cottonwood Canyon. I like to go there on warm summer evenings to read and watch the sun set. 

I was there one fine evening in the passenger seat of my car. I had the window open, and a copy of "Watership Down". I stopped reading to watch the sun set. It was beautiful; the sun and the pollution achieving a magnificent shade of red. The crickets were chirping and the breeze was perfect.

When the show was done I sat for a while pondering... whatever. 

"Wacha doin'?" Asked a stranger in a red sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a "Life is Good" hat. He and his dog were peering curiously in through my open window.

"Umm..." I said to the stranger. "I was reading, but it got a little dark."

"No shit. That happens at night." Said the stranger.

Yanking at the leash, he strolled on.

The Son Gets Up

The immersion in the full, rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

The sound of water heating.

The wave of steam and smell wafting from the slowly filling mug.

The steady, deliberate steps towards a favorite seat.

The mug balanced on fingertips.

The steam swirling slowly through my tranquility.

Doodle 2

Doodle 1

My Barney Umbrella

In elementary at the beginning of the school year I was always the kid with a theme. In first grade it was the Power Rangers. I had every piece of Power Rangers back to school paraphernalia available at Shopko, Target, and Kmart . On the first day of school I was covered from head to toe in power rangers. I had the shirt, the shorts, the socks and a pair of tighty whities that placed the Red Ranger's face securely on my bottom. I had the Power Rangers lunchbox, backpack and velcro light up tennis shoes. I had a stationary set complete with a Power Rangers binder, ruler, pencils, and those crappy erasers that only ever seem to smudge. In short, I was a dinosaur kid and the Power Rangers were a combination of martial arts, lasers, explosions, robots, AND dinosaurs. I had have them, all of them.

In kindergarten though, my thing was Barney. I don't remember what it was in particular that made me love Barney so much. I think it may just be that I was a sucker for the sing-along shows like Barney, Lambchop's Play-along, and Mr. Rogers.

The one piece of Barney schwag that I remember vividly was my Barney umbrella. The top of the umbrella was a purple and yellow pinwheel; great for spinning. The handle was Barney's reassuring face. His wide smile seeming to offer comfort no matter how loud the thunder thundered or how hard the wind blew. It was with this umbrella, Barney's smile clutched in my fist, that I saved the lives of at least six of my fellow A.M. kindergartners.

Or at least, I like to think I did.

Indian Hills was set on 4 terraces climbing up one of the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. The school was on the bottom terrace and the playgrounds, kickball diamonds, and soccer fields were on the next three. The kindergartners and the first graders would wind their way up through the south side of school to exit a few floors up onto what was called the "first level" for recess. On the first level, just to the right at the top of the stairs was a metal and plastic contraption of a playground painted in the distinctly 90's shades of pale green, maroon, and black. It was underneath this structure that I made my heroic stand.

Every once and a while we would have a "windy" day at Indian Hills Elementary. On these windy days I could almost prop myself up against the wind. As we got older my friends and I would run and jump with, and against the wind; startled by how much it affected our movement. As a kindergartner though, wind of this magnitude was terrifying.

It must have been my first windy day. That morning my mom made me take my umbrella just in case "all that wind turned into rain." I got to school, did some coloring, organized my cubby, looked at the chicken eggs my class was incubating, and argued with Mrs. Gilson about how the letter G sometimes makes the same sound as the letter J. She didn't believe me, and neither did her hand puppets.

After the standoff with Mrs. Gilson and her puppets it was time for recess. My classmates and I filed out the back door to the rows of hooks where we hung our backpacks, coats, and my umbrella. We suited up, and rushed down the hall. At the exit the wind was blowing so hard against the doors two people were needed to open it. Just like skydivers jumping out of an airplane we exited the building in twos and threes. My umbrella and I being in one of the last teams to jump.

Turbulence ensued.

It was what I imagine standing in the middle of a vacuum cleaner to be like; loud and windy with particulate pelting me from every direction. Every step I took threatened to take me airborne. Panicking, I searched for the nearest shelter, and found the pale green and maroon jungle gym. I rushed over and ducked underneath, crouching low in the space between the second step and the wood chips. In this space it was less windy but the wind still gusted into the gap I had ducked through kicking wood chips in my face. Suddenly it came to me. I brandished my Barney umbrella, opened it, and thrust it into the open space.

In my little shelter, my adrenaline rush was fading, the wind was trying to rip the umbrella from my hands and suck me out into oblivion. I was a little worried. How was I going to get out? Where were my friends? Could I make it back to the school alive? Suddenly a hand grabbed at the side of the umbrella and a voice shouted "Let me in!" I pushed the umbrella to the side and pulled a very windswept kindergartner inside my shelter. So it continued; every few minutes a terrified voice pleading to be allowed in, followed by a rush of air and shouts of "Close it!". We sat there, in the dim light shivering; nothing between us and the awesome fury of nature but a bit of polyester. A bit of polyester held fast by my hand.

The bell rang. We decided that we couldn't just sit there. We would definitely be in trouble if we didn't return from recess. "One. Two. THREE!! AHHHHHH!!!" Spilling from underneath the playground we ran and as fast as we could towards the safety of the school. I had a few moments of panic as I realized that my open umbrella was about to be violently ripped from my hands if I wasn't just carried away into the wild blue yonder with it. With much difficulty I closed it and dashed towards the doors.

Inside, Mrs. Gilson's stunned A.M. kindergartners tottered through the corridors and down the staircases towards our classroom. We shuffled past Mrs. Lemon's room. I had heard she was nice.

On the Topics of Trash and the Apocalypse.

I think about the Boot on 33rd and it amazes me that it was able to remain undisturbed for so long; and for me it is full of some serious implications.

My vision of the Apocalypse used to consist of fire, brimstone, the living dead, and maybe a meteor of some kind. Now I think the end of the world will be much more of a man made event. I picture a cold, dim lifeless world cast in shades of grey with drifts of crumbled styrofoam shifting in the wind. I find the styrofoam apocalypse much more depressing. It's the difference between being taken slowly from this world by sickness, versus a few seconds of panic over a blue wire and then exploding. Both are tragic events, but there is at least some excitement in the latter.

Don't get me wrong, I sincerely believe that humanity has the ability and the good sense to prevent this vision from coming true. It is in our self interest to survive. :)

But back to the Boot. I can't help but think about what other pieces of trash are out there in the world sitting patiently, waiting... Lawn chairs, umbrellas, dolls, coins, orange traffic cones, plastic bottles, a tire lying in a field. We are talking about the product of mankind's collective industrial capacity for the past 4000 years or so, just lying around. I was raised to value intellectual and spiritual achievements over physical ones because: "You can't take your toys with you when you die." The other side of that coin is that when I die, my toys get left here.

An Intersecting of Moments

music

a mug of coffee

four rows

barista flirting excessively

man with tattoos on his neck

neglected co-worker

man and woman in harmony with the music

pink un-gelled mohawk and ear gauges reading the newspaper

her partner grabs her hand

man balancing to-go cup playing on blackberry

overenthusiastic clapper with cannoli

guy much more interested in the lady next to him

friend's hand on my shoulder

couple awkwardly look for nonexistent seat

loud Japanese in the background

Imagination: Episode 1

What makes human beings powerful is our imagination. Using only our minds, we can create with infinite variation. Imagination is the source of the arts, the discovery of the laws that govern the universe, empathy, reality, and the infinite questions of "How?" "Why?" and "What if?"

If I were to show the Mona Lisa to an octopus... See, I'm sure there was a very entertaining image in your head just now. My point being, that if an octopus were to look at the Mona Lisa it would mean absolutely nothing to it. We however, can recognize that it is a portrait of a human female. We can recognize the skill necessary to create it, and we can wonder what she is thinking about to make her quirk her mouth at us like that. We can then imagine a short blonde guy trying to explain how important the Mona Lisa is to an octopus and find the humor in it.

When I was little, and even now, I loved to lay on the grass and watch the clouds pass over me and find shapes in them. I used to think how cool God must be to spend time making these fluffy clouds into elephants just so kids like me could find them. I realize now that it is me who is creating these shapes. If I were to take the octopus to the park and have him look at the clouds, he would say "I don't know what you are talking about..." when I asked him if he could see the elephant in the clouds. In that same vein; constellations are bogus. I resent the drillings my scout master gave us on scorpio, draco, orion, and ursa minor. "Oh, over there? Umm... does it look kinda like a chicken?"

This was a crushed leaf on Kelsey and Lahdan's steps... Just a leaf, right?

To Be Continued...

Boot

I was driving up 33rd South today, just passing REI when I saw an old sock lying in the road. It reminded me of a Boot I once knew. 

 On 33rd South last winter, a little way up the hill from McDonalds, there was a Boot that sat upright in the median for about 4 months. When I first noticied it, I drove by briefly thinking about how lazy someone must be to say "meh" to a boot flying out their window. After three or four days I started to feel that maybe I should stop to pick it up and throw it away. I never did. I was always in a hurry. I could get it on my way home. I could always hop out and grab it the next day on my way to wherever. 

After a week or so, the game changed. The days wore on, and the Boot remained. It never moved; its toe pointing out and its laces looking at me. It always seemed to say "Hi." I started hoping that the Boot would still be there as I drove past. It always was. Through thick and thin, the Boot endured. 

"You show 'em Boot. You show 'em."

The Boot survived snow storms, plows, construction, and the kind of traffic one would expect on 33rd South. I couldn't help but think that this Boot was trying to prove something every time I drove past. It silently exclaimed the victory of one more day. I admired this inanimate object who, day by day, was winning the battle against the animate 45 mph world of the 33rd South median.

"You show 'em Boot. You show 'em"

One day, it was gone. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the air was starting to feel warm again, and the Boot was gone. It was a tragedy. I envisioned some careless man in an orange vest bending over to pluck the Boot from its post and toss it into an unmarked black plastic bag.

"Good run Boot. Good run."

For Zack

I was told recently by a friend that if I had a blog, he would read it. I have very loosely kept a journal with doodles and thoughts for a couple of years. I thought that this blog could maybe become some extension of that.

I am Scotty, and this is my blog.