Day 135: Another Simpsons Reference

I was staring at the tip of my finger in really bright sunlight the other day.

I figure if one were to look close enough. Extremely close. It could be a pretty moving experience.

If you could get close enough you would eventually be able to see each individual cell. I've of course seen cells through a microscope but it would be something else to see them all living and functioning together. Skin cells, blood cells, muscle cells. I suppose if you got closer still you would be able to make out the materials in the cell; the nucleus, ribosomes, RNA, DNA. It would be pretty wild to see that, too.

But if you could get even closer still; eventually you would make out that each of the cells, and every little bit of matter inside them, were made of atoms. Even your DNA. All of it made up of these tiny little proverbial lego blocks.

Of course each of these atoms themselves are made up of sub-atomic particles and if we got as close as we could possibly get we would be able to witness them as well. The atomic nucleus of protons and neutrons beset by orbiting electrons.

You've seen pictures of these before. Probably on the Simpsons during the Nuclear Energy: Our Misunderstood Friend video the kids watch in school. They show an atom-like character named Smilin' Joe Fission who looks like a bunch of red dots in orbit around a centre dot. If I'm not mistaken Smilin' Joe Fission wears a cowboy hat.

Here's the thing. And you would be able to see this if you were looking at the tip of your finger closely enough, those electrons (Smilin' Joe Fission's little red dots) orbiting the nucleus aren't actually moving in smooth loops like in the drawings we've seen would suggest. Some scientists describe what is actually happening as the electrons simply winking in and out of existence. Appearing in different places around the nucleus as they do. Others say that the electrons move between dimensions that we are not even aware of. As if the path they travel takes them through other realities that we have no way of even knowing about.

If you could look closely enough... that's our reality.

And not just us, but everything. If we were looking at atoms it would be impossible to tell where the atoms of you end and the atoms of air, or your chair, or someone else begin. Even the boundaries of our atmosphere and space would be meaningless. It would all look like one continuous unending stretch of atoms and particles. That is also our reality.
Since there is no boundary, in reality, between myself and the universe than like the rest of the universe I am constantly expanding. Constantly accelerating. Although I have no conscious knowledge of where I am expanding to or accelerating towards, the fact remains indelible.

I withdraw a lot. Because of my OCD and tendency towards depression I tend to retreat a lot. It's hard to be friends with me. In those moments I take a lot of comfort from knowing that at my deepest level there is no separation from the rest of everything, and that at my core there is a deep mystery of unknowable intrigue; where my particles move in and out of existence.

My daughter now exists. Behind a veil of flesh and amniotic fluid, but existing nonetheless. If she is anything like me she may one day rightfully ask why she exists and why she was not allowed any say in that matter.

I don't have a lot of tools for answering that question. But I hope that like me she sometimes has moments where she feels like a small, and inconsequential part of a much larger, much more beautiful whole.

- Sharky

Day 134: Traveling Adventures And Chance Encounters

I used to travel a great deal with my old job. Conferences, training seminars, field work; all justifications to get on a plane and get out of Winnipeg. Before anyone jumps down my throat, I love Winnipeg. It is in fact “One Great City” and I always look forward to returning to it. With that said, I still miss the traveling. In particular, I miss the stories that came out of traveling.

Traveling for work is unique. It is redeye flights, short layovers, multiple stopovers, whatever can be done to get you where you need to be and back again with the least amount of time away from the office. One time I flew to Manchester England and back in 42 hours for a two day training session. When you spend such little time in a place, you don’t have the luxury of jet lag; you just have to roll with the punches and hope that no one gets hurt.

Coming home from this particular trip required a stopover in New York and my fellow travelers and I were rounded up and herded into a series of switchbacks that would make most sherpas wish they had been born on the prairies. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. I was already exhausted and the prospect of standing in this line for hours just to be pawed-at by some drunk-with-power security guard was horrifying. I knew I would need some distraction to get me through this ordeal and realizing that I had a trapped audience, I started trying to talk to the people around me. Most simply ignored me. I did, however, eventually find one taker: a young lady from Manchester named Jody who I quickly discovered had been on my plane. Her story was one of love or maybe lust; she was heading to somewhere in Texas to meet a guy she had connected with online. After telling her life story, she asked where I was heading. As I replied the guy standing in front of us whipped around and asked, “did you say Winnipeg? Like up in Canada?” 

I wish I could remember this guy’s name, but for the purpose of this story I’ll just call him Jimmy.

My first thought was that Jimmy might be dressed in some sort of costume. An Ali G style hip hop wigger trailer-park stereotype. The revolver tattoo on his neck was partnered with the “Love” and “Hate” tattoos on his fingers. I'm pretty sure those weren’t his only tattoos but the rest of his tall lanky frame was covered in a bright red Adidas track suit. The pièce de résistance was an enormous gold chain around his neck. Too thick to be real, but bringing symmetry to his look coordinating as well as it did with his gold teeth. Thinking back on Jimmy he somewhat reminds me of Sharky, that is if Sharky were white and dressed liked an early ‘90s rapper.

My tired face must have told him I was a little taken aback by his sudden involvement in our conversation. Nonetheless he did not let that dampen his enthusiasm. He quickly reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone; muttering to himself “this is so f*cking awesome!!” while dialing out. Jody and I stared, mesmerized by the spectacle that was Jimmy. While he waited for an answer at the other end Jody leaned over and quietly asked me; “Do you think we are on 'Cops' right now? I’m sure I’ve seen this guy on the show before.” I wasn’t sure if she was kidding but I was too focused on Jimmy and his phone to reply anyhow. Who was he calling? Was this really happening? And what did all of this have to do with Winnipeg? 

     

Apparently someone answered. “Hey Dad, I am standing in security with some guy from Winnipeg, here he is,” and with that Jimmy passed me his phone. Apparently Jimmy’s dad had been born and raised in Winnipeg though he had not been back in nearly twenty years. I find it curious that most transplanted Winnipeggers I have encountered around the world either ask about The Sals (Salisbury House for those so culturally deprived) or the Bombers (Blue Bombers, an amateur circus act that somehow plays in the CFL); Jimmy’s dad asked about both. When our Winnipeg reunion had finished, I handed Jimmy his phone back and tried to replay the conversation for them. Most of the Winnipeg references were lost on them but they humored me until my story was done. “That’s my dad," Jimmy offered "always talkin’ about crazy Winnipeg.” With that he turned all of his attention to Jody. They seemed to really hit it off so I left them alone.

After we passed the check point I found myself a quiet place to lie down and promptly fell asleep until my flight. Without work travel there is no way I would have met Jody, Jimmy, or Jimmy’s dad.

Buroak

People Outside My Window International Edition 7

Have you ever noticed that guys tend to overestimate how much a girl may be interested in them? Like if a woman ever makes the mistake of smiling politely at a guy in a line-up or passing-by on the street the fella's mind is instantly working overtime trying figure out a way to negotiate this hook-up. "How do I nail this suddenly attractive chick who obviously digs me because she made eye contact and said good morning." You've seen this before. If you're a female reading this it's probably happened to you already a couple of times today. If you're a female and you're reading this I'm assuming you're interested in me. That's just the way a guy's funky little mind works.

There is even a psychological term for this. Error Management compels men to read too much into a woman's pleasantries. Hey, if he's wrong he may wind up feeling embarrassed. However, if the woman does in fact like him and he doesn't pick up on those cues he may miss out on an opportunity to procreate. An opportunity to spray a little DNA at some genetically fit female's eggs. A big no-no in the evolutionary world. So nature has guys panting and dropping one-liners at every possible opportunity (or imagined opportunity).

I bring this up to offer some context for another story I want to tell. When I was in Australia I heard this story about a bloke who had spent a couple of months sailing (hereafter referred to as Captain Kangaroo, or Roo for short). As the story goes Roo was docked in Florida at some point getting to know the local boaters and partying with the pretty ladies in the nightlife. One of the people Roo met was a dude who lived on a small yacht moored at the same dock with his Chihauhau. This guy was apparently a retired doctor and did some partying in the same clubs as our Aussie friend.

So they got to chatting and when Roo found out that Chihauhau dude was a doctor he asked him if he would mind looking at a skin irritation that was affecting his groin area. Dr. Chihauhau agreed and had Roo over to his yacht where he asked him to drop his shorts, lay back on a table and bring his knees up to his chest. Well it turns out that Error Management affects gay guys as well because as soon as Roo was laying back, and much to his surprise, Dr. Chihauhau began giving him oral sex.

When I heard this story the teller had no idea if Roo had allowed Dr. Chihauhau to finish the blowjob. I asked. I'm curious. Perhaps even troubled a little. As a guy who has spent most of his adult life pursuing heterosexual activities I have to wonder if I would interrupt a perfectly good blowjob already in progress just because of some whiskers.

Would it make it easier or harder to make that decision with the dog watching?

It's amazing the things you hear whilst traveling abroad.

- Sharky

Ps. This photo from Portugal has nothing to do with Australia, Florida, or Chihauhaus. Thanks again to Cass for some fearless photography.

Miss Communication May 25, 2012

Dear Miss Communication,

What are you thinking?

Sincerely,

Cares

Dearest Care,

I am thinking that I am feeling very tired. Like most of us, I work hard to make my life better. Normally, I can swing through the jungle with ease and resilience but this week I am drained, being crazy isn’t enough. And that is okay. I have also been thinking that I need to lessen the load on my plate and that means cutting down Miss Communication to every second Friday. I am sure you understand and I am grateful for your compassion. Next Friday I intend to be vacationing in the Bermuda Triangle. I’ll send a postcard. xxx       

I know lots of people think it is cheesy to ask a person what they are thinking, but this simple and all encompassing question can really make someone feel better to know that someone cares. I think it is very funny when I hear a man complaining about his woman asking, “What are you thinking?” during the quite aftermath of wild sex. Why not just answer with something like, “I’m thinking of how good you looked all bent over and sweaty.” Keep it simple.

Since I do not want to be a writer who breeds more words than I need and make this a chore for the reader to read; I will argue that we spend a lot of our time censoring or over thinking our responses because we do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings or risk sounding stupid. While I do believe it is important to always show respect and courtesy for another person, I find it less important to worry if my personal thoughts are being interpreted correctly. I like to say what I mean and mean what I say. We all should, just imagine the changes we can make with clear and caring communication. I want to leave you with my own question: Why fit in when you were born to stand out? 

Truly Yours,

Miss Communication

Colette

Nude internet model? Check.

Buroak and Sharky talking feminism with a real living, breathing female? Check.

Deep political issues in 20 second soundbites? Got 'em.

This episode of People Outside My Window: The Podcast has it all.

Colette is a very clever, very engaging intellectual who breaks hearts and opens minds. Don't miss this interview where we talk feminism, the socio-political questions surrounding sex trading, and play another round of the Quick Questions game. Featuring the music of Ani Difranco.

Find it at PeopleOutsideMyWindow.podbean.com or in the iTunes store under podcasts.

Follow us on Twitter @PeopleOutside or on Facebook.

- Sharky

 

Day 133: Written on a Macbook Pro Sitting in a Starbucks

I have a challenge for you. For the next week, whenever anyone compliments you on anything you have, whether it is your clothes, your accessories, your wireless device, whatever; I challenge you to respond with a "thank you, I got it from... so and so." But the trick is that you have to be brutally honest about the so and so.

Like, if someone compliments your shirt you have to say "thank you, it was manufactured by slave children in Cambodia. They must have been up all night working on this one!"

Or if someone is envious of your new iPhone 4s you have to say "thanks, it's made from conflict minerals from the Congo where 5 million people have been slaughtered in the last 10 years by armed militias operating the mines."

The point of this challenge is to shame the people admiring your s**t for coveting something so pointlessly destructive and exploitive. So lay it on thick...

"Thank you! The Body Shop had to cut down acres of rainforest harvesting cacao seed to make the lotion that moisturizes my skin. It forces the extinction of many species and guarantees that my grandchildren will not have enough natural resources available to maintain anything like the standard of living I'm accustomed to! Do you wanna try some?"

Whether you choose to be ashamed for having that s**t in the first place is up to you.

- Sharky

Day 132: The Litmus Test

We all subject new relationships to little tests while attempting to assess how well it is progressing. These tests can run from the benign to the asinine. For instance, I have a buddy who, when he was younger, used the “sneeze test” to evaluate where his relationships were heading. If the sneeze was too loud, she must be overly dramatic. If the sneeze was too quiet or even held in, she must be lacking self-confidence. He claimed that there was a magical octave to the perfect sneeze, and he would not be satisfied until he found the woman it belonged to. Yes ladies, men can be this ridiculous. But ladies don’t think for a moment that you are immune to these unreasonable tests. My first roommate was obsessed with the original “Beverly Hills 90210” series, so much so that she would buy monthly “Teen Beat” magazines in an attempt to keep up with the actors’ lives outside of the show. This debilitating obsession eventually encroached on her personal life to the point where, in order to get a second date with her, you had to have a working knowledge of Brandon, Brenda, Dylan, and Kelly. At some level I have to believe that this is as equally irrational as the “sneeze test”. 

My relationship test revolved around my dad. You see my dad was a character who was passionate about making people uncomfortable, regardless of who they were. I can remember one family dinner when my good old dad felt that my grandparents would be a great test audience with which to practice his argument for why we should legalize and tax the distribution of cocaine. You have to understand that my grandparents are a rather traditional couple who have spent their entire life farming in rural Manitoba. You know the type, church on Sunday, coffee at the Chicken Chef every day, passionate about vintage tractors, etc… I will concede that it was a compelling argument which would have received great applause if told at some biker club house meeting; however, to my two seventy year old grandparents many of the points were lost. To their credit though, they were good sports about the whole discussion, simply replying “well that is an interesting perspective”. I can remember just sitting there with my head in my hands waiting for it to end.

The first time my wife was to meet my dad I was full of apprehension. I spent the days leading up to this meeting preparing her, sharing every crazy story he might throw at her in the hopes of desensitising her to his antics. I told her about his time in prison, his multiple marriages, propensity towards drugs and alcohol, etc…  So when the time came, I was confident that she was ready for whatever he might throw at her. 

The dinner started out a little quiet; everyone seemed slightly awkward. Fired up by the discomfort, my dad started his performance. He broke the ice with a few prison stories, then progressed to his multiple marriages, and his many children. Everything was playing out exactly as I had foreseen. Then he paused. Seeing no reaction from her and maybe realizing that she had been coached a little, he decided to bring out the big guns.

“You know when I was in prison I was in few nasty fights. I am reminded of one in particular every day when I see my kids. During my first week in the joint I got in to a fight with this creep who, let’s just say was lonely, and wanted me to fill the void in his life. With a desire to avoid being anyone’s surrogate I grabbed the first thing I could to protect myself; it turned out to be a shovel which I promptly used to smashed him in the face. He retaliated by kicking me as hard as he could in the nuts!!! When I woke up I was in the infirmary. The polite nurse told me the story of how the doctor had tried to save both my testicles but one was too severely damaged, so he removed it. She told me that I most likely would never have kids. I guess she was wrong. I did pretty well for just one testicle don’t you think?” Pointing to sister and I.

Her response; “Yeah not bad. Can you pass the peas?” She passed the test.

Buroak