LJ Idol, Topic Twenty-Two: "Chainphrase"
the shortest straw / that stirs the drink / that's half full / of grace / under pressure / cooker
I. The Shortest Straw
I can't stand people who do nothing but complain.
Yes, I recognize that sometimes you get dealt a bad set of cards in life. Draw the shortest straw. Have something unexpected come up and kick you in the head. Get slammed with an unpleasant situation. But you know what? As the Man in Black said in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." What you do in a situation like that is, you suck it up and deal with it.
Yes, I've done my share of bitching and moaning about some situations I've encountered. But rather than just bitch and moan, I've gone ahead and done what was necessary to resolve the problem and get things on a more pleasant level again. The ones I'm pointing my finger at here are the ones who seem incapable of anything but boo-hooing over the tiny straw they drew. If you'd spent a quarter of the time that you spent kvetching just working at a solution, you'd have been out of the situation long ago. No problem is unsolvable. There is always a solution, even if it might sometimes require you to do some things you don't want. Real adults don't drop all their problems in someone else's lap and expect them to fix them; nor do they complain incessantly until the problem goes away by itself. They just.....deal with it.
Deal with it. Life is like that sometimes.
II. The Straw That Stirs the Drink
Baseball player Reggie Jackson was the originator of the "straw that stirs the drink" phrase. That was in 1977, though, long before I was a baseball fan. Hell, I wasn't even five years old at the time Reggie hit his three consecutive home runs in that year's World Series.
I grew up with the Atlanta Braves, who were the punching bag of the National League during the 70s and much of the 80s. They roused themselves briefly in 1982 to finish first in the NL West, dropped back to 2nd the next year and then resumed their mostly prone position for the rest of the 80s. Eventually I stopped watching them; although it was nice to go to a ballgame once in a while and get dugout-level seats for five bucks, it's really no fun to root for a team that loses all the time. (Am I right, Cubs fans?)
In 1991, though, I found my interest rekindled. The Braves miraculously came alive, going famously from worst the previous season to first that year. They made it all the way to the World Series, where they unfortunately ran up against another team who'd gone from worst to first, the Minnesota Twins. The Twins wanted it just a bit more and wound up winning. I had started college that year and remember like it was yesterday how half my dorm's population would gather in the TV rooms to watch the Braves as they pounded down the homestretch. I remember one particularly annoying girl who was rooting against anyone BUT the Braves. She had been a Dodgers fan. Annoyed that the Braves had overtaken her Dodgers for the NL West title, she rooted for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the NL Championship series; when the Braves beat them, she cheered for the Twins in the hopes that they would emerge the victors. The smirk on her face when the Braves lost Game 7 of the Series was just unbearable.
There were a number of exciting years after that (the Braves finally clinched the World Series in 1995) but nothing will quite match the exhilaration of that miraculous season. I've drifted away from baseball again, but that was a damned electrifying year.
III. The Drink That's Half Full
I get asked occasionally why I'm pessimistic about so many things, why I can't be more optimistic. My mother, for example, who has one of the most generally sunny dispositions on the planet, can't understand why I tend to look on the negative side of things. Why? Because if you expect the worst all the time, you are never, ever disappointed and you are sometimes pleasantly surprised.
Yes, that's an exaggeration. I don't always expect the worst. Just most of the time.
I've been disappointed by humanity so many times that it's still a dash of cold water in the face when somebody steps up, does something cool or remarkable or heartfelt. As society continues its slow slide back towards the Dark Ages, the moments in time when I'm pleasantly surprised get fewer and farther between. And what depresses and upsets me the most is that we as a species have so much to offer. If we could just get past the crap that doesn't matter in the least little bit -- matters of race, matters of religion, matters of sexuality, matters of difference in general -- we would have limitless potential, would have the power to reach the stars, create world peace, create Utopia.
And yet....I see us squandering that potential day after day. And I shake my head, and vow not to be disappointed in the future. And then fail miserably when humanity still manages to surprise me....but not in a good way.
My friend Jay, by the way, has come up with an answer to the eternal conundrum "is the glass half full, or half empty?" If the glass got to that level because you were pouring something into it, he says, it's half full. If it got that way because you were pouring something out of it, or were drinking from it, it's half empty.
.....I can't argue with that.
IV. Full of Grace
I respect personal beliefs. I do, really I do. I just can't understand some of them. Take religion as a f'rinstance. I make no bones about being an atheist because I have a logical, skeptical mind. I need proof of something to be convinced. Religion -- all religions -- have yet to offer me any convincing reasons to join their cause, because at their core, every religion is based on faith. Faith that your god or Gods or goddesses or prophets exist, that they hear your prayers and entreaties, that they hold you in their benevolent arms, support you when you falter.
I, on the other hand, believe with all my heart that if you can't measure something, it isn't there. Offer me conclusive proof that God exists, and I'll believe. But the argument that "God is unknowable" or "She Moves in Mysterious Ways" or "We cannot hope to know the Mind of God" holds no water with me. I believe in the things I can see, hear, touch. Religion offers me none of that, only vague promises that if I would just let go, have faith, give my burdens to the Prophet / Buddha / Lord / Whatever, all my problems would be solved, all my cares eased. To me, it seems rather like asking me to let go of a rope while dangling off a cliff, trusting that gravity will suddenly cease to have any effect upon me. The evidence, to me, rather strongly suggests that if I let go of that rope I'm going to go splat on the rocks far below.
I'm happy for those who've found a state of grace through their beliefs. Just don't ask me to join you unless you can give me a reason that doesn't start with "You have to have faith."
V. Grace Under Pressure
It's summer, 1982. I'm listening to the radio while reading something, I don't know what. Most of what's been playing is the same pop music that's grown a bit stale to my ears recently. I'm debating turning it off, but it's comfy on the couch, and I'm reluctant to get up.
And then there's something that makes me cock my head. Taurus pedals and a deep synth riff, intricate cross-rhythms, counterpoint. The book falls to the floor, unheeded, as I sit bolt upright. The drums enter, a sharp tattoo, then some overlaid guitars. And the first verse begins:
Sprawling on the fringes of the city
In geometric order
An insulated border
In between the bright lights
And the far unlit unknown
I've never heard music like this before. The lyrics arrow into my brain, speaking of loneliness amidst urban surroundings; the voice mesmerizes; the rhythms, layered synths, complexly woven tapestries of music, enwrap and enchant me. I close my eyes and listen, listen, listen with every fiber of my being. I am desperately hoping the DJ will break in after the song and inform me who this is that has taken hold of my attention so rivetingly.
The song fades into nothingness and the bright cheery DJ-voice comes on. "That was "Subdivisions", the new single from Rush. Their new album Signals will be out in September."
I open my eyes and blink, with the last crystal threads of the song melting away, realizing that I do in fact remember how to breathe.
That was the beginning of my love affair with the band Rush. I begged for a copy of Signals, and got it, then begged my parents to take me to one of their concerts the next year, and though they didn't really understand my obsession, they did. Since then I have become a die-hard fan, owning all of their albums and having seen them in concert a double dozen times. Hell, I'm wearing a Test for Echo tour shirt right now! (Although that really does need to be relegated to the rag-bin; it's definitely showing its age from 1997). I love the way they change and shift with each album; although there are some choices they've made I haven't agreed with, I've always loved their desire to experiment and do something different as the years pass. My favorites are the albums from the synthy prog-rock era (Signals, Grace Under Pressure, Power Windows, Hold Your Fire), although I will happily listen to just about everything they've ever done. Matter of fact, I'm really looking forward to the new release Clockwork Angels, which has been in the works since 2009 and pushed back repeatedly, but will finally be out in May this year.
But I'll always have a special place in my heart for Signals in general, and "Subdivisions" in particular.
VI. Pressure Cooker
I would have a much simpler life, much less filled with stress and strife, if I would just adopt a "that's just the way it is" attitude to the stupidities that I encounter on a daily basis. The problem is that I'm simply not geared that way. When I see ignorance, I confront it. When I see rudeness, I speak out. When I see bullying, I break it up. Spammers swindle the gullible; people act in willfully, unapologetically stupid ways, proud of their lack of knowledge; unscrupulous business owners take advantage of the innocent; the wealthy and privileged abuse and manipulate those who aren't lucky enough to have their resources. And every step of the way, I'm there, screaming into the blackness, raging at the stupidity, grinding my teeth, biting my fingernails right down to the quick.
Pressure. Henry Rollins once talked of a friend he knew in high school as being "very tightly compressed", and a friend of mine who happened to be listening to the album at the same time as me said, "Very tightly compressed? That's you all over, man." I opened my mouth but promptly closed it again, because he was right. I am very tightly compressed. Wound tight like a clockspring, squeezed into a tiny ball of impotent rage by the ignorance I see everywhere, vision clouded red by frustration. And I clench my fists, and breathe deeply, and try to remind myself that I'm only one person. I do my damnedest to fight the good fight, to act as a force for the Light Side, to push back the darkness wherever I can. And sometimes I succeed, and it feels so good, so very very good, to make a difference. Other times, I'm just left gnawing my fingertips and trying to bite back hot words as I see still another injustice, another stupidity, another smug, self-satisfied smirk of self-righteousness.
I spend my time attempting to make the world a better place than it was when I entered it. I don't always succeed...but I'll never stop trying.
[This has been my entry for Week Twenty-Two of LJ Idol, a collaborative week on which we chose a partner (as with last week). This time around we were required to write on the OTHER topic we didn't pick last week. I wrote on "the straw that stirs the drink", a phrase which I found to be ridiculous, so I co-opted it for my own ends by extending and refining it. My partner for the week, m_malcontent, similarly revised and expanded the topic "bridge". You can find his entry here. I hope you enjoyed our efforts this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]
I. The Shortest Straw
I can't stand people who do nothing but complain.
Yes, I recognize that sometimes you get dealt a bad set of cards in life. Draw the shortest straw. Have something unexpected come up and kick you in the head. Get slammed with an unpleasant situation. But you know what? As the Man in Black said in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." What you do in a situation like that is, you suck it up and deal with it.
Yes, I've done my share of bitching and moaning about some situations I've encountered. But rather than just bitch and moan, I've gone ahead and done what was necessary to resolve the problem and get things on a more pleasant level again. The ones I'm pointing my finger at here are the ones who seem incapable of anything but boo-hooing over the tiny straw they drew. If you'd spent a quarter of the time that you spent kvetching just working at a solution, you'd have been out of the situation long ago. No problem is unsolvable. There is always a solution, even if it might sometimes require you to do some things you don't want. Real adults don't drop all their problems in someone else's lap and expect them to fix them; nor do they complain incessantly until the problem goes away by itself. They just.....deal with it.
Deal with it. Life is like that sometimes.
II. The Straw That Stirs the Drink
Baseball player Reggie Jackson was the originator of the "straw that stirs the drink" phrase. That was in 1977, though, long before I was a baseball fan. Hell, I wasn't even five years old at the time Reggie hit his three consecutive home runs in that year's World Series.
I grew up with the Atlanta Braves, who were the punching bag of the National League during the 70s and much of the 80s. They roused themselves briefly in 1982 to finish first in the NL West, dropped back to 2nd the next year and then resumed their mostly prone position for the rest of the 80s. Eventually I stopped watching them; although it was nice to go to a ballgame once in a while and get dugout-level seats for five bucks, it's really no fun to root for a team that loses all the time. (Am I right, Cubs fans?)
In 1991, though, I found my interest rekindled. The Braves miraculously came alive, going famously from worst the previous season to first that year. They made it all the way to the World Series, where they unfortunately ran up against another team who'd gone from worst to first, the Minnesota Twins. The Twins wanted it just a bit more and wound up winning. I had started college that year and remember like it was yesterday how half my dorm's population would gather in the TV rooms to watch the Braves as they pounded down the homestretch. I remember one particularly annoying girl who was rooting against anyone BUT the Braves. She had been a Dodgers fan. Annoyed that the Braves had overtaken her Dodgers for the NL West title, she rooted for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the NL Championship series; when the Braves beat them, she cheered for the Twins in the hopes that they would emerge the victors. The smirk on her face when the Braves lost Game 7 of the Series was just unbearable.
There were a number of exciting years after that (the Braves finally clinched the World Series in 1995) but nothing will quite match the exhilaration of that miraculous season. I've drifted away from baseball again, but that was a damned electrifying year.
III. The Drink That's Half Full
I get asked occasionally why I'm pessimistic about so many things, why I can't be more optimistic. My mother, for example, who has one of the most generally sunny dispositions on the planet, can't understand why I tend to look on the negative side of things. Why? Because if you expect the worst all the time, you are never, ever disappointed and you are sometimes pleasantly surprised.
Yes, that's an exaggeration. I don't always expect the worst. Just most of the time.
I've been disappointed by humanity so many times that it's still a dash of cold water in the face when somebody steps up, does something cool or remarkable or heartfelt. As society continues its slow slide back towards the Dark Ages, the moments in time when I'm pleasantly surprised get fewer and farther between. And what depresses and upsets me the most is that we as a species have so much to offer. If we could just get past the crap that doesn't matter in the least little bit -- matters of race, matters of religion, matters of sexuality, matters of difference in general -- we would have limitless potential, would have the power to reach the stars, create world peace, create Utopia.
And yet....I see us squandering that potential day after day. And I shake my head, and vow not to be disappointed in the future. And then fail miserably when humanity still manages to surprise me....but not in a good way.
My friend Jay, by the way, has come up with an answer to the eternal conundrum "is the glass half full, or half empty?" If the glass got to that level because you were pouring something into it, he says, it's half full. If it got that way because you were pouring something out of it, or were drinking from it, it's half empty.
.....I can't argue with that.
IV. Full of Grace
I respect personal beliefs. I do, really I do. I just can't understand some of them. Take religion as a f'rinstance. I make no bones about being an atheist because I have a logical, skeptical mind. I need proof of something to be convinced. Religion -- all religions -- have yet to offer me any convincing reasons to join their cause, because at their core, every religion is based on faith. Faith that your god or Gods or goddesses or prophets exist, that they hear your prayers and entreaties, that they hold you in their benevolent arms, support you when you falter.
I, on the other hand, believe with all my heart that if you can't measure something, it isn't there. Offer me conclusive proof that God exists, and I'll believe. But the argument that "God is unknowable" or "She Moves in Mysterious Ways" or "We cannot hope to know the Mind of God" holds no water with me. I believe in the things I can see, hear, touch. Religion offers me none of that, only vague promises that if I would just let go, have faith, give my burdens to the Prophet / Buddha / Lord / Whatever, all my problems would be solved, all my cares eased. To me, it seems rather like asking me to let go of a rope while dangling off a cliff, trusting that gravity will suddenly cease to have any effect upon me. The evidence, to me, rather strongly suggests that if I let go of that rope I'm going to go splat on the rocks far below.
I'm happy for those who've found a state of grace through their beliefs. Just don't ask me to join you unless you can give me a reason that doesn't start with "You have to have faith."
V. Grace Under Pressure
It's summer, 1982. I'm listening to the radio while reading something, I don't know what. Most of what's been playing is the same pop music that's grown a bit stale to my ears recently. I'm debating turning it off, but it's comfy on the couch, and I'm reluctant to get up.
And then there's something that makes me cock my head. Taurus pedals and a deep synth riff, intricate cross-rhythms, counterpoint. The book falls to the floor, unheeded, as I sit bolt upright. The drums enter, a sharp tattoo, then some overlaid guitars. And the first verse begins:
Sprawling on the fringes of the city
In geometric order
An insulated border
In between the bright lights
And the far unlit unknown
I've never heard music like this before. The lyrics arrow into my brain, speaking of loneliness amidst urban surroundings; the voice mesmerizes; the rhythms, layered synths, complexly woven tapestries of music, enwrap and enchant me. I close my eyes and listen, listen, listen with every fiber of my being. I am desperately hoping the DJ will break in after the song and inform me who this is that has taken hold of my attention so rivetingly.
The song fades into nothingness and the bright cheery DJ-voice comes on. "That was "Subdivisions", the new single from Rush. Their new album Signals will be out in September."
I open my eyes and blink, with the last crystal threads of the song melting away, realizing that I do in fact remember how to breathe.
That was the beginning of my love affair with the band Rush. I begged for a copy of Signals, and got it, then begged my parents to take me to one of their concerts the next year, and though they didn't really understand my obsession, they did. Since then I have become a die-hard fan, owning all of their albums and having seen them in concert a double dozen times. Hell, I'm wearing a Test for Echo tour shirt right now! (Although that really does need to be relegated to the rag-bin; it's definitely showing its age from 1997). I love the way they change and shift with each album; although there are some choices they've made I haven't agreed with, I've always loved their desire to experiment and do something different as the years pass. My favorites are the albums from the synthy prog-rock era (Signals, Grace Under Pressure, Power Windows, Hold Your Fire), although I will happily listen to just about everything they've ever done. Matter of fact, I'm really looking forward to the new release Clockwork Angels, which has been in the works since 2009 and pushed back repeatedly, but will finally be out in May this year.
But I'll always have a special place in my heart for Signals in general, and "Subdivisions" in particular.
VI. Pressure Cooker
I would have a much simpler life, much less filled with stress and strife, if I would just adopt a "that's just the way it is" attitude to the stupidities that I encounter on a daily basis. The problem is that I'm simply not geared that way. When I see ignorance, I confront it. When I see rudeness, I speak out. When I see bullying, I break it up. Spammers swindle the gullible; people act in willfully, unapologetically stupid ways, proud of their lack of knowledge; unscrupulous business owners take advantage of the innocent; the wealthy and privileged abuse and manipulate those who aren't lucky enough to have their resources. And every step of the way, I'm there, screaming into the blackness, raging at the stupidity, grinding my teeth, biting my fingernails right down to the quick.
Pressure. Henry Rollins once talked of a friend he knew in high school as being "very tightly compressed", and a friend of mine who happened to be listening to the album at the same time as me said, "Very tightly compressed? That's you all over, man." I opened my mouth but promptly closed it again, because he was right. I am very tightly compressed. Wound tight like a clockspring, squeezed into a tiny ball of impotent rage by the ignorance I see everywhere, vision clouded red by frustration. And I clench my fists, and breathe deeply, and try to remind myself that I'm only one person. I do my damnedest to fight the good fight, to act as a force for the Light Side, to push back the darkness wherever I can. And sometimes I succeed, and it feels so good, so very very good, to make a difference. Other times, I'm just left gnawing my fingertips and trying to bite back hot words as I see still another injustice, another stupidity, another smug, self-satisfied smirk of self-righteousness.
I spend my time attempting to make the world a better place than it was when I entered it. I don't always succeed...but I'll never stop trying.
[This has been my entry for Week Twenty-Two of LJ Idol, a collaborative week on which we chose a partner (as with last week). This time around we were required to write on the OTHER topic we didn't pick last week. I wrote on "the straw that stirs the drink", a phrase which I found to be ridiculous, so I co-opted it for my own ends by extending and refining it. My partner for the week, m_malcontent, similarly revised and expanded the topic "bridge". You can find his entry here. I hope you enjoyed our efforts this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]