Aging, Death, Mortality and Angst: Happy Birthday, Dad!

Signs of decay

I'm getting old and signs of decay are everywhere! Madonna's turning 50 and looking like shit. Isaac Hayes is dead at 65. Prince just had a hip replacement. The famous Wall Arch in Utah's Arches Nat'l Monument has collapsed. Kids are younger all the time. Youth has become this exclusive club that I've been kicked out of and have no chance talking my way back into. My skin is losing elasticity and my hair's turning gray and I have to monitor cholesterol levels. I fucking hate it!

**********

Happy birthday, Dad!

Today was my dad's—James Benjamin Altemus'—birthday. It's weird, the more time that goes by between now and his death, the less I think of him. This feels like a betrayal somehow. Like I'm a shitty son. Of course, I don't feel like I should constantly mourn him or obsess over him, but I figured I'd think of him more often than I do. 

When I do think of him lately, it's connected with mortality. Much to my embarrassment and frustration, I've become obsessed with my own mortality since his demise. It's like he was this buffer between me and death and now that he's gone, the buffer's gone. I'm next in line.

Now, I loved my dad. I've grieved his death. I've missed him. I've talked to him. I've imagined his presence. And I've honored him and his memory. But for the first time since his passing, it occurred to me yesterday I'm angry with him. (No one's ever accused me of being excessively rational.)

Really, though, I'm pissed that I'm left with this burden, this knowing that I'm going to die. That I can't run from it, hide from it, trick it somehow. That no matter what I do, I'm on a train that has only one destination and there's no getting off. 

Look, I've known this in my head since my early teens. But to really know it in your bones, in your gut, is a whole other thing. And ever since dad shuffled off his mortal coil four years ago, I've been deeply, irritatingly intimate with the knowledge. I've been slimed and I can't wash it off. 

Some background

It started when I realized he was dying. After a week in the hospital with little improvement after a nasty bout of flu kicked his ass, we moved him to a nursing home. He was clearly on his way out. I found myself unable to sleep through the night. I'd wander my house and think about going to the home to be with him. I think I must have believed I shouldn't sleep, lest I miss any time to spend with him, even if I wasn't in the same room. Actually, I don't know what I was thinking. I never felt more connected to him and more selfless than in those three weeks that he took to complete his dying process.

My obsession with mortality reached its nadir about a year ago or so. I found myself unable to sleep soundly several nights of the week and was on my way to becoming an insomniac. Worse, while I lay awake (or after I arose to putz around) I would focus on my eventual death. I was experiencing angst that would make a teenager blush. Serious, brutal existential angst. A recognition that sometime, whether tomorrow or in 70 years, I would be no more. And whether I was an Einstein or a homeless bum didn't matter. What difference does it make how I affect this world? I'm still going to be gone. The pieces of consciousness that make up my personality will be no more. 

And this drove me crazy. I writhed in psychic anguish. I felt I was staring into a black abyss that would consume me, if not now, then eventually. I realized that underneath all of my belief in spiritual possibilities, I—or at least a big chunk of me—was an atheist. I was furious, sad, lost.

It was absurd. 

Moving forward, then back

This winter, for reasons that stretched back farther and deeper than my newfound (though profound) mental discomfort, I started a course of antidepressants. A pleasant and unexpected side effect was that the anguish died down and I was able to sleep full nights again. And such had been the case until about a month or so ago. 

Though, not feeling the sheer agony and brutal fear that I felt last year, I've been once again focusing on my decay and death. (It seems though, that this time I have company, as Beck's latest album, Modern Guilt, is infused with the themes.) Anyway, it's back. And I'm sick of it. 

Because obsessing over aging and dying isn't doing me a damn bit of good. It's not making me a better person or giving me wisdom or helping me to enjoy life more. To the contrary, it depresses the hell out of me. The worst part is that I'm losing my sense of optimism, my sense of spirituality. No, the worst part is knowing that this is part of my birthright as a human being. This is pedestrian. I mean, who among us hasn't blanched at the thought our death? Which religion or spiritual sect or set of rites isn't birthed from the realization that our flesh will turn to dust and we will cease to be? How fucking tedious and useless.

What I want, what I'm craving right now, is the sense of limitless possibilities that I once had. The ability to disregard thoughts of mortality and just live. I'm not sure how to get back to that or how to redirect my thoughts away from the dead end they've been hanging out in lately. I'm not sure that I can.

**********

All that said, I still want to recognize my father for his warm heart, his integrity, his gentle nature. So, happy birthday, dad. I love you. I owe you my life and I thank you for it. 

Now, I've just got to figure out a way to get out of my head and live it. 

Schooled By Opus

Point taken, penguin. 

Lemony Pledge

Watch how Obama handles this somewhat disturbed heckler. Can you imagine the current occupant handling him with such humor and grace?

News To Warm The Cockles…

Of our little blue hearts. 

US Shifting Blue

The New York Times has a new piece on the national trends away from the GOP, both registration-wise and at a local electoral level. What's most interesting to me is that there's absolutely no attempt at forced balance in the article. There's not one "GOP consultants say..." to be found, which is refreshing. It's content to report the facts, even if they are all bad for the Republican Party.

Check out these registration statistics:

In several states, including the traditional battlegrounds of Nevada and Iowa, Democrats have surprised their own party officials with significant gains in registration. In both of those states, there are now more registered Democrats than Republicans, a flip from 2004. No states have switched to the Republicans over the same period, according to data from 26 of the 29 states in which voters register by party. (Three of the states did not have complete data.)

In six states, including Iowa, New Hampshire and Pennsylvania, the Democratic piece of the registration pie grew more than three percentage points, while the Republican share declined. In only three states — Kentucky, Louisiana and Oklahoma — did Republican registration rise while Democratic registration fell, but the Republican increase was less than a percentage point in Kentucky and Oklahoma. Louisiana was the only state to register a gain of more than one percentage point for Republicans as Democratic numbers declined. [...]

Among the 26 states with registration data, the percentage of those who have signed on with Democrats has risen in 15 states since 2004, and the percentage for Republicans has risen in six, according to state data. The number of registered Democrats fell in 11 states, compared with 20 states where Republican registration numbers fell.

In the 26 states and the District of Columbia where registration data were available, the total number of registered Democrats increased by 214,656, while the number of Republicans fell by 1,407,971.

What's interesting is that this shift is not seen as merely a function of the enthusiasm generated by the presidential primary. In fact, it's been a trend that's been evident for several years, which in itself speaks to the likelihood that the shifts we're seeing are sustainable in the long term.

Read the whole post here.

"It's LIke, These Guys Take Pride In Being Ignorant"

Well, that's exactly what it is and has been for the past 30 years.

Apologies for such light posting lately. Just haven't been much into it. Been busy restructuring my business and learning new skills. But when I saw this I couldn't pass up the opportunity to share it. 

I just love how he laughs at these buffoons, who are so deserving of derision. More of this please, Barack.

Watch Where You Step

Little hand-painted people, left in London to fend for themselves. Very cool.

Some examples:

Beware Teh Gays!!!

Unbeknownst to most of us, the House Armed Services personnel subcommittee began hearings yesterday—the first in 15 years—to decide the fate of the military's much derided "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy. Lucky for us, the Washington Post was there to record the rantings of the lunatic (not-so) fringe.

Choice cuts:

Don't ask, don't tell. And, whatever you do, don't ask Elaine Donnelly [pictured above] to tell you what she thinks about gays in the military.
…
Donnelly treated the panel to an extraordinary exhibition of rage. She warned of "transgenders in the military." She warned that lesbians would take pictures of people in the shower. She spoke ominously of gays spreading "HIV positivity" through the ranks.
…
Inadvertently, Donnelly achieved the opposite of her intended effect. Though there's no expectation that Congress will repeal "don't ask, don't tell" and allow gays to serve openly in the military, the display had the effect of increasing bipartisan sympathy for the cause.

Rep. Vic Snyder (D-Ark.) labeled her statement "just bonkers" and "dumb," and he called her claims about an HIV menace "inappropriate." Said Snyder: "By this analysis . . . we ought to recruit only lesbians for the military, because they have the lowest incidence of HIV in the country."
…
Donnelly was followed by Jones, a tough-talking businessman who suggested that the military's tradition of "selfless service" would be undermined by gay men and lesbians. "In the military environment, team cohesion, morale and esprit de corps is a matter of life and death," he said. His written statement spelled it "esprit decor"; it also warned of "a band of lesbians that harassed new females," and noted his own military experience when "the only way to keep from freezing at night was to get as close as possible for body heat -- which means skin to skin."

But it was Donnelly, founder and president of the Center for Military Readiness, who amused lawmakers the most. Snyder asked Darrah about Donnelly's reference to "passive-aggressive actions common in the homosexual community," saying, "I'm almost tempted to ask you to demonstrate."

Man, when the Bush-ass-kissing Wash. Post is making fun of conservatives, you know there's a sea change coming. Click here for rest of the homophobic fun.

More on the lovely Ms. Donnelly here, here, and here.

I'm Dreaming Of A Blue Thanksgiving

I've been thinking lately about listing my predictions for which states Obama will win this November and compare them to various other media outlets' maps. Well, over at Pollster.com they have made my life a little easier with their latest map of 2008 presidential electoral projections. Here's their map:

By and large, their projections line up with my predictions (unlike other maps). The main difference: my hit is that several of their toss-up states will go to Obama, specifically Virginia, Nevada, and Missouri (which will probably be a squeaker). 

I also think he has a good chance of taking Alaska, though I wouldn't be surprised if he lost by a bit. Montana could go to Obama, though I wouldn't hold my breath. Florida's a strange case. Given the primary fight and the demographics, you'd think it'd be ripe for a McCain win. But I've been reading that tens of thousands of newer, young voters have been registering throughout the year, which is why it's now a toss-up. My bet is Florida turns light blue by fall and goes to Obama by a nose. 

What do you guys think?

A Summit of Fonts

A peek inside the latest typeface conference. 

Religulous

Great news! Bill Maher been making a documentary called Religulous. From the trailer it looks like a hilarious combination of "Jaywalking", Borat, and Roger and Me. I can't embed the trailer, so here's the link. It won't hit theaters until Oct. 3. I can't wait.

He's also set up a website called Disbeliefnet, a parody of Beliefnet. 

404? Read This

Since we're most of us are texting nowadays, this list of net lingo should be required reading. Your thumbs will thank you.

(It's the place to go IMHO. CYA.)

I Want To Pay Off Every Bit Of Your Debt

There was something about that subject line that I found impossible to resist. The pay off to opening the spam was this brilliant piece of writing:

Everyone is in debt since the gas pricing and the economy although I know the secret to make it through including I can tell you the answer for no cost. You'll be free of your hard times quickly.

Love it.

A Total Failure

Speaker Pelosi slips a shiv into our Idjit in Chief. Bless his heart.

21st-Century Cicero

New York magazine's Sam Anderson examines the steep decline in American presidential oratory across the 20th century…and how Obama has already stemmed the tide.

Choice cut:

Raise High the Rafters
A major reason that Obama’s rhetoric seems to soar so high is that our expectations have sunk so low. In a new book, The Anti-Intellectual Presidency, Elvin T. Lim subjects all the words ever publicly intoned by American presidents to a thorough statistical analysis—and he finds, unsurprisingly, an alarmingly steady decline. A century ago, Lim writes, presidential speeches were pitched at a college reading level; today, they’re down to eighth grade, and if the trend continues, next century’s State of the Union addresses will be conducted at the level of “a comic strip or a fifth-grade textbook.” (“Iran’s crawling with bad guys: BAP!”) Since 1913, the length of the average presidential sentence has fallen from 35 words to 22. Between Nixon and the second Bush, the average presidential sound bite shrank from 42 seconds to 7. Today’s State of the Unions inspire roughly 30 seconds of applause for every 60 seconds of speech. Although it’s tempting to blame the sorry state of things on the current malapropist-in-chief, Bush is only the latest flower (though, obviously, a particularly striking one) on a very deep weed. Our most brilliant presidents, Lim says, often work hard to seem publicly dumb in order to avoid the stain of elitism—amazingly, Bill Clinton’s total rhetorical output checks in at a lower reading level than Bush’s. Clinton’s former speechwriters told Lim that their image-conscious boss always demanded that his speeches be “more talky”; today, he’s widely remembered as a brilliant speaker who never gave a memorable speech.

Obama seems to have taken the opposite tack: He’s a Clinton-style natural who flaunts the artifice of his speeches and refuses to strategically hide his intelligence. Compared with his rivals, Obama’s skill-set seems almost otherworldly. His phrases line up regularly in striking and meaningful patterns; his cliché ratio is, for a politician, admirably low; his stresses and pauses seem dictated less by the usual metronome of generic political speech than by the actual structures of meaning behind his words. He tolerates complexity to such an extent that he’s sometimes criticized as “professorial,” which allows him to get away with inspirational catchphrases that would sound like platitudes coming from anyone else. His naïve-sounding calls for change are persuasive largely because he’s already managed to improve one of our most intractable political problems: the decades-old, increasingly virulent plague of terrible speechifying. The signature project of his candidacy—before health care or housing or Iraq—seems to be the reuniting of presidential discourse with actual, visible thought. It is not a trivial achievement.

Another:

Brilliant policy requires brilliant public discourse. If you can think your way through a sentence, then you can think your way through a policy paper—or a 3 A.M. phone call.

And another:

My relationship to Obama has been a complex cycle of enthusiasm canceled immediately by self-correcting cynical objections, canceled by self-correcting enthusiasm, canceled again by the cynicism, canceled by the enthusiasm. Is he really this good, I wonder constantly, or do we just need him to be? The speech that finally tipped my inner scale decisively toward belief was his least decorative: no refrain, little alliteration, no audience exploding at shouted catchphrases—just the man himself standing there solemnly, neutralizing the hysteria of a potentially career-killing scandal with the naked power of grown-up thought. With his race speech, Obama chose the riskiest path in American politics: to be conspicuously thoughtful. It would have been like Clinton, in 1998, giving a long contextualizing address to the nation about human sexuality, the international status of adultery, etc. It was one of the most encouraging political moments I’ve ever experienced. [emphasis mine]

An Honest Racist

Slate writer Debra Dickerson confesses to and examines her racism.

Choice cut:

Racist Like Me
In a nation riven to its very core by race, I appear to be the only remaining racist. Off and on, I'm homophobic and anti-Semitic, too, but mostly, I'm racist. Yet unlike the rest of you, I'm honest about it.

A Bright Day

Went to see The Dark Knight last night and let me tell you it's every bit as good as the reviews. I won't give my own review other than a full-throated rec and to say that the score by Hans Zimmer is utterly superb. 

Out for a late-night walk last night, it occurred to me that the real driving dilemma of 2008 isn't Obama or McCain—a no-brainer, the outcome of which is an increasingly foregone-seeming conclusion. No 

the real question of 08, the real hard call is…which super hero flick was better: Iron Man or The Dark Knight. Iron Man or Batman? Robert Downey, Jr. or Christian Bale?

If Hollywood keeps churning movies of this quality I'll be forced to reevaluate my long-held understanding of that town's (in)ability to tell a good story.

Underwater Elsie

A rarely seen translucent cow fish.

Dreams of Colbert Nation

Had the weirdest dreams last night. Dreams within dreams. Waking and waking again, but still in dreamland, like those nested Russian dolls. The longest running series was of me grieving over the unexpected death of Stephen Colbert. In the first of the series, I remember thinking about him dying just as I was dropping off to sleep. Even as I had the thought, I wondered what would make me think that. Upon waking from that night of dream-sleeping, I had the strong intuition that he had in fact died and that I had felt it psychically the night before. I started bawling uncontrollably. I couldn't bear the thought of this huge comedic voice-of-a-generation-type dying so young. It just seemed so unfair and unacceptable, that I convulsed in sobs.

Worse, I couldn't confirm whether my intuitive hit was correct. Finally, when I ran into friends and family they confirmed his death, but none of them—nobody—seemed to care much. I tried to find some news online or on cable to really confirm, but couldn't. I was damn near incapacitated with grief over this man I've never met and am not that big a fan of. (I mean I like him a lot, but this was over the top.) Still, I couldn't understand why no one else cared, or at least cared enough about me to say some sympathetic words.

Anyway, this kept up from one dream or dream segment to another. The combination of lack of reliable information, a deep unbearable grief over a public figure, and the apathy of my friends when what I needed was sympathy or empathy was truly bizarre and left a really nasty taste in my mouth.

Western Spaghetti

A truly incredible stop-motion short from The Twisted Films of PES.



Many more here. My favorite is Pee-Nut.

One Badass Bunny