interesting

FBI armed raid targeted Chicago socialist couple:

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salutations

Well, it goes without blogging that I've very little free time to contribute much of anything here. Between course work and the j-o-b, I'm busy busy busy. Mondays and Wednesdays I'm on campus from 8AM 'til 5PM, and Tuesdays and Thursdays I'm at school from 8AM 'til noon, work 4PM-11PM. I also work Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Seriously: if I'm not in school, I'm either working or studying. It's crazy, but I'm not complaining. Just a few weeks ago I had ample amounts of downtime, and now that I have none I understand that a constant schedule contributes to greater self-worth.

I'll certainly make an effort to maintain a somewhat steady presence here, but I simply don't have the time to post 800-word rants about [fill in the blank].

A few things:

No Better Than This, the latest release from John Mellencamp (yes, that John Mellencamp), is actually quite good. After hearing his interview on Fresh Air with Terry Gross and discovering he toured last year alongside Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson, I have a greater appreciation for Mellencamp as an artist. No Better Than This was produced by T Bone Burnett using vintage equipment and recorded in such hallowed spaces like Sun Studios in Memphis and the Sheraton Gunter Hotel in San Antonio, where Robert Johnson recorded much of his material. The album is a spare, stripped down affair -- an homage to the forefathers of folk music. Think of No Better Than This as Mellencamp's Time Out of Mind, and just like that Dylan album, expect a Grammy Album of the Year nomination.


Internet gossip has it that Interpol's latest, Interpol, could be the band's final album. Let's hope so. Interpol is easily the most disappointing album I have ever heard. Daniel Kessler's guitar lines and Paul Banks' vocalizing have become caricatures unto themselves, which is unfortunate. The band's debut, Turn On the Bright Lights, is easily in my all-time top 5, maybe 3, with Antics close behind. I even thoroughly enjoyed Our Love to Admire. But Interpol is... so disappointingly bad. After hearing it, two things are clear: 1) Carlos D had good reason to depart, and 2) major label Capitol Records was wise to send the boys packing back to Matador. =(

xx

amen!

sink or swim (or something in between)

My first (abbreviated) week of nursing school is complete. This week was atypical because classes began Tuesday, and Wednesday was void of any classroom time due to two clinical orientation programs. (My actual clinical experience, however, won’t begin until late September/early October.) The first five weeks (the entire semester is sixteen weeks) of classes are dedicated to fundamentals of nursing lecture and lab; week six will see the fundamentals class transform to med-surgery lecture, lab, and clinical. In addition to those courses, pharmacology is spread across all sixteen weeks. The fundamentals lecture course is all about reading, reading and more reading. This first week, for example, is dedicated to reading EIGHT chapters, and next week sees a reading assignment of five chapters. As I said: reading reading reading. Because of the chaotic nature of week one, I had no pharmacology classes, but a make-up day has been scheduled for mid September. My fundamentals instructor warned us about pharmacology, so I’m bracing myself for more mental heavy lifting.

For me, week one was like being thrown into the deep end for the first time: I initially felt overloaded by the shock of, well, everything, but I quickly gathered myself and began assessing the shocking reality of my new situation. I’m not swimming yet, but I’m staying afloat relatively easily. Indeed, the following weeks and months will be unlike anything I have ever experienced.

xx

return

It’s been a few days since my last entry, an entry that was written under the slowly rising waves of mescaline. Indeed, last Thursday I experienced the most intense psychedelic experience of my life. I also found the trip to be extremely therapeutic. I want to share some of my experiences, but attempting to piece the whole thing together is practically impossible. Relating my experiences to a sober reality will be a work in progress, and I plan on posting fragments of that Thursday over the next few entries.

First, a mescaline trip (calling the experience a “trip” seems entirely inadequate and oversimplified) burns for 12-14 staggering hours. I’ve dosed LSD several times throughout my life, and while there are some similarities between mescaline and acid, there are many more nuances during a mescaline experience than an acid one. The ascent to mescaline’s peak is much more subtle, more gradual than LSD; the window of an LSD trip is open 8-10 hours, which, in my opinion, results in a steep rise and fall of the experience, but the sheer length of a mescaline experience means nothing is rushed, neither the ascent nor the descent, meaning it won’t overwhelm the senses as acid tends to do. I have found LSD to be in incredibly frustrating chemical when attempting to initiate the creative process. The onset of LSD is like a battered shoreline as a hurricane nears; the seas of a mescaline experience, however, are much smoother, leading to an experience that is more introspective than an acid trip. I don’t believe I could have achieved such deep, resonant insights into my being if under the command of LSD. Mescaline’s stability enables its user to open the locked doors of perception, which, in my opinion, is more difficult to do under LSD.

My time is up, so I’ll end with this: nursing school begins tomorrow, and while I’m filled with anxiety about this next chapter of my life, I now find myself much more confident and less negative about its prospects. I sincerely believe that psychedelics, if used responsibly and correctly, can provide great therapeutic value to some people. I look forward to sharing some of the insights I gained during my experience last Thursday.

xx

meskǝlin and the impossible objects

Consumed about 25 grams of Trichocereus peruvianus (Peruvian Torch) powder two hours ago. Thankfully the raging nausea that commonly accompanies ingestion has subsided significantly. Early observations: my inner being is glowing in torrential tides of empathy; I'm reminded of why psychedelics offer great therapeutic value: they strip everything cosmetic and superficial about YOU and YOUR EXISTENCE and allow you to freely explore yourself and your emotions; in many ways a psychedelic experience is the final frontier of human existence -- there are no guidelines, no governing bodies (both external and internal), just you and the Penrose staircase of your existence; periphery of my vision is flooded with twinkling light right now.

More later.

xx

falling from space

Last December I posted a very cool point-of-view video here of Space Shuttle Atlantis' ascent to space. Tonight I came across another video that is equally amazing, if not more so. The video below is taken from a camera mounted on one of Space Shuttle Discovery's two solid rocket boosters. The boosters are responsible for propelling the shuttle into space during the first two minutes after launch and are then dropped from the craft. This video captures the booster's complete fall (about 146,000 feet) from space, through Earth's atmosphere and into the Atlantic Ocean. Very cool stuff.

inception in bruges

I saw Inception Saturday night and was slightly underwhelmed. It’s a good movie with an original story that’s simultaneously disorientating and mystifying, but it didn’t hit me as did Christopher Nolan’s earlier masterpieces Memento and The Prestige, which are two personal favorites. Inception might be the first film I’ve ever seen in which analyzing it afterward is just as enjoyable, if not more so, than the actual viewing process. Perhaps this is the point. Thinking about that strange dream you had last night slips into a totally different skin when you’ve had time to step away and rethink it; your subconscious fills in those missing gaps, and acting like a glue, it pulls everything together and forms something… something very bizarre. The end product is a strange panorama of events that fails to make sense, and the more effort expended attempting to materialize a reason, a logic behind it, the more things fall apart. For me, Inception isn’t about piecing the pieces together (like wondering if Cobb’s wobbling top will fall or remain spinning); it’s about letting your subconscious project light into those dark areas – the pain, the regret, the sadness – those things that don’t, or won’t, make sense and rearranging the colors into something not just meaningful, but better. Four stars out of five, although I might bump it up to five – the more I discuss Inception, the better it gets.

(Interesting article to read: Everything You Wanted to Know About Inception)

I also watched In Bruges, a dark comedy that came out in 2008. This one was surprisingly good. Two hit men, Ray and Ken (Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson), are sent by their boss, Harry (Ralph Fiennes), to Bruges, Belgium, to hang out and wait for the next hit. While there, Ray and Ken confront past mistakes and decide to get out of the murdering business, but Harry has other plans. In Bruges is a very British film – razor sharp dialogue; dry, black comedy; and skilled actors. If you’re in the mood for a Brit crime drama-comedy, check it out. Four stars out of five.

xx

back home

Wow. What an incredible two days of camp 'n Phish. Day One was eh: the heat and humidity were crushing and Phish's performance was a little shakey. Day Two, however, was perfect: PB and I rescued ourselves from the elements and spent some of the afternoon in Castleton (which included a surprise viewing of Dinner for Schmucks -- yeah, don't ask, it's a long story), and Phish's performance was stellar (jams varied from Bitches Brew-era jazz fusion to space-out ambience reminiscent of Pink Floyd circa Meddle -- yeah, it was kinda epic). From 4PM until sunset on Day Two, a thick cover of clouds arrived and saved everyone from another grueling evening of heat.

This was PB's first Phish experience, and I last saw the band ten years ago. Besides having a great time, we both shared many, um, interesting experiences. (An ice-cold shower at 7AM Friday morning was the most exhilarating experience I've ever had.)

Oh, and the chemicals were glorious too.

No doubt, some who attend a Phish experience are there for the drugs and alcohol, but the true phans are there to share in the experience, which is why Phish attracts a cult following.

It's so difficult to simply exist in the moment. Most of us are weighed down by the anvils of our existence -- an unintended consequence of being productive members of society. For me, a Phish show represents an opportunity to transcend for several hours my everyday reality and exist freely within a special slice of space and time. And as with most memorable moments, you never fully appreciate those moments until you view them through a recollection, a memory. And it's those intangible glints of light that accompany those memories that make the Phish sound so (pardon the hyperbole) magical. When I'm away from the venue and listening to the band on my stereo, I hear more than the music; along with the music come those aforementioned glints, the sparks that ignite my bank of memories of past experiences -- invisible photographs transmitted audibly.

I could fill a few more paragraphs with my anecdotal evidence of why Phish hold such a unique space in my life and why the band should be more respected by those outside its fan base, but spelling out and defining the reasons would deconstruct the magic.

And why do that?

xx

gone phishin'

did kid a predict 9/11?

Just caught wind of this: Chuck Klosterman speculated in his 2005 book Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story that Radiohead "accidentally predicted" the events of September 11, 2001. In the following pages (found in Google Books) he makes his case citing specific lyrics and musical cues from Kid A, which came out eleven months before 9/11. His claim and evidence are absurd, but I'm a sucker for this type of stuff. Plus, it's an interesting read.

of note

I haven't blogged recently because I've found nothing of interest to write about, but here are a few things that caught my attention.

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Last night I watched 300, which was, surprisingly, quite good. After watching it, I visited the Wikipedia entry and found it laughable that some notable professors detested the film because of its historical inaccuracies. Give me a break. The film (don't know about the Frank Miller graphic novel -- haven't read it) never claims to be a historical document of the Battle of Thermopylae. Is the name "Thermopylae" even mentioned in the film? I'm sure some kids came away with a false impression of the Battle, but those who were truly intrigued would've done their own research to separate fact from fiction. Leave it to the overeducated to suck the fun out of a gritty action flick. Eggheads aside, 300 utilizes the same CGI effects that made the film adaptation of Miller's Sin City look so dazzling. Director Zack Snyder could have drowned the film with excessive effects, but he didn't. 300 strikes the perfect balance between stylized action sequences and artistic flair. Also, Gerard Butler as King Leonidas was perfect. Gave it five outta five.

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In just a couple of days PB and I will be spending three days and two nights camping for the two-day Phish extravaganza at Verizon Wireless in Noblesville. I can't wait. It's been a decade since I last saw The Phish. This time will definitely be different though; I never camped for any of the previous shows. I'm already giddy with excitement. Can't wait.

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I've been patient with Arcade Fire's critically praised The Suburbs, and it's certainly beginning to grow on me, but I can't seem to make the connection with it that I've made with other albums I love. The stunning High Violet by The National is still atop my best-of-2010 list.

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Interesting study: "Experiments by Paul Piff and his colleagues at the University of California, Berkeley, reported this week in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, suggest ... it is the poor, not the rich, who are inclined to charity."

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Interesting book (that I wish to read soon, er, sometime): Confession of an Economic Hit Man by John Perkins

Perkins writes that his economic projections cooked the books Enron-style to convince foreign governments to accept billions of dollars of loans from the World Bank and other institutions to build dams, airports, electric grids, and other infrastructure he knew they couldn't afford. The loans were given on condition that construction and engineering contracts went to U.S. companies. Often, the money would simply be transferred from one bank account in Washington, D.C., to another one in New York or San Francisco. The deals were smoothed over with bribes for foreign officials, but it was the taxpayers in the foreign countries who had to pay back the loans. When their governments couldn't do so, as was often the case, the U.S. or its henchmen at the World Bank or International Monetary Fund would step in and essentially place the country in trusteeship, dictating everything from its spending budget to security agreements and even its United Nations votes. It was, Perkins writes, a clever way for the U.S. to expand its "empire" at the expense of Third World citizens. While at times he seems a little overly focused on conspiracies, perhaps that's not surprising considering the life he's led.

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Twenty-five seconds of pure win can be found here.

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That is all.

xx

fatalistic failure

Insanity will officially begin in nineteen days. After today's shipment, I have every book (minus a pharmacology textbook, still waiting on that one) required for the approaching semester. I saved over $300 ordering these books from Amazon and, surprisingly, Walmart.com, so I'm feeling good about that. But that's about it. I immediately transform into an anxiety-ridden heap of flesh and nerves when I consider the next phase of my life. To say I have zero confidence in my abilities to succeed within the nursing program and the profession would be a glaring understatement. Never mind the physical act of achievement, I'm unable to conjure a mental image of me success stability (together). I simply don't see it and cannot comprehend it.

For example, consider my recent experience with the new job (pizza delivery guy). Essentially, my two responsibilities are delivering food and dish washing. Simple, right? Well, I felt quite overwhelmed after my first few days. The act of integrating oneself into a preconfigured system is challenging. The mechanical aspects of the job didn't pose a problem; it was the order, the systemization of the tasks that proved difficult to grasp and remember.

I'm constantly battling myself. On one hand, I feel as though I have shorted myself in spending my twenties accomplishing very little. I'm a smart, competent person who should dedicate myself to something meaningful and important, I've told myself countless times. Contrarily, I've destroyed myself emotionally with unrealistic expectations and destructive conclusions about who I am and my capabilities, both proven and potential. When I write of unrealistic expectations, I'm speaking about the initial challenges of my new job. I now realize that an unrealistic and absurd belief that I, somehow, should have known the order and systemization of my duties while simultaneously knowing nothing about said systemization and duties led to those feelings of ineptitude. Ridiculous, I know, but when the typical anxieties of a new job are coupled with the realization of working among high school kids and young twentysomethings, well, things can get overwhelming very quickly, especially when you're a socially awkward person like myself.

The paradox of creating, usually unconsciously, unrealistic expectations is that they aren't based on a genuine understanding of the situation, which renders achievement of those expectations practically impossible. I now realize I possess a fatalistic view of failure and success, which is why I have difficulty envisioning my success in school and nursing (and virtually everything else, for that matter). Fatalism eliminates the independent variable from the circumstance or challenge, leaving previous successes moot. I cling to flawed logic: even though I initially thought my eventual successes would be failures, I "know" I'll fail this time because that's my default position and not every attempt is successful (essentially it is this: there's never been a better time to fail than this time).

See, the fucked up thing about all this is that I realize on every level my logic is unreasonable, even irrational. Yet its skeleton remains, pulverizing my confidence into oblivion, leaving me a self-rejected, zero self-esteem mess.

xx

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