Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Dissatisfied

I am dissatisfied. I’m afraid maybe I’m bipolar. Occasionally I am horrified by the world and feel like I’m teetering on the edge of the pit (witness my most recent tears-and-rage soaked drunken escapade, which has once again led me to give up alcohol for a time). When my mood is good, I forget what I was so danged upset about.

It seems to me that satisfaction and quality of life are mostly unrelated. Which leads me again to the conclusion I drew a while ago – if you’re not happy now, you’re never going to be. Which is really terrifying (do you really need to add such a modifier to the word terrifying?). Maybe I should rephrase it in an eastern way, say something along the lines of satisfaction coming from within. That’s not yet been my experience, though.

I am not who I was ten years ago, but I have a lot of that guy’s problems. Trying to live clean. Hoping to cope sober with a sick world. But the world’s not sick. Were I a sociopath, maybe I’d have no problem with the world at all. The problem with the world is my ability to deal with it.

(I deleted a vitriolic segment which I had written. See, I’m not who I was.)

When I’m on fire, I’m unstoppable. When I’m bored, it’s interminable. When I hate myself, I’ve always been deplorable. When I love myself, I assume everyone finds me irresistable. When I’ve succeeded, I can solve anything. When I’m frustrated, it’s the worst thing that ever happened. When I’m at peace, all is well. When I realize I can’t remain at peace, I despair.

I’m utterly pathetic and I’m on the brink of saving the world.

I have no sense of tomorrow or yesterday. I really don’t. But of course I’m lying.

Do you feel you’re better than me? Worse? Different? The same? Do you secretly judge my self-absorption? Do you have your shit together in ways I don’t? Do you feel sorry for me? Are you proud of me, or bored with me? Did you read this and shake your head? Did you wryly smile? Can you tell I feel guilty? Do you?

I still love being alive, and I love my family, and I’ll continue to function nearly normally. But Jesus Fucking Christ, you know? The perpetual cacaphony and doubt and joy occasionally bows me under its weight.

God is a pattern.

THE pattern, really.

My eyes have been recently opened, and I have a new religion, and a new bible. The religion is technology, and the bible is Ray Kurzweil’s “The Singularity is Near”.

If you plot on a logarithmic scale every major event in the human history of the universe, from the big bang through the cell phone, you get a straight line that will hit the X-axis within the next 20-50 years. That’s the Singularity.

The Singularity, like any great religious event, will change everything. This is the point at which technology, the driving force behind the evolution of life (having supplanted darwinian evolution, Kurzweil argues, by nature of the rapidity of the changes affected by it), takes in hand its own betterment. Up to that point, humanity, a wondrous accomplishment in and of itself, will have been the inventor and improver of tools and technology. From then on, the technology will improve itself. And this isn’t Terminator 2. This is our best chance at heaven on earth.

Transportation and communication will change utterly. All information ever collected will be instantly and appropriately available. Your computer will be in your shirt, your monitor in your glasses or tied directly to the visual centers of your brain. Foglets, flying nanobots far too small to see individually, will be able to gather and form solid matter in an instant, making the holodeck a reality or giving your computer, which will now be more than a stupid machine, an avatar in your world. If the speed of light can be bypassed, we’ll bypass it (or change it, also a possibility).  And best of all, death will be truly optional. Nanobots will crawl through your body and fix whatever ails you. The human brain will be deciphered, and we’ll be able to rebuild it. All ailments will be optional. You’ll be able to download yourself, change bodies, know everything.

It seems impossible, but when you consider the rate at which technology is improving, it’s really inevitable. Fifteen years ago, most people had never even heard of the internet, and now look at what it can do and how it’s used. Look at email, and how it’s changed every facet of communal life. The price-performance rate of computers is doubling every year, allowing us to work exponentially faster (A $1,000 computer that took ten seconds to solve a certain kind of problem in the year 1998 is now a thousand times faster and can now solve 100 of those problems every second).

The visual centers of the human brain have been reverse-engineered, as have the aural centers. The human genome has been decoded, far more quickly than anyone would have thought possible. We’re at the elbow of a curve that’s about to shoot nearly straight up. Technological improvements that at the turn of the 20th century took years now take days. The wheel took tens of thousands of years to be adopted by the majority of humanity. Cell phones have taken ten years.

I’d been looking for something like this for a while. As many of you six or seven readers know, I didn’t have a lot of faith in the possibility of the improvement of the general human condition. I figured that the understanding of our own mortality was damning for humanity, that the fear of our imminent demise drove us to evil behavior and religion (not mutually exclusive, certainly). I was thinking of writing a play called The Big Jump, in which I would imagine a future where humanity was about to accept a new paradigm and overhaul its concept of humanity, which was the only way I could see the world becoming a better place.

And then I found this book, and it ties together both my hope for a better future, my religion (derived from Babylon 5’s Minbaris – that every living thing is an extension of the universe in an attempt to understand itself), and my sense that music and math and physics and art and love are all somehow the same thing. I’ve always wanted to learn more about the GUT, the grand unified theory, the theory of everything, the equation that solves every single question you might have. Now I find that the universe wants the same thing.

The key to getting technology to the Singularity is patterns. As fast as computers can calculate, as perfectly as their memory stores information, computers can’t recognize patterns very well. Only we humans can do that, still. And our understanding of patterns, our ability to read and decode them, will make the next evolutionary step towards that GUT possible. What’s fueling the current technological revolution is the fact that everything can be simplified. The wondrous complexity that is a human comes from a few simple instructions coded into our DNA, which is comprised of just a few simple building blocks.

Everything is reducable to something simpler and more fundamental. I suspect we’ll find that that simplest piece, the GUT, the foundation of stars, humans, light, and void, is God.

And when we find God, I suspect that will complete a cycle, and that the game of hide and seek will start again.

“Computer Science is no more about computers than astronomy is about telescopes” – Edsger Dijkstra

Cool Songs

So I figure everybody’s got a song or ten that gets them going, right? Some songs are with us our whole lives, some for only a week or two. When they come on you get pumped up, or choked up, or become otherwise inspired to make something happen. I’d like to know what songs do that for you right now. Anything goes, just let me know what gets you going right now. I’m looking for a new favorite song and a new favorite “now favorite” band. With the internet I can pretty easily give a listen to lots of songs, and I plan to listen to as many of the songs you list as I can.

For me, right now, I’d say:

Hoist That Rag by Tom Waits

Scarlet Tide by Elvis Costello

Whole Lotta Loving by Fats Domino

Three Hundred Pounds of Joy by Howlin’ Wolf

I’ll Be Satisfied by Jackie Wilson

Good Morning by Kanye West

Sunshowers by M.I.A.

The Way I Am by Merle Haggard

Gainesville by Randy Newman with Linda Ronstadt

Conquest by The White Stripes

These aren’t my favorite songs, but they’re the ones I go for right now when I’m looking to get into a groove. Some would have been on this list had I made it six months ago, three if I’d made it two years ago, and none five years ago.

400 years ago the peoples of the world enjoyed comparable levels of income and there was no such thing as economic growth and no such science as economics just about everybody farmed for a living and died young when the Industrial Revolution got started there were about 900 million people in the world the spark came in England and 200 years later the whole world is on fire the world industrialized in a flash now the richest countries no longer manufacture things we leave the dirty work of fabrication to China Bangladesh Brazil and so on we design things we determine what gets made according to our appetites we justify things we allocate money we earn 75% of our income from services all these stages of development coexist in the Sahel they farm and live hand-to-mouth in Bangladesh women work 12 hours a day in a textile factory the way they used to in Lowell Massachusetts a hundred years ago in DC lobbyists consultants lawyers people with business cards are obscurely productive at their various assignments

Murder, and me most foul.

There are things that my sheltered existence precludes me from understanding. I think I’m most confused by murder. I have never had murderous thoughts. I’ve wanted to beat the shit out of people before, inflict pain on them, but ending their life has never even crossed my mind. I just don’t know how anyone could do it, even consider doing it. The end of a universe. The shattering of other universes. No offense, no fear in my life could justify that.

What does that mean? I can’t conceive of it, but others can do it. Some even do it and feel guiltless. Are there different kinds of people? If your conscience says nothing to you about doing something, or doesn’t say enough to keep you from doing that thing, are you even a bad person? Are there bad people? I still don’t think so. Life is so fucking complicated, and fear such a powerful motivator, how can we judge anyone? But if we can’t judge anyone else, can/should we judge ourselves?

I woke up feeling badly today. No reason, I just wanted to focus on my flaws and shortcomings. Some days I can ignore them, some days I can’t. I got extra sleep last night, so that’s not the reason.

We’re so advanced, with our computers and cell phones and hi-def tvs, and I would venture to guess that only one in a million of us, if that many, has a good grasp of his or her self. We’re progressing for no good reason, stumbling forward technologically while utterly ignoring what we need as human animals. Right now a baby is exhaling his last breath, because his mother couldn’t feed him. I just sent you a text message about it. Almost makes me not want to order pizza for dinner.

Why, with a life that 75% or more of the world would kill to have, do I fail to do simple things that could help me stay happy (or could they – would I just find something else to be unhappy about?)? Why do I feel bad, when you’d be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with me or my world. I’ve got a beautiful wife whom I love, a healthy baby that brings me a ton of joy, a mother and father and sister who would run through fire for me, a really good job that I enjoy, and a fine opinion of my talents and abilities. How does a guy like that feel bad? How does a guy like that neglect any of his responsibilities? How does a guy so blessed not go all the way?

Maybe I am going all the way. Maybe the bad feeling is necessary for the appreciation of the good (and neutral) feelings. But what the fuck am I? What’s the point of me? I don’t have any ambitions, except to enjoy my life. I don’t want to be rich, or famous, or successful beyond being able to comfortably support myself. I like to be alive, but I have no hope for tomorrow. Not that I’m hopeless in the conventional sense. I can’t even conceive of tomorrow. I don’t know how anyone can.

Holy crap, 69 Love Songs

Every time I come back to this album I love it again. Here are my favorite tracks this time:

Yeah! Oh Yeah!

Meaningless

If You Don’t Cry

I’m Sorry I Love You

Stephen Merritt is fucking awesome. Oh, to make something this fantastic. Fuck.

Also I doubt I’ll ever write something as nice as this Randy Newman lyric:

“Going out to the drugstore

Buy myself a goat

Tie him up in the front yard for all my so called friends to see

Ain’t nobody gonna look in my window and laugh at me”

It’s like he knows me.

Babyblog

Wanna see more pictures, and videos, of my awesome baby? Sure you do!

 Go to griffinlevi.wordpress.com. Do it!

Fear of death

I challenge you, reader!

I say fear of death, our inability to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we’re going to die and maybe that’s it, is the root of every single problem in the world. Therefore conquering our fear of death is the only thing that could lead to the paradigm shift required to take the next step in human evolution. I’m not talking about a suicide bomber’s fearlessness, which is driven either by insanity or the fact that death is preferable to life, I’m talking conquering fear of death in those of us who enjoy being alive.

I say if we can come to grips with our seemingly pointless existence, then war would disappear, we could address the climate change, we could eliminate poverty and create utopia. Every bad thing we do as a species stems from our fear of death.

 Prove me wrong, if you can, suckers!

younggreedy

So I got this baby.

cute-baby-small.jpg

He’s very cute

chubbs-small.jpg

And chubbyish

bottom-lip-small.jpg

And he’s not sure how old he is

cat-pillow-small.jpg

He gets cats and pillows mixed up

all-belly-small.jpg

Look at that belly! He’s his dad’s son, alright.

myhappyfacesmall.jpg

I vastly prefer bathing him to bathing myself.

cool-hair-small.jpg

He sometimes has cool hair

dumface-small.jpg

Sometimes he looks stupid

sumo-idiot-small.jpg

Sometimes, really stupid

thumbface-small.jpg

Sometimes I play with his face

pinchface-small.jpg

It’s very rubbery and soft

ears-small.jpg

And I like to make his ears stick out. They’re tiny and paper-thin

judgement-small.jpg

Sometimes I think he’s judging me

pumpkin-small.jpg

Sometimes he dresses like a pumpking on halloween

cute-sideways-small.jpg

Did I mention he’s cute?

dadgrifhood-small.jpg

After a long day

snuggle-small.jpg

He’s cute when he sleeps, too.

Babies and art

 Here are more pictures of my baby. I thought about a baby blog, Dave, but I just don’t think I’d keep it up.

gsmall

This is him fresh out of the package.

 track-suit-swing-2-small.jpg

This is him Rory Calhoun-ing it in his awesome track suit. He’s always got a hand up to his ear, maybe he’s gonna be a dj.

griffin-line-of-pets-small.jpg

This is him fitting in.

 griffin-daniel-small.jpg

This is him being smaller than a cat (Daniel, to be exact).

 Things are great, he’s healthy as a horse, and I’m absolutely loving fatherhood. Haven’t been scared yet, though I’m sure that’ll come. I am finding that I don’t care nearly as much about a lot of arbitrary things about which I used to care. Seems like I needed to care X amount about my world, and when I didn’t have real cares (wife, family, friends) enough, I invented things to care about (my place on the theater scene in Chicago, whether cool people thought I was cool, etc.). That’s not to say that I’m not still an idiot, or even that I’m a better person. I’m the same person. I just have different ways to occupy my brain.

As for the art part of the title of this entry, I saw the movie “Who the Fuck is Jackson Pollack” the other day. I’ve been watching lots of movies (Children of Men is fucking great!) since the baby came home. The movie wasn’t great, but it got me thinking about art again. I guess I just don’t understand much about the world of visual art. I see a real difference between the value of fine art in the “educated individual” sense and its actual value to humanity. I have no beef with folks who are moved to tears by Pollack, but I’m not. So am I a dunce? And why? I question the value of something that you have to learn how to enjoy. Karla, my arty friend who’s now in Dubai trying to find a benefactor, would tell me that I’m not looking at a particular painting in the right way, and I would wonder how there could possibly be a “right way” to look at a painting. The gist of the “Who’s Pollack” movie is that this trucker lady finds a painting she thinks is funny and weird at a flea market for $5 and gives it to a depressed friend as a joke, then finds out that the picture could actually be an original Pollack and sets out trying to get the $50 million she’s told it could be worth. It becomes evident that if the piece is a real Pollack then it’s worth millions, but if it isn’t, then it’s worth nothing. How can that be? It won’t look any different if it’s authenticated. It won’t move you more. Seems weird.

As a science nerd, I love a good equation. I see real beauty in a solution to a complex problem, not just relief, but actual tingling due to the elegance of a particular solution. I had to learn the basics of math and science in order to be able to appreciate the equation, so in a sense it’s similar to studying art. But it’s different, too – the equation is ostensibly of use to all mankind, so long as at least one individual understands how to apply it to a problem, whereas the Pollack is of use only to the people who studied Pollack or who are instinctively moved by his work. The rest of us are duly awed, like children playing dress-up, but we don’t get it. We feel dumb, maybe, because we don’t get it.

I can, with my almost total lack of art education, see the beauty of Monet, Michaelangelo, and Picasso. I didn’t need to take a course on these things, they just mean something to me. I don’t know. Maybe I just feel inadequate because I don’t get a lot of modern and abstract art, and I don’t get more from a Wyeth necessarily than I do a lamppost bent at a particular angle (though I do love all the Wyeths). I guess I just wonder why the world of visual art is so exclusive, and whether art that you have to study is universally good or just good for people who’re inclined to study it. Grainger, what’s the official Commonwealth Bricoleur stance on all this?

I want to feel stupid for liking Bright Eyes when so many of my esteemed contemporaries consider him crap, but it’s not so bad. The older I get, the easier it is for me to reach the conclusion that you’re all just as dumb as me, just in a different way.

 Also, due to his having visited the baby, Dave Grainger is officially the best friend I have.

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »