Three Dark Knights...

I feel increasingly burdened by just about everything. For the last three weeks the person I've trained at work has laid some pretty heavy personal stuff on me, I don't know what the status quo is, or if it even exists. But if it's some general standard among humanity, it's declining and on levels that most don't even recognize as a decline.

The family unit as it has existed in years past may not have been as idyllic as it was made out to be, but I don't see how what we have now is any better.

Of the three people I've trained, they all came from single parent/divorced/unmarried homes and were all involved in a second or third relationship, some not even really being in one anymore but have a few kids to take care of on their own.

The sordid details of their lives were more troubling than any dramatic account in any medium (film, song, literature). And the reason that all those problems, issues, failures, and often outright stupidity were so much more distressing than the turmoil and conflict of art is that they are trivial and commonplace.

What's a guy to do?

There is no light that penetrates such infinite darkness, at least...and this is more telling, there is no light that I feel I possess enough of to pass on into such infinite darkness that has more than a fool's chance of bringing peace and light to anyone.

I guess I could sum it up by saying, quit preaching to the choir and listen to some of the people who don't even go to church. And if, after you've listened to everything they have to say you still have something to say...go ahead and say it.

But for right now, I'm going to keep my mouth shut.

The Arts...

A friend of mine suggested I throw together a list of suggested listening in order to turn my readership onto some new, as-yet-unheard-of music. Off the top of my head, here's a few...

Fleet Foxes, Rogue Wave, The National, The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and The Black Keys.

I briefly browsed the library today, and came across a collection of essays by G.K. Chesterton, it was titled All is Gist and besides the fact that gist is a word fallen out of use of late (as is any word that can't be reduced to a combination of letters and symbols) it's an excellent collection. He has a way of exposing the intellectual childishness of almost any idea or position without sounding capricious or dogmatic (i.e. like an asshole).

If self-deprecation is the new irony I'm ahead of the curb, having moved on to self-aggrandizement: a tasteful melding of the two. the humor of which, nobody seems to get, much to my chagrin. Or maybe I'm just not funny...

...In case that sentence meant nothing to you, pick up a dictionary, reread it and then google the indie movement, will ferrell, and trends in humor. Or just get to know me, and you'll probably come to understand (after the dictionary reread anyway).

Not exactly the arts, but may I take a brief (pun coming) commercial break to talk about Michael Phelps?

Is he humble? Does he self-deprecate with the best of them? Has he got an unknown sensitive humanitarian side? Does he listen to The Shins?

The answer to all of those questions is (in the tradition of Will Smith) a resounding "Hell Nawww"

This guy makes Christian Bale in American Psycho look humble, he has no sense of humor, spends all his time training, and listens to a playlist of Pantera, ICP, and Slipknot.

He's probably the most type A human being I can think of right now, but you know what? I can't help but love the guy. He crushes the competition almost effortlessly. He breaks world records like they were toothpicks, even more impressive, the world record holder before he broke them? Himself, Michael Phelps is not only the greatest, he's better than the greatest, because he even breaks the records set by the greatest. When you are the best at what you do, and you do better than you did...you've reached some plateau of human existence I can't even comprehend.

But you know what I didn't see yesterday when he won his 4th and 5th gold medals? Satisfaction. For all his strength, there is nothing that can appease him, all the training in the world and in his moment of triumph not even the slightest sign of excitement?

Of course you'll say he'll be excited when he breaks Spitz's record of 7 gold medals in one Olympics. And he probably will, but I would almost guarantee you that even afterwards, there will still be something lacking.

Michael Phelps reminds me of the rich man, trying to squeeze through the doorway to heaven, which for him, is as wide as the eye of a needle.

Chester TON

I'm starting to think I should pay closer attention to the stuff my dad likes...because GK Chesterton is an amazing writer and I knew he liked him for a long time, but it wasn't until I came across a reference to him in Blue Like Jazz that I actually desired to read him. Could have cut to the chase a long time ago...

"Poetry sits at peace in an infinite sea, reason tries to cross the infinite sea and make it finite, the result is mental exhaustion. The poet sits with his head in the heavens and is at rest, the scientist tries to fit heaven into his head and it splits."

awesome...