Esoteric Bowl

I have never made a resolution for a New Year. I don’t know why that is, but it’s never been a task that I have looked upon as something to be done. Of course, there is always room for change and opportunities to improve, but if there is a need for change or a desire for improvement in my life, why wait for a calendar year to pass before deciding to make that change?

I realize that making a resolution for the approaching new year is more of a tradition than anything else. Years ago, I adopted the Chinese tradition of eating noodles for the New Year. It’s considered to be an act that will bring good luck throughout the year. I’m unsure of it’s ability to bring good luck, but I like eating Chinese noodles, so the tradition at least provides a reason to eat and share noodles with others.

Although I am not one to make a list of New Year’s Resolutions, my desire to write has convinced me that I should compose such a list. Therefore, I do hereby resolve to do the following in the year 2002:

* Join no club, group, organization, or affiliation.

* Write an interesting blog post at least four times during the year.

* Continue to pretend that I know what I’m doing on the computer.

* Eat junk food on occasion.

* Have spontaneous sex with someone interesting.

* Reread a favorite book.

* Get a free calendar from the bank.

* Be grateful.

* Laugh at myself on a regular basis.

* Run with scissors at least once.

* Allow myself to be bored.

* Have spontaneous sex with someone not so interesting.

* Criticize those in power.

* Dance with myself.

* Throw away my pom-poms.

* Have bad hair days.

* Write.

* Watch the Super Bowl.

* Maintain at least one bad habit and/or vice.

* Have my share of bad days.

Whew, I guess that’s enough! I’ll maintain a record here in the coming months to see how many of these goals I can reach.
Wish me luck.

In a matter of hours the year of 2001 will become only a memory. While past years often have a way of blending into each other and ultimately fading in memory, I imagine 2001 and its vividness will remain clear long after this year is over. Although much has happened in the 365 days of this year, 2001 will primarily be remembered for the events that took place on one single early morning in September.

On the morning of September eleventh, I was writing at my desk. The television was turned on to MSNBC, mostly for background noise. “IMUS in the Morning” was interrupted for what would be the first attack on the World Trade Center. A plane had crashed into one of the towers! What a tragic accident I thought. Maybe the pilot had his coordinates mixed up. Maybe the equipment of the plane had malfunctioned. While watching the live reports, I went online into the chat-rooms. I wrote in bold text, “A PLANE HAS CRASHED INTO THE WORLD TRADE CENTER”. Nobody responded to what I had wrote; I couldn’t believe it. I went to another chatroom and still no one seemed to care. I received a private message from a chat-friend, “Good Morning”, she wrote. I frantically typed to her, telling her about the plane crash. Instead of voicing her concern or shock, she began to tell me how boring the chat-rooms had been.

When the second plane had crashed into the tower, all the maybes of malfunctions and pilot error slowly vanished. As my mind absorbed each moment as it happened, I still struggled to figure out what was happening. I kept wondering how such a thing could happen; the possibility of terrorism never even crossed my mind until the news people had made the observation. I briefly returned to the chat-rooms, yet the indifference to all the happenings was more than I could bear.

The pizza-girl knocked on my door last night. I didn’t order a pizza, and she wasn’t knocking to deliver one. She had already made her delivery to a neighbor, but she wanted to let me know that there was a dead cat outside my door. What? Yup, the orange and white cat was sprawled out in the grass about ten feet from my door. Although I see that cat hanging-out just about everyday with two other cats alongside the building, I have never seen anyone claim the cats as their own. Whenever I have seen the three cats they are always sleeping or trying to, yet they do manage a friendly “meow” when the mood strikes them. There will be no more meows from this cat; it was certainly dead, but it didn’t appear to have any injuries.

Although the cat had been dead for less than an hour, I was not interested in disposing of it myself. If at all possible I wanted to find out who the cat belonged to so they would know about their pet, but also to get it removed before a scent arrived. After finding out which neighbor claims the cat as their own, I went over to inform them that the cat was dead. The Samoan woman and her two kids came to have a look. As soon as the woman saw the cat, she screamed its name, “Angel”. She picked the cat up and hugged it tightly in her arms; all the while screaming and crying uncontrollably. The kids started to cry as well, only not as loud as their mother.

By this time, neighbors are coming outside of their homes to see what has happened. As the woman carried the cat towards her home, the husband is standing outside and looking on. Once he sees the dead cat, he picks up a wooden bench in his garage and literally destroys it; pounding it to pieces against the concrete ground. He yells out some profanities to anyone and everyone. He obviously believes that someone has poisoned their cat. Another neighbor informs me that this is the second cat to die this week.

This morning I couldn’t help but notice the grave site in the neighbors front-yard. A huge mound of dirt is surrounded by a circle of white painted rocks. Outside of the circle there is a white cross that easily stands at four feet in height. A very impressive grave site that many humans would surely appreciate for themselves. I’m truly sorry that their cat died, but why not keep it in the house if it is such a beloved family pet, especially if they know that someone in the neighborhood is killing cats.

With pen and notebook in hand, I sat outside in the early morning darkness. A strange looking cloud moved slowly along the blackened sky. Although my mind was focused on the idea that what I need to know will present itself to me, my thoughts gradually focused more upon the cloud. I struggled to find meaning in its shape. It looked like the face of a man; no, more like an animal jumping a fence. I soon convinced myself that it was useless in trying to interpret a meaning in a cloud. I should let the cloud be a cloud, and ask nothing more of it.

As the form of the cloud moved towards the light of the moon, I realized that the cloud had no idea in which direction it was headed. It just was. The cloud existed in this present moment, allowing the wind to decide the journey it must take. The cloud wasn’t concerned with where it had been or where it was going. I jotted down the thoughts that came to mind. I meditated for a moment and felt a joy within myself, as if my heart had overflowed. I looked back towards the sky to share my joy with the cloud that had taught me something of value. It was gone. It had already taken another form, having served its purpose for me. Although its form had been changed, it continued to move on in its journey; perhaps to teach another lesson.

While roaming the library, I found myself in a section that I had not visited for quite sometime; The Kiddie Section. As I scanned the titles, I quickly recognized some of books that I had long forgotten.  I was a little surprised, yet pleased to find that many of the books from my childhood are still on the shelves. It was kind of like bumping into good friends from yesteryear, friends that I had not seen in a long time.

It was rather fun to reacquaint myself with these books, to once again see the artwork and to read the words from where I not only learned to read, but where I discovered the joys of the written word as well. For some reason, I feel a sense of reassurance in knowing that the kids of today have the opportunity to read these same books.

Whatever happened to these “News Channels” on television? For a number of reasons, I find it very difficult these days to watch the news. First of all, I’ve grown weary of reading “America at War”, “Anthrax Attack”, “Region in Conflict”, “War on Terror”, and similar other titles that are forever posted across the screen. When did it become necessary to post titles in bold banners with every story? I understand how these banners could be useful in grabbing the attention of the casual viewer when there is breaking news of national or international importance, but the practice of continuously posting them only lessens their value.

Another change at CNN, FNN, and MSNBC are the use of tickers. Once only used to report the daily stock quotes, tickers now continuously scroll across the screen with the news of the day. Granted, these tickers may very well be useful for the viewer in learning about a breaking story. However, the current sales receipts of Harry Potter is not what I would deem as breaking news nor as being ticker-worthy.

There has been another change at these “News Channels” that is far more upsetting than tickers or continuous banners. The news anchor with the background in journalism is being replaced by a “personality”. Greg Jarrett, Chris Jansing, Paula Zahn, and the like are not journalists. They don’t report the news, they titillate it. With every story they voice, sensationalism drips from their lips. Their “National Enquirer” approach to the news magnifies every story out of proportion. Their arrival on these “News Channels” is yet another sign that the news itself has taken a back-seat to packaging, entertainment, and ratings.

Granted, what is news and what is not news, is a question that journalists have been grappling with for a long time. Yet I cannot remember a time when this question is in more need of answer than now. However, these “News Channels” no longer seem to be interested in this question. In recent history we have been force-fed daily doses of OJ Simpson, Monica Lewinsky, and Gary Condit to name just a few. If it weren’t for the tragic happenings of September 11, I imagine the “Condit Controversy” would still be posted across our screens. Now we find ourselves in the midst of 24 hour coverage of “America’s New War”, where oftentimes there is nothing new to report, so the same story is regurgitated over and over and over again with the same voice of urgency and sensationalism.