Aisle 2- tampons, candy, lighter fluid, baking soda, and rulers

We live in a supermarket society. You can buy fruit, beer, donuts, coffee, fix a flat, lotto tickets, cigarettes, porn magazines, bread, rock salt, and/or cough medicine when you stop for gas. I spent some time in Ukraine, and they still, for the most part, operate on the old school specialty shop model: you go to a butcher to buy meat, you go to a baker to buy bread, you go to a low-to-the-ground baba at the market to buy fruit, you go to the chocolate shop to buy chocolate, you go to a gas station to buy GAS—NOT FOOD. Even in this country, superrich people operate this way, they go to food “boutiques”—they don’t go to Kroger. There’s a reason why Ukrainian people (and many other non-American cultures- Spain, for sure) and the superrich shop this way—it’s better.

The downfall of a supermarket society is that nobody knows anything about anything. I go into a coffee shop in a nearby city and ask for a Cinnamon Twist (which is a fancy name for a cinnamon roll) and the barista says “Is that a drink?” And I say, “No, it’s one of your desserts.” I ask for a double espresso in a demitasse, and she says “What is that?” And I think, “Are you here to work in a coffee shop, or are you just hanging out behind the register while you wait for the Lady Gaga show to roll into town?” So I explain the subtleties of the size and shape of the demitasse and even point out its location on top of HER espresso machine. So then she picks up a coffee mug and says “This one?” And I say no. You get the picture.

I go to Target, which sells rugs, bicycles, plasma screens, books, vacuum cleaners, and peanut butter, but nobody really knows anything about any of these things, except where they are located. They can’t review a product, tell me about its quality, how long it will last, where it was made. When I bought a rug in Ukraine, she told me where she got her loom from (her grandmother), where she bought her dyes (Hungary), and how she cleaned the raw wool (in the river). She told me the story of how her grandmother left her the loom with the expectation that she carry on the Hutzel tradition of rug making and that all the patterns she designs remind her of a particular person in her life. 


Yes, I know, you don’t want to hear a family history every time you buy something, and neither do I. But even if I did have to listen to an old woman talk for a few minutes every time I went to the store, I would probably be better off for it, and I would definitely prefer that to facing a whole world of stores that expect me to expect their employees to be dumb. Is this only in the Midwest?

Rose-colored glasses

Everything is green. You can build a green house, not a greenhouse, but a house that is built with the environment in mind. Even cars are green, and I hear that there’s going to be a green Bible soon, with green-lettered verses where God’s Creation is mentioned. Everything is recycled and recyclable, natural, organic, transfat free, no CFCs…

Don’t get me wrong, I try to buy things that don’t absolutely devastate the earth as they travel from soil to shelf, but sometimes I wonder about this green explosion. Yes, we should all try to fight evil, be green, buy and eat good things, but as long as our greenness is just another route of consumption we’re still headed down the same road.

Yesterday, they taught us to fear for our safety in smaller cars and then sold us SUVs ; today capitalism has gone green, and they tell us to fear global warming and then sell us hybrids. I have a friend who lived in South Africa for a few years a few years back, she told me Al Gore winning the Nobel Peace Prize was ridiculous. She sees all our greenness as a last-ditch plead for some fantastic forgiveness from a God whose Creation we’ve ruined—it’s all a bandaid, she says. And while I loved “An Inconvenient Truth,”  as I stepped to the counter today at a glass-walled, vegan menu, fair trade coffee café,  I find that I have a hard time arguing with her.

We used to drink water from the spring

By the time the average Westerner dies they will have spent 7 months, 4 days, 3 hours, 44 minutes and 17 seconds deleting junk emails from their hotmail, gmail, yahoo, and facebook accounts. This eventuality forces one to question the central tenets of evolution—no, it is not the rambling of Creationists that throw a MONKEY wrench (get it? monkey) in Darwin’s theory, but rather statistics like the aforementioned that make one question the idea that humans develop, improve, get stronger, smarter, better. It is what we do on a daily basis that proves or debunks the claim of our steady advancement, and on the basis of a look at these daily activities, I must say that we have not progressed. Consider the following:

We used to gather food and cook it over a fire, now we dig up coal to make a fire in a plant to make electricity to send to a freezer to freeze our food on its ways to a grocery store where it will stay frozen in a freezer powered by electricity (fire) so then we pick it up and start another fire in the internal combustion engine of our cars to take the food home turn on a light turn up the furnace throw away our junk mail and pop our “food” into a microwave (more electricity/fire) that will “cook” it for us, if cooking means altering the chemical composition of the food so much as to destroy any nutritional value left after it was picked from the vine too early to be frozen so it could be reheated. What?

We used to drink water from springs, now we pollute the spring to make a plastic bottle then build a factory to purify the water and put it in the bottle that polluted the spring in the first place, and we do this so we can have drinkable spring water. Right.


We used to eat corn, now we eat high fructose corn syrup.

We used to listen to music, now we listen to [put random auto-tuned robotic voice black dude here, or any of the Youngs will work, or any of the Li’ls].


As you can see, I could clearly go on, but I'm sure it's obvious why I'm skeptical about this thing called human progress.

KitKat patty wack, give the kid his goddamn candy

I love working on Thursdays.  I have the greatest group of volunteers who come and help out at the warehouse.  They don't come on their own volition, but are forced to come by the State of Michigan in order to receive welfare.  If they can't find work for three months, they must start community service to continue to acquire skills.  But it doesn't matter because most of them are hard workers regardless.

All of these women are inner-city women with at least one child.  They talk about the funniest shit when they're here.  And I have to say I learn a lot about the hardships, realities, and the culture of these people.  And anyone who knows me, knows that I love anthrolopolgy... and Halloween.

That being said, I was talking to them today about Halloween.  I mean, Detroit is infamous in regards to this holiday (it wasn't until recently that I became aware of Detroit's exclusivity in this tradition).  But, unfortunately, due to the causes and the effects of this infamy,  the children cannot trick-or-treat in their own neighborhoods.  As a result,  many of them end up getting bussed in or driving into the suburbs to trick-or-treat or trunk-or-treat. [People hand out sweet treats from the trunks of their cars in parking lots.  (Something about this seems contradictory to everything I learned as a child.)]

As I live on the "8 Mile" division between Detroit and the burbs, many of these children end up in my neck of the woods.  Oh, and I hear about it.  I've overheard numerous people talk about "the bullshit of having to give these kids candy on Halloween (they don't even have costumes)".

To this I say:  Go fuck yourself!  The point of Halloween is to give kids candy (and diabetes).  Who cares if these kids are in your neighborhood; put that KitKat in that cute kid's pillowcase and wish him a happy Halloween.  Wake up and realize that he would probably rather trick-or-treat in his own neighborhood anyway. 

This city is ours.  It's not a "their problem" situation we have here.  In fact, this problem is really a microcosm for a larger issue of national security; a problem I see as closer to boiling than Iraq/Pakistan/Afghanistan.  No one wants to share their candy.

A sad crescendo of existence. I can laugh now.

Low moments that have made for good stories.

I went to visit a friend (female) in a nearby village.  Upon seeing her, I hugged her and started humping her leg involuntarily.  I instantly started crying- from laughter and sadness.  I realized I hadn't been hugged in almost a year and I fucking INVOLUNTARILY humped my friend's leg!

I got locked inside a train garage- inside the train.  I was so scared.  I called my friend, Eddie, and asked him what I should do.  He didn't have much advice.  I eventually tried climbing through the window, but reconciled that the drop would be too much.  So, I pried the door open, jammed my backpack between the doors, and jumped.  I was about a 1/2 kilometer outside some random city with the equivalent of $.50 in my pocket.  Not a good situation.

I saw a man fall down a flight of cement stairs with his bike in hand.  I didn't do anything.  I waited to see what the other women would say (one being his wife) who witnessed the event.  She yelled, "asshole".  I laughed.  Then I felt bad for who/what I had become.

A friend and I spent three hours deconstructing a text that may/or may not have had romantic implications (the ellipses were a definite sexual innuendo).  That was the most exciting thing that happened for many weeks.

A friend called to tell me he found a human ear on the ground.  I asked, "Did you take a picture?"  Was that really an appropriate response?

Determined that it was easier to leave the food out on the stove because then I wouldn't have to reheat it the next day and dirty another pan.

Saw a dead body in the trunk of a car and didn't think much of it.

Definitely had more than one "I-just-want-to-go-to-the-forest-and-eat-meat moments".

Have used something other than toilet paper to do the job of toilet paper.  And was proud of myself for being so resourceful.

Bottom of the Ninth

The internet is remarkable.  I truly believe it to be the greatest invention ever.  It's a sea of information at your fingertips, a place to stay connected, a opportunity to influence people to action on a global scale, and a creative outlet for so many.

As I grow older, I often think about what a blessing it would be to have a conversation with my dad.
It would go something like this:

Me: Hi, Dad.

Dad: Hi, Laudenski.  What's cookin'?

Me: Not a whole lot.  Work's good- could use some more money.  Ya know.

Dad: Yeah, well, hang in there.  I've been thinking about adding some flowers around the base of the cherry blossom tree.   Want to see what they've got and pick some out with me?

Me: Sure.

(At this point we would get in the car and Dad would turn on some Tiger's baseball.)

I know it's nothing spectacular, but it'd be priceless.


I stumbled upon a touching website that honors a woman's father.  This is why the internet is so cool.

Assembly plant

Here's a link to something I've been working on to get ready for the ominous winter that lay ahead.  Plants keep my spirits high, while simultaneously improving my air quality.  It's a win-win.

And since I will most likely be making a move in the near future, and knowing that plants are a huge pain in the ass to move with, these will be perfect!

I've also recently acquired these really neat beakers from work to continue my spawning.  I feel like a mad scientist (I like it).

I'm fine, thanks.

There's a phenomenon that has only been observed in the human race (perhaps because we're the ones with advanced language) that when asked, "How are you?", as to not play the weakling, we say, "fine." Even when lying on our deathbed, or after a father passes away, or someone breaks your heart, or you break someone else's heart. This is commonly known as taking one's courage in both hands.  


I don't know if this is courageous at all.

Spontaneity

If before every action, we were to begin by weighing the consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we would never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt.

This is why I'm spontaneous.

"Sadie" -Joanna Newsom

I've never been one to be too concerned with lyrics. I never remember them; no matter how much I want to. (And yes, I am that asshole who sings without knowing the words or sings what I think to be the correct words.) I typically like a song for the overall feeling it gives me or because it just sounds good or makes me move. However, in few instances, certain lyrics will strike a chord inside.

Though I don't particularly love Joanna's voice, there's something ethereal about it. She has a provocative cadence that makes her singing interesting. And, wow, these lyrics are beautiful.

Sadie, white coat,
you carry me home.
And bury this bone,
take this pinecone.

Bury this bone
to gnaw on it later; gnawing on the telephone.
'Till then, we pray & suspend
the notion that these lives do never end.

And all day long we talk about mercy:
lead me to water lord, I sure am thirsty.
Down in the ditch where I nearly served you,
up in the clouds where he almost heard you

And all that we built,
and all that we breathed,
and all that we spilt, or pulled up like weeds
is piled up in back;
it burns irrevocably.
(we spoke up in turns,
'till the silence crept over me)

Bless you
and I deeply do
no longer resolute
oh, and I call to you

But the water got so cold,
and you do lose
what you don't hold.

This is an old song,
these are old blues.
This is not my tune,
but it's mine to use.
And the seabirds
where the fear once grew
will flock with a fury,
and they will bury what'd come for you

Down where I darn with the milk-eyed mender
you and I, and a love so tender,
is stretched-on the hoop where I stitch-this addage:
"Bless our house and its heart so savage."

And all that I want, and all that I need
and all that I've got is scattered like seed.
And all that I knew is moving away from me.
(and all that I know is blowing
like tumbleweed)

And the mealy worms
in the brine will burn
in a salty pyre,
among the fauns and ferns.

And the love we hold,
and the love we spurn,
will never grow cold
only taciturn.

And I'll tell you tomorrow.
Sadie, go on home now.
Bless those who've sickened below;
bless us who've chosen so.

And all that I've got
and all that I need
I tie in a knot
that I lay at your feet.
I have not forgot,
but a silence crept over me.
(So dig up your bone,
exhume your pinecone, my Sadie)

I don't like to over-analyze an artist's intent or purpose of a song because the beauty- literally and figuratively- of art is in the eye of the beholder. So, perhaps this song's about losing a dog and the mortality that we don't recognize (until it's too late). Maybe it's about loving someone and not talking to them (we all know about this), or the universal fear we all have of growing older and our worlds changing (endlessly). It could be about the challenge of the letting go/holding on to memories, and that ultimately we should all slow our pace. Conceivable, it could be a song about faith v. science or the reconciliation of the two. Whatever her point is, whatever mine is- I like these words.

Just thought I'd share them.

Bing gan

The woman at work gave me a fortune cookie today. It read:

"You will move to a wonderful new home within the year."

Synchronicity!

My mentor

My favorite place to be is on a continental coast with my ugly feet (thanks Dad) in the salty water. I love looking out over the expanse and feeling so small and insignificant, but empowered simultaneously. The ocean inspires me more than anything; it's a conundrum- my mind at peace, yet in a rapid procession of thought (think strobe light-like).

I feel like I'm currently standing on that edge of greatness now- looking at my future and feeling insipred. I haven't felt like this since being back in the States, and man, does it feel good. I'm focused. If only I didn't have to wait on this shore for another year before taking that next step.

I'll just have to settle with my feet getting wet- that's a good place too.

Spankrainian

In honor of the languages I've once spoken- now only as a conglomerate in my dreams, I've chosen two poems to remind me that they exist independently and in real time.

KEEPING QUIET

Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,

let's not speak any language,

let's stop for one second,

and not move our arms so much.

It would be a delicious moment,

without hurry, without locomotives,

all of us would be together

in a sudden uneasiness.

The fishermen in the cold sea

would do no harm to the whales

and the peasant gathering salt

would look at his torn hands.

Those who prepare green wars,

wars of gas, wars of fire,

victories without survivors,

would put on clean clothing

and would walk alongside their brothers

in the shade, without doing a thing.

What I want shouldn't be confused

with final inactivity:

life alone is what matters,

I want nothing to do with death.

If we weren't unanimous

about keeping our lives so much in motion,

if we could do nothing for once,

perhaps a great silence would

interrupt this sadness,

this never understanding ourselves

and threatening ourselves with death,

perhaps the earth is teaching us

when everything seems to be dead

and then everything is alive.

Now I will count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I'll go.

A CALLARSE

Pablo Neruda

Ahora contaremos doce

y nos quedamos todos quietos.

Por una vez sobre la tierra

no hablemos en ningun idioma,

por un segundo detengamonos,

no movamos tanto los brazos.

Seria un minuto fragante,

sin prisa, sin locomotoras,

todos estariamos juntos

en una inquietud instantanea.

Los pescadores del mar frio

no harian danio a las ballenas

y el trabajador de la sal

miraria sus manos rotas.

Los que preparan guerras verdes,

guerras de gas, guerras de fuego,

victorias sin sobrevivientes,

se pondrian un traje puro

y andarian con sus hermanos

por la sombra, sin hacer nada.

No se confunda lo que quiero

con la inaccion definitiva:

la vida es solo lo que se hace,

no quiero nada con la muerte.

Si no pudimos ser unanimes

moviendo tanto nuestras vidas,

tal vez no hacer nada una vez,

tal vez un gran silencio pueda

interrumpir esta tristeza,

este no entendernos jamas

y amenazarnos con la muerte,

tal vez la tierra nos ensenie

cuando todo parece muerto

y luego todo estaba vivo.

Ahora contare hasta doce

y tu te callas y me voy.

ПЕРГАМЕН ПАМ`ЯТІ

Вадим Лесич



Пергами пам`яті пом`ятий, не шелестить,


як шумлять затьмарені сади вечора


і вітер гне, наче лук, дугу далечі


і луки ликують під фіялками сутінку.


Бурий дим - і округла, мов гльоб, порожнеча.

Дим від кострубатих кістяків життя,


що попеліють.

Порожнеча, яка чекає на повноту.



Пергамен пам`яті іржаво


запалює свічі на вівтарі вечора.


Мов мох полярний - синіють приморозки.


Під білими зорями тремтить,


мов павутиння, музика Гріга.


Речі зовсім не пов`язані, що існують

окремо кожне для себе, -


але, наче доспілі овочі з різних дерев,


- падають важко у тиші саду

на землю, що меркне в чеканні.



Тіні стають, мов дерева,


і дерева стають, мов тіні.


Пергамен пам`яті
зашелестів


піском розбитих дзеркал


у розсипаній пустині.




THE PARCHMENT OF MEMORY


Vadym Lesych



The parchment of memory changing, not rustling,


like sound darkening gardens yesterday


and wind bends, as if a bow, the arch of distance


and meadows rejoice below the violets of twilight.


Chestnut smoke - and around me, like a globe, emptiness.


Smoke from the rough skeleton of life,


that turn to ashes.

Emptiness, which waits for fullness.


The parchment of memory rustily


lights candles on the altar of evening.


As polar moss - bluing frosts.

Under white stars trembles,


as if a cob webs, the music of Grieg.


Things totally unbound, that exist
each for itself,-

but, as ripened fruit from different trees,

- falling heavily in the silence of the orchard

to earth, which fades in waiting.

Shadows become as trees,

and tress become as shadows.

The parchment of memory rustles,

the sand of shattered mirrors

in the spilled desert.

Perfect strangers really are perfect.

One of the greatest things that I have learned while traveling this beautiful world is that you have to trust people.  I have trusted complete strangers with my life in many strange situations; I've never been let down.  I've found that people are inherently good.  

I let a man lead me into a sandcastle oasis in the middle of the Sahara desert with no grasp of the French language for survival.  We had the best dinner and accommodations that night at a fair price.  

I let a nice Dutch woman drive me into the middle-of-nowhere Burgundy, only to be dropped off at a goat cheese farm. The following day was the best day of my life.

People are good.  But why is it that perfect strangers can be so helpful, caring ,and respectful, but people you care about disappoint.  Trust means enabling other people to take advantage of your vulnerabilities- but expecting that they will not do this.  And the only people to have crossed this line have been two people that I've really cared about.

It's a disappointment.

It hurts me to think that I can trust complete strangers more than people I know.  

Birds of a feather

El gato tiene una risa muy contagiosa

My friend dropped his newly-purchased eggs as he walked into his apartment only to find that his new quart of milk had gone bad because his electricity had been turned off.  The money he'd been saving up to finally pay off his credit cards is now going to turn his lights back on.  His car broke down last week.  His friends all turned him down when he needed to borrow a car today to drive to a gig.

He called me and we had a good laugh.

Sometimes, times are rough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've found though that as one door closes another opens.  All those open doors aren't meant to be walked through, but it provides a possibility to reassess if you're at the right house, so to speak.  So, even if you don't walk over that threshold, there's still much to be gained.

Puppy love

I've never been one to relate to animals.  I don't particularly love them.  Don't get me wrong, baby anythings are adorable.  Only a despicable person wouldn't find a baby bunny or puppy cute.  However, today Stan (my sister's dog) and I had a moment where we found ourselves on the same page.  I glanced over at him while exiting my room to run upstairs to grab some polish remover.  He had his jaws clenched on his "stress-relieving" stuffed beagle who laid lifeless between his teeth.  Stan looked unfulfilled and underwhelmed at best.  I just said to him, "Stan, I know how you feel."

On second thought, maybe I should have said, "little stuffed beagle, I know how you feel".

The plunge.

Sometimes I wish answers were as easy as shaking a magic eight ball.  Is flipping a coin putting too much stock in fate?  People keep telling me to go with my gut, but my gut feels like a sandstorm.  What the fuck does that mean?

Ultimately, it's not that big of a deal.  It's ten months away from my family (not friends, since I haven't been around them much anyway) again.  Ten months living in a shitty apartment with no friends.  Ten more months of not being in a romantic relationship.  Ten more months of being poor.  Ten months with bugs, scarce water, and the same raggedy clothes.  Ten more months before "settling down" in America. Ten months of dust or mud.

But ten months of learning a new culture.  Ten months of great job training.  Ten months of sun.  Ten months to test myself again.  Ten months of meeting new people.  Ten months not being in Detroit.

Ughhh.  Who knows how to read tea leaves?

Game Over- you lose.

It's no surprise to people that know me- I love games, particularly game shows.  Super nerdy, I know.  I suppose I just like the act of competition.  I never really care if I win, I just like competing and talking trash.  Of course winning is more fun than losing, but I have fun no matter the outcome.

There was one summer when I was living with my sister and her husband.  That summer I knew the GSN (Game Show Network) daily schedule from 8:00 a.m.- 12:00 a.m.  No joke.  And there were three solid hours a day that I watched Press Your Luck, Card Sharks, $10,000 and $25,000 Pyramid, and rounding it out with Family Feud.  This is not one of my prouder moments, but I'm not ashamed either.  I've been told I have an old soul- old ladies like game shows...and bridge.

So, I sit here alone on a Monday night with a big house to myself.  It's lonely being in a large house by oneself.  I've decided that it's something I never want.  I will never need this much space.

But what am I doing on this Monday?  Well, I'm watching game shows.  Yes, I'm awesome.  And I've come to the conclusion that one of the loneliest jobs has to be that of a game show host.  I've always felt bad for them- all of them.  They seem sad, pathetic, washed up, and just well, douchy.

The majority of game show hosts are washed up actors nowadays.  That in itself is a sad fall from grace.  Just imagine "having it all" and losing it.  Then feeling like your best move to regain whatever you lost would be hosting a game show that only airs at 2:00 Saturday afternoons on the Game Show Network.  Jesus, it's hard to watch.

In the beginning, I believe it was kind of an honor to get to host a game show as an actor.  A prime example is the original host of Family Feud- Richard Dawson (uncomfortable kissing extraordinaire).  He was so successful that he won a Daytime Emmy, but he was the original sleazeball.  In 1976, a game show host was a great career move- upward mobility- you probably got a lot of ass, had a great pinky ring collection and all...but at some point, between then and now, this all collapsed.  The only thing that still remains from the heyday of game show hosting is the sleaziness.  It truly is painful watching collarless-shirt-adorned Howie Mandel, Danny Bonaduce, Richard Karn, and Will's cousin from Fresh Prince try to make me laugh with atrociously-written jokes.

My conclusion: I will never live in a big house.

    I will never host a game show- I don't like losing at the game of life.

Hutzel love

Up until a few year ago I couldn't sleep without part of my body being covered.  Big toe, left arm, lower half of face, etc.  But, something changed when I got to Ukraine.  Maybe it was because I was too cheap to ever buy a fan in the dead of summer.  Maybe I just got so hot that even my pinkie finger being covered was too much.  I don't know...but now I can sleep sans cover.

However, despite the heat, today I didn't.  In fact, I took a nap with my favorite blanket.  This blanket means a lot to me.  It's like an old lover- comfortable, secure, and reliable.