Still Water

I began this blog over a year ago and judging by the frequency of posts, I quickly lost focus. “Rarely Lucid” sat stagnant while I... fill in the blank. I could come up with plenty of excuses but it’s really just lack of focus and discipline on my part. Besides, I am the blog's only reader so who am I making excuses to? It is time to get things flowing again.

After re-reading my first post I have decided to make some adjustments. I am a lot less concerned about where this is going. They say that variety is the spice of life and I have to agree. Not to mention keeping up a blog on one specific topic is exponentially harder than mixing brain droppings. If writing about a single topic, day after day, was somehow fulfilling to me I would have stayed in academia. So I will now feel free to branch out a bit. I am a jack-of-all-trades in life so I think my writing should be a reflection of that.

So what do I want out of this? I am not sure. I do find a great deal of pleasure in writing and my old graduate committee would agree that I need the practice. It is also important to keep my creativity flowing through words or other mediums. Too many times in the last year I had a good idea for a post and I did not act. If that is how I treat a small write up then how will I ever face my larger goals?

First Aid

Last year, while out running errands, I came upon a car crash that had happened only moments before my arrival. The two cars involved were in the middle of a busy road. Almost instantly there were onlookers along the side of the road. Much to my surprise these folks, rather than rushing to help, were busying themselves taking cell phone pictures of the now smoking cars. I have to admit that it was the sight of the onlookers rather than the crash that inspired me to act. I parked my truck out of the way and ran to the scene.

I noticed that there were still people in the cars as I approached. With both vehicles smoking heavily, my concern for the people inside greatly increased. Upon closer inspection the smoke was coming from the discharged airbags. After helping open one of the car doors I found myself asking, “what next”? Everyone appeared to be ok, though considerably shaken up. It was clear that the airbags had saved everyone in both vehicles. The cars were not on fire and I could hear sirens in the distance. A fairly happy ending considering the situation.

As I went back to my truck I became quite angry with myself. I was embarrassed that I had no idea on how to help anyone. Sure I had the guts to run out there but then what? Am I just an up-close onlooker? My ignorance was unacceptable and I had to take action.

The first chance I got I signed up for a first aid class through the American Red Cross. I did not have any prior first aid training and I was excited to learn. The class was small and there were only two of us that were there on our own accord, as opposed to job requirements. We took an entire morning and afternoon to discuss and practice the fine art of first aid. At the end of the day I left with 2-year certifications for first aid, AED, and CPR. A tedious job requirement for some but a real achievement for me.

I hope there is no “next time” but when it comes, I will be ready.

Debris!

The screeching sound of the Emergency Alert System can invoke a wide range of emotions. In the Midwest where severe weather is common, I imagine most responses are of concern or fear. During the Spring and Summer months we are at risk for tornados and severe thunderstorms and during Winter there is the possibility of blizzard conditions. Concern and fear are not unwarranted as these storms can be lethal in addition to causing millions of dollars in property damage. For me however, the sounding of the EAS sparks a feeling of excitement which flows through me like electricity.
Growing up in Tornado Alley is no doubt the cause of my fascination with weather. Hearing the haunting sound of a tornado siren followed by a hustle to the basement is a familiar experience for any Iowan. However I have always been much too curious (and stupid) to just sit in the basement and wait out a storm. If one of nature’s most destructive phenomenon is coming to climax just outside my window, I have to look. I suspect that many Midwesterners would call me naive, particularly anyone who has lost property or even loved ones to a storm. I am naive to an extent; I have never been harmed by or lost anyone to a tornado and the only property loss has been a few bits of siding and shingles. I understand the risks but severe weather gives me a thrill complete with sweaty palms. Some people need to jump out of a plane to get their blood flowing, all I have to do is keep and eye on the sky and have patience.
Perhaps I should have studied to be a meteorologist. The barrier for me is the amount of mathematics involved in studying weather. I am far more right brained than left and just passing calculus was quite the achievement for me. Though meteorology is not a career path for me I still had a desire to be more involved than just looking out the window.
A couple of years ago I received an email from one of the university departments. It was an offer for weather spotter training on campus. Being a spotter had not occurred to me until then and I immediately signed up. Unfortunately I was unable to make it to the training, disappointed, I told myself I would sign up next year. Time has a funny way of slipping by when you are not paying attention and another year passed. It was not until this year that I was finally able to fulfill my promise to myself.
I studied any online material I could get through NOAA during the weeks leading up to the training session. I arrived 40 minutes early just to be sure I would not miss it. Attending the session were construction workers, professors, a few students, and one ham radio operator. I have never been so excited to see a cheesy power point presentation. At the end of the training a sign up for weather spotter volunteers was passed around and I eagerly signed.
I am now an official weather geek and have my Skywarn spotter number! My number makes me a bit more credible in the eyes of the National Weather Service. Now instead of just gazing out the window I can actively participate in keeping my community safe. In addition to spotting at home I can chase! Actually anyone with a car can chase but now I feel like I have a little more reason to be out there. I am willing to drive most anywhere in the state if I get the opportunity to see a tornado. Am I crazy? Absolutely.
My eyes have been on the sky all of my life. Starting this year I will have my phone in hand ready to keep my community safe. I need a cape!

I heart xkcd!

Happy Earth Day, I got you a card!

Greeting cards are a wonderful way for anonymous writers and graphic designers to tell your friends and loved ones how much you care. If clever images and phrases just cannot capture your true feelings then you might consider a talking or singing card. Personally I have never been able to tell my wife just how much I love her until I could find a card that would sing “Tequila!”. Finally, humans have achieved the pinnacle of emotional expression.

For my birthday I was fortunate enough to receive a card that could quote “Larry the Cable Guy”. After my tearful joy had subsided I began to consider what it takes to create such artwork. I pulled the card out of the garbage and started taking it apart. Inside I found a small circuit board and a speaker. What surprised me was the three button batteries needed to power this masterpiece of emotional sentiment. I have owned watches that have lasted for many years on a single button battery and yet this device needs three! I am not the greenest person in all the land but I know trouble when I see it.

Just imagine for a minute how many singing/talking cards there are on the shelves today. How long before the recipient tosses the card in the trash? How many batteries are these cards alone putting in landfills? I was hoping that I would not be the first to consider these questions. I began to investigate how to recycle or reuse the little devices hidden in cards. I was disappointed to find very little, a couple of outdated recycling pages and one clever blogger who made his snack drawer sing when opened. No such luck.

So off to the landfill they will go. Once there they can begin to leak heavy metals and acid into our ground water poisoning life on this planet for generations to come. I suspect this is the reason we end up with folks like “Larry the Cable Guy” but I digress. As for my three battery device, I’m wondering if I can combine it with the solar walkway light I took apart last week.

Just a bit outside

I have not always been a baseball fan. As a kid I did not play T-ball or little league and my idea of sandlot baseball was swatting tennis balls into traffic. I did play in a church softball league once but I was so bad Jesus would have thrown his Bud Light at me. Any interest in America’s pastime simply did not exist for me. That is until the 1993 World Series.

My Dad has always been a Philadelphia Phillies phan. Even if he has never been able to tell me exactly why. To my knowledge he has spent most of his adult life in Iowa. Any Iowan has the luxury of choosing one of the many teams hosted by the surrounding states, though I think most are Cubs fans. Not my Dad, I think his distain for the Cubs had something to do with his choice of following a team 1000 miles away.

Until the ‘93 NL Pennant series I had never seen my Dad so excited. I can still picture his reaction when the Phillies beat the Atlanta Braves for the NL Pennant. His large frame literally shook the house as he hopped up and down like a little kid. The excitement was contagious and baseball suddenly became visible to me. The Phillies were on their way to the World Series and I was a newly minted phan.

I watched each game of the nail-biting World Series with my Dad. I remember feeling like they just could not fail. If nothing else the excitement coming from our house would be enough to propel them to victory. Unfortunately my first taste of baseball would be washed down with the bitter taste of heartbreak. I can’t say that I blame Mitch Williams, I just think it is the chance you take with a closer nicknamed “Wild Thing”. Sorry Dad, next year.

As I got older my love for baseball cooled to a smolder. My college roommate, an avid Cubs fan, kept me interested through the college years. We even took a few trips to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs (again, sorry Dad). On one particularly lucky day my friends and I managed to see the Cubs at Wrigley then drove north to see the Brewers at the new (at the time) Miller Park. I still loved watching the boys of summer but was not until transitioning that my love of the game grew to a full fire.

I knew that coming out could cause a rift between my Dad and I. I was not sure how he would accept me and I wanted to make sure I had some kind of plan. It was my hope that baseball would be a topic he could feel comfortable talking to me about regardless of anything else. A year prior to telling him, I began to play fantasy baseball in an effort to learn as much as possible. After that year I could hold my own in baseball conversation and trash talk complete with stats. Not only had I learned to really appreciate the game but I had also built a bridge for my Dad.

Though his reaction to my news was not nearly as sever as I had anticipated, I feel that my idea was successful. I think we have had longer conversations and connected much better because of baseball. Now when I call home he does not think I am just trying to reach Mom and I know just who will be calling me after a huge home run or a close call at the plate. Because of my Dad, I am now the one who is jumping up and down. I hope he knows how much his passion has helped us both.

 

As I write this, the Phillies lead the Nationals 11 – 1 on this opening day. Go Phillies!

The Hurtful Project

Cutting, a form of self-harm, is the act of making small cuts to the body as a method to control emotional pain. (WebMD)

This is a practice I have witnessed first hand with someone very close to me. At the time I did not understand my friend or this practice and I would criticize her for it. I would never have imagined that years later I would be cutting too.

In the midst of an overwhelming depression I began to cut myself. Though I could not literally cut myself because I could not leave evidence on my body. I did not want people to know how I was really feeling and I certainly did not want the criticism for engaging in such an activity. I had to be smarter about how I hurt myself. Most people have a morning routine and so did I. After convincing myself to get out of bed I would make a cup of tea, turn on the news, and open the laptop. Navigating the browser to Google news, I would search for the term 'transgender' in the latest stories. After selecting an article I would quickly scroll to the bottom of the page seeking the comments section. It is here that I found I could do the most damage to myself. Everyone knows that the anonymous nature of the internet allows people to speak freely and openly without consequence. I would seek out the comments meant to tear apart or otherwise threaten people like me. I wanted read the new derogatory names people invent and see what the general public really thought of me. I would do this most mornings. While other people were heating up their pop-tarts I was seeing how badly I could scar myself emotionally. I called it cutting.

I don't do this to myself anymore, at least not for the same reasons. I finally decided that I had quite enough to deal with and adding to my depression with this activity was just not helping. I began to wonder how many other people like me were seeing these comments and how many of them would not be strong enough to survive. I also wondered if I could turn these hateful words into something positive. The artist in me began to consider this bitter medium.

The Goal (Roughly)
Though it is occasionally painful I am still seeking out and reading these comments. I intend to collect them for a period of time, a year perhaps. I am not sure what the end result will look like but I believe that the process is where the inspiration lives. I intend to continue the same process of using Google news to find the paint for my project. I think this will keep out most of the blog stories so I can focus on mainstream news outlets. I am recording the comments in a document, copy and paste style. I correct spelling to keep the document more viable for a word cloud. I am collecting snippets, whole sentences, and I will copy more if the context is important. My final goal is yet to be determined but right now I am considering a word cloud or the collection of comments displayed at an overwhelming size; imagine a large gallery wall covered in these trans-specific hate comments. As many artists before me, I want the viewer to feel what I feel.

Here is a sample of my pallet so far:

The bible says it is an abomination.

All the trans-gender garbage is just a politically correct cover up for people who are mentally ill.

These admitted perverts are allowed to adopt kids.

Trannies & pedophiles. what's next. Please don't tell me, I nearly vomiting now.

I have nothing against homosexuals but I do have something against individuals that change decides to change their gender.

Lovely comments to say the least. I would prefer more upbeat posts but this is something I am working on and I think it is important. A quote I recently came across seems an appropriate closing:

"If you stand up and be counted, from time to time you may get yourself knocked down. But remember this: A man flattened by an opponent can get up again. A man flattened by conformity stays down for good." ~ Thomas J. Watson

Start!

The first sentence is the most difficult, so I will skip it.
I've been told that a blog needs direction or a theme to attract readers. I have considered this for quite awhile and have come to the conclusion that attracting readers is not my goal. I'd like to think that I am interesting enough to have regular readers but alas, there are many blogs out there and this is just another drop of water in the sea. However, it is a bit difficult to sail rudderless so I have come up with a rough idea of where I might go. My major topics will be artwork and transgender issues and minor topics might include travel, food, entertainment, and whatever floats my boat on a given day. Perhaps a decent analogy would be a pleasure cruise through my head. I know the seas can get rough in there so I am going to stay flexible. Besides, if we get lost, we'll just pull in somewheres and ask directions! So without further ado, I dedicate this online journal to myself.