When it comes to a spiritual position, there are at least three major positions you can take. There are three metaphysical questions you can ask yourself. Each question, if you answer “no,” halts the process and defines your position.
The questioning continues so long as your answer is “yes.” As the questioning continues, you approach a more and more specific concept of “God(s).”
Basically, it’s a flow-chart that calculates your metaphysical point of view.
I had a small dinner party last night so that some friends could come over for some ‘za and beer and catch up on the latest antics of Nancy Botwin and company on Weeds. Per the old saying, “A good time was had by all.” Or to put it less passively, “As usual, we had a blast! (And that Nancy… craaaaaaa-zy!!)”
However, in the course of conversation I realized not everyone knows about the magic behind our north star (Polaris by name) and found myself taking the virtual podium to explain. It’s one of those things that’s common knowledge to many but may come as a complete surprise to others.
So, for those of you not familiar with the navigational magic behind the north star, here’s the deal.
In this morning’s article, I tried to explain my way of answering a question that may not be objectively answerable. I intend at least one more article along this path as I attempt to apply my answer to various kinds of art or not-art. That will come later, but considering the question brought to mind a discussion I had long ago with someone. The long and short of it is that (a) I was a jerk and (b) I was wrong. Completely wrong.
It’s funny how things stick with you. A single conversation held roughly three decades ago remains a focal point in my thoughts (albeit not a huge one). I remember where I was sitting; I remember where he was sitting. That’s actually saying something, as my memory for past events is infamously awful. Maybe it was the weight of the error never fully acknowledged that gives it such sticking power. If so, perhaps this semi-public confession will redress matters.
My culpa was to accuse a friend, whose life and work was art, of not being an artist.
An old and challenging question is, “What is art?” The question is probably as old as art and artists; the moment someone made a cave painting, someone else probably asked, “But is it art?”
It’s possible the question cannot be answered in any objective way; we may each have a personal definition of art. Here are some of my thoughts on the matter.
First, there are (at least) three distinct questions one might ask regarding art:
This essay is strictly about the first question. Critical review (whether a piece of Art is good) and taste (whether you like it) are separate matters.
The post two days ago told the tale of the first time I (and my new girlfriend) jumped out of an airplane, and the post yesterday was about the second skydive.
Both those jumps were tandem jumps. We were securely attached to professional Tandem Master skydivers who did all the work. We were basically just along for the ride. I’d say it was the ultimate “E” ticket, but only old-time patrons of Disneyworld would know what that means. Suffice to say it’s the coolest carnival ride you can imagine. And after you’ve jumped out of an airplane a few times, even the wildest roller coasters seem a bit tame.
As I mentioned in the first tale, when they saw how much we loved jumping they immediately began whispering in our ears, “AFF. AFF.” When we came back for another, the whispering got louder!
Yesterday I told the tale of my first skydive with then new girlfriend (and now ex-wife). We both loved our first jump so much we came back a week later for second jump.
I wrote the original version of these stories about a year later. The versions here have been slightly revised to fill in some details, obfuscate some names and improve (I hope) the quality of the writing.
So sit right down and you’ll read a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. (And ironically, for those who caught the reference, the round-trip driving time to Hutch is about three hours.)
The next several posts are trips down Memorex Lane. They recall one of the most exciting times of my life. I’d just started an incredible relationship with a girlfriend who later became my first (and so far only) wife.
That the marriage didn’t last but a small handful of years and that we’ve been divorced at least twice as many years doesn’t at all detract from the wonder of joy of those early years.
It was in that setting that I (we) tried skydiving for the first time and fell (pun definitely intended) in love with it. These posts (which were first written back then and have since been slightly revised) are about those experiences.
Warning: This is a 100% pure foul-mouthed rant…
You’ve been warned.
It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to watch any of the cable news networks. I used to watch Fox just to see the other point of view, but their lies and bias were finally more than I could stomach.
Computer Programming is hard! It’s at least as hard as what commercial architects do, and I will argue that it’s as intellectually difficult as what doctors and lawyers do.
Many people think it’s easy, because they know some nine-year-old who “programs,” but there’s a difference between fooling around with the computer and building good software applications.
Here’s the deal…
It’s Moanday, and there wasn’t enough sleep time during the weekend, so this is a good time for a little poem I picked up along the way.
It sums up my feelings on the matter of morning quite precisely.
Nuf sed!
Posts pertaining to programming!
Logos con carne 