Oh the Humanity

I am no longer using the term, "Human". Several years ago I conducted a survey amongst many of my contemporaries as to the feelings they get when hearing, "Human". Several people replied back that they felt like it is antiquated and they felt ill when hearing it. I have been chastised from many pulpits as have many of my friends who still use this term. I realize that in order to keep the peace that today will be the beginning of the end for me using the term. I came to this conclusion after conducting a survey on my website that asked if we should still use the term. 60% of people who visit my website said that we need to stop using it. Grant it, 60% are about 3 people including my mom, me, and a guy that thought he was a character from Star Wars, but nevertheless the survey speaks for itself. For me, I will keep doing what I am doing and let people label me if they want. It just needs to be known that I will not use it any more. Oh and by the way, because I am not using the term it means that it is dead. I just decided this so that's what just happened.

Human lived a good life and served a lot of good while it lasted. We, who originally started using the term, have come to many different conclusions about using the term human. Jony Tones said in his book that, "In order to be a human, you must wear a hat." I am not sure where he wrote that in his book being that I never read it, but I am sure it is in there and I don't always wear a hat so I must not be a human. There have been a lot of good people who will still use the term, but they are old school and should probably reconsider. Also, a few of us are starting our own group that is going to distinguish itself from those who still use the term human, but don't worry. We are all in this together and are still working alongside each other; it is just that we are more correct in our views and probably are more relevant.

Now that we are embarking on a new journey that is post-human, we can look to the future and look down on those who use the term human. It is so freeing to be post-human and to not use labels. By the way, our new network will be called Post-Human so if you are feeling like you are sick of labels that mark you as human, come and share in a new network as a post-human. See you in the blogosphere!

The Awkward Turtle

There are two lights that send shivers down my spine when they come on. First, is the light on my car indicating that I am low on gas. This is always frustrating because I always think back to the last time I filled up and argue to myself or my car that it wasn't that long ago. Then the haunting feeling of price paid for said gas. Sounding much like the iconic grandpa character, I say something like, "I remember back in 2001 when I paid .89 cents a gallon." But in all honesty, 2001 wasn't that long ago. I digress. The second of these lights that cause nausea is the oil light on my dashboard which indicates that I need to change the oil. When I got into my car yesterday morning, both of these lights came on. It was the perfect storm.

Let it be known that I do know how to change my own oil. It is one of those things that dad taught to me in my younger years. But something that dad also taught me was that unless you have time to spend, better to let someone else change your oil. Well for me yesterday, I didn't have the time. I knew what must be done. I also knew that there is only one place between my house and work that changes oil; enter Jiffy Lube.

There are very few establishments in this society that I feel an absolute loathing for at the mere mention of a name. Nothing makes me feel less like a man than having another man work on my car. It is as if in our society there was this code that was given to all men saying, "You are to work on your own car and watch ESPN and to enjoy both." I missed this code completely. In fact, when men are gathered together talking about sports, in my head it is like watching a foreign film without subtitles. Needless to say, the auto shop isn't quite my scene.

Whenever I know that I am going to get my oil change, I rehearse to myself in the car. I try to think of questions that I will be asked and to rehearse my response, "No thank you" which translated means, "I am not sure, but I think you trying to scam me." It is always the same scenario. The mechanic, Shiesty McGee, attempts to give me a long detailed explanation of how my car may or may not blow up if I don't get the supreme oil. It is usually demonstrated on a computer that displays a chart that places my car in the red zone. I don't know much about cars, but I do know that you are to stay away from the red zone. Shiesty McGee then explains that this oil is recommended by Jeff Gordon and to not choose this supreme oil is foolish and will cause irreparable damage to my car. What do you do? If I say, "No" it is like I just kicked his puppy. This is the scenario that plays out in my mind. So after a good bit of rehearsing on my part, I feel that I am ready to face Shiesty.

As I pulled up into the docking station, I start to devise a plan that would calm my nerves while I awaited persecution from Shiesty McGee for getting the bare minimum service. I grabbed my book and went into the waiting room to bury my head into a book. Once I sit down, I notice a gentleman standing next to the television turning the volume up. He looks at me and explodes about the latest news on the United Nations. It didn't stop. He kept yelling at me about his frustrations. Mind you, they were the complete opposite of my own views, but I wasn't going to let Crazyguy Mcgillicutty know that. Whenever I am in this situation, I always try to look for something to diffuse it. A quick glance around the room revealed nothing. Then I had a great thought, a fake phone call. I reached to feel for my phone and realized that I left it in my car. For a moment I thought that maybe I could throw my book at his face and run out of the door. Then I realized that I really liked my book so I was kind of stuck. I started to pray that Shiesty McGee would show up to save me. It was a strange prayer indeed.

There was a lull in our conversation. I use the term, "Conversation" lightly. In fact, the conversation was actually not an exchange of words between fellows but rather a discourse of words directed at a meaningless stranger. I figured I would use this to my advantage and step outside while my car was being worked on. Shiesty came to me and directed me to a computer to show me how far my car was in the red zone. I gave my rehearsed response and paid the man for the bare minimum. As I turned to leave Crazyguy looked at me and with a smile said, "It was great talking with you."

 

 

The Avett Brothers

A couple of weeks ago my wife and I found out about the Avett Brothers coming to concert in Roanoke, about 45 minutes away. Very few good concerts come so close to Lynchburg. Most bands that are reputable tour D.C. and very seldom come within an hour of Lynchburg. This is much to my dismay, but is nevertheless the situation with living in a semi-rural part of the country. It truly is an enigma with me and somewhat unsettling that this part of the country is largely ignored. It seems that many authors, musicians, and other artist tour areas of the country that are overpopulated with avant-garde, postmodern youths who blog behind their Macbooks in local Starbucks complaining about the "Man". Don't get me wrong. I would be found in the same environment if I lived in a different context. So here I go, starting a blog about one thing and probably hopping a couple more subjects and going for something else.

We live in a society that is networked throughout the country where friendship and conversation are so easily attained by turning on a computer. I should know. This is how I remain sane while driving and being cut off by a Ford pickup covered in mud with a giant sign that reads, "Screw the environment get me my oil" (This is an actual occurrence a few weeks ago…just ask my therapist/wife) My frustration is that the connectedness of people who are likeminded in this area is increasingly difficult to find. Maybe that is why many artists don't come to this area? Regardless, I digress.

I love going to concerts. Ok, so I confess that most concerts I have been to have been Christian. Not that there is anything innately wrong with that, but it is to be noted for sure. The concert experience is always a blast wherever there are fans. The energy exudes off the stage and begs the audience to participate in the grander of emotion being expressed by the music. The Avett Brothers were masters of this art.

Everyone young and old couldn't help but to sing their refrains and stomp their feet to the music. It always amazes me that there exists this other dimension in concerts. I am not trying to make a concert more than it is, but I think all concert goers can agree that where there is good music, there is often community. Before the concert got started, it was pretty cool to overhear a few people talking about their favorite song. Emily sat by a group of people who said that this concert will be their fifth time hearing them perform. The audience on Friday night was so engaged with the band that at one point before the concert, one of the stage hands came out to tune the guitar, and having a beard much like Seth Avett, people started to cheer really loudly. The guys from the band remarked several times that they were truly grateful for the warm welcome from the audience.

There always exists for me this disappointment after a concert. It is the great sadness that overshadows the show that I just saw. It happens when I get in the car and try to play the music that I heard. It is never as good as the show, no matter how great the album is, it can't capture the feeling. I wonder if it has anything to do with the audience or maybe the musician's elation with performing to a crowd rather than in a studio in front of a producer.