Thursday, November 20, 2008

As you might expect.

I had planned on spending the afternoon working on a blog about how the modern American capitalist system/corporate culture is really a voluntary opt-in feudalism, using specific examples from the company I work for. Instead, they laid me off. So, I'll have to get to that entry later. Such is the life of an artiste.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Friday, November 7, 2008

The Shift.

We had a mid-week weekend of reprieve, but autumn is back, nipping and cozying us down into blankets and scarves, but his eyes have gone steel having been so inviting. Is it even the same one? The time shift felt weighty this year, again, as late as it comes, an hour substantial. Morning feels like mornings used to, in grade school, a bright sidewalk straight up and onto the hill on Walker, where the alien walnut eggs slowly hatched day by day, and I waited for Billy (my first memorized phone number not mine, 782 not 764) and his mom at the T so we could walk together. Evenings start more sinister, and drop away winkaflash, leaving night to stalk in the wake.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Found peaking.

I've been lost in a corn maze twice now this year. The first time was back in late September. The maze hadn't been open very long, and the corn was a good ten feet tall, maybe twelve, deep green leaves filling out right through the middle of some of the narrower paths. A machete would have been a useful accessory. It had rained earlier that day, and every now and again there was a wet intersection. But the paths were mostly firm and dry, and as yet unspoiled by people cutting through the walls. Jackets only needed to protect arms from the fresh leaf scratching.

We flat-out raced through the first maze, my second guessing costing me the win. Then we took turns being the guide for the group in the second maze, the odd configuration taking us much further than we would have needed to if we'd been willing to cheat ourselves and do checkpoints out of order. For the third, we did a team race, starting at different ends, where you had to hit all the checkpoints as a team. It felt like the sun stayed up late just for us, and the sky kept its shaded colors over the hills surrounding the valley, horizon to horizon, for what seemed like hours.

For the fourth and longest maze, we decided to just strike out on our own, winding through the two miles of paths alone. Sam dove in without consulting his map, forging ahead with the intent of getting lost and finding God out in the sea of corn. Jill went in through the exit, head down, eyes on the map, determined to find her own way. I was in a weird headspace, caught up between wanting to get lost, but not really being in the mood for it. I felt detached, the world unreal there in the long-waning light and the tall corn. Unable to concentrate hard enough to notice God, unable to ignore his presence. So I just went to do it efficiently, but breezily. Enjoy the evening. Work my way through quickly, but not worry about it. Find what I found, and let it be.

But less than 5 minutes from the entrance, I suddenly had to use the restroom, and took the shortest path back to the starting point for the mazes I could find, cutting through the end of our maze on my way. But as I came back, I got confused, and started tracing the exit path I took out on the map instead of the entrance one I took back in. And I got lost.

Not hopelessly lost, though. I kept moving away from the exit, my sense of direction was good enough for that. But where on the map I was, I had no idea. None of the intersections looked right. I kept seeing Sam from time to time, wandering steadily, but he wasn't using a map at all, so he couldn't help my find where I was exactly. And if there's one word I'd use to describe the whole experience, I'd say "relaxing."

To have no other responsibilities than to some time find my way through a maze that I know had a path that I could find. Nothing else to worry about, nothing else to think about. A single, doable, pleasant task right in front of my face. A purpose, but not a hard one. Untaxing work. That's relaxing.

Eventually, I noticed that I may have been in a particular section (the kanagroo?) a good way south from where I thought I thought I was, but it looked like if this path was that path, and that one was that, a turn here would bring me to a checkpoint. And it did.

With by bearings found, worked my way to a bridge where two paths crossed and climbed up to look around. A couple of teenagers, and a younger kid were hanging around. I thought the older ones might have been dating in that early teenage way, unsure of what to do with your bodies when you're together, somehow still living off the friendship you started the whole thing with. Attached and detached, but together.

Thunderheads lumbered along east and south of us. I felt small, like a blank face in a crowd. There were big things happening around me, great and wonderful, and all I could do was watch them happen.

I traced my way out from there, stopping once to watch the sun drop below the corn right down the center of a long straight path, finally weary of our wanderings, ready to kick us out to get to bed. As the darkness settled, a couple of buses pulled in, and kids spread through the maze, cutting between the paths, and shouting, boys stealing girls cell phones, as they do (how else at that age to be chased when you want to be?), jumping out to scare, laughing and yelling.

It was a definite foreshadowing of what it would be like when we come back, late October, the corn tired of living, ready to finally sleep. By then, the paths were wide, the leaves pushed back by so many explorers, the walls between rows thinned, sometimes so far as to be doors.

We came back with our own teenagers from church, bundled in stocking caps from our personal stash, intended to let our earlier foray inform this one. We ran the same race in the first maze, this time, the worn down corn making it hard enough to stay on the path that the first 5 people came out the wrong one maze. 4 out the wrong exit, 1 out the wrong entrance. I sent them off in teams to race the next one, but teenagers are less loyal in these situations, and some of them ended up separated, in far corners of the field, going edge to edge without finding their checkpoints, the first group coming back long after the third had done so, the sun leaving much quicker this time.

Now what? Send the kids out to get in the long maze lost themselves? No. Not a good idea. The paths were too fluid. We decided to play Sardines in the big maze. I was the first runner, so I decided to head out to the cross bridge, sit down at the bottom the stairs to one side and wait.

I had the count of 500, so I dove right in the exit, cutting through the corn to get myself hidden as quickly as possible. I knew that after a certain point southwards, I was guaranteed to be in the right maze, so I knew they could find me. But as I made my way along in the dark, through that section I'd thought I was in the previous time, I missed the bridge, and near the south edge of the field, found a crossroads to stand it, and with no idea where I was, really, other than, "south-easterly-ish," waited in the dark to be found.

So now I was lost, but not at all trying to get unlost. Only waiting for someone to find me. Trying not to scare random people as I stood there alone in the dark. The corn dry like over-bleached hair. It was less relaxing to wait, and I wasted the thinking time I had by busying my mind. Keeping it from thinking usefully. On all the subjects but the deep ones. I do that far too often: calm, relaxed, my head not engaged. I don't know why.

I waited for quite a while, walked in a circle, stepping over fallen corn stalks, kernals ground into the earth. Standing, waiting, lost but not wandering. Every now and then, the sounds of distant groups working their way through the maze. And after long enough, I decided to whistle loudly, and the main group of the guys showed up soon after, the one other crashing through the corn from the opposite direction. We waited for a while for the ladies to show up, but they eventually called and said they had quit the search So we made our way out as we could, singing Vader's theme from Empire Strikes Back, piled in the vans, drove past vast orange halogen-lit asphalt and steel industrial complexes, and had ice cream at Dairy Queen on the way home.

By-the-by, the pumpkin pie blizzard is especially good.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Remember 'remember;' it rhymes with 'November.'

Whew. That's over.

I hope.

For the last month or so, I've felt strangely detached from the hopes and yearnings and fears of a lot of the people around me. According to the news, a lot of the people in the world, that is. Crammed into a binary situation by circumstance, I took a third way and voted for a man whose name I could not even remember as I waited in line for the two and a half hours it took for the election commission to get the right voter registration books to my polling place. Who I wasn't sure I'd vote for until I'd been in that line for an hour. And I voted for that candidate mainly because another man who I respected more than any of the candidates endorsed him. A candidate who, in Jackson County, got less than twice the number of votes as there were write-ins. A candidate whom I literally know nothing about besides his name, his running mate's name, and his party. And I'm fine with that. But I was able to not vote out of fear or hope. And I'm fine with that, too. Happy even.

(I would have voted for Jesus, but I figured he's gonna take office no matter what the vote. But I came close to doing that anyway. Maybe I should have. (Thought I'd address that.))

So, last night felt weird, detached, out of body. I've voted in two presidential elections before this, and I really thought those elections mattered at the time. So, this time, to see election numbers flashing on the screen (annoyingly, and prematurely) and to not really care which way they fell was weird. I felt like a sociopath, not able to feel.

My culture says I'm supposed to care. I'm supposed to think voting is the big deal. Get out and vote. Vote vote vote. Get a coffee. Get a doughnut. Get accolades. Wear a sticker; show your patriotism. If you haven't voted, you can't complain. But voting is just one wee thing in a whole big sphere of possible political action, and while my vote didn't count anyway, I went ahead. It felt right, but I don't know if it was right or wrong. It felt good, a little subversive, but I don't know if it was worth my time. Maybe I would have been better served staying home and sleeping an extra hour and a half, been able to be more present for the youth guys I hung out with on Tuesday night. As it was, I was exhausted.

I kind of wonder if the Baldwin/Castle ticket in Jackson County had 664 votes instead of 665, what it would have changed. Maybe I could have gotten all worked up and plunked my vote into a 90k-drop bucket (either way). And then, as I always do, I wondered if I had changed my one vote, how many people also would also have changed theirs. Would me changing mine been enough to affect the cosmic unconsciousness so that others would have too? I doubt it. Same thing with economics. If I create my own little demand or supply of something, does that even have an effect? I don't know. But again, I doubt it. Is that nihilism or realism?

As far as winning goes, I kind of wanted McCain win in order to to spite the really smarmy pundits on TV, and everyone like the self-important people standing around the line at the election place yesterday, the kind of person who likes standing to the side at events, letting other people see them at the thing, but not willing to stand among the 'unwashed.' The kind of person who took running for 6th grade class president as an opportunity to make things happen. The kind of person who strongly believes in the power of volunteering to serve on boards of organizations. Also, you always get a garishly colored t-shirt, apparently. I kind of wanted Obama to win because I like when people have hope, and like when young black guys have good role models. I kind of wanted McCain to win because I think he's got a better sense of humor than Obama. I kind of wanted Obama to win because I think he would have a more policitally interesting administration. I kind of wanted McCain to win because because because. But in the end I really didn't care for most of the policies of either of the candidates. I kind of liked Mccain's more. But only just. Not enough to cast a vote.

So, I watched the Daily Show/Colbert report, saw how hard it is to be funny with short notice. Saw them call New York with 0% reporting. Saw them call the Obama win, hope in Jon Stewart's eyes, like it all finally meant something. Got ready to sleep, saw a generous and well-spoken concession, saw a triumph, cared less about Oprah, as usual. Went to sleep. Woke up.

And all that's different today is that I feel more like writing. More than I have in a month or so. Maybe longer. Like I've been under a cardboard box for a while, and now someone moved it, I can't figure how I got under there, or why I never left earlier. So, there you go. Maybe there'll be more writing. That's the impact of the election in these parts; it's over.