Stifling joyous experiences can only limit happiness in the world. Just think about the last time you saw a video of an international soccer match where a player scores a goal and the player takes forth on a celebratory jaunt. The look of joy sends shivers of joy through me regardless of the team for which he or she plays. Is it possible for you to not feel a sensory and involuntary requirement to turn the corners of your lips upward? I know I cannot. Human responses are universal. A smile spawns another. A laugh spawns another. A dance spawns head bobs, toe taps, and additional dancing (albeit, sometimes not the most elegant).
So why dance like there's nobody watching? I see no reason for it. Share. Sharing fosters happiness or excitement, even if it is only temporary. Embarrassment and self-consciousness about our own imperfections is worthless and debilitating. Stepping forth through the door of embarrassment and self-consciousness is one of the most liberating and fulfilling experiences I have found for myself and I truly believe it can be for others as well.
As the sun crept into the eastern sky this morning, I arose in my tent on the south side of Surprise behind a dirt mound and a bunch of scrub brush. I had a sudden urge to listen to music. I pulled my iTouch out my shoes that I placed in my tent before I went to sleep. I let the Genius "All Metal Mix" play its desired songs. A song by Filter, "Hatred is Contagious" sang out to me. The lyrics spoke to ME specifically and directly.
hatred is contagious
hatred is contagious
it breaks me
it takes my pride
it breaks me
it's built on lies
it makes me
but I am alive
Generally, I'm not a lyrics kind of dude (Just ask my high school buddy, Scott, with whom I have verbally wrangled over the past 20 years that Robert Zimmerman is not a musician, but rather a poet). I focus more on musical arrangement, vocal power and harmonies and thus the aura created by the combination to determine a perfect song. Amazingly, "Hatred is Contagious" hit me this morning as I danced in the desert in full view of passing motorists on Bell Road, Surprise, AZ as I loaded my bicycle for the day's journey. The lyrics (Hatred, "it makes me, but I am alive") reminded me a bit of my statement from about a week prior. One can be alive with hatred as a core focus, but with hatred, one cannot truly be living. I'm trying to get to the point of fully living.
I ended up heading back to Starbucks for a little AM caffeine kick and some internet action. I got my usual Venti mocha light frappucino with soy milk. And wallowed in my internet fascination inside the SBX along with a patron who had been there when I arrived. He was almost definitively homeless. He wore a string that was clipped to his buttoned down shirt onto which was tied three small plastic bags, each of which contained multiple other typical American plastic grocery store bags (you know the ones, the kind that fly up along the roadside like butterflies in the wind). As I approached the SBX on F.G. Superman, he was sitting outside at a round table, savoring a cigarette and quietly speaking to himself.
As I walked inside and ordered, I noted he followed me in and sat down on the "comfy" chairs. I was reluctant to sit next to him because sometimes, frankly, I'm uncomfortable speaking with people with mental illnesses, which I suspected he had not yet fully addressed. I stayed at the SBX, charging my cell phone, iTouch, and laptop for until each was fully charged. All the while, this homeless gentleman strode in and out of the store to drink the coffee he purchased and smoke respectively.
In a way, the homeless man and I were of the same breed - just hangers on to the coolness and comfort of a welcoming environment, subject to maintaining a cup of coffee. I thought about the gentleman and what I could potentially offer him to help him sustain himself in some way. When I arrived in Aguila, I stopped at a gas station called Wally's and picked up what looked like the healthiest snack on their limited food supplies. Ultimately, I later noted there was a preponderance of unpronounceable words under the ingredient. I chose not to consume the bag myself earlier. However, I did offer this bag to the SBX gentleman. He eagerly accepted.
Now, you may be saying to yourself, "Hey Tim, if it's not good enough for you because of the nasty chemicals in it, why give it to this guy?" Twas a moral dilemma for me I must admit. However, I justified the presentation in the following manner. Perhaps this man had a chemical imbalance and with the various chemical compounds found in the foodstuffs provided, maybe, just maybe it would be helpful to him. It's a real stretch, I know. Alternatively, it could "pickle" the fella like Keith Richards and he'll keep on ticking and maybe play a mean guitar next week when I'm gone. Finally, the best explanation I can give truthfully is that by giving this man food, he will hopefully feel gastronomically satiated, even if for a short period of time. If I give the man money, perhaps he'd use it for illicit drugs or alcohol. I'd rather have the man die of cancer in 30 years as a result of bad foodstuffs, than die tomorrow because he scored some bad horse, if that was his "poison."
I decided it was time to start spinning on F.G. Superman, so I packed up my multiple cables, devices and computer and headed outside to pack up and spin away. I was approached by a few individuals who where interested in my sweet ride. After a short discussion, I handed each a Vagabond business card. Quite taken by the card they were.
I rode off into the steamy morning.
Now I must tell you, the day's photographic essay is scant. There is a very specific reason for that. It is not that I wasn't looking and that yours truly didn't care. There was nothing worthwhile to photograph! I rode about in hot, dusty suburbia. It was almost as boring as riding through the desert with VERY flat terrain. The few things that excited me were limited. Well, first off Stanley insisted on a photo at the SBX before we left this AM.
Next up, a sign. I just like knowing where I'm headed.
Next up, perhaps a cultural, regional, or plain biologically good - the painting of the orange tree trunks on Thunderbird Road in Surprise. I also saw it sporadically on the remainder of my ride. I think it just looks silly!
I could have taken photos along the Arizona Canal. That would have been worthless and visually boring.
Suddenly I realized, I had eaten nothing other than a Kashi bar all day. An insatiable desire for a great slice of pizza overcame me. I went off the map to find the goodness...I asked local folks for a good local pizzeria - Domino's and Papa John's and similar would not suffice. NO ONE IN PHOENIX KNEW OF A PIZZERIA. Finally, in the outskirts of Scottsdale, a woman suggested a pizzeria. I followed her precise directions. It was the west coast version of Chuckie Cheese's. I entered and almost passed out from the visual overload and pricing. I felt like I was going to get conjunctivitis and strep throat just standing in the entrance. I high tailed out of there. Two doors down I found a Mongolian restaurant near the Metrocenter - which is near an amusement park and the Arizona Canal path I needed to follow to get to Scottsdale. I loved it FABU! Just highly salted...that goodness I took my blood pressure meds in advance of the meal.
I have a brain that works on 78 RPMs while most others around me work at 33 or 45 RPMs. If I don't write it down, it may not come back for a while. Such examples are here below.
While in Aguila, I saw a woman filling her tank with gas. I noted the AZ license plate "AZSUBVT." I asked her about it. I thought perhaps it was related to the fact that Arizona is below Vermont. Nah, that can't be right, it's southwest, not below - I'd like to that my 7th grade geography teacher Robert Clymer for ingraining that in my brain! Anyway, the woman advised the vehicle is her 85 year old father's. He was a career US Navy submarine crew member - thus, her father was Arizona Submarine Veteran. She went on to explain that he still tells stories of his time in the Pacific, being fired upon and sinking Japanese vessels. She indicated that she found an online resource that she shared with her father regarding the submarine on which he served and the various missions, and sailors with whom he served. Looking at the ships log, he discussed the attacks, near misses, and a fire that occurred in the engine room on one mission. Based upon the report filed by the submarine's captain, the woman's father imparted that the captain apparently downplayed the severity of fire in the engine room!
While in Wickenburg, after a meal at a cafe, I noted that the check was delivered to me upside down by the waitress who wore a bowtie and white shirt. Nothing extraordinary 'bout that. But I got to thinking: Why is a check delivered with the total face down traditionally? Does a server think they could possible add a dozen large garlic pickles and pork rinds to the check and because it is turned over, there is less likelihood I'll notice the pickles? I just have no idea where this practice started.
You and I know today's entry was rather blasé. Tomorrow may be more entertaining as I think I may get a massage and climb Camelback Mountain (http://phoenix.gov/PARKS/hikcmgud.html) , which is just a few miles from where I'm sitting right now. It will be my second visit to the park. I was last on that mountain in either 2005 or 2006. I'm looking forward to showing you the views from atop the mountain. They are spectacular!
Tis fun experiencing this journey with you. I really am enjoying the journey. The destination is superfluous!
I ended up heading back to Starbucks for a little AM caffeine kick and some internet action. I got my usual Venti mocha light frappucino with soy milk. And wallowed in my internet fascination inside the SBX along with a patron who had been there when I arrived. He was almost definitively homeless. He wore a string that was clipped to his buttoned down shirt onto which was tied three small plastic bags, each of which contained multiple other typical American plastic grocery store bags (you know the ones, the kind that fly up along the roadside like butterflies in the wind). As I approached the SBX on F.G. Superman, he was sitting outside at a round table, savoring a cigarette and quietly speaking to himself.
As I walked inside and ordered, I noted he followed me in and sat down on the "comfy" chairs. I was reluctant to sit next to him because sometimes, frankly, I'm uncomfortable speaking with people with mental illnesses, which I suspected he had not yet fully addressed. I stayed at the SBX, charging my cell phone, iTouch, and laptop for until each was fully charged. All the while, this homeless gentleman strode in and out of the store to drink the coffee he purchased and smoke respectively.
In a way, the homeless man and I were of the same breed - just hangers on to the coolness and comfort of a welcoming environment, subject to maintaining a cup of coffee. I thought about the gentleman and what I could potentially offer him to help him sustain himself in some way. When I arrived in Aguila, I stopped at a gas station called Wally's and picked up what looked like the healthiest snack on their limited food supplies. Ultimately, I later noted there was a preponderance of unpronounceable words under the ingredient. I chose not to consume the bag myself earlier. However, I did offer this bag to the SBX gentleman. He eagerly accepted.
Now, you may be saying to yourself, "Hey Tim, if it's not good enough for you because of the nasty chemicals in it, why give it to this guy?" Twas a moral dilemma for me I must admit. However, I justified the presentation in the following manner. Perhaps this man had a chemical imbalance and with the various chemical compounds found in the foodstuffs provided, maybe, just maybe it would be helpful to him. It's a real stretch, I know. Alternatively, it could "pickle" the fella like Keith Richards and he'll keep on ticking and maybe play a mean guitar next week when I'm gone. Finally, the best explanation I can give truthfully is that by giving this man food, he will hopefully feel gastronomically satiated, even if for a short period of time. If I give the man money, perhaps he'd use it for illicit drugs or alcohol. I'd rather have the man die of cancer in 30 years as a result of bad foodstuffs, than die tomorrow because he scored some bad horse, if that was his "poison."
I decided it was time to start spinning on F.G. Superman, so I packed up my multiple cables, devices and computer and headed outside to pack up and spin away. I was approached by a few individuals who where interested in my sweet ride. After a short discussion, I handed each a Vagabond business card. Quite taken by the card they were.
I rode off into the steamy morning.
Now I must tell you, the day's photographic essay is scant. There is a very specific reason for that. It is not that I wasn't looking and that yours truly didn't care. There was nothing worthwhile to photograph! I rode about in hot, dusty suburbia. It was almost as boring as riding through the desert with VERY flat terrain. The few things that excited me were limited. Well, first off Stanley insisted on a photo at the SBX before we left this AM.
Next up, a sign. I just like knowing where I'm headed.
Next up, perhaps a cultural, regional, or plain biologically good - the painting of the orange tree trunks on Thunderbird Road in Surprise. I also saw it sporadically on the remainder of my ride. I think it just looks silly!
 |
| Just ridiculous |
 |
| Another sign...boring. |
Suddenly I realized, I had eaten nothing other than a Kashi bar all day. An insatiable desire for a great slice of pizza overcame me. I went off the map to find the goodness...I asked local folks for a good local pizzeria - Domino's and Papa John's and similar would not suffice. NO ONE IN PHOENIX KNEW OF A PIZZERIA. Finally, in the outskirts of Scottsdale, a woman suggested a pizzeria. I followed her precise directions. It was the west coast version of Chuckie Cheese's. I entered and almost passed out from the visual overload and pricing. I felt like I was going to get conjunctivitis and strep throat just standing in the entrance. I high tailed out of there. Two doors down I found a Mongolian restaurant near the Metrocenter - which is near an amusement park and the Arizona Canal path I needed to follow to get to Scottsdale. I loved it FABU! Just highly salted...that goodness I took my blood pressure meds in advance of the meal.
I have a brain that works on 78 RPMs while most others around me work at 33 or 45 RPMs. If I don't write it down, it may not come back for a while. Such examples are here below.
While in Aguila, I saw a woman filling her tank with gas. I noted the AZ license plate "AZSUBVT." I asked her about it. I thought perhaps it was related to the fact that Arizona is below Vermont. Nah, that can't be right, it's southwest, not below - I'd like to that my 7th grade geography teacher Robert Clymer for ingraining that in my brain! Anyway, the woman advised the vehicle is her 85 year old father's. He was a career US Navy submarine crew member - thus, her father was Arizona Submarine Veteran. She went on to explain that he still tells stories of his time in the Pacific, being fired upon and sinking Japanese vessels. She indicated that she found an online resource that she shared with her father regarding the submarine on which he served and the various missions, and sailors with whom he served. Looking at the ships log, he discussed the attacks, near misses, and a fire that occurred in the engine room on one mission. Based upon the report filed by the submarine's captain, the woman's father imparted that the captain apparently downplayed the severity of fire in the engine room!
While in Wickenburg, after a meal at a cafe, I noted that the check was delivered to me upside down by the waitress who wore a bowtie and white shirt. Nothing extraordinary 'bout that. But I got to thinking: Why is a check delivered with the total face down traditionally? Does a server think they could possible add a dozen large garlic pickles and pork rinds to the check and because it is turned over, there is less likelihood I'll notice the pickles? I just have no idea where this practice started.
You and I know today's entry was rather blasé. Tomorrow may be more entertaining as I think I may get a massage and climb Camelback Mountain (http://phoenix.gov/PARKS/hikcmgud.html) , which is just a few miles from where I'm sitting right now. It will be my second visit to the park. I was last on that mountain in either 2005 or 2006. I'm looking forward to showing you the views from atop the mountain. They are spectacular!
Tis fun experiencing this journey with you. I really am enjoying the journey. The destination is superfluous!
You misunderstand "dance like nobody's watching". It's a command to be real, be yourself, walk, talk, act as if, simply be; dance like nobody's watching. Share the joys and sorrows; live out loud.
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