confusion

this [ /. ] + this [ /. ] = Robotech? Evangelion? Gundam?

No—it’s not a super bowl number… ;) And there was not much drunkeness.

S██████ and I where having dinner last night and talking about this article [ paulgraham.com ] titled ‘What You Can’t Say.’ Basically it talked about how many things we are told by various people (political parties, religious groups and other peoples in power) that we should not say may in fact be true and that these people do not want them said for fear we will realize these things are true and counter to what they want us to believe. Anyway, the author points out that an easy way to find such things is to look at how they are labeled—saying something is ‘false’ is a statement of fact (whether you got your facts right is another story) but when we are told something is ‘blasphemy’, ‘sacrilege’, heresy’, ‘indecent’, ‘improper’, inappropriate’ or ‘un-American’ then we should examine why these labels have been applied. Perhaps the people applying them feel threatened by these things?

The one label that really gets me is ‘un-American.’ And the quickness with which people label things as ‘un-American’—especially politician and most especially since September 2001. I cannot think of any thought or idea that is ‘un-American.’ Now everyone has a right to free speech and therefore a right to label things as they see fit—even ‘un-American’ but I can’t comprehend it. It is our duty, as Americans, to question the things our government does (it is our complacency in this duty that tends to get us in trouble—but that is another rant.) Not only is it the right of every American to think and speak anything we wish (we are for some reason not allowed to say things like “I’d like to kill President Bush’—but I think that if I want to SAY that, it should not be illegal) but it is our most precious and valuable freedom. Embodied in the first amendment to the Constitution—the very first entry of the Bill of Rights. So if the right to speak your mind is at the core of being American how can anything any American say be ‘un-American?’ Anti-American, yes—un-American, no. Impossible.

Hummmm. I opened a new journal entry with some idea as to what to write—and now that idea is as elusive as xanadu. Maybe I’m getting old. In any case I will be getting old in a week—or at least older as far as officail like documents are concerned. One more growth ring, though I joined a gym and am trying to remove some of the old growth rings.

The past few weeks my mood has been very manic—some days I’m happy and energetic and other I just want to be left alone—very alone. Not really sure whats up. I know that mid December to mid January are never the best of times for me. I try not to live in the past but there are a few things from this time of year that just bother me, no way to not think about them and no way to fix them. They bother me less with time but I think they will always be there in the back of my head.

Anyway, it’s a new year. Leo Buscaglia once told a story about ancient Egyptians and their version of St. Peter. That they believed that after death their answer to two questions would determine if they where to enter paradise of not. The fist; ‘did you find joy?’ and the second; ‘did you bring joy?’ Rather than waiting for the afterlife lets ask these question of the last year.

Did I find joy? Yes. There was a lot of pain in the past twelve months but overall I believe I am happier with my life than at the end of the previous twelve. Did I bring joy? I hope so. I think so. I know I brought my share of pain and anger but I hope that over all I come out as a bringer of joy.

And what of the coming year? Will I find joy? Will I bring joy? Well… One can only hope. So, happy new year.

I got the stangest IM yesterday. Well not the strangest but very weird. Anyway. I was away from my desk for a while and when I got back (mind you it was before 8am) I had an IM from Mena. It said “hey Beggs! I’m in Spain right now and I cannot find a public phone. No one is on IM. Could you call my parents and tell them I got here safely? Thanks!” She was gone by the time I got back. But I called her house and told her dad—he laughed.

Only Mena.