failed business ideas:
savory pop tart business
inflatable car business
left-handed drumsticks (the turkey ones) business
re-using air freshener bottles in various ways business
make walls out of anything business
take old paper cutters and fashion them into swords for start-up armies in foreign countries business
making hammers that can also open beer bottles in an awesome way business
giant cowboy hats business
making exotic spices that don't taste good business (because rich people love things that don't taste good and they convince themselves that they do taste good)
more to come
Friday, January 23, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
being alive
There is a particular satisfaction that I find in cold weather. It is not the sensation of the harsh winds amplifying the bitter coldness as it rushes my face, nor is it the energy that is needed to stay warm in such dire conditions. It is much simpler and more immediately gratifying, which is maybe why I am so drawn to this phenomenon. When the weather outside is frightful,
we can see our own breath.
I've always been intrigued by this idea, the thought of seeing your own respiration, one of two things that truly keeps us alive at all times. Though it may seem obvious, we often forget that we breathe at all, and the idea that breathing is essential can be some people in the whirlwind that is everyday life. When the temperature drops, there are always complaints, of course, but I've found it to be invigorating, to witness this constant reminder of how I am alive. I imagine what it would feel like to ride my breath as some small molecule, forced out of my hot lungs and up the elevator of my windpipe, into the dark humidity of my mouth and finally glimpsing light for the first time ever, expelled out into the world as a warm newborn, only to be dissipated immediately by the frigid air around it.
I may not be persuasive enough with my description, so maybe I can offer another example. When football players are lining up for an important play on a cold day, there's a chance to witness something that is pretty incredible. They line up in their stances, breathing hard smoke every half-second or so, clearly fatigued from the previous action. At this point, the breathing is erratic; you'll see chaotic puffs seeping out of random face-masks. As the quarterback calls out his signals, something curious begins to happen. As each player hones in on the snap count, his concentration is piqued, and his breathing slows. Suddenly, you start to see a shared breathing pattern developing, all 22 players exhaling within a half second window of each other. These are small fractions of time, mind you, so it takes careful attention to detail, but if you watch closely enough, there is a moment just before the ball is snapped when one might see all 22 athletes blow out a fine white smoke in perfect unison, and the expelled breath of opponents mixes down along the line of scrimmage. In a split second, it's all erased as helmets crash and massive amounts of force are exerted in pursuit of the pigskin.
Today, I will go outside into 20 degree weather and just breathe. I'll suck in cold air through my red-fringed nostrils and feel the physicality of that air as it enlivens me, feel the oxygen rushing through my bloodstream. Then I'll slowly exhale, eyes crossed as I watch a small piece of my life leave my body forever, curling and fading into the blue sky like a forgotten cloud.
we can see our own breath.
I've always been intrigued by this idea, the thought of seeing your own respiration, one of two things that truly keeps us alive at all times. Though it may seem obvious, we often forget that we breathe at all, and the idea that breathing is essential can be some people in the whirlwind that is everyday life. When the temperature drops, there are always complaints, of course, but I've found it to be invigorating, to witness this constant reminder of how I am alive. I imagine what it would feel like to ride my breath as some small molecule, forced out of my hot lungs and up the elevator of my windpipe, into the dark humidity of my mouth and finally glimpsing light for the first time ever, expelled out into the world as a warm newborn, only to be dissipated immediately by the frigid air around it.
I may not be persuasive enough with my description, so maybe I can offer another example. When football players are lining up for an important play on a cold day, there's a chance to witness something that is pretty incredible. They line up in their stances, breathing hard smoke every half-second or so, clearly fatigued from the previous action. At this point, the breathing is erratic; you'll see chaotic puffs seeping out of random face-masks. As the quarterback calls out his signals, something curious begins to happen. As each player hones in on the snap count, his concentration is piqued, and his breathing slows. Suddenly, you start to see a shared breathing pattern developing, all 22 players exhaling within a half second window of each other. These are small fractions of time, mind you, so it takes careful attention to detail, but if you watch closely enough, there is a moment just before the ball is snapped when one might see all 22 athletes blow out a fine white smoke in perfect unison, and the expelled breath of opponents mixes down along the line of scrimmage. In a split second, it's all erased as helmets crash and massive amounts of force are exerted in pursuit of the pigskin.
Today, I will go outside into 20 degree weather and just breathe. I'll suck in cold air through my red-fringed nostrils and feel the physicality of that air as it enlivens me, feel the oxygen rushing through my bloodstream. Then I'll slowly exhale, eyes crossed as I watch a small piece of my life leave my body forever, curling and fading into the blue sky like a forgotten cloud.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I'm slumped on the floor again, my spine curved up against the bottom of the spongy green couch. I'm worried about my posture, but I can't bring myself to care enough to change my position.
The moment is now, everything is here.
My fingers run over a charred spot on the rug. I can't place how this spot happened. It is carmelized in some spots and blackened in others. Altogether, the spot is about the size of my fist, but it varies greatly in both color and terrain. I am struggling to remember how things happen.
The word happened is not in my vocabulary. How things happen, how they happen now , and how they were happening when then was the now.
The rug is scored with the past, steeped in loss, yet still existing anew.
The rug will not be discarded. It will be embraced. This rug bears the scars of an unfortunate accident. This rug was not burned with intention.
It may eventually be reduced to ashes, maybe not. Maybe it will live on to serve the feet of a new world, underground, sewer dwelling baron. After all, the rug is still beautiful. Some might say it has character.
The rug has no character. The man who sits upon the rug gives it character.
The moment is now, everything is here.
My fingers run over a charred spot on the rug. I can't place how this spot happened. It is carmelized in some spots and blackened in others. Altogether, the spot is about the size of my fist, but it varies greatly in both color and terrain. I am struggling to remember how things happen.
The word happened is not in my vocabulary. How things happen, how they happen now , and how they were happening when then was the now.
The rug is scored with the past, steeped in loss, yet still existing anew.
The rug will not be discarded. It will be embraced. This rug bears the scars of an unfortunate accident. This rug was not burned with intention.
It may eventually be reduced to ashes, maybe not. Maybe it will live on to serve the feet of a new world, underground, sewer dwelling baron. After all, the rug is still beautiful. Some might say it has character.
The rug has no character. The man who sits upon the rug gives it character.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
dear painting
dear painting,
i miss you. we should get together soon and talk. i will make you feel whole maybe, and you will make me feel real, maybe. i hope that we can reconcile our differences. sincerely, dave
i miss you. we should get together soon and talk. i will make you feel whole maybe, and you will make me feel real, maybe. i hope that we can reconcile our differences. sincerely, dave
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