Travis’ blog

Yesterday was a big day for me. I've had my eye on a specific digital still camera for a really long time, saving up money for months and months, and finally with my tax refund, I had enough money to get it.  I walked in to the electronics store at work, walked to the camera display case, and saw the most disheartening thing possible: a small blue sticker saying 'SOLD OUT.'  The clerk said they should get more in... eventually. 

That was about three weeks ago.  I've been stopping by the electronics store whenever I can, waiting for the little blue sticker to disappear.  So yesterday, when I walked inside, I expected to be let down, considering I had checked a couple days before and was told that they planned on getting some... next week maybe?  They weren't sure.  But I decided to check yesterday anyway.  As I approached the camera, I was convinced I was mistaken.  There was no blue sticker.  I checked with the clerk to make sure this wasn't a cruel prank, but it wasn't.  They had gotten two cameras the day before.  I got it without hesitation. 

I just took it out for the first time and popped it's photographic cherry.  Here's my first picture:

Not bad right?  Photography is the one art form I unabashedly love.  Taking one image and freezing it in the infinite vastness of time has the potential to be truly beautiful.  My walls are currently blank, awaiting the prints of my favorite pictures.  I'm going to name my camera Dennis Scott Calvin (it's initials being DSC).  We are officially in love. 

With the Virgina Tech shooting (and televised video footage of Cho, thankfully) starting to fade from everyday conversation, I stumbled across an amazingly eloquent essay written by a professor at VT responding to this rude prick who bastardized the tragedy to write a blog bashing atheists.  Please go here for the complete response.  It is beautiful and well worth the read.  Here are my two favorite paragraphs. 

We atheists do not believe in gods, or angels, or demons, or souls that endure, or a meeting place after all is said and done where more can be said and done and the point of it all revealed. We don’t believe in the possibility of redemption after our lives, but the necessity of compassion in our lives. We believe in people, in their joys and pains, in their good ideas and their wit and wisdom. We believe in human rights and dignity, and we know what it is for those to be trampled on by brutes and vandals. We may believe that the universe is pitilessly indifferent but we know that friends and strangers alike most certainly are not. We despise atrocity, not because a god tells us that it is wrong, but because if not massacre then nothing could be wrong.

I am to be found on the drillfield with a candle in my hand. “Amazing Grace” is a beautiful song, and I can sing it for its beauty and its peacefulness. I don’t believe in any god, but I do believe in those people who have struggled through pain and found some solace in their religion. I am not at odds with them any more than I am at odds with Americans when we sing the “Star-Spangled Banner” just because I am not American.

Amen. 

I usually enjoy letting my mind wander, drifting mentally from one hypothetical to the other, but tonight my mind backed itself in to a corner.  I was thinking no matter how much you like someone and enjoy someone's friendship, there are things that will always annoy you.  And sure, you will probably engage in some harmless shit-talking with mutual friends, but then the thought hit me: I bet my friends shit-talk about me all the time. 

I'm sure I can annoy the hell out of people sometimes.  My friends have probably had plenty of conversations about how I'm an asshole, or about how I'm annoying, or about how they think I'm stupid.  I once caught my mom secretly trying to thank someone for being my friend when I was out of the room.  Does this mean my own mom has had shit-talking sessions about me with her friends, or worse... with my friends?  Chances are... yes, probably.  And then I think: why even try to maintain relationships with people if I'll eventually rub them the wrong way and give them reasons to complain about me? 

I just thought of the answer: at the root of every friendship and relationship is annoyance and frustration.  Actually, let me rephrase that:  the root of every friendship and relationship is a tolerance of annoyances and frustrations.  Sure, I may rub my friends the wrong way, but we still want to enjoy each other's company.  So you put up with it. 

Face it, there is something you strongly dislike about every person you know.  Maybe they're passive aggressive, maybe you know they're racist, maybe they talk with their mouth full, or maybe they really like Creed.  Despite all that, friendships and relationships march on.  It's not a coincidence that people I have met who have a very limited social circle are also the easiest annoyed.  On the whole, I think people are too wonderful to be picky and stubborn about forming friendships with them.  I think it is impossible to appreciate someone you love until you learn to satisfyingly acknowledge everything you don't love about someone. 

In a sense, the bittersweet is much more worthwhile than the mere sweet. 

I remember being about six years old, chewing pink bubble gum, and finally pulling off the ability to blow bubbles.  This was huge.  I burst in to my parents room where my mom was sleeping (it must have been early in the morning -- no better time for candy), and anxiously showed off my new talent.  My mom feigned enthusiasm, but I could have cared less.  I could blow bubbles!

No more than five minutes ago, as I walked back to my desk from the bathroom, I pursed my lips together and blew.  Without even trying, I whistled.  I was taken aback.  Did I just do that?  My entire life, I've never been able to whistle.  I tried it again.  As long as I wasn't laughing, it still worked.  I asked my coworkers, "Is this a whistle?"  As if I was being sarcastic, they replied "... yeah..." 

I'm containing my excitement, but this is even bigger than the bubble gum achievement!  I have tried and failed, again and again, to "just put your lips together and blow" (by the way, that advice makes total sense now), but that is now all null and void. 

Mind you, the whistle isn't very spectacular.  It's quite monotonous, sounding like a faint replica of the tone accompanying color bars.  I have no idea how to whistle a melody or even in a different key, but hopefully that talent will come in time.

To mark this monumental occasion, here is a song to celebrate.  Take it away Billy Joel!

"We were fine when you didn't believe in God, but to be an atheist?!"

I just got back from seeing Julia Sweeney's one-woman performance of her monologue, "Letting Go of God," where she detailed her expansive journey of questioning, doubts, enlightenment and contentment in trying to figure out the meaning of the world, her life, and her relationship with God.  It's an amazingly touching adventure about her journey from catholic to atheist, and it's heartbreaking that I wish I knew more people I would feel comfortable taking to see it.  The theater, which probably seated about 200 people, was sold out, and it was so emotionally gratifying for me to look around the room and realize I wasn't alone (assuming a sizable chunk of the audience felt the same way about the subject matter).  It gives you reassurance, especially when it comes to something as taboo as a loss in the belief of God.

Coming to terms about a loss of a religious or spiritual belief is pretty damn similar to being gay.  Trust me, I've gone through both.  Both require a lot inner strength and a lot of personal reconciliation.  Just like most of us are raised assuming we're heterosexual, we're raised to assume we'll believe in God.  But as you get older, you have small little realizations -- thoughts that say, "something's not right here."  You search and search for explanations, bargain with half-assed excuses, and struggle.  So much struggling. 

Just like the world would be so much easier for me if I was straight, the world would be SO much easier for me if I was Christian, or Catholic, or Zoroastrian for that matter.  Viola!  Instant life purpose.  But to come to the realization that our life is chaotic and insignificant is difficult, yet it is a beautiful and meaningful realization at the same time.  Life is the most precious thing we have because it's the only thing we have.  Our life is such a fluke in the scheme of existence that to write it off as some pet project of an invisible diety is an insult to the universe.  In the most nonreligious sense of the word: we are so blessed. 

I need to tell Julia Sweeney "thank you."  No matter how many people think you're going to hell, no matter how many people think you're immoral or arrogant or ignorant, no matter how many people won't have the courage to look past the baggage behind the label "atheist," Julia Sweeney reminded me tonight that it is okay.  I have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.  I have my peace.

I always park my car about a block away from work, giving me the annoyingly treacherous adventure of crossing Venice Boulevard at least a couple times a day.  When I had an office that overlooked the intersection in question, I kept an accident counter on the wall and in the less than three weeks I had that office, I had two tally marks.  I know there have been more since.  This has led me to develop squirrel-like paranoia whenever I cross the street.  I don't just look both ways.  I read the cars, watching the drivers, anticipating their movements. 

The rain this morning created long puddles of nasty yellow froth that flopped over itself as cars passed through the grooves of the road .  I did my best to dance around them, keeping my converse clean of the santorum-like water.  Almost reaching the median, I studied the small blue car making a left turn about 15 yards away.  Once the car started accelerating and the driver was turning the wheel, I had the scariest realization a pedestrian can have: they don't see me.  I mumbled, "holy s***," and danced on to the median as the car's brakes locked in a wet slippery screech, sending the car sliding forward to where I was standing a few seconds prior.  The driver, a girl my age, put her face in her hands.  I wanted to kick her door, but I wanted to get out of the road more.  I made it to the sidewalk, laughed nervously, and went inside. 

I don't know how the Bruce Willis', Arnold Schwarzenegger's and Vin Diesel's of the world do it.  Action and stunts are really damn scary.  I want my own stunt double -- someone who will do all that stuff for me while I watch and eat a donut.  And you know what?  No one ever mentions that a sudden kick of adrenaline is disorienting and takes some time to wear off.  Now I'm sitting at my desk, reeking of wet people smell, and my mind is still dizzy. 

I don't want to be in an action movie.  Action movies suck. 

Audio: Congrats, you're the radio DJ!  What six songs are in your first on-air set?
Submitted by LeendaDLL.

Probably six of my favorite songs to listen to when I'm driving, this is for all the people stuck in traffic:

1. Higher and Higher - Jackie Wilson

2. Your Song - Elton John

3. Devil Went Down to Georgia - The Charlie Daniels Band

4. Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper

5. Moon Dance - Van Morrison 

6. Baba O'Riley - The Who

My legs are really sore.  But it's so worth it. 

See, my friend has been kind enough to (cheaply) sell me her bed and dresser, seeing as she is shortly moving back to the east coast, and my roommate was equally kind enough to help me drag all this stuff to our apartment.  And, as I type, I'm laying on my "new" mattress, and I am suddenly aware that the Travis prior to this moment was a total fool.  Too shortsighted and stupid to invest in quality sleep surroundings.  Before, my mattress didn't have the word "ortho" in it.  There was no pillow-like material layered on top of the springs.  My body never sighed a whimsical whisp of relief when I plopped down for the night.  What was I thinking? 

The bad part about upgrading is the instant spoiling affect.  I will never be able to go back to a cheap mattress again.  I have been ruined.  Realizing a mistake only once of settling for something mediocre does not fade away in time.  We're all subconsciously looking for an excuse to expect more from our life.  Whether it's a nicer pair of shoes, a better (paying) job, a kinder mate, or a better mattress, the idea of complacency becomes less and less attainable.  Maybe that's a part of the joy (or curse) of getting older. 

I don't know.  I'll sleep on it. 

I don't know if I'm more excited about posting this first brand-new spectacular blog or the fact that my buddy just cracked my toes for me.   I had a blog four years ago that I would post secrets on, but that was because I didn't have any friends.  Now I have friends, so they officially have dibs on my secrets.  But this vox site is more than welcome to my random thoughts, stories, rants and mental diarrhea. 

Actually, now that I think about, I was far more excited about having my toes cracked than posting this blog.  The relief that comes from having someone pull on your pinky toe until it gives out a gentle pop, which is best described by the word 'toe-gasm,' is podiatrically delicious.  My heart goes out to the poor souls of the world who have small, un-crackable toes.  I hope you all can find other ways of making life worth living.  I recommend looking in to aviation photography.  Here, this can inspire you: