a little light reading with Mr Baum 1

I recently finished reading The Wizard of Oz (tWoO), but the text isn't finished with me yet. Like that turn of phrase? It only gets better or worse from here. Good to have all the bases covered, that way I can maintain an impenetrable fortress of you don't really know what I'm talking about, that's the fog of conversation. Unlike my intentionally obtuse style tWoO is perhaps the most straight forwardly written book in all of existence. I can't say either way for sure, but I certainly got that impression. It strangely reminded me of the mega super corporate icon (Lebrons and Tigers and Jordans, oh my) approach to public relations: They present such a vanilla image that you can read absolutely anything you want into their personalities (because it seems like they don't have any), thus broadening their appeal.

With that in mind, I found tWoO wonderfully profound in its simplicity (I probably projected my own prejudices onto the work, but hey everybody else is doing it right?). The Wizard of Oz -- the character not the book -- turned out to be a merchant of skulduggery, an air-balloonist, a native of Omaha and not a wizard at all. No surprise to anyone who's seen the movie, and who hasn't?

Sometimes I like to go all Rene Descartes on my beliefs, just to see how they hold up. Strip away, strip away, strip away and see what's left. Imagine your whole life you feel inherently flawed, there's a vital part of yourself missing, you're discontented, incomplete...TBC

work out

BP 90kgs*5,5,4,3

seated row 95/4*5

the story of reading in my own words

I had intended to give a general explanation of how stories are created and disseminated throughout society (beginning with the last post: "the story of stories 1"). I knew almost immediately that I was only fooling myself (when has anything at slimodsoc not been about me?); at best I can only offer insight (with parenthetical asides) as to why I believe things to be so. Yet, while a near approximation of the core issue that I seek to explore, my false start doesn't quite capture the essence of the thing that truly troubles me, leaving another untied loose end in the saga that is the recorded babblings of my imagination. Oh well, allow me to begin again: Reading, what's the big deal?

It has always puzzled me as to why this practice holds such an esteemed place in our culture. Forgive me now as I use gross exaggerations to illustrate my point. Sit through Gone With the Wind, no small feat, and some film buffs may be impressed, but read the book and almost automatically you've entered that mythical realm of the educated. Of course this applies to any book/film adaption. Reading anything no matter what is, but especially if it's fiction, is time well spent while watching stories that I don't know, may be required some reading and writing in the making of them anyway, are dismissed as ephemeral distractions. TV will rot your brains, while books will unlock the mysteries of the universe. I see a billion or so mother's across the world smiling when ever their child indulges in this uniquely human function.

I admit that I have held a bias against reading 'chapter books' from a young age preferring TV for its ease of access. So while I agree in part with the above sentiment I still find it strange that one form of entertainment trumps another in legitimacy mainly because it's harder to do. Go to sleep early, eat healthy, don't be dumb; these all follow the path of most resistance and whatever is hard seems to be good for you, reading included.

Yes for me reading is hard, but less so now than in my formative years. At the age of 20 I went on a mission for the LDS church, while serving we (mostly) don't watch TV, all that was left was books (or talking to people) and I read my fair share there (mostly church affiliated). In my mind all this new information was non-fiction (more on this in a later post), I was learning many new and wonderful things and this reinforced the stereotype of reading as education. Nevertheless, this began the journey into the magical world of reading for me.

A fair few years have passed since that time and just recently my complaint against reading fiction (why read the book when you can watch the movie?) clued me into another use for the medium... Reading fiction is supposed to be enjoyable like watching TV, it's a form of entertainment. Shocking I know. It's taken me a while to come around, I bought into reading being about learning only, whenever I tried to read fiction I was violating my own flawed paradigm. The contradiction always lingered in my mind as I tried to push on through the material making it difficult to enjoy. Finally, now, it no longer hurts to do so.

To hear me tell it you'd think this was an act of heroism on my part, not quite, but it's progress. After a few years and many unfinished books I'm actually starting to enjoy the process of reading. You just seem to get used to it after a while. I used to struggle with piecing together all the parts of a narrative, but now whether abstract or visualised I usually manage to keep my entities straight. This is encouraging, because I see myself as a writer and I have felt drawn to writing novels for some time even though enjoying novels is only a recent development. Good for me. Its not unprecedented to enjoy the process of creation over and above the creation itself, ask anyone who's had kids, but I feel at peace and I'm ready continue writing now more than ever.

When I'm transported to these worlds, regardless of their grounding in reality -- the lines that separate the fictional and the factual are becoming increasingly blurred for me -- when I return to my reality I feel fortunate that I arrive back with a souvenir or two that I invariably find beneficial for my life's journey. Stories are amazing things. They help us to make sense of the world. Reading is obviously an effective way of communicating them (if I dedicate enough neurons to understanding what's going on). I suppose that's why it's such a big deal. So, I'll continue to read and write and tell my story.

Check out what I'm reading at this social networking site for book lovers.

Note to self:

I've been very slack at recording my work outs lately, time to get back on track

Back Squat 60*20, 100*6, 110*6, 60*23

DL 140/3*6

Power Clean 100/1*4, 120*1 (missed this last attempt)

the story of stories 1

What makes up a story and why are they so pervasive?

At a meta-level they happen within the limits of time -- which is to say that events within them are arranged in an order, which is dictated by the infrastructure of reality (e.g. the arrow of time, even if in the telling these events are not always chronological) -- and mind space. They communicate an idea or several from one mind to another or several. With me so far? No? Good. Other elements include characters, themes, memes, arcs, parts and much, much more. "That's right Steve if you order now we'll throw in" *ahem* Stories are everywhere. I would argue (without offering much in the way of evidence) that much of the appeal no matter what their makeup, whether explicitly or implicitly, stories present us with ways of making sense of human experience. What do we crave more then anything in an absurd world? Why meaning of course! (some say happiness, Nietzsche dismissed this utilitarian notion as folly: "Man does not desire happiness. Only the Englishman desires that." Silly English people, don't mess with Nietzsche, he's got a really big moustache).

The saga continues later...

On Matters of Faith 2 The Leap

10,927 days ago since I was alive. 10,000 plus days! That is an achievement I must say. My being alive has little to do with faith, beside the obvious steps that I take to prolong my existence on this miserable piece of dirt we romantic types like to call earth. A more appropriate name would have been water, but the ocean shall have its revenge soon enough I imagine. What with global warming and every other form of full on assault that we've invented, our demise is imminent. But our glorious destruction is still a little ways off and we may not be wholly responsible for rising temperatures or our own destructive tendencies, so my complete condemnation of the human race may be foolhardy and a little presumptuous. After all my desires for apocalypse are counterbalanced by my actions: eating, sleeping, defecating, occasionally bathing and the like, so my nihilism has its limits. 10,000 days aren't enough, whatever I have I want more. Doomsday's around the corner, but I want to be around to see it.

Say I have 10,000 or even 20,000 days of monotonous alienating soul-destroying life left. Imagine the possibilities. This is not to suggest that I'm at all disenchanted with my life, given the alternative I'd opt for the continuation of things as they are. Fortunately other choices are available. Imagine me waking up and wanting to do what I was about to do, because what I do is meaningful. I was fired/let go/downsized/emancipated from my last job, which means I can do whatever I want, I just may have to become homeless to pull it off. I am a philosopher by trade, unfortunately this profession's heyday was something like 2,000 years ago. Society sometimes makes things difficult for me. I will take the leap out in to the darkness. Faith is a choice, a willful act of defiance. I have faith I just don't know if I believe anymore. Only one way to find out.