Lucas Weismann

Bear’s Breakfast

I just had to wipe the dog, Bear’s mouth after he ate (He’s such a good boy).  Dad always gets frustrated with the fact that he’s drooly and because of that, we’ve had to wipe his mouth off after he eats.

Bear has taken this to mean that what he should do-if we’re not paying attention and waiting on him like a combination butler/nursemaid-is to come over to us and helpfully put his ichorous head in our laps to remind us of our “tradition”.

To avoid embarrassment, Bear has asked that I include a picture of him where's not being wiped down, so people can see he's not usually drooly.
To avoid embarrassment, Bear has asked that I include a picture of him where’s not being wiped down, so people can see he’s not usually drooly.

At that point Dad usually jumps up and curses, wondering aloud why the dog seems to insist on getting drool all over his clothes. When this happens, Bear is rewarded with attention and excitement is probably an otherwise dull day.  You can tell by the way he playfully romps about and wags his tail.

Sometimes, he’ll have so much fun that he’ll make himself thirsty and the whole process will repeat itself.  Whether he does this out of misunderstanding, or a wicked sense of humor, I’ve so far been unable to ascertain.

Hell: A Primer. pt. 1 – a road paved with something

One day, I took a walk with that most useful fellow, God’s Narc himself, The Devil.  After our meeting on the road, we chanced to meet each other at a dinner party for a fellow acquaintance and he invited me over to his place.

“Is this a trick?” I asked, “or do you mean as a guest… temporarily.”

“As a guest,” he said, smiling.  “You’re free to leave whenever you wish.”

“In that case, yes.  I’d love to come visit sometime.  How do I arrange it?”  I asked.

He gave me contact information and told me how to get there.  Some time later, I’m not sure if it was out of boredom, or out of curiosity, or both.  I decided to contact him and make my tour of hell.

Next thing I knew, I head the door bell ring and a small woven easter basket was on the door with miniature seats in it.

“Seriously?” I asked the air around me, “We’re traveling by cliché?”

Old Nick’s silken chuckle washed over me warm and gregarious.  “No of course not.  I just wanted to see how you’d respond to metaphor made literal.”

I turned around to look where there had clearly been no one a second ago to find the devil himself standing to the side of my door just out of sight as I had walked out.  I arched an eyebrow.

“We’re going to see a lot of this?” I asked.

“Loads,” he said and pinched bridge of his nose for a moment, “I blame The florentines.”

“The florentines?”

“Yes, Durante degli Alighieri, known as dante and Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, known as Michelangelo,” he said, in the same voice as an actor on a police procedural might brief the other officers of a precinct about a dangerous criminal.

“They made my life-”

“A living hell?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Old Nick grimaced, “I can see you’ll do just fine in hell.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized.  Do puns figure largely in hell, “They do for most people who consider themselves writers or comedians.  Why do you think puns are referred to as the ‘lowest’ form of humor?”

“Huh. So what did these guys do to you?” I asked.

“The made things… ….complicated.  At least for the first several hundred years.”

“How so?” I asked.

“You’ll see.  But for now, Let’s just say that when Christ said all the sinners would essentially burn on God’s trash heap for all of eternity, my life was a lot easier.”

Here’s where we rounded a corner and instead of finding the little bodega owned by my friend Sinan, I found us on a path sloping downward into a forest.  As we traveled, I found that the path was a winding circle.  Lined with primroses and bricks of something that looked not quite like gold and were carved with something that looked a lot like excuses, ‘I never intended…’, ‘I was only trying to help…’, ‘I just thought if I…” were common starts to a lot of these.

“The road to hell is paved with excuses?” I asked.

“Not quite,” said the Devil as he fought a slight smile.

“Why Gold?” I asked.

Art and Picture Collection, The New York Public Library. "Agile Defaulters." The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1892. http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e1-3782-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99
Art and Picture Collection, The New York Public Library. “Agile Defaulters.” The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1892. http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e1-3782-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

“It’s Pyrite, actually.  We used to have to constantly repair the roads when we used actual brimstone, You know how easy that stuff is to break?  It’s awful.  We had full time crews of laborers working with the stuff.”

“Was it part of someone’s punishment?” I asked.

“Mostly fraudulent bank managers and other people who’d been so lazy they hadn’t been content with a white collar profession and cheated people.”

“Sounds like a good punishment,” I said.

“You’d think so,” he sighed a bit tired, “But have you ever done what might be an unpleasant physical chore and felt reinvigorated by it at the end of the day?”

“Sure.” I said, “I’ve always enjoyed chopping wood.”

“Perfect example.  These jerks had never done a real day’s work and never cared about the people they’d defrauded, so instead of being beaten down by it, they could look at the end of the day and see what they’d accomplished with their own two hands.  We had people begging to be a part of the crew eventually.  It was really counter-productive to the whole eternal damnation business.”

“That sounds rough,” I said, full of sympathy.

“that’s not the half of it. The worst part was how bad they were at the work.”

“So the worst part of this whole hell-paving bit wasn’t that it wasn’t punishing for these damned souls, or that it was costly and inefficient, the worst part is that your crews did a bad job?”

“I suspect some of them were trying to pull the wool over our eyes and shirk, but most of them seemed to get in the spirit of the thing and that really irked the overseers.”

“Who were the overseers?”

“Competent union workers who had taken bribes or been envious of management. the whole ‘If I was running this dump, things would run differently’ kind of guys.”

I couldn’t help but smile.  “So, the only union labor guys you hire are put in management?” I asked.

Nick smiled back at me, “Perverse, isn’t it?  That didn’t really work well either, because as soon as they became managers, they ’switched parties’ so to speak.  All of a sudden they were looking for ways to save costs at the expense of the workers and justified it with arguments as flimsy as any they’d rejected during contract negotiations in life.”

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been disappointed a bit by this look at human nature, but I’d couldn’t say I was surprised either.

We walked on and in the distance huge gates and walls loomed in the distance, something like a subterranean walled city as designed in an unhappy marriage of H.R. Geiger and Dr. Seuss, then executed in a style that reminded me of more than one notebook scribbling I’d made when I went through my Black Sabbath phase in 8th grade.


Continued in Part 2 – The Gates.  (To find out how I met Old Nick, read “Every Soul is For Sale


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A conflict of Geological proportions

“Boy, come here.”

It was always the same.  Whenever the boy would walk the granite of foothills of the mountains with his grandfather, at some point the old man would call for the boy and point to the peaks.

“There’s a story writ large in the stones of these here mountains.  Did I ever tell it to you?”  He had, of course, many times, but this was the start of the story and as traditional as if he’s said: “Once Upon A Time” before some story of a princess or a talking animal or some such and similar.

The boy didn’t like those other stories because he’d never met or heard of a real-life prince or princess, so he couldn’t be sure they were true- whereas the mountain was clearly there and so he had proof of the veracity of his grandfather’s story.

The boy would nod and say “Yes, but I want to hear it again.”

Then his grandfather would fill his pipe as he looked down his hooked nose at the boy with an arch expression “you do, do you?”.  A moment later the old man’s features would break into a grin under is walrusey mustache and the tale would begin in earnest.  And this is how it went:

“These here mountains weren’t always mountains boy.” Said his grandfather.  (The boy was never sure if his grandfather actually knew his name, or if that was just what he called all his grandsons when he talked to them)

“Really?”

“Yep.  When my grandad’s grandad was a boy, just about your age-“ (it was always just about your age, no matter how old the boy was) “they were just what you’d call Bens or big hills.”

None of the other boys at school knew what Bens were, for the boy’s family had come to the new country from a country that was sensible enough to have a word for the terrain that was not so big as a mountain, but deserving of more respect than a mere hill.  This caused fights between the boys until the teacher was called in and confirmed the what the grandfather said about Bens.

“What happened?” asked the boy, knowing full well what the story was, and trying to play his part well.

“Well, it all came down to a fight between two sets of Giants.”

The boy loved to hear about the giants.  Huge mole-like creatures made of the very stone that made up their mountain home.  A hundred feet if they were an inch, and fearsome claws, though… according to his grandfather, the giants only every used them to dig through the earth.

“Back in those days, the Giants were more active and one giant decided to move west to see why all us people were moving out west here.  Being a newcomer in those days, he should have been respectful to the Giants he met here, just as our people were often what you’d call less than polite to the people who lived here before (and vice versa).”

“What did he do?” asked the boy.

“Why, he did the one thing you must never do if you want to get along with strangers when you move into their land.”

“What’s that?”

“He fell in love and stole the heart of the prettiest Giantess in the land.  You should have seen her.  Wide as she was tall, with delicate claws that could carve a fjord if she’s lived near enough to the sea to do so.  The swish eastern giant came in and swept the poor girl off her feet.  He ran south of her family home and made the mesas and buttes that grace the badlands to the southwest.”

“Why’d he do that?” Asked the boy.

“I imagine it was like you gathering flowers for a girl at one of the nearby farms,” said the Grandfather, “Well, this went around for awhile, making the area kind of unsafe for us small folk.  It was what you’d call a geographically active area.

“I don’t know… a giant mole person with claws that can Fords-“

“Fjords.  Like fee-rod” said the grandfather.

“Claws that can cut feee-ords doesn’t sound beautiful to me.”

“Ahh, well… that’s because you’re not a giant see.  I mean, it wouldn’t help her to be a better giant if she could only breathe underwater right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So what made her beautiful to other giants was mostly how good she was at being a giant.  They had a word for it that expressed it better. One that means, that which is what is ought to be and almost ideally so.”

“They had one word for that?”

“Yep.  Though, I seem to remember it was a long word.  Anyway, for the giants, beauty wasn’t strictly a visual thing.”

“Really?”

“Course not.  Where do the giants live?”

“Under the mountains.”

“How much light you suppose they got under a hunnert tons of rock?”

“Not a lot.”

“Hmph, not a lot indeed!  Course not a lot.  It’s partly why the giants only come out at night.”

“I’ve heard stories about them eating up travelers and stuff.”

“Stories.  A lot of stories leave a lot out boy.”

“Like what?”

“Like how being used to darkness and meeting up on a bright sunny day with a young ‘adventurer’ who tries to trick you is bound to make anyone angry.  Mostly the giants are peaceful.  Well, except when they get to fighting.  Now giants mate for life, and that means quite a bit more to someone who is going to live for a few thousand years.  So when the time came that the giantess was going to choose a mate, she got to choose the contest.”

“Contest?”

“Why sure boy, in most species the female chooses the contest.  For peacocks it’s bright plumage, for some spiders, it’s a dance, for eagles it’s a rock-dropping contest.”

“What was it for giants?”

“Mountainsmithing.”

“Mountainsmithing like-“

“Yep.  They had to make mountains out of molehills.”

The boy thought about it for awhile.  “So, the handsomest giant would be the one who is best at being a giant right?”

“Stands to reason.”

“And the giants job is to make the mountains.”

“Always has been.”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Good,” Said the grandfather with mock sternness, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

“So, who competed in the contest?” asked the boys.

“Well, standard giant rules said that she would be the judge and that her father and all of the eligible giants in the area (that means old enough and not married already) would duke it out to see who was the best.”

“Why would her father compete?”

“Mostly, I think it was to prove to himself that he could still do it, but partly to make the young bucks nervous.  See, he wanted to make sure anyone that married into his mountain range would know how to properly craft a mountain that you could be proud of.  None of those old eroded things like the mountains to the east.  But something as hard and proud and craggy as himself, you see.”

“I see.”

“So, they had to beat his mountain with one of their own?”

“Nope.  They had to beat the giantess herself!” said the grandfather, with a gleam in his eyes.

“But, wait- why was her father competing, if she was too?”

“Well it’s a great deal more complicated than what I’m gonna say, I would imagine, but basically… if he made the best one, he got to veto everyone else as not being good enough, if she won can choose whoever she likes- though traditionally a giantess wouldn’t respect a giant as a mate if she could out-smith him, and if someone did beat her, she would be likely to choose him as the best.”

Well, that seems- wait!  That’s not fair!!” said the boy.

“Whoever said life is fair?” asked the grandfather, “But what do you mean?”

The boy held his grandfather’s hands to cross a stream and used the time to put his thoughts together.

“Okay, so she is judging.”

“Yes.”

“No one else?”

“Well, everyone would debate and talk about it for years before she made up her mind, but ultimately she was the only one who could judge.”

“And there’s no criteria?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the old giant criticized the mountains to the east as being ‘the wrong kind of mountains’”

“Sure, people get set in their ways as they age and the Giant had been there since the first beginnings.”

“The whole contest is rigged!  I mean, why can’t she just choose who she likes and make up reasons why theirs is best?”

“Ahh, well that’s mighty slippery thinking.  What did you say you wanted to be when you grow up, Boy?”

“A writer.”

“Ahh well, that’s fine then.  I thought for a second, my daughter was raising a politician.”  The grandfather laughed to himself, but the boy didn’t get the joke.

“Anyway, if she can just choose who she wants to, why even say there’s a contest?”

“Giants are very traditional creatures mostly.  After all, they live so long that some of the oldest ones were around when the dang things got started.  Additionally, they’re very close to their families and generally won’t break with tradition, not to mention they’re right prideful about their aesthetic tastes.”

“Oh.” Said the boy.

“You want more background?  Or can I get on to the part of the story that’s actually the story?”  more theater.  The grandfather loved telling the history of the giants and adding as much garnish as possible to it.  Both of them knew this of course, but you had to keep up the pace, or the story would take all day.

“Story please.” Said the boy, remembering his manners.

“Well, the day came and they sent one of the younger giants out to find some moles.  Moles being just like the giants, only small and squishy and covered in fur instead of lichens and moss.”  Having found the object of their morning walk, the old man stooped and picked something orange from the soil, brushed it off and put it in the brown cloth bag he carried slung over his shoulder, “What is the name of the mountain under whose shadow we live?”

“The Old Man.” Said the boy without thinking.  It was something everyone in the area knew.  The origin of the name was scree field below a huge cavern near the peak gave the impression of a bearded old man screaming in anguish.

“Good and what are the mountains nearest to the old man.”

“Why, there’s Peregrine Peak, Lodestone, and The demon’s chair.” Said the boy again, just as quickly.

“Do you know why they are called by those names?”

The boy was puzzled.  He didn’t know.

“The first two are so-named because of the design each of the giants gave in order to showcase his skill.  The first formed that shape, not unlike a Peregrine falcon perched.  He wanted to impress her with majesty and he made his peak tall.  But in his hubris, he didn’t build it so stable.  In fact, to this day, the area is dangerous to any who would go there because of the frequent rock slides.

The second giant fashioned his out of Iron and gems and other metals.  He wished to show her the wealth he could bring.  The work was good, but lacked elegance.  It was large and squat and though miners still find it profitable to go there, no one has ever called it beautiful.

What was the third?  The third giant, going last thought that a combination of the two approaches would be best.  Though he lacked the material for precious stones and made up for the difference with brimstone.  It smokes and cracks to this day, but here and there are large chunks of fool’s gold for any who seeks wealth in the region.

“Well, which did she choose?”  Asked the boy.

“None of those three of course.  There were still three more mountains to judge from.  The Old Man is the most like the other mountains in this area.  After all, her father made it and he’d been at his craft for quite awhile.  But aside from being bigger and harder, being made mostly of the granite the priests favor for their temples, still, she reserved her judgment.”

“Well what did the new giant build?” he asked.

“You’re standing on it.  Or, rather what’s left of it.” Said the grandfather.

“What?”

“Well, that Giant from the east did something no one had aver thought of before.  He raised the ground to a height you wouldn’t believe and then he pounded the top flat.  This mystified the giantess who seemed dejected at this strange excuse from a mountain.  She didn’t want to believe that he was so terrible.  When they talked, they had seemed to have so many things in common and they had a love that grew from those shared experiences and joys.  How could he do this to her?  Heartbroken, she turned to him and asked, ‘Why would you do this?  Why, when everything else was on the line, would you make me this large mesa?  This is not a mountain.  It has no crags, no features, you have spent your magics making something that is large and that couldn’t possibly be chosen.  Why?’”

“Why did he do it, grandpa?” The boy picked some berries and looked for sign of game so they would know where to hunt when the snows came.

“Well, I could tell you myself, or I could let you hear his reply.” Said the old man.  The boy had never heard this story before, indeed not.  Usually, they would point to the mountains and say how the Old Man was made by the giantess’s father in an attempt to see where she was going as she ran with her love.  The boy stopped picking the berries and looked at his grandfather who was examining another orange funnel-shaped mushroom apparently absorbed in his task.

“Tell me grandpa!” said the boy.

His grandfather looked up as if waking from a dream. “Huh?  Oh.  Right.  The giant looked at her and said, ‘I could have made the mountain tall, but then it might be unstable; I could have made the mountain full of wealth but then it would be squat and only useful; I could have compromised between the two and gotten nothing at all, or even built along designs well-established in your beautiful ranges.  But, if it was unstable, it would not be skillful.  If it were ugly and would not be beautiful.  If it were a compromise, it would not show the elegance in design you would appreciate.  If I copied the work of your father and your family it would be necessary to have me as a partner.  Can you not see?  All of your other suitors and your father built what they judged to be the best for them.  Instead, I have built you a platform to build upon so that we can make the best work for us.  If we build alone, why should we marry?   It would be a purposeless marriage of little worth if it were based on pride, wealth, compromise or tradition.  I want to build a future on each other.”

“So, then she chose him, right?”

“Well, no one knows what she might have done.  After all, she was the best Mountainsmith of the lands, so her choosing anyone would mean there was something subjective going on.”

“Well, what happened then?” asked the Boy.

“She chose alright, but partly because her lover’s speech so angered the other suitors and the giantess’s father that they grew fierce and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and threw him out of their lands.  In fact, to this day, there’s a lake where he landed dazed and in the flatlands to the west.  Furious at the arrogance of the males around her, she stomped her foot and unmade the mountain right then and there, crushing the forests and mixing the soil into the rich loam each we use on our farms, and dales and hills.  Then she took out west to flatlands and ran until they found the great wide ocean on the other side of the Djinn’s desert.  There, to this day, they wander up and down the coast, making mountains and it is said that ground still shakes with their passage as they move by.”

“They make mountains?”

“A whole wall of them running from the far North to the far South of the continent.  Twisty makes of passages, impossible to pass safely in the winter if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Huh.” Said the boy.  “Then the Giants lived happily ever after?”

“Well, if you mean the two lovers, the best I could tell you is that they live happily enough for now.  Just because they escaped immediate danger doesn’t mean anything.  Remember giants are prideful and long-lived.  If you ever find yourself in the mountains, you’d best be sure not to give offense.”

The boy nodded.  Then realizing they had both gotten what they came for from their forage and it was getting toward nightfall they decided to go home.

After they recrossed the stream the boy said, “Did the Old Giant ever regret chasing his daughter’s lover away and her after him?”

The grandfather tousled the boy’s hair, “Not until after he met his grandsons,” he said.

The End

tomorrow

Wind whips through empty lands
stirs up sands, I close my eyes agains
not cold, not hot, not anything
these gray lands I walk
Alone in the echoes of silence.

Suddenly I’m not alone
Old friends are with me; my doubt, my fear, my laziness.
they invite me to stop for a rest.
just a chat, a chance to talk about old times.
I stop by to be polite

It’s been awhile since I’ve seen them.
the last few months have been full.
full of live, of love
of doing things I’d always dreamed of doing.

withered claws,
they pull me down.
color drains from the already subdued pallette of the land.
time crawls treacle slow.

procrastination (twin to laziness) shows
late as usual
don’t you have to run the updates, sweep,
shuffle piles of paper he asks me

he’s right, I think.
that all needs doing.
I can write later
Later, I’ll write.

in the sunless lands
a living death of worthless tasks
the sands fill the glass
life drips away.

will and muscle atrophy
victims of disuse
as my demons feed on me
they grow stronger

contrast dims and all is gray.

I can write tomorrow.

there’s always tomorrow.

tomorrow.

 

Every Soul is for Sale

Did I ever tell you about the time I met the Devil on the road?  It’s true.  I did!  Well-dressed chap on the side of the road.  Small goatee, suspiciously cloven feet, faint smell of campfire… Anyway, I was tired so I sad down next to him.  “Ho, Old Scratch!” says I, to show him I’m on to him and not interested in any of his tricks.

He nods to me and moves aside to make room on the log on which he was sitting.  Well, not being ignorant I’m ready to make the sign of the cross or quote a scripture at him at the first sign of trouble.  But he just sits there, as if I’m nothing more than any other traveler.  Finally he looks at me and says, “Well?  Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

This has me at a loss, as it would you I’m sure.  That’s the one thing I couldn’t have expected him to say.  “You mean you don’t already know? I asked.

“What?  You famous?” He asked.

“No,” I said, “I just thought you knew these sorts of things.  In all the old stories you-“

“Bah, stories,” he dismissed them like he was waving away a bothersome fly.  “Stories are troublesome things, can’t trust ‘em.”

“Huh.”  I thought about all the stories I’d heard of an evening and realized that more often than not they were more than just exaggerated.

“Stories.  I suppose in the stories I’m out to get your soul and trick you out of it right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Hmph.  That would be the ones that get around.  As if no one ever went though a time when they were a bit of a jerk.”

I had sympathy for him at that point, for I remembered a time when I myself had been the subject of scurrilous rumors.  Then I imagined what it must have been like these last 5000 years the priests tell us the world has been around.  I told him my name and asked him his.

“Lucifer,” he said, “Not that anyone asks any more.  They just call me Satan or Deceiver or any number of other insults and eventually my temper gets the better of me.”

“Must be awful,” I said.

He nodded.  “You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to ward me off with the sign of the cross or quoted scripture at me.”

“Yeah, that would be rude.”

“It’s always ‘begone deceiver’ this and ’get thee behind me that’.  I mean, if someone has a nice posterior or flattering jeans I don’t mind, but it gets so old.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”  I asked.

“Go ahead,” he replied.

“What do you do with them?”

“What?”

“With the souls.  What do you do with them?  The ones people sell you I mean.”

He looked tired.  “You too?  What the hell would I do with souls?  I have no use for them.  Besides you can’t be separated from yours.  Not until death!  Can’t happen.”

“But what about…”

“Can’t happen.  That Faust thing is just a load of fiction.  Hell, I can’t even get back into Hell because I can’t find the keys.”

“Hell has keys?”

“Of course it does.  You think I want to go letting it open with all the murderers and demons and bad guys running around there?”

“Huh, I never thought of it that way.” I said

“Ugh and the smoke.  I can’t get it out of my clothes no matter how much I wash.”  I remembered my grandpa’s sweaters and how even after he quit smoking they always smelled like cigarettes.

“Sounds rough.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“So you don’t buy souls?”

“No.  Course not.  I was just sore at my dad for taking me off the angel choir to babysit a bunch of delinquent humans for all eternity.  You have no idea how terrible the company was for awhile.  Out of boredom I started trying to attract people I’d want to spend time with.  You ever wonder why there are so many musicians in Hell?”

“Because they sold you their soul?”

“No… because the music filled them to the point where there was nothing left.  No room for anything else.  They resonated with the divine music of the spheres and as reward, Dad sends them to me.  All the greats are there.  Even some of the really good gospel musicians.”

“Even the gospel ones?  How come?”

“Because they loved music more than they loved what their music was about.  Dad hates that.  He thinks everything has to be about him.  All the time.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” I said.

“Of course it’s fair” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Dad said it, so by definition it’s fair.”

“This is very illuminating.” I said.

He actually laughed at that point.  “Well it ought to be.” He said.

“What?” I asked.

“My name is lucifer.  Means morning star.  Or Light bringer.  Illuminating.  Get it?”

“Oh!” I said, comprehension dawning.

“That’s actually my job.”

“It is?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said.

“My job is to show people the light.  Teach them things.  Things they might miss otherwise.”

“What about all the punishments in hell?”

“Teaching too.  Dad was really old-school about it.  Wanted fire and brimstone.  I asked, ‘why not have some rehabilitation classes and reincarnate until they get it right?’ He just said it wouldn’t work and that it was better to start with something pure and clean.”

“His ways are mysterious” I said.

“He’s impatient and hates admitting improvements could be made.  That’s why he tried to keep a lid on evolution for so long. Everyone brings up the bad stuff, but I ask, what about the good stuff?”

“Good stuff?”

“Yeah!  Good stuff.  Like giving Eve the apple.”

“Good?  That got them kicked out of paradise.”s

“Nah, they knew what would happen.  I told them.”

“Yeah, but how could they know what it would be like?  I mean, he said ‘don’t eat’ and I said, hey.  You eat this, you’ll know right from wrong and be able to make your own decisions.  I helped them to find free will.”

“But we have to work now.” I countered.

“Instead of what?  Being two birds in gilded cages, they became to adults.  Free and able to choose your destiny and do more than just sit in a garden eating and lounging about?”

“Okay,” I said, “What about Job?”

“What about him?”

“What about the fact that you tortured that poor man.”

“Hey I get it.  I say in passing that he wouldn’t be so loyal if he wasn’t being protected from harm.  Right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not what I said.  What I said was, Job probably wouldn’t be so cheery if you treated him like you treat me.  I was griping and next thing you know God is ordering me to kill Job’s wife.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Look none of that really matters, you know?  All that matters is this.  Every soul is for sale.  You will sell it.  But not to me.”

“What?” I asked.  “Who wants to buy then?”

“You do.  You buy it with every action of every day.  It’s the energy you have to spend becoming who you are.  The only question you have to ask is this?  Would you rather sell your soul at a high price to get something you want, or sell it at a low price to get something you don’t want?”

I thought about this for a minute.  “Are you talking about not wasting my time?”

“Well, no time is wasted really- otherwise you’d have some left over at the end.  I’m talking about spending time on something worth the value of your soul.”

“You mean like practicing an instrument to become a musician?”

“Right, but it’s only compared with the relative cost of another way to spend time that the value can be measured.

“So, watching television for 30 minutes compared with practicing an instrument.”

“Exactly.  It’s like buying something with cash versus buying it with-“

“Credit.  Oh I see.  So, you’re saying I should only spend time on things that will get me what I want?”

“No, no, no.  You’ll have to spend time on other things too, after all you need to eat.  But that extra time.  The time you have to find your passions.  That’s the time that usually gets sucked up with trashy novels, re listening to crappy pop music you have memorized and tv-reruns you’ve seen a thousand times.  All of that is low effort, instant-low calorie return.  Just bad economics.”

“You know prince of darkness as guidance counsellor isn’t what I expected.”

“You and me both,” he said with a sigh.  “You have a lot more opportunity than I did.  You can literally go to the moon if you put in the effort and sell your soul to physics.  Me?  I had to choose between Prince of Darkness, lord of hell and tempter of souls, or leader of the angel choir”  at this, he folded his hands mockingly.  “Trust me, with all its problems, this world is still better than it ever has been and you have more choice than ever.”

“Well, Mr. Morningstar, this has been enlightening.  Thank you for lighting my path and giving me a rest.” I said.

“Of course.”

“I feel like I could go out and take over the world!” I said with enthusiasm.

“You can if that’s what you want to sell your soul for,” he said with a wink.  “Just promise me you won’t sell it at a price less than it’s worth.”  And he extended his hand.

“It’s a deal.” I said and shook his hand in good humor.  Then, I walked down the road feeling strangely lighter than I had before heading off to make my mark on the world.

(To hear what happened when I ran into the prince of darkness at a later date, click here)

To the Would-Be Time Traveler

To every child who wants to go
To where the past was brighter
When men were men and lads were Heroes
Warriors and fighters

Or every girl who thinks perhaps
Austen’s England’s best
That world of balls and parties and
Talk of who’s best dress’d

A word of warning ‘fore you go
Off in your time machine
First of all your problems:
A world that’s not so clean.

You see dear reader ’s not so long
Since soap was out of fashion
Where thick-held grime and soot and mud
Kept your clothes from clashin’

That’s not to say most anything
About the germs you’ll see
You’ll have to fight off monstrous things
Like Plague and Leprosy

That ignores the problems of
your germy pedigree
For people cannot future-proof
Their immunity

All this trouble you’d have wrought
If you took this trip
To say no thing of burning ‘live
If your nature you let slip!

You see my young would-be
Time trav’ler ‘strordinaire
The danger’s far to great
To those both here and there

To be a temporal tourist
Sounds a great adventure
But there is another way
To go there I would venture.

Consider making voyages
‘cross the globe instead
Or grab a book and take a trip
Inside of your own head.

Then you’ve got a perfect chance
To go see what you’d see
Without risking loss of things like
Modern dentistry

If this sounds like a cop out
Or some unfair, unkind fate
You’re trav’ling time already
And so it’s not too late

Our time is best in many ways
Than any we’ve yet found
Finding wonder’s simple as
A taken look around

Take solace in the fact that
Time yet marches on
Changes come and changes go
And yet we linger on

The future could be so much brighter
Than the past you see
But it will take some work to shape it
Work for you and me

Our bright future not so soon
Will be some person’s past
“A simpler time,” “a better place”
But destined not to last.

And so instead of trav’ling time
I’d like to suggest
We make those future people jealous
By making our time best

6 things you can to do to get more dances.

What should you do if you’re not getting dances and you want to dance more?

Good question! Now that you’ve asked one question lets ask some others:

1. Check your attitude

Are you someone people want to be around?  This is a tough one, as most people are stuck with themselves and so tend to assume other people want to be with them as protection from self-reflection.

Do you complain a lot?  Valid complaints or not, this may drive people away from you.
Are you disdainful of less-experienced dancers?  If so, why should the dancers you look like treat you any differently?

Basically, if you weren’t you, would you want to go on a road trip with you?  This is an important question that should be asked of everyone, not just dancers.

2. How’s your hygiene?

This is not just a question of body odor.  Many people are adverse to body odor, strong colognes and perfumes.  The less strongly you smell, the more people are likely to want to get close to you.  Few people like leaving a dance smelling like their partner.

How is your breath? Mints are often provided, but in the case of bad breath, you may need to see a doctor as it can indicate real health problems that can be dangerous if left untreated.

Are you sweaty, or clammy to the touch?

If so, bring extra changes of clothes.  More than you think you need.  If you run out during the dance, you need at least one more shirt.  In some scenes dancers bring golf towels with them to dry off between dances, particlarly if there’s no air conditioning at the venue.

3. Do you look like one of the crowd?

We all like to think this isn’t important, but a surprising number of people never learn that it’s the skill, not the clothes that make the dancer.

Why is this? Your attire is strong signaling behavior and is an instant way of telling people if you’re part of the group.  This might mean sequins in west coast swing could be in vogue and gauche in lindy hop, it might mean a vest with no shirt in some crowds or tights in another.

Additionally, people are inspired (whether they realize it or not) to dress like their mentors and the people they aspire to be like.  If your dress similarly to them, they may assume you share inspiration.

After all, if you can’t dance like your hero, you can at least dress like them.  This might sound a bit silly (and it is), but can you spot a ballerina, a tango dancer, or a lindy hopper who is experienced in a group?

Maybe not with 100% certainty, but if you’re trying to gain acceptance in a new group, you can always start out by showing people you’re like them and shift your look back to your own style as people realize that you’re one of them.  (this is a technique used to great effect by Alexander the great who made sure his generals and governors dressed and acted like the people they’d conquered so there would be as few feathers ruffled as possible).

This is not to imply that it’s fair that people judge by looks. It’s an acknowledgment that people are people and you *might* benefit from this technique.  )Incidentally, you might be doing this already without realizing it)

You may even have been drawn to a dance more strongly where the dress matched your pre-existing wardrobe without even realizing it.

4. Do you have a partner with whom to improve your craft?

This applies specifically to partnered dancing, but is useful to have a posse, crew or your troupe with whom to practice even in solo dance styles.  being there for each other means you have people who are likely to want to dance with each other and you’re working on helping each other improve at the same time.

5. Are you taking classes?

Classes are a great way to improve your skill level as well as a way to meet people who are at your level and therefore likely in the same boat as you when it comes to finding people with whom to dance.

Take classes and be friendly.  Let the teacher be the teacher and don’t try to fix the technique of the other students.  Introduce yourself after class and stick around to ask for dances at the beginning of the night while the experience of class is still fresh in their mind.

6. Get feedback or help from someone else.

If you’ve gone through the lessons, maybe it’s something else.  Maybe… you really are nice and happy-go-lucky.

Maybe your breath is always fresh, you’re not sweaty and you look like you fit in, neither overly perfumed or odiferous in any particular way.

You’re taking classes and meeting people and you’re kind and rescue puppies regularly because you’re just that great of a person.

Are you sending signals you’re not interested in dancing without realizing it?

Avoiding eye contact, facing away from the floor, standing off the floor, or blocking body language may all be telling people you don’t want to dance and you may not realize you’re doing it.

Maybe you’re not doing that, but you have a habit of doing things that are considered faux pas in a scene (in some scenes this could be lifts and dips on a crowded floor, in others it might be having too much tone or muscle flexion to be comfortable for a potential partner).

If you’re really having trouble and you’ve been dancing for awhile, chances are you’ve met or talked with someone and you can ask them or a teacher or organizer in the dance what might be going on.  They might be able to give you insight and help you see what’s going on better than you can do on your own if you’re stumped.

Generally hosts and organizers have a vested interest in having people come to the night and will often invite people to come to them with any questions, comments or concerns.  use them as a resource to figure out what’s going on.  They may have answers for you.

BONUS: Why are you waiting for dances?  If you haven’t tried asking people to dance, try that.  If you aren’t doing this already, definitely try asking people to dance.

BONUS TWO: For the intermediate or advanced dancer going to venue/scene/event for the first time.  When visiting a new scene for the first time, wait a few dances and look for a likely friendly dancer with whom you could share a dance.  Ask them to dance.  Sometimes this takes a few tries.  Afterward ask them if, since you’re new to the area, there are 2-3 other dancers you should make sure to dance with assuming this is your only night in town.

They’ll often point you in the direction of someone who they dance with frequently and now there are three of you working on the problem, at the same time, providing social proof that people interact with you.

OR… they’ll tell you some people to dance with and  go from Sally to Betty and say something like “Sally said I you’re someone I should miss the chance to dance with.”

Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Who knows, if they like your dancing, you may end up going out for waffles with a group of new friends when the dance is over!

The ways and means of Motivating – Social Pressure as a Carrot and Stick

There are two main types of motivation toward improvement.  Fear and Reward.  Carrot and Stick.  Taking a look at the dance world, we’re going to examine some of the ways that social pressure can be used as both carrot and stick to drive performance and cull the tribe to create a sense of unity.

In different dance scenes there are different costs one must overcome in order to be considered a desirable dance partner.  This means there are different reasons one might need to improve their dance and different difficulties inherent in ‘breaking in’ to a new dance scene.  No matter the specifics of the scene, social pressure is being used to drive improvement in the scene.

Tango – Time Cost – Tango is danced in sets of dance called Tandas.  These are 3-4 songs, 2-3 minutes in length per song and a Cortina or 30 second buffer between each one.  That puts the average Tanda at just around 10 minutes.  That means that there are rarely more than 18 Tandas per 3 hour Milonga (dance).  Now, if we assume that at some point you’ll talk with people, warm up, get a glass of wine (because of COURSE you support your venue and aren’t one of those water-drinker types…), we can assume no more than 12 Tandas per night.  

Assume that a given dancer has one partner they came with and love dancing with, who will dance with them for say, 3 tandas.  This means that we’re down to 9 free tandas.  We can assume they have at least 2 other good friends who each merit 2 tandas per dance.  Now we’re left with 5 songs for people who aren’t known to the dancer that you want to ask to dance.

This means that you need to be worth not just the 8.3% of their likely dances that your tanda would take up for the night, but also the 20% of the dances that are free for strangers or acquaintances.

The question on their mind and the mind of the self-aware novice is going to be “Is this dancer worth 1/5 of my night.”  Maybe not a fair question from your point of view, but t’s one they’re at least considering subconsciously at least.

To prevent awkwardness and to allow people to save face, a few defense mechanisms and social structures have evolved, which allow both parties to save face, but can sometimes make new dancers feel unwelcome.

These are: 

1) Avoiding eye contact with someone you don’t wish to dance with.  It’s a clear (to some) nonverbal signal of their lack of interest in dancing (for whatever reason) and a sign not to approach.  Should eye contact be made for some reason having nothing to do with a request to dance, the second line of defense is….

2) The Cabaceo.  It’s basically the mini head nod, you’d use to indicate “do you want to dance” across a crowded floor so you can ask them to dance even if someone else would get to them before you’re within voice range.  Again, if it isn’t returned, you don’t have to make the long walk back to your drink (that of COURSE you bought to support the venue) after having been turned down for a dance.

As mentioned before, this can make an uninitiated newcomer feel quite unwelcome in the world of tango, but the system is in place to avoid awkwardness rather than to create it.  A brilliant way for beginners and unknowns to get dances in without having to deal with this is the following:

3) Taxi dancers.  Whether it’s a sort-of dance gigolo like in the traditional sense, an experienced dancer who is paid to dance by a group of people who lack the standing to be in demand; or a refreshingly modern sense, a volunteer (paid or unpaid) from the community who is there to dance with any dancers on behalf of the organizers of the dance.  This tends to make new dancers feel more welcome and is sometimes even introduced as a taxi dancer during the announcements portions of the evening either immediately at the beginning of the dance session or in the middle of the evening.  This is a fantastic tradition and would be wonderful to implement in any scene that is having issues with newcomers feeling less-than-welcomed.

Lindy Hop – Danger – Ahh lindy hop.  It’s dynamic, it can be fast.  If done improperly, you can REALLY hurt someone.  This alone is a good reason for people to be reticent about saying yes when someone unknown asks for a dance.  I cannot stress how much I support people saying ‘no’ in any situation where they feel there’s a likelihood that they might be injured by taking a chance.

Balboa – Speed – Traditionally Balboa is danced fast and in close embrace (this means a body to body connection).  The story goes that the owners of the balboa ballroom packed the dance floors like sardines.  Why?  Each dance couple was worth a dime to them (back when a dime meant something) per song and so… ….the more couples on the floor, the more dimes you made.  

The bands played faster and faster to increase the thirst of the dancers and because there was no shortage in the 1000s of dancers who went every night during its heyday.  A house rule was that any couple that broke from Close embrace would be kicked off of the floor by the bouncers.

As a consequence, complex footwork and fast tempos became the order of the day.  This means of selection against dancers often results in self-selection away from the dance.  If you’re not good or in good shape, you don’t dance… at least not a lot or for very long.

Ballroom – Expense – Ballroom is expensive.  It’s expensive.  Lessons are expensive. The surreal sartorial expressions of mad dressmakers they call dresses are expensive, the swarovski crystals they glue to themselves like so many burlesque dancers are expensive, the hair and makeup and cost of paying your teacher to compete with you are expensive.

This one works to make people improve because 1) there is more pressure on instructors to work on the craft of teaching, 2) by paying a living wage to the instructors, they can devote more time to being better teachers and 3) people value products and services proportionately to the amount they pay for them.

West Coast Swing – Gamification – A variation on the competition is the points system that is in the West Coast Swing world.  Maintaining your points for many people is a way of getting into the “better” levels of competition.  Failing to do this means you have less of an opportunity to access the more interesting and desirable dancers.  This is by no means universal as there are social west coast swing scenes, venues and clubs, but it is a means that is being used to drive people in some cases to essentially grind for xp so they can quite literally “level up” and get to the good dancers.

Hip Hop and Lindy Hop – Jam Culture – This is a friendly competition that occurs either regularly or spontaneously in which a group of people crowd around a central dancer or few dancers, cheering them on as they take small sections of a song to show off their skill.  Now days in the partner dance worlds this is often used to welcome new people; out of towers; or to thank instructors, organizers and volunteers.  

But in more traditional sense, it’s a low cost way to get respect from your contemporaries by giving a platform for you to show what you’ve been working on in the past week.  Because of it’s voluntary nature, this is somewhere between competition in a traditional sense and Show and Tell.

Because Jam Circles don’t take from the regular time from the dance like an organized competition and are often spontaneous, they serve as opportunities to inspire and galvanize dancers to greater heights, even those who don’t participate directly, by going into the circle.

a note: if a jam breaks out.  please clap on beats 2 and 4 and keep the circle continuous so the energy doesn’t “leak out”.  being part of the community in situations like these is further social proof that you are ‘one of us’ for the people around you and in people’s exuberance after a jam, they are often more likely to say ‘yes’ to dancing with a stranger.  These are great times to see the possibilities inherent in a dance if you put the work in to improving your skills.

***

Most of these mechanisms become both filtering mechanisms, weeding out those who lack discipline and would be lukewarm on the dance; as well as proving grounds driving others to excel and improve their dance.

Social pressure can be overcome with social proof.  For instance, getting points leads to a higher level competition being open to you, which means the better dancers know you and you unlock more dances.

Bringing a partner is a clever way.  Dancing the first song with the person you came with is a means, not only of warming up and setting the tone for the evening with someone whose dancing you probably enjoy, but also a form of social proof that shows the other dancers whom you’re likely to ask for a dance what your dancing is like and whether you’re worth their time, risk of injury, and etc…

It also shows people that at least one other person is willing to dance with you and if there’s one thing that interests people in a person, product or service, it’s a testimonial.

Okay, so what if I want more dances?  Well… in the next article I’ll talk about six things you might be doing to prevent yourself from getting dances and what you can do to improve your lot on the floor.

What is the Point of Teaching

Why the hell do I spend the effort teaching?  What do I hope my students will gain from it and what what do I gain from helping them to learn?

Why do I spend the effort teaching?

There are several reasons I suppose.  

1) I like people who are skilled and the confidence with which they can approach the world.

2) I like to share the experience of dance with someone who can understand music similarly to me.  After all, every class any teacher teaches on the subject of social dance for example, is how to dance with that particular teacher or teaching couple.

3) I like to see the inspiration in the student’s eyes as they realize they can do something that they couldn’t do before.  This is a big one.

What is it that my students are actually gaining from learning?  Well knowledge, for one thing.  Knowledge of a particular art.  This knowledge gained from disciplined practice for a long time is called Kung Fu in chinese.  Kung Fu isn’t necessarily anything to do with martial arts, though the most common way people think of the idea is a martial arts master.

One of my favorite philosophers and Kung Fu practitioners Bruce Lee said that “all knowledge is ultimately self-knowledge.”  If I follow that line of thinking, what we do when we teach, is to teach our students about themselves by taking them along the path of discipline we’ve used to discover who we are.  

As the student learns or doesn’t, we gain further insight into who we are and so, achieve greater self-knowledge as teachers.  

There is never a teacher who is not first a student, nor a student who is not a teacher.  The best teaching relationships are those with greatest discipline, though not necessarily those that are most serious or those that push the hardest.

The best teaching unlocks the potential of student and teacher and helps to discover and grow the joy of the art (no matter the specifics of the art) in both.  This means that the best students and teachers are combinations that are made based on the personalities of each as well as the art in question.

If you are teaching something like medicine or hang gliding, where lives may be lost, perhaps a more serious approach is warranted.  If you are teaching something that is difficult, but not life-threatening or inherently risky, perhaps a lighter touch can be used.

There are different ways to achieve the same end, and as with raising children, no approach works perfectly with everyone.

On the Noble Art of Setting Goals

Setting a goal is like getting a map and compass to orienteer your way to your desired end.  In another section, I’ll talk about the value of a mentor or teacher and we’ll see how much easier it can make things.  After all, asking for directions (though a possible blow to the ego, can help us get where we’re going better than having no one to ask).

The nice thing about goals as opposed to physical maps is that they don’t really have to correspond to physical reality as strongly to be useful.  Again, if I have no wings, no fitness goals will make me strong enough to generate enough lift to fly.

Here are the features that distinguish a goal from a wish or unrealizable desire:

Possible – Again, no flying under your own power as a human, but… if we adjust our expectations of what human flight looks like to include mechanical contrivances?  Now flight is a potential goal.

Achievable – A goal must have a clearly stated “win state”.  You need to know that you achieved the goal.  That means working on the clarity of your vision so that you know exactly what your desire looks like.  The fewer words you need to define your goal, the more likely it is you can achieve it.

Time-Sensitive – You need to set an amount of time in which you intend to complete your goal.  This will give you a sense of urgency, as well as help you for when you need to set the intermediary steps that will help break your goal into bite-sized chunks.

This is a hugely under-valued part of setting goals and one of the most important.  A warning though:  Urgency will add stress to your life.  This is only a bad thing if you think that stress is something to be avoided.  Stress can be quite beneficial, as with the case of building muscle via working and stressing the tissues, which become stronger and allow you to do more later.

One technique I learned from my father can be used to great effect: adding a non-goal-related reward for achieving your goal on time.

For instance, if I did X pushups with good form in a row, we would go out for Ice Cream.

You can do this for yourself, or better… with a friend.  Then when they ask, why you’re doing the fun thing, you can tell them about the goal you’ve accomplished and reinforce the positive feelings associated with accomplishing what you’ve set out to do.  

It is more useful if the reward is something special that you wouldn’t normally take the time or expense to do.  For instance, if you always have a wednesday coffee date with someone, then taking them for coffee on wednesday isn’t much of a reward.

Taking a groupon for a spa or going away for the weekend might be a good idea, depending on the size of the goal.

Also, the goal’s reward should not undermine the work you did to accomplish the goal.  For instance, if your goal is to lose weight via improved health habits and exercise, staying home to eat cake and watch a movie is a bad reward.  It will reenforce the idea that cake = reward and exercise = punishment.

A better reward might be getting a new outfit (second-hand if you’re on a budget) to reward the work.  Then, you’ve earned it and solved the problem of your now-baggy wardrobe.  Plus, you’ll be amazed how great you look in your new (or new-to-you) outfit.

***

It is at this point that I should stress (hehe) the importance of taking small steps if you’re new to the goal-making habit.  This can be done in two ways.  

1) Make small goals- this is a habit and you’ll be tempted to overdo it and take on more than you can cope with at the beginning.  Consistency and teaching you to associate goals with positive feelings of success is going to make building this habit a lot easier.

2) if you have a large goal, break it into manageable bite-sized chunks.

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