Well, frankly, I was going to shut the whole thing down completely for at least a year, but I realized even I needed a Phetasy Fix at least once a week, so I came up with the bizarre idea of Online Visiting Hours. From now on Phetasy will only be viewable on Fridays from the hours of 11am -6pm PST. There will be random viewings which I'll announce last minute on my twitter account. Sometimes there might be new material; sometimes there won't be and you can just wander around if you want.
I've called it my company, but it's really my artistic expression, my life philosophy as it evolves. It's a portal into the mind of a lunatic, yours truly. Because of this, I've decided to get a bit protective about it. For whatever reason, Phetasy is not something I want available to everyone, at all times anymore. And being the energetically sensitive yogi I am, I can't help but feel that when it is up and alive all hours of the day, it is not only a psychic drain on my creative energy, but something I have to maintain.
I know this is counterintuitive to all things online. But trust me, this isn't some fancy gimmick. I just feel that this is what's best for me and Phetasy right now, so I'm going with it. I don't want to keep up with the Inter-Web. I don't want to even try. It's moving too fast and I prefer knowledge to information. In order to attain knowledge, we need to process information in stillness. I find it impossible to work to pay the bills, digest all of the information, live a life offline, maintain a website full time and not feel like I'm losing out on something more important--wisdom.
But I don't want Phetasy to be gone forever either because I know there are a handful of us who love and appreciate Phetasy for its quirks. So I've created Visiting Hours. Many have said this is the dumbest idea ever, but, as usual, I don't care. I'm not trying to be the biggest, best site on the web. I'm not going for constant traffic. In a desert of information I want Phetasy to be your mirage. I am not competing for your attention, nor do I care if I remain nameless. In a sea of rushing ideas, I seek to find stillness amid the storm. This is merely my attempt at doing so.
Phetasy is a labor of love after all....and I intend to keep it that way.
When the Money Men freak out, you know there's a problem. Right now, a lot of Money Men are freaking out. Because they're losing money. Lots of it. They are currently banking on a "bottom" to this collapse. They're busy frantically flocking together, trying to herd their wealth and whatever they do....don't panic.
**Newsflash Money Men**: We're IN another Depression**. Approaching the bottom? Hardly. We're not even close. And until the fog of denial lifts in Money World, it will be impossible to fathom where that bottom really is.
If we haven't technically entered into depression yet by economist's definitions, it's only because their standards of measurement are always one quarterly report behind reality. That and the fact that people who live in Money World are generally 99% removed from the daily reality the Common Man experiences.
Those of us in the Real World, on the ground, live very differently than the people who make the money go 'round. While the Money Men eat their tender Kobe beef steaks and ponder the next earnings report for Company X, we wait on them and worry about how the decline in business over the past few years has affected our savings. While they get fitted for their expensive suits and talk about what a shitty job their maid did cleaning, we struggle to pay our rent. Hope the creditors stop calling. Will our car not to break down. Stress about how to pay our child's tuition. Try to figure out how to pay for our own education. Pray we don't get sick.
And while the Money Men speculate about the future of the economy from their Four Seasons suite in Maui, we the Common Man are free-falling in the bottomless pit of a collapsing superpower that has become as top heavy as Rome, neglected its own infrastructure and failed to provide its people with decent education and reasonable health care. It's a black hole from which none will escape unscathed.
Unfortunately, the dominoes have started tipping and there is no stopping them now. I believe we are only in Phase II of the bottoming out process (Phase I started with the mortgage crisis and ended with the recent nationalization of Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae) because there is a lot more where the credit crunch is coming from that the Money Men can't see, but the Common Man can:
Exhibit A: My best friend works for an airline. They are frequently laying people off these days due to the rising cost of fuel. She has school debt and credit card debt. She makes just enough to pay her minimums, but if she gets laid off, she's fucked and so is her credit.
Exhibit B: My neighbor worked for MySpace. He was part of the recent 5% of people who got laid off now that MySpace's meteoric rise finally reached its ceiling. MySpace gave him no severage package or notice. Jobless, my friend is selling his car and going to live with his brother (and on his remaining credit) until he figures out what to do.
For the majority of us, it's always crunch time. Month to month hustling is a way of life. When choosing between a roof over your head, transportation, food or paying a credit card minimum, you realize there is no choice but to let the credit rating go. No one wants to default. But when you're barely surviving, something has to give. Trust me, the credit is only beginning to crunch. It's not even winter yet. Just wait until Americans start getting their heating bills. Keep an eye out for those dismal holiday earnings reports.
Still, don't pull out The Doors just yet. We are nowhere near the end. And it is more than bad mortgage loans and over-extended credit. This has to do with a weakening dollar, a weakened position on the world stage and a global redistribution of wealth and power.
When someone wins all the money in Monopoly, no one else can play. When someone cleans out every person at the Poker table, the game is over. And when 1% controls 99% of the wealth, it's only a matter of time before they have it all. Game over. House wins.
The 1% will eventually see what the rest of us already know--the house won. And once they realize you can't squeeze cash from a poor Common Man any more than you can squeeze water from a turnip, they'll begin hoarding it. Panic ensues. That's when I think Phase III will kick in--rampant bank closures will force economists to finally acknowledge the sad fact that we are, indeed, in another awesome depression. And what's at the bottom? Well, while we the American Common Men carry on with our divine daily hustle and struggle to come to terms with our place as the new France of the world, the 1% will be duking it out in a high stakes global game of hold 'em, fighting for more amongst themselves. A new pecking order will emerge. Should be interesting to see who wins THAT one. But I'm gonna start learning Mandarin.
**I'm no Econ Major and this is only my dumb opinion based on no facts whatsoever and purely on observations, intuitions and gut instincts which I'm sure my loyal, highly educated readers will be more than happy to disprove. In fact, I encourage it.
It was the summer of Radiohead. China. Iron Man.The Dark Knight. The Olympics. The Election. Rising Gas. Crashing markets. Weakening dollars. Our collapsing environment. All things come undone. A truly epic summer as our species teeters on what could very well be the brink of extinction.
When you're a kid summers are ALWAYS epic and seemingly endless. My childhood summers were idyllic; spent crabbing on the beach or exploring the woods. In my woodland adventures, I occasionally came upon random gravestones in the middle of the forest. I would sit and stare at the marker and imagine who that person was, what they did, how they lived, how they died, who they loathed, who they loved....
One day, something struck me, a thought so profound I sat there, at 10-years old, shaking. In that moment it occurred to me that an entire person's life--the whole human experience, the joy, the sorrow, love, travels, struggles, triumphs, habits, gifts, and thoughts--will be reduced to a single dash. More importantly, my life, someday, would be nothing more than that 12 inch line too.
I remember being petrified by this. But why was I so afraid? It has taken me decades to articulate, but at the time I was uncomfortably aware of a lesson we are rarely taught. NONE OF THIS MATTERS. None of this matters. That disturbingly liberating thought has haunted me ever since.
For most of us common folk, our life begins and ends with The Dash. Maybe we are remembered a few generations, and if we are lucky, our story might be carried four or five within the family. But that's it. The actual life YOU live, every single thing you do--or don't do, YOUR EXPERIENCE of this wild, extended crapshoot --is reduced to nothing more than a slightly elongated DASH between two numbers.
And right now, as you are sitting here reading this, YOU are in that very dash that is going to represent your entire life. So this is your Michael Phelps moment. Are you going to grab the gold? Are you going to live in fear? Are you going to let your mind get the best of you? Or live your life out of obligation to someone else? Or are you going to seize every last opportunity and truly LIVE?
Mozart was dumped in a poor man's grave without so much as a marker. Sure, look at who he has become, but he lived and died essentially, as far a he knew, a brilliant failure. What am I saying? You never know who you're going to effect and how. And you never know when and where your energy will turn up. I'm not saying you can't change the world; for better or worse, you can. But it doesn't matter. Even if you change the world, it won't matter to you. Because you'll be dead. None of this matters. And that's more the reason to experience as much of it as you can.
It's all going to be reduced to nothing more than a line anyway. No one is going to know or care how you lived. Eventually no one is even going to know your name, no matter who you were or to what heights you soared, even the Mozarts, even the Phelps. Because eventually, humanity's dash will come to an end too.
More and more our world demands we face this truth: Any idea of security is an illusion. Many people resist Life In the Dash because it can be scary and uncertain. It's ok. Uncertainty is the true nature of things. All things are impermanent and true stability can only come from within. We need to banish the idea of security and our perceived need for it and instead embrace the idea of constant and extreme change. Whether we are psychologically equipped or not, it's headed right for us.
Due to life circumstances, at a very young age, for many reasons, I began to formulate a new kind of philosophy that would work for me through constant and extreme change. In my quest to find something, Hell, anything to believe in or hold on to, I read everything from the Koran to Shakespeare to Calvin and Hobbes to Tolle in search of answers.
And this was the best I could do. Life in the Dash. A simple philosophy that is a mixed bag of everything from Jesus, to Gandhi, to Mr. Rogers. So far, it's working for me and I've been told it's helped others. So I guess this is my contribution to humanity, from my tenth of a second in the dash--and if any ONE of these ideas ever helps anyone navigate their precious sprint, well, I guess my work here is done.
11 Things To Remember In the Dash:
1. You are going to die. 2. Live your truth fearlessly. 3. Laugh at your Self. 4. Embrace it all—good and bad. 5. Love as many people as you can. 6. You can change the world. 7. Create. 8. Believe. 9. Trust your mistakes. 10. There’s no going back. 11. None of this matters.
This is life in the dash afterall....and as far as I'm concerned, our only job while here is to stay epic, grab life by the balls and never let up. But whatever you do, never forget you are In the Dash and therefore, make your decisions accordingly.
If Will Ferrell can come out with one movie per month for the rest of his life as a funnyman, I will be the happiest dang girl in the world.
There is funny, and then there is comic genius. Will happens to be the latter. In the forthcoming Step Brothers Will and pal John C. Reilly maintain their love affair with the man of the hour, the producer with his finger on the pulse, current King of Hollywood, Mr. Judd Apatow(Talladega Nights,KnockedUp, Walk Hard, Superbad...seemingly every other decent comedy of the past 5 years....). Apatow continues his reign and we bow to him. Because he makes stuff like this!
I love the end of the summer when all the blockbuster movies start winding down and out come the stoner movies. And by the way, does that genre actually have its own department? Are there people in production houses like, "Jim, you're on drama, Kerry you've got romantic comedy, Bill, Ted, you guys are on stoner movies." Because if it is, I want that job.
Ah glorious digital era. Now DVD's come with extras and with every stoner movie, comes hilarious rounds of promotional gimmicks and brilliant viral videos. We've been blessed with some truly gifted comedians and we should all be very grateful. Imagine how boring life would be without these three men....
The premise reminds me a lot of The Man Who Knew Too Little -- and movies where people don't know what's going on around them (Sean of the Dead) are always hysterical. Ben Stiller, genius that he is, wrote, directed and starred in it. Jack Black is always a riot. And Robert Downey Jr. plays a black man for crying out loud. So from the looks of it, I'd say it's a good ol' fashioned recipe for hilarity.
The name of the band is Slightly Stoopid--and they are--but they just might be the most perfect band to celebrate a SoCal Fourth of July to EVER. I love them. And to Phetasy's biggest fans (Dev and La) PLEASE plug some good speakers into your computer, hit play on this one and just imagine going for a BC around the OD. Oh how I miss my girls and the good ol' days.....
Somewhat Daily Whoroscope: It's the day before a long weekend which means everyone's mind has already checked out. This downward spiral started early this week with everyone talking about the long weekend and daydreaming of vacation-time. Most of our rich bosses left last weekend for their two-week frolic in Europe, a fact that left most of us lay-people stranded with work to do, but no one to make sure we were doing it. Any business you try to get done today is going to be a frustrating exercise in patience. That also goes for anywhere you try to drive this weekend. Either way, don't get your twat in a knot...you have the FREEDOM to do and be whatever you want. Choose to be a happy, friendly person to be around. Now go celebrate** and be grateful for that freedom (before we are occupied by the Chinese).
**Always drink responsibly or risk losing your freedom.
So there I am at the park yesterday with the autistic teenager I work with (Buddha Monkey as he will be referred to), minding my own business, log-rolling down hills like a freak, running around in circles, trying to teach him how to race and just being the free-spirited jackass I am.
Off in the distance two deer, clearly accustomed to humans, graze in the grass. A couple of dudes toss the football around. A family picnics. It is quite the all-American scene of peace and tranquility on a lovely summer evening.
Suddenly, Buddha Monkey sprints off down the hill, darting between the two men throwing the football.
"Sorry!" I say, running by turning to the man on the right. I resist doing a double-take. My heart stops. I suddenly find it hard to breathe or even continue walking.
Holy shit, is that?
It is. The man, the myth, the legend...Tom Brady. In the flesh. Just practicing his technique.
Now, I'm not normally star-struck, but this guy is a God Among Men, the genuine Hercules of our time. I have long maintained that he should impregnate as many women as he possibly can. A man with genes like that should father an entire football team, hell, an entire army.
So needless to say, I am a bit taken aback. I force myself to keep walking although my legs feel like they are made of Jell-O. I'm trying to act normal, but my brain may have just exploded. My heart is pumping out of my chest Roger Rabbit style. I look quickly to my left to avoid the jaw-dropping gape I feel coming and nearly give myself whiplash. I smile at the trainer.
"Sorry about that." I manage to squeak out. Keep walking. Do not look right. Do not look right. Keep walking.
"No worries," he responds.
"I can't believe how friendly those deer are!" I say, not knowing what else to say.Oh my God it's official, I'm a total loser.
I put Tom out of my mind and work on perfecting Buddha Monkey's Sun Salutations.On their way out, they stand there for a few minutes. I refuse to turn around and demand that Buddha Monkey keep his eyes on me. My cheeks are flushed. I feel sick.
The roles are suddenly and inexplicably reversed. The hero I watch every Sunday in the fall, is suddenly standing there in the flesh, watching me. It is singlehandedly one of the most surreal moments of my life. Looking back at it, they were probably just wondering who let the crazy chick,previously log-rolling down hills, torture the poor, mute autistic kid with yoga.
~~~
Later on I am telling the guy I am dating about it and he actually gets jealous of Tom Brady (a concept that still makes me laugh hysterically).
"Are you seriously getting jealous right now?" I gush. "COME ON!!! IT'S FUCKING TOM BRADY!! He's a God Among Men! The pinnacle of the male species! A perfect male form! Just being in his presence is like standing on the peak of Mt. Olympus!"
There are only two ways to respond to this if you are a man; sexy or not sexy.
Sexy: "Wow, that's hot baby. Why don't you come over, I'll blindfold you and you can suck my cock like I'm Tom Brady."
Not Sexy: (whining and pathetic-sounding) "Mmmmewww, well, I'm just going to go keep my eyes on the road and get home. I guess we'll continue this tomorrow."
Wrong answer.
Him getting jealous about my primal crush on Tom Brady would be like me getting jealous of the female equivalents of all-around unattainable sexy goddessness:
Or better yet:
Or Tom Brady's girlfriend, currently the hottest woman on the face of planet Earth:
You have to be comfortable with your place in the world and realistic about your role. He's a brilliant business man...but he's no Tom Brady.
I still haven't heard from Jealous Man yet today, which means he's either embarassed about the way he behaved, still nursing his wounds from last night or is genuinely pissed. I think it's safe to say it's over.
Well, at least he can tell his friends I left him for Tom Brady. I'm sure they'll understand.
I didn't even know this thing was as serious a competition as it was. Apparently girls brought bubble machines and water guns and did everything in their power to secure the vote. Me? Well, I danced my bum off all day pretty much without stopping.
I really wasn't even trying to get moved on to the next round because I actually lose money when I do this stuff. But as is the case with all these types of contests/reality shows I jokingly get myself into, I seem to fit some kind of profile.
I was standing in the cattle line-up eating corn on the cob when they called my number as one of the finalists. So now what? Off to Vegas I go in October for 4 days of debauchery and cattiness. Seriously ladies, stop being such jealous beyotches. It's very unbecoming on women. We need to stick together.
When a path has no heart, leave it. ~Carlos Castaneda
A brief history of my love/hate relationship with basketball:
I was born and raised a New England fan, especially when it came to the Red Sox and the Patriots. I stood by my grandfather and cheered like most of Red Sox Nation through the bad years. He waited 80 years to see the Red Sox win a title and died the year before they did it. I like to think he pulled some strings up there for the Sox.
My family however, wasn't that into basketball for whatever reason and so I didn't really start watching the game until I moved to Minnesota in high school. I spent many years watching Garnett struggle to carry his entire Timberwolves team.
Then one day, I ate some mushrooms and went to a high school basketball game. All I could hear were the stop and go squeaks from the sneakers and it traumatized me from the game for quite some time. For years I just couldn't bring myself to watch basketball; the only thing I could focus on was that dreadful sound.
In 1999 I moved to Los Angeles and got over the basketball flashback syndrome. Because this was where I started watching the game again, and L.A. was my new home, I became a dreaded Lakers fan. And because I consider myself to be a devoted fan once I have chosen a team, even when I moved back East for 6 six years, (and despite protests from friends and family and the fact that I was cheering for the Sox and the Pats), I still maintained my Laker loyalty.
When Boston got Garnett at the beginning of the season, I called that they would win the championship. And although it was a tough decision for me because something just didn't feel right, I still stood by the Lakers.
Until last night.
When I was getting ready to go over to my friend's house to watch the game (he and his whole family are born and raised Los Angelans and obviously die-hard Lakers fans) I kept putting on my Red Sox hat and then taking it off.
What was going on with me? Deep inside my heart I felt like a traitor for even rooting for the Lakers and knew that my actions were showing me who I truly wanted to win.
But I left my Red Sox hat behind and stayed determined to cheer for who I thought was my team, ignoring the cries of my heart. By the second quarter of the game, after a couple of beers and shot of Patron, my true colors started to show. And they were green.
"This is why I hate the Lakers and their fans! This is why you don't deserve to win. It's not even the 3rd quarter and you and your team have already collectively thrown in the towel! You might as well be cheering for the Celtics right now!" I found myself yelling at the people around me. Like their primadonna team, they had already given up.
I wasn't angry at them though, I was angry at myself.
"And this is why I love New England!" I yelled. "Because they never give up! Never give up! Never ever, ever, ever, ever give up! Even when the odds are against you. Even when you don't have the advantage. Especially when you are losing."
The Lakers however, looked defeated in the 2 quarter. And that's exactly why they were. Because losing is a mentality. And the Lakers are sore losers. Crybaby, whiny, bad sportsman. They start losing the game and just throw in the towel--so here comes the inevitable blowout. The Celtics fought hard until the last play and they were winning by 30. Because unlike the Lakers, who are all ego and all talk, the Celtics have heart.
When a path has no heart, leave it. Immediately. Don't hesitate and don't look back. So right there and then, I abandoned ship and returned to my roots.
I could no longer help but cheer them on. As they continued to roll over the Lakers, my heart was screaming and despite the fact that I was surrounded by bored, sleeping Lakers fans--the hoots, hollers and claps came bursting forth. It felt good. Most importantly, it felt right.
It's hard when you move all the time. You become like a ship with no anchor in a sea of options. And although I am ashamed for ever even thinking I could root for any team other than a New England team, I learned a valuable lesson: home is truly where the heart is. And although I might be based out in LaLa Land, my heart will always be in New England.
