New Recordings

Just finished up another acousticy little album.  You can download it free at www.michaelnagel.bandcamp.com.

Popcorn

I don’t think anyone feels like they deserve love.  I decided this while watching a friend cry at her birthday party, when everyone was telling her how great she is and why they love her so much.  No one was surprised that an outpouring of love was met by an outpouring of tears -as if her body had to make room for love by expelling sorrow.  It was…expected.  Because we cry when we are given things we don’t deserve.

The ironic thing is that we put more effort into procuring love than anything else.  We all homogenize, at least a bit, to fit in, and we fit in to feel accepted, and we like feeling accepted because acceptance is a form of love. And love is what we’re after.  We grind away at work because feeling successful in the office is a powerful form of acceptance, and as you know from the previous sentence, acceptance is a form of love.  The point is that we all work really hard to be loved, yet when we finally experience love, when all our hard work and effort finally pays off, we are immediately aware that we don’t deserve any of it.

So this makes me wonder about the rationality of spending so much time trying to be loved.  I mean, if, in the end, I’m going to realize that I don’t deserve love anyways, but for some reason I’ve been given it by these strange humans around me, then maybe I could save a lot of time by skipping the part where I try to deserve it.  And then maybe I could take all that saved time and energy and use it to love other people.  Then maybe they would come to this realization too, and they would stop trying to be loved and, instead, start loving other people.  And on and on this would go until everyone knew they were loved.

Sometimes people treat love like money, like it’s value is in it’s rarity.  I think they are afraid that if the market were to saturate, then the little bits they’ve managed to collect would loose their value.  But I don’t think love is like money at all, I think love is like popcorn – the more the better.  And the funny thing is that, the more we love other people, the easier it is to accept that other people love us in return –as undeserving as we are.  And when we start focusing on loving other people it starts to matter less when people think we are less-than-stellar homosapiens.  And that’s honestly quite a relief.

Brand New

Today I entered an elite society.  The society of macbook users.  In my defense, this was an almost completely necessary purchase.  It was as close as a want gets to being a need without actually being one; so i jumped the gun a little – sue me.  My last laptop -a compaq- lasted me a solid 3.5 years before it started showing signs of old age.  Freezing every-so-often, taking long and longer to boot or shut down, not being able to keep up with steaming videos and the like.  The real nail in the coffin though was when the screen stopped, what i like to call, “working”.  Blacks became electric greens, at wrong angles the screen would turn off completely, and every so often it would all garble like a TV loosing reception.  Once the novelty of the failing screen wore off, it really started getting annoying. 

And really, what other option was there from the mac book?  None.  And as much as I’d like to abandon technology all together and go back to the typewriter and quill days, it really just doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen. 

 

So here I am at my same desk, wearing my same clothes, with my same hair cut, in my same apartment, realizing that everything is different now.

 

Super Powers

Today, in a compulsive thirst for adventure, I journeyed across the hall to women of faith.  I can see into their windows when I walk by, I know about the leather sofas and the fancy coffee makers, but I’ve never had a reason to go in there.  Today I realized I don’t need a reason to do anything, so I psyched myself up, grabbed a cup of coffee to look more professional, and ventured across the hall.

I was hoping for a warm women-of-faith-style greeting.  A “Hello, we’ve been wondering when you’d stop by.  I see your drinking coffee, how professional of you.  Lovely day for coffee isn’t it?”  I would have even taken a “How may I help you?”, or if they were short on time a, “yes?”  But I didn’t get any greeting at all, and it turns out it’s a pretty good idea to have a reason for going into a strange office -without one you look pretty damn silly.  My hand was still on the door, I was mostly in the office, and I had no backup plan.  I panicked.  I started smiling like something was funny, or like I had accidentally went into the wrong office, somehow overlooking the large “WOMEN OF FAITH” letters on the door – silly me!

If I could have one super power I’d choose flight.  But if I could have two, and I had to choose my second at that moment, I would definitely choose invisibility.  I’d regret it later when I realized I was stuck with a totally lame super power, but it would have been really great right then.

The Whole Cup of Coffee

I flipped my calendar page today and ended summer. 

September is the first step in the much needed cooling process that our state so reluctantly undergoes.  Jacket-wearers can dawn their coats in the slightly-too-warm weather, as short-pants-wearers attempt to absorb the last bits of heat through their exposed skin.  It’s a really great time, September.  A hopeful month if there ever was one.  I don’t think there is a single person in Texas that doesn’t start anticipating winter around, oh…July. And September whets our burgeoning hope for winter’s return.

I’ve heard it said that Texas doesn’t have seasons.  I think this rumor must have been started by a group of northeasterners, or someone from Oregon, who wanted to make us feel like we’re missing out on something.  People like to have exclusive experiences, they like it when other people “don’t even know” about things like seasons or mountains or good music.  Texas doesn’t have mountains, but we definitely have seasons.  I know this because there is a pea-coat in my closet.  Next time someone starts complaining about how we don’t have seasons I’m going to push them into my closet and say, “oh ya? explain this!”  I bet that will make them feel pretty silly for thinking we don’t have seasons.

I’ve never lived anywhere that gets much snow, so naturally I’m fascinated by it.  The 4 to 5 days that Texas gets snow are absolute magic, every time.  I know some people who live in “snowy places”, and they talk about snow like it’s a bad thing- like traffic or ozone days.  It’s nothing original to say that the best things are experienced in moderation.  I could learn a thing or two about disappointment, a thing or two about delayed gratification, a thing or two about failure.  It’s all worth it when it finally snows.

I think tomorrow, I’ll drink a whole cup of coffee on our balcony at work, to celebrate the coming of the much needed winter.

SPIRAL

I’ve been trying to be a more interesting person.  It’s not really working.  I bought this very artsy journal, with pages that were handmade in Nepal or somewhere, and a cover that looks like hemp or something. I wrote a page in it but then cut that page out because it made the journal less interesting than it was when it was blank.

I have this problem, see, that when I try hard at something it usually sucks.  My most brilliant moments are handed to me from the puppeteers when there’s just enough pressure to keep me involved.  It keeps me humble, I guess, but it’s also pretty lame.  I know people that are just brilliantly creative; they call people “cats” and draw pictures that are sloppy but somehow really good at the same time.  I like people like that, but I don’t think I’ll ever be one of them.  All of my attempts at creativity are painfully self-aware, like that kid who tries to be cute when he’s just a little too old. I keep looking over my shoulder to see if people are laughing at my jokes.

I’ve been battling self-awareness since like 2006.  I think it’s a winning battle, but admittedly slow.  I think at some point I’ll just forget I exist completely, and then I will have won.  But, until then, I can really get on my nerves.

I think the real problem is that the Nepalese journal is just too cool.  It’s intimidating.  It’s simply un-improvable at my present level of interestingness.  I gotta give myself time, work up to it – there’s nothing wrong with floaties when no one is watching.  I picked up some spiral notebooks at walmart the other day for 45cents.  That’s where I’ll start, I’ll loose myself in the spiral, I’ll be interesting, I’ll observe things!  I’ll paste things in!  I’ll cut things out!  It’s gonna be great.

Best American Essays of 2008

Me and Janessa walk into Borders.  The best part of the store is within 2 feet of the entrance: Bargains! On the cheap shelf, there are a few mismatched books from some children’s series; books 5 and 9 are decidedly un-tempting.  Janessa sits on the floor and begins flipping through a book of botched wedding pictures, while I absent-mindedly continue snooping. On the lowest left shelf I uncover a book so ordinary (boring perhaps?) that it’s no wonder it ended up on the bargain rack.  The Best American Essays of 2008 is stamped across the cover in block font with no graphics or tag-lines in sight.  The most appealing part of the cover is the bight yellow sticker: $3.99!  How can I say no!

Getting home, I read the introduction and am immediately glad of my purchase (which, incidentally came out to be $1 rather than the advertised $4).  For 3 days I have not let the book rest, devouring essay after essay.  I’ve felt what’s it’s like to be the mother of an ill child.  I’ve listened to the lament of a man watching his partner die of aids.  I’ve learned about beads, I’ve learned about Leica cameras, I’ve learned about old age.  I’m transfixed by the various authors’ fascination and emotion for their subjects,  but the single quote that remains italicized in my mind comes from the introduction, “Each one of these essays asks the essayist’s essential question, which is not the preacher’s or polemicist’s question –how shall we live?- but Montaigne’s questions: what does it feel like to be alive?”  So I began reading, to learn what being alive feels like to others.

3 essays in I was convinced of this: life is fascinating, and I am not.  4 essays in I began to lament for the amount of time I’ve spent being boring and for the poor souls I’ve bored along the way.  I’m now 7 essays in and determined to change my ways. To no longer avoid the science fiction section of half-price books, or the sea-food page of the menu.  To no longer order the orange crème slush when I know that sonic carries over 1,000 different flavors.  To give the shack another try. To finally listen to that fiery furnaces album all the way through!

These simple essays have reminded me that life is amazing to those with a mind for fascination: people who don’t write things off easily, or say things like that’s just not my thing.  (I admit I’ve used that phrase quite effectively for a number of years now, it’s gotten me out of many a jam).  But 22 years in I find life can be quite dull for lack of exploration and imagination.  And thankfully I have 21 more volumes of “The best American Essays” to help awaken my curiosity.

5-15-1937

Walcott,

            You simpleton!  Your letter sat in a pile of unopened mail until the smell of rotting produce forced me to discover its contents.  I suppose you village folk are used to receiving vegetables in the mail, but I must request future letters be void of your rural gifts.

            I admit being more than a bit surprised to hear of a woman in your last letter- Kate was it?  My friend, are you maturing?  Perhaps it is time you came to the city and learned a true man’s work; I have just the place for you in my company.  Entry level of course, all commission naturally, but plenty of room to climb.

            I await your response.

 

-Mansferd

 

4-23-1937

 

My dear Friend and Confidant Mansferd:

            I was so pleased to receive your letter!  I had worried that you had forgotten me.  I do suppose your international affairs keep you quite busy.  Not to mention your domestic and extra-marital affairs.

            I am quite busy my self; what, with my garden to tend and my daily walk into town.  I do fear that my relationship with Kate has suffered for my business.  Perhaps I will stay home with her today to make amends.

            Also, I must apologize once more for the chocolate stains.  I promise this will be the last time.

 

Sincerely,

            Walcott

 

P.s. I’ve enclosed Radishes          

4-20-37

 

Walcott,

I trust this letter finds you fat and happy.  I would expect nothing less; you fat clown. Should we continue our correspondence I do hope you will consider drafting your letters at a time when your hands are not covered in powdered sugar and fudge, if such a time exists.

 

Sincerely,

            Mansferd.