Big Ants

Nature teaches us important lessons, if only we pay attention.

So, I had a party on a Friday night, and I had to spend the following Saturday cleaning up. I was hung over from hangin out, but this is the price we pay to party hard. So anyway, I make my way outside to clean up the yard, which had Solo cups and other party trash chillin all over. I stumbled into a small ant pile, located just on the edge of the grass and the patio. Immediately, I go all “human” and get mad, thinkin “Damn, now I hafta buy some pesticide, get rid of these buggers.” But then, I took a second to look at these ants, to find out what these ants were up to.

The first thing I noticed was the cohesiveness of this ant colony. They were busy collecting food, transporting some larger insect from where it was lying dead back to the pile, maybe a foot away. They were going away at it bit-by-bit, ants this-a-way, ants marching that-a-way.

After a few moments, I turned my attention to one little guy in particular. He was busy being confused, trying to navigate his way from home to the food source. In that foot in between, Little Ant was meandering (at best) in the general direction of the grub. He would cut off into the grass, come back on the pavement, turn around, turn around again, then keep working his way in the right direction.

The interesting thing about ants is that they don’t “see” in the way we think of seeing. They feel their way through, using chemical sensory receptors to communicate with one another, as well as their antennae to feel vibrations in the air and on the ground. So, as he rumbled down the track, Mr. Little Ant was continually bumping into things - other ants; blades of grass; air, seemingly - pretty much everything in between him and the meal. Eventually, though, Little Ant got hooked up with Big Ant, a much larger and clearly older, more experienced dude. Big Ant went straight from the pile to the food, from the food to the pile, making little hesitation with his path. Little Ant began to fall in line, taking Big Ant’s lead, cuz hey, let’s face it: Big Ant was getting the job done.

Now, as those of you who have read the blog before already know, I don’t just talk about random stuff to be random. I usually talk about random stuff to make a point, and here it is: We, as people, are nothing but Really Big Ants.

We move like ants. Want verification? Try walking around a busy downtown block from 8 to 9 A.M. You’ll see people milling along in one direction or another, seemingly bumping into each other the whole way, or at the very least changing direction often enough to avoid hitting each other, all while trying to move this way or that.

We communicate like ants. We feel vibrations in the world, just like they do. Maybe our instruments are not as simple, but when we feel “good vibes,” we’re literally feeling a good vibration move through us. It may be a voice or a drum or a hug, but it is certainly a feel, a movement through us.

And we follow like ants too. But, and here’s the Big But, the difference with people is that it’s much harder to find out who the Big Ants may be. For ants, the scale of experience and intelligence is much smaller than humans, so all of the big ants are, for the most part, smarter than the little ones (except for little “Z” in Antz, shoutout to Dreamworks for that lovely film).

With people, we have 9-year-old Big Ants who can think on their toes, take charge, and make decisions. And we have 59-year-olds who are still wandering around bumping into blades of grass. We also have Big Ants who don’t have the interests of the Colony at heart. We have 18 people trying to be Queen Ant every four years. We call them “candidates.”

Are you a Big Ant? Or a Little Ant?

And, more importantly, is One Ant > The Colony?

Let’s all be Big Ants.

People Who Hold Hands

People Who Hold Hands matter. Not that those of us with our hands in our pockets don't matter, but People Who Hold Hands show a solidarity, an indication that two, or three, or many more have come together. Some of us hold hands when we pray. We hold the hands of youngsters when we cross the street. Lovers hold hands to display their affection for each other. It is a subtle gesture, yet one that resonates to all the world, a symbol that silently shouts that a couple, or a group, holds fast to one another. We hold hands ever-so-briefly when we make an acquantaince - we call it a 'handshake'. It's at once innocent and demanding, casual and oh-so-intimate. Some hold on loosely like dead fish; some try to impose their will with their grip. With such a simple action, how can so much be taken from it? It is but a touch, yet a touch can mean so much. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a hand is worth a million. A true gentleman doesn't get hitched, he takes a hand in marriage. 'Gimme a hand' means give me some help. Giving someone a hand can also mean giving them your praise for a job well done. A hand could be just five fingers stuck together, or it can mean the world. Hands up, stand up, join together. Peace and Love. And wherever you're at, even if I can't feel ya, just know I'm reaching out a hand to try.

People Who Take Pictures with Santa Claus

...Are usually under 5 years old, and typically, they are very much unwilling to do so with a smile on their face. And who should blame them?? Parents teach kids not to talk to strangers, then they bring their little ones to the mall to sit on the lap of some dressed-down, washed-up white-beard? A real holiday hypocrisy in my opinion. What healthy parenting. As a rule, I stay away from St. Nick, and here are a few reasons why:

1) I'm not a fan of crying kids, and there are always, always crying children around the sketch ball in the red suit. Right now, some poor tyke is screaming her lungs out, begging for Mommy while some small person in jingle-bell shoes pretends to be friendly just long enough for a decent snapshot. "Here little girl, take this candycane, and give us a big smile for Santa! Now say 'Rudolph!'" Meanwhile, the parentals are wearing some cheesy holiday outfits that make 'em look like they're on their way to a tacky sweater party. This is what you do to people, Santa. I hope you're happy.

2) Even if he wasn't shady (which he is), what does Santa have to do with the birth of Jesus Christ? Oh yeah, absolutely nothing.

3) He puts coal in the stockings of those of us who are "bad" for the year. I have two issues with this one. First, suck one you fat, judgmental fuck! How arrogant and holier-than-tho is this guy? Where does he get off making this list and checking it twice? Who are you to say whether I've been naughty or nice? And all this "see me when I'm sleeping" business?? Downright creepy, and likely unlawful. Secondly - doesn't this idiot know that we're facing a global energy crisis? Oil is a hundred bucks a barrel and he's dishing out chunks of Kingsford to get his jollies - real classy, big guy. You mean to tell me he knows if I've been bad or good, but he doesn't understand that coal is a non-renewable fossil fuel in such high demand that it's worth far more than some crappy candy or sweat-shop-made toy that he'd put in there otherwise?? This guy needs a clue like All of the Other Reindeer need equal-opportunity sensitivity training. I guess Mrs. Claus pays the $1000-a-month heating bill up at the North Pole cuz this dude is out cold. Hell, I guess I should be extra evil this year, then maybe he'll throw an offshore oil rig down my chimney. Hmm, come to think of it, maybe that's what the Bushes have been doing all these years...

4). He totally promotes slave labor. Those poor little elves are so brainwashed, they actually think unpaid labor in some Arctic sweatshop is fun. Sounds more like the workforce for some Russian czar than something a jolly old soul would try.

5) What's with the beard?? To his credit, he's taken the whole "No-Shave November" deal to new heights, but he's forgotten to shave it off at the start of the following month. For about a hundred years now. Between the overgrown facial hair and the knapsack of random goodies, he looks downright homeless. And I'm pretty sure he fits the description of the perpetrator of a string of home invasions in my 'hood. Just know, if anybody, anybody comes landing on my roof lookin for free cookies, he's gettin capped in his holly, jolly ass. Fair warning, Santa Claus. If you come to my town, you'd best be prepared to get a size 12 sent up your chimney the wrong way.

Feliz Navidad, bitches. The most wonderful time of the year, indeed.

People who wear sweatpantß

True enough, we are what we eat, but does the same apply for what we wear? Doctors wear scrubs, soldiers wear camouflage, and ballett dancers wear tutus, but must we let what we wear become who we are? Let's ask People who wear sweatpants.

------------------------------

Wearing sweatpants in public makes quite a statement. It says, "Hey everybody, I just got done with some physical activity, or I am about to commence as such." Or, "Oh me? I just ran out real quick to pick up a few things, then it's back to the couch for me! I never leave the house like this, child please!"

Or, the real statement- "Damn, I feel super-comfy in these, my favorite pair of sweatpants that, somehow, magically, I never purchased, but still own and still love!"

I must confess that the first two "fashion statements" are said only in jest, to point out the ways in which our society has pegged the sweatpants and wearers thereof. They, in all of their cottony comfort, have been demoted to second- or third-rate by high-fashionistas, who seemingly place form over function in the shops of Gay Paris and New York, New York. (P.S. That "Gay Paris" thing is quite a little compliment to that lovely Euro capital du chic! But only if you say it in a cute little French accent.)

At its most basic level, clothing performs a simple set of tasks. It warms us when we're cold, and it shades us when we're hot. It protects the fairer skinned amongst us from sunburn, and it keeps niggas from turnin black!

To see this in action, look no further than the beach, where, because conditions permit, little or no clothing is acceptable, or even encouraged. And black people still have on white tees and Tims.

The reality is that a certain outfit, a certain look can get you into places you aren't necessarily supposed to be. Or, conversely, what you lack in your wardrobe can keep you out of certain places. A proper suit and tie will get you admittance into lovely hotel, with lovely people, and a lovely, comforting ambience. A good-looking uniform might grant you high-level security access at a hospital, in a school, maybe even at a military base.

But important to the discussion is the other reality that no matter what we wear, we change nothing about our core selves by changing our outer garments. Do we become lazier or more couch-potato-ish by wearing sweatpants? Of course not! Perhaps we may be couch-potato-ish at a given time and be wearing sweatpants, but you can just as easily sit around on ass in a business suit (ha, maybe get paid while you're at it if you're lucky).

The point is really to understand that our clothes should match our moods. When it's sunny, wear a sundress, and when it's rainy, rubber ducky boots. Both happy, hopeful looks, ready to enjoy the day. Don't wear white to a funeral, unless you really feel that way. And if you really feel that way, don't go to the funeral. Don't wear a negligee to church, or to your grandmother's birthday party. And don't wear hot pants to a Lovefest parade in Fabulous Frisco! Unless you're really feelin like hot pants ("HeyGirlHeeeey!!"). I think I hear an ass getting slapped.

But, and this is a big butt ("oooh hot pantsss"), we must all understand and embrace this final, crucial piece. The real value of a man comes not from the clothing on his back, but from the spirit in his heart. I may dress this way cuz I'm in a certain mood, or I may dress this way because it's my only pair of dry, clean clothing.

That's reality for so many people in this life that I can hardly stand to think about it.

But we must. Cuz we all wanted a closet like Cher from Clueless back in the day (yes, I dig Clueless), but who really got it?

To those without: You can walk into the door of a Fortune 500 company in a Goodwill coat and Payless shoes, if your resume's right and your game is tight, you got the job.

To those with (myself included): Understand that we are all, underneath the Louis, and the Prada, and the Rolex, and the make-up, and the car, and the house, underneath all that, we are all but men. Naked, mortal human beings who, just like the bums in the street, hurt and cry and bleed. Don't see someone's dirty jacket and ripped jeans and ruddy face and think it's okay to look down on them. Don't hold your nose on the bus cuz he smells bad. You don't think he would take a shower if he could? And please don't assume that cuz somebody has a slick suit and a hot ride he's worth a shit.
To start to find out what's goin on in this crazy place called Life, look at each person, each man, each woman, each child, really look them in the eye. Try to understand what they know, and what they feel, and what they love. For one day, when we all know what our neighbors know, and what our friends feel, and what our enemies love, we will all be neighbors, we will all be friends, and enemies will be no more.

-Dedicated to People who LOVE sweatpants!

Peace and Love for All,

Shad

Proverbs (of mine)

1 Hurry, but don't rush. Be patient, but don't wait.
2 When you tell a story about yourself, it always becomes a story about the world. And when you tell a story about the world, it always becomes a story about you.
3 I am blessed, as are you. If we keep this in mind, you will make it, we will make it, together.
4 A man's name is his badge and his honor; use it carefully and pointedly.
5 Don't fuck with anybody and don't fuck with anybody's stuff, and most of the world will be cool most of the time.

Getting Hit on by a 60-Year-Old Man

I gotta quit smoking. Cigarettes will be the death of me. Or the gay of me. *Shrugs* Guess that's why Euros call smokin a cig "blowing a fag." No, seriously.

Anyway, standing on the corner alone smokin a jack invites the zaniest, most beautifully awkward people into your life. Here's one more.

So this guy Michael, I meet him the night before, a regular bum tryna bum a cig or two. (Of course, take em, give me my 7 minutes of life back!) He's an English guy, like the major, not from London, and he's working on a novel - go figure. I ask what he's writing about, where I can find his work, questions he deftly deflects with quirky old-guy jokes and one-liners. I'm enjoying it at this point - a few beers deep and ready to witness some funny shit. So I listen for a bit, then roll back into the bar. Story over. Orrrr not.

Flash forward to Starbuck's, 20 hours later. I'm out sparking up a death stick when some guy comes bumbling up to me smelling like vodka and Ben-Gay. "Can I get 61 cents man?" An odd number for sure, but I'm change-less anyway, so I let him know. I look up, and lo and behold, it's Mikey, stuck somewhere between drunk, happy, cold, and "oops I almost pooped myself."

"Michael, right? I met you last night." A quick look at me, a friendly smile, and Mikey's off again, telling me wonderfully uninvited, awfully personally stories about his life. About his son who's "the next closest thing to incarcerated" - cooped up in a mental institute. Hmm, come to think of it, he may have been giving me a warning.

About his wife - "She's got my 38 year-old son living with her - treats him like he's six. You treat a grown man like he's a damn six-year-old, and he'll act like a damn six-year-old!"

"Not a fan of Mom, huh?"
"Hell no, haven't talked to her in eight years, the bitch!" I thinly veil my chuckle at this remark, and he's off again. "I used to have a beautiful apartment, up on Pacific. My son lived with me, and we both went about our business. See, me, I like the men," (Hmm... uh-oh?) "and my son and me, I never worried when he'd bring back the women and," -he interjected some oddball sex noise- "HUNGH, hungh. And he never worried about me, with the guys and the," - same sound- "HUNGH, hungh." Like I said, uh-oh.

He goes on, informing me that he's basically waiting on his mother to pass so he can inherit her $82 million fortune. "Sooo maybe she can hook you up with a few mil in the meantime. And you definitely owe me that dollar back now." Ha, sometimes I crack myself up.

At this point, I'm still wondering where this is going, getting colder and more confused by the moment. So, as I say goodbye and head back into the coffee shop, Mike gives me a cutesy little handshake, and, keeping hold with both of his weiner-beaters, he gives me a kiss on the hand - an old school, classy move (I guess...?), but a bit too soggy and Catholic-priest-ish for my liking.

I try to take it in stride, raising an eyebrow to the trio seated by the door - did they see that? Did they think that was as..... gay as I did? Only in Frisco.

I gave a little jeans-wipe, took a seat, and gave a half-grin to myself.

Cuz a straight male getting hit on by a guy is kinda like the least-appealing girl in the party showing too much love: flattering, perhaps, but style-cramping and cock-blocking for sure.

Either way, I think the wry smile on Mike's face as he walked away - was it the booze or the hand-rape? - meant that he enjoyed delivering the smooch more than I felt awkward receiving it.

So, the next time the feeling starts creeping up - "This dude is totally gay and totally hitting on me!" - don't think it's cuz you 'look gay' or 'seem a little fruity.' Don't get all pissed and try to act macho. Just laugh it off, wipe it off, whatever you gotta do. Just think of Mikey and me and our soggy, gay, little moment.

Much (Comepletely Heterosexual and/or Platonic) Love,

Shad

Oh yeah...

Oh yeah, how could I forget--

6) To learn grace and giving - Those who have the least give the most. Check it out if you have doubt.

Love,

Me

Why I want to be homeless - a List

I met some homeless San Franciscans. This group has far more knowledge than common misconceptions may allow. The pain felt is mine. But I've found little pain, lots of glory. Here is what I intend to learn after I become a person of the street:

1) To learn humility - Take lessons from one and all, for it is with humility that true strength and control are developed.

2) To learn thrift - We are bombarded by the overabundance of all -- people, things, all commodities coming and going after a buck. The true soul knows its needs and satisfies them exclusively.

3) To learn humor - Shit gets real funny when you're broke. But will you laugh or cry?

4) To be uncomfortable - Escaping the pampered cushiness of everyday boredom unlocks doors we can't even see yet. You'll surprise yourself at every turn. That's a promise.

5) To be handy - You'd be shocked at the enterprise of the homeless -- finding shelter here, scraping up a meal there! All with the skillful craftiness of one who has seen and done many things. We all have the know-how to get the things we truly need. Done.