Posts

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Evolution

If someone asks, “Do you believe in evolution,” they are framing the question incorrectly. That’s like asking, “Do you believe in blue?”

Evolution is nothing more than a fairly simple way of understanding what is unquestionably happening. You don’t believe in it—you either understand it or you don’t. But pretending evolution is a matter of faith can be a clever way to hijack a conversation and pit it in a false duality against religion. And that’s how we end up with people decrying evolution, even as they eat their (genetically modified) strawberries and pet their dogs (human inventions all from the wolf) because they’ve been led to believe faith can only be held in one or the other.

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Winehouse

Amy winehouse 3 b69efdc175b6402082aa117b59dabc4e.

“I tread a troubled track, my odds are stacked, and I’ll go back to black.”

By coincidence, I’m wearing all black today and Spotify chose that song and I think to myself, “I can’t believe that Amy Winehouse has been dead for more than 15 years now.” And I know I’m lucky that I didn’t die the same way, in fact, in that same timeframe. I got out.

But life, as it most certainly is prone to do, keeps happening. The pressure of similitude never ends, and I’ve come to know that it never will. That perhaps this is the very definition of life. Pleasure is fleeting, and for the most part, so is pain. The difficulty arises, especially for someone with my mentality, because every day is essentially the same day. (And this is the perfect, perhaps only, time I am to quote Janis, “It’s all the same fucking day, man.”)

That seems to be one common thread in the trail of dead. Boredom. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. This leads to belief in the mantra that “It’s better to burn out, than fade away.” Is it? I’m not looking to burn out. I’m not exactly fond of the notion of fading away either, but if that’s all we have, then why waste it?

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Hold ‘Em

Texas Hold ’em is a good metaphor for life. It’s not a coincidence that the same people are always at the final table because it’s a skill game. You hold two cards, but you’re still subject to a flop, a turn, and that oh-so-deep river. Assess what you have–do the math. If it’s right, look at the flop, hope for the best when you make the turn, and pray the river doesn’t drown you. That’s about the best you can do.

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Systematic

These days we walk through are just systems of man. And when the systems don’t work, we get rid of them. I think Thomas Jefferson might have written something similar. It just takes longer now.

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Commas are dumb

The difficulty in learning a language. A new way of saying things involve a new way of thinking. A new way of seeing. For me, perhaps, remembering. There are duolingos to guide you. Cuanto cuesta? How much do you want for that? They donʻt mean the same thing word for word. This is why it is so important to remember. There is a phrase in English that comes to mind as I feel sometimes, when I listen to manaleo. “I donʻt have a word for this.” Is it my lack of capacity for the moment or are there no words? I often feel that way translating my thoughts into Hawaiian. There must exist those words. I can not be the first Hawaiian feeling this way. And, so, I look for more words.

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There is a word

This guy. He found a way to Hawaiians with baseball. He found me. We still talk. I still call him Coach and I was never on one of his teams (his brotherʻs once). This is how it comes. I donʻt want Argentinian horses. I want boys from ʻEwa Beach to know that pōpō, kini pōpō. Pōhili. There is a word for baseball.

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Sports

Pal Eldredge (@baseballspal) / Posts / X

I wake up every morning at 4:30 and the first thing I check is a newsletter, then the recap of the games of my favorite teams. I love baseball, and Iʻve loved it since before Field of Dreams. I took a class in baseball called Play Ball! when I was in Little League, coached by the high school coach/tv color man for University of Hawaii baseball (Pal Eldredge). I also took a class, upstairs in Bishop Hall, in creative writing. I was young. Those classes are as much resposible for who I am today as any middling choice I seemed to make about what to major in. I can send you pictures of me draped in Cowboys parapenelia from 52 years ago. My love for sports is legit. I knew I could write about sports when I watched a Phillies game in 1992 and didnʻt care about either team. I appreciated the pitcherʻs nuances. The shortstopʻs glide.

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Kahoa

Brah, kahoa (ke hoa in songs) in Hawaiian. When I was that age, I knew EVERYTHING. No one could tell me shit. I read every book already. I knew you had the quote wrong. I snorted every line already. I took every shot already. I put my dick into every place they would take it. The realization comes more slowly. What feels good in the moment doesnʻt always feel good on Tuesday. Today is Tuesday. And although that wasnʻt on purpose, it makes a good point. Tuesday is always less than seven days away. You are an asshole. And you fucked up your only real job, evolutionarily speaking. Your kids should love you. It’s weird how patterns become patterns. I donʻt like my father. It feels like a burden to go beyond small talk. I look at posts here speaking about a father, what it means to be a man. My son does not like me. Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat,

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Perfect?

What do you want? Perfect? Perfect shames and mocks you constantly. Perfect can’t happen more than infinity. Should I bother spending half my life learning how to spell words that no one ever uses? Would that be perfect? Would a perfect score on the SATs make me perfect? Dial down a little when you judge me. Full disclosure? I’m almost the opposite of perfect. My brain articulates well. Don’t confuse that with I know what the fuck anything means or what I’m talking about. I’m the same sapient primate that you are.

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Irony

How can you understand me if I don’t understand me? You and I are strange animals. I like the way you look naked. I like the way look at me when you’re not wearing clothes. I like your breath and the way your hair smells. I like that I didn’t have to tell you to love Black Sabbath. I like less and less. But I like you. I forget how to use the word love without being ironic.