duckbill's 2 paragraphs, ese...

Hello friends, readers, and passers-by...

This may be an ending, of sorts, at least for a while.

With full-time school and full-time work and my new volunteering gig as a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) for children, and my intended volunteering/shadowing at the hospital across the street, as well as being a full-time husband and more-than-occasional moviegoer, and my MCAT preparations and possible med school applications this summer...I have little time for blogging right now. I want to keep this space open for any inspirations that may strike in the future, so if you would like to keep up with any musings I have (without having to check and re-check this page and thereby face chronic disappointment), please feel free to subscribe to my RSS or become a follower of this blog (however that works... I honestly have NO IDEA)...



The best way you can keep up with me is through my Facebook page. I've been Facebooking regularly for the past couple months and I love it. It fits much better with my style than myspace... Feel free to add me as a friend--I would love to keep up with all of you.



Please keep me and my family in your thoughts and/or prayers as we head into this busy, busy, busy time of massive opportunity, heightened strees, and possibly huge changes (including potential cross-country moves and such)...

Best,

Sean

tales from the couch

"I would rather annihilate myself than be angry with women."

i uttered this chestnut earlier today.

[welcome back, gentle readers.]

therapy is going well. i'm actually starting to speak spontaneously instead of elaborately planning everything beforehand. there's a lot of regression back to early childhood right now (not in a hypnotic sense, but in a psychoanalytic sense). doc says I'm saying some meaningful things. if the sentence above is any indication, at least I'm learning how to be more honest about my true feelings.

if you're interested in reading more about one of the major issues I'm working through in therapy right now, check out D.W. Winnicott's paper "Ego Distortion in Terms of True and False Self" from his collection Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment. (The essay also serves as the first chapter of the book The Person Who Is Me: Contemporary Perspectives on the True and False Self, which is available through Questia--a nifty online library.)


school is also going well. first midterms went smashingly and i'm on track for a good term.

i miss you too. thanks for your patience.

update


i do this. i go through these cycles. perhaps it's depression or just lack of inspiration or lack of motivation. whatever it is, i just quit writing for a while. then the fire comes back.

i head back to school in 3 weeks. i'm excited. i'm also a little scared because it will be my first experience with working full-time and schooling full-time (and, of course, husbanding and puppy parenting full-time). i don't think this is related to my writing block, but it could be.

my mom & dad were here last week and i took about 10 days of vacation. now i'm back to work. maybe i'll be back to blogging soon. i hope.

during these cycles i just get this kinda dead feeling inside, slightly sad, but mostly paralyzed and numb--kinda like i've been sitting on my soul wrong and now it's on pins-and-needles. it sounds sadder than it is. it feels like less than it is.

psychotherapy is going well. i'm going 2 days a week now. my doc is really awesome and we're making progress. eventually i hope to understand more about what is happening when i feel this way (i.e. when i don't feel much at all). right now i've got my money on some kind of emotional exhaustion, but i'm not really sure. it's kinda like dysthymia, only shorter. these cycles usually only last a few weeks.

i've been having weird dreams. i've also been waking up in the middle of my sleep and having really anxious thoughts, which leads me to swaddle the upper half of my body in blankets and wring my legs and feet together, as though i am trying to knead bread dough with my ankles. after an hour or two of egg-beating the sheets, i give out and breathe easier and sleep comes back.

doc says things are getting stirred up in my unconscious. brain stew, anyone?

sunday funnies, vol. iv


I'm sorry this is one day late. I've been quite busy at work and probably spent too much time farking before I posted this week.

In this week's Sunday Funnies (ok, Monday--get off my case!), I introduce you to the top seven products guaranteed to make a million dollars when they are introduced in Christian bookstores next year. Feel free to add your own ideas to the comments section, but be aware--I have no compunctions about stealing--er, BORROWING--your ideas for the blessedness of the Kingdom! And so I can upgrade to an Escalade EXT.


1. Uncle Job's Boil A Minute Rice
He's not really YOUR Uncle Job, or you'd be dead. Enjoy the pilaf!


2. American Greetings' Rich Corinthian Letters
Ricardo Montalban's new line of organic papyrus stationery features tasteful quotes from the "Love Chapter" and fanciful graphics of clanging gongs and resounding symbols.


3. Ezekiel's Wheelz
Theez awl-krome rimzz for ur cherry-ot feat'cha se7en conzzentric cirqulz of madnezz: spinz inzyde spinz inzyde spinz inzyde...
stokk theez in yo finerz ezztablishmentz an cha-ching! == maj. profitzz


4. Mr. Paul's Phileo Fish Sandwiches
Teach your little saints about generosity and brotherly (and sisterly!) love when you force them to share these fishy loaves with the multitudes of new friends who will gather on your hillside when they smell what's coming from your microwave! 'A' child will learn some 'B' attitudes and to 'C' gratitude when they watch all the sharing and caring that comes from these crispy nuggets of yummy wisdom!


5. Chris Pontius' Pilates
The former bad-boy of reality TV just gave his heart to the Lord and his body to the Spirit--the spirit of exercise fun, that is! From the Palace Pity Stomp to the Hand Wash Mosh, these extreme stretches and sanctified steps will have you reaching and growing and pushing and pulling thorns from your flesh in no time! And stay tuned for the even more hardcore, even radical-er sequel, which will be released next summer--Baalam's Workout: Jackass of Steel!


6. Sacra-Mentos
Admit it: you've secretly envied your Evangelical buddies who witness with their TestaMints, and your fundamentalist friends who use their CommandMints to uphold God's Standard. Well now, there is something new, something better, for you--the faithful Catholic. But not just any mint company would be appropriate to make a spheroid that serves as both the Body of Christ and a long-lasting breath tonic. With Rome's new contract with Mentos, transubstantiation has never been more refreshing. Try Sacra-Mentos: the FleshMaker!


7. Joel O's Teem
PepsiCo has incorporated the face of the "Smiling Preacher" in its new ad campaign. The long-awaited relaunch of the fizzy beverage that once brought a greedy smile to every swimmer's face in the 1970s and 80s will be accompanied by the preacher's upcoming New York Times' Bestseller Becoming a Wetter You: One Step to Pure Refreshment When All Else Fails.




Anyone else care to submit . . . to my authori-TAY!?!?

wasn't that the title of an NWA song...?


tell me who i am
so i can be that for you
tell me who i am
so i'm imprisoned in amber
tell me who i am
so my dreams become burdens
tell me who i am
so i disappear

sunday funnies, vol. III

Today's teaser is a little trickier. Using the letter point values from the game Scrabble (listed below), think of two antonyms (words that are opposites) that have the highest possible point spread between them. The catch? The words must be the same length.


1 point: A E I L N O R S T U
2 points: D G
3 points: B C M P
4 points: F H V W Y
5 points: K
8 points: J X
10 points: Q Z



See how many PS/L (point spread per letter) you can average with your own words! Can you beat the highest score posted?

Words must conform to the rules of Scrabble, but feel free to have creative fun with the normally stuffy world of antonyms (see #4 below)!

Here are my 7 examples:



1. (6 pts.) TAME : ZANY (16 pts.) PS/L: 2.50

2. (7 pts.) TENSION : RELAXED (15 pts.) PS/L: 1.14

3. (13pts.) BUMMED : JAZZED (32 pts.) PS/L: 3.17

4. (5 pts.) GORE : BUSH (9 pts.) PS/L: 1.00

5. (7 pts.) ANALOG : QUARTZ (24 pts.) PS/L: 2.83

6. (7 pts.) VILE : SEXY (14 pts.) PS/L: 1.75

7. (3 pts.) NOT : WAY (9 pts.) PS/L: 2.00



Can you come up with a better 3-letter pair? What about a really long pair of words with a super-high PS/L? The gauntlet is thrown!

la·tent –adjective 4. Botany. (of buds that are not externally manifest) dormant or undeveloped.


A couple nights ago, as I sat through the end credits of a pretty decent movie called "The Wackness," I had an earth-shattering realization which will probably surprise none of you:


I'm totally a latent pothead.


From my preference for the highest quality tie-dye, to my appreciation for Tom Petty, stoner metal (that song by Black Tide just rocks my world), and the Wu-Tang Clan, to having dogs with the nicknames Cheech and Chong, to enjoying lots of movie characters (and some real-life friends) who are blissed more often than not....

Da-aaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-mn!

If pot was legal, I'm quite certain I'd live the rest of my life in a sickly-sweet smelling haze, with no ambitions, and I'd be OK with that.

As it is, I probably hold the title (at least in the 30 - 45 year-old age group) as the most latent (or least pot-smokingest?) pothead who ever lived.

But, maaaaaan, if that NORML card in my wallet ever starts to work its magic...

I'd write more, but I've got the munchies.




"I'm a blunt gettin smoked and I can't wake up..." --KRS-One

i'm interested in hearing your thoughts...


Which is worse--people abuse or animal abuse? Or are they both equally repugnant?

Care to offer an explanation?

Just curious...

sunday funnies, vol. II


This week's edition of Sunday Funnies offers you the chance to make your mom throw up. Take the name of any food, prepared dish, or edible supermarket item (including brand names) and ADD, SUBTRACT or REPLACE one letter in the name to create the least appetizing foods imaginable! Here are my top 7 nauseating creations:


1. horse d'oeuvres

2. bananas fester

3. grisled chicken salad

4. sloppy toes

5. Swiss Mess hot cocoa

6. fetal cheese

7. Launchables


Submit your ideas and we'll start our own gross-ery store!

an artificial way to lift this post out of a rut...

ok, so i was totally going to post something really philosophical and scientific and educational about ear wax here. meanings of the colors of ear wax, composition of ear wax, use of ear wax as metaphor in literature, mise-en-earwax, it was going to all be here in this post. and the coup de graciela was going to be a photo of the "in one ear" challenge from the obstacle course on Double Dare and a few words commenting on Marc Summers' OCD.

ok, blah, blah, blah. i couldn't find the picture. there are a ton of blog posts out there which discuss Marc Summers' OCD (as I discovered when I was looking for the picture). and ear wax failed to hold my attention long enough to write a properly respectful and all-encompassing treatise. sorry.

i did discover that bauhaus performed songs called "ear wax" and "double dare" which is an interesting link. it is even more interesting since antonin artaud (the guy, not the song) popped into my head earlier in the day.

if you have any thoughts on ear wax, or bauhaus, or if you want to double dare me to do some kind of physical challenge, please leave a comment.

"...is it nods of approval or the truth that you want?" --Steve Taylor, channeling Flannery O'Connor

(part one of this article is here.)



This entry represents the third step in a difficult process. Step one was talking to my dad. Step two was contacting the leader of the church Betsy and I used to attend. Both of those steps have been completed in the past couple weeks, with interesting results.

Now I'm telling you: my friends, the reading public, those I know, love and care about, and those I hope to come to know better. Betsy and I are attending a new church. We are committing ourselves. And we are coming out publicly.

Betsy and I are coming out as gay-positive Christians. And we are now part of a church community that identifies itself as a ministry for the 'queer' and the marginalized.

I know this is very, very hard for some of you to read and accept and understand. I've spent a lot of time on a different side of the theological divide than where I am now. There was a long period of my life when I would not have considered it possible for myself to say what I'm saying and believe what I now believe.

We've already told a few people about our decision and about our journey. The general response has been less than favorable, though we expected that. The church we previously attended stands very firm in its belief that Scripture identifies homosexual behavior as sin, and teaches that those who identify as gay are trapped in a lifestyle that is contrary to God's Word. And our own beliefs and convictions are no longer consistent with those assertions.

We have a conviction: Metropolitan Community Church Portland is the place we are supposed to be right now. And we are standing up as supporters of the queer and the marginalized.

A voice from across the room says, "God doesn't work that way." A plea from a pulpit sounds, "That is an impossibly dangerous theology." A friend cuffs my ear and says, "God wouldn't tell you to do that; I'll pray for that to be revealed to you." A commenter in cyberspace adds, "It is clear you've made this move selfishly, for your own reasons." The caller on line three explains, "It doesn't matter how much they love Jesus if they are preaching lies."

In the secret, in the quiet, a voice inside says, "What if I live within you, yet outside your expectations?"

Vol.1: L2M (aka "I Love a Man With a Shorthand")


I'm hoping this will become a fun regular activity which helps us all think a little more creatively at the beginning of the week. Today's Top 7 list re-thinks popular songs. What would they be called if they were written by (or for) today's text-happy teens? Feel free to post as many as you'd like in the comments section and I'll post more as I think of them too... Be as mind-bendingly creative as you can, and most of all, have fun!


1. Aqua -- BRB Girl

2. Aaron Neville & Linda Ronstadt -- IDK Much (But I No ILU)

3. TLC -- Don't Go Chasing WTF

4. Police -- Text Message in a Bottle (Sending Out an LOL)

5. Led Zeppelin -- DBEYR-Maker

6. Bobby McFerrin -- Dont :( Be :)

7. Buffalo Springfield -- FWIW


Bueller? Bueller?

tumbling out of a window

I've thought a lot about what my next blog entry should be. There are about three or four major things I've wanted to share publicly on this blog and I felt this would be the week to drop bombshell after bombshell. Instead, tonight finds me reminiscing about a situation that may be more of a historical bombshell for those of you who haven't known me long or on a level where these sorts of things are regularly shared.

Even if you have known me for a while, I plan to share details--yes, seamy, lurid details--of a story I have only vaguely alluded to here and in most conversations that venture into this topic. Honestly, there is stuff I need to get off my chest. And I no longer care if a particular someone hears me say it in this public forum.

July 25th is a dubious holiday of sorts on the mental calendar of one Sean Norris. Nine years ago on this day, my life performed a radical about face away from the seeming stability of stagnation and toward the chaos of unknown growth.

I was married to Debra at that time. I lived in Texas. I had been married for four-and-a-half years and the marriage was already littered with a history of stupid mistakes, you know, the kinds of mistakes young people make which sometimes give them nightmares when they are much older, even after all of the apparent consequences have faded into scars that finally match the skin tone.

I had just accepted a job as a theatre teacher at my old high school in Arizona. Moving day was one week away. Packing was in full swing.

Debra got up before I did and went out. Left a brief note. Stayed out. All day. All evening. Walked back in and said, "hi". I asked where she had gone. "To the bookstore. Reading." All day? She loved to read these "Cat Who..." books and she tossed a new one on the counter. The bookmark was stuck somewhere in the first 50 pages.

"Did you have fun?" My attempts to smooth any weirdness.

"We need to talk." OK, Weirdness wins.

The words came out of her mouth, first slowly, then more comfortably; finally, with momentum:

"I've been thinking all day... I need some time to myself. I need you to leave, tonight. I've already called 'the guys' and they said you can stay there. No, this isn't just for tonight. Of course I'm still planning to come to Arizona, but not right away. I'm going to stay here for a few weeks and take care of some things. Things are different than when we married. You are different. You are a completely different person now. A completely different person than the person I married. I need some time to think and just to be alone for a little while, so I can get some things finished and prepare for the move and then everything will be okay. I'm not sure how long it will take me here... probably just a few weeks....

She continued: "I need to know that you want this marriage to work. We tried counseling. Maybe some time alone in Arizona will be good for you too and you can start your new job and get things ready for me there."

And: "I'm going to drive you over to 'the guys' house now. You can stay there tonight and hang out with them. Sometime tomorrow afternoon they will bring you back home. I'm going to stay somewhere else for the next week, until you leave for Arizona. I need the car here, so you will need to buy a plane ticket."

Then: "I don't think this is permanent. I'm still planning to come to Arizona. I just need a little time right now to figure some things out."

She took me to my guy friends' apartment. It was the last time I ever saw her.

In the parking lot of 'the guys' apartment, I walked away instead of going inside.

I walked about three-quarters of a mile. I don't remember where I thought I was going. Maybe Arizona. Finally, I sat down on a brick wall in front of an apartment complex and thought about what a fucking mess my life had become. After 30 minutes of introspection, my buddy Andrew drove up in his car. "I was hoping I'd find you," he said. I replied, "Fat people can't walk very far."

After the week of torment (being alone with my thoughts, telling my parents Debra wasn't coming with me to Arizona, listening to that stupid Chicago CD Debra liked so much, all week, on permanent repeat), I flew to Arizona and started my teaching job.

The long-distance phone calls were long and heartfelt at first. I cried like a baby. She didn't. She insisted she would be coming to Arizona, but she didn't know when. She said I needed to grow up and learn to be a man for her to consider coming back. She said she needed to get off the phone.

The phone calls became less frequent and solely Sean-initiated. The answering machine message on her phone provided a consistent response, but little comfort.

August. September. October.

One day in November I received an email from Debra. She wanted me to know that even though our break-up had been hard for her, she was healed enough that she was ready to start dating other people. The only problem with her story was, a few weeks prior to her email, I discovered proof she'd been living with an acquaintance of mine since that fateful day, July 25. Coincidentally, they had spent quite a bit of time together in May and June of that year. They are married now.

The portion of debt Debra received in the divorce settlement never had a dime paid toward it. Every month I'm still paying on my portion.

The student loan payments I sent her in the mail for the first year of the separation somehow were cashed and never forwarded to the loan company.

The emotional and financial scars of July 25 still linger. Divorce sucks. If you get divorced and want to screw up the other person's life, you have every opportunity to do so. But you cannot keep them from happiness. You no longer control their heart or their priorities. You can't keep them from becoming themselves, from learning and growing. And, when all is said and done, nine years later they become someone very, very different. Someone you don't even know.

It is no longer my responsibility to protect her from this truth being revealed. And I'm no longer scared she will somehow find this blog and post comments detailing all of the shameful things I did when I was 19 and 20 and 21 and 22 and 23 and 24. Now I'm about to turn 34. Someone she doesn't even know.


******************

thanks to the fearless writing of princess max which inspired me to open up about this subject.

things people have said to me within the last month that have made me grin from ear to ear:




"are you a music journalist? you look like one."
--member of A Static Lullaby who walked up when i was talking to the guys in Secret and Whisper after a show last month. [lester bangs would be proud!!!]


"have you been reading Kierkegaard?"
--my sister becki, in the comments of my previous post [to which i almost replied, "why yes! i love 'big red', but 'irish red' and 'outlaw red' were good too..."]


"you remind me of a far-better-looking Ethan Suplee (You must know who I'm talking about...I love that guy as an actor, I think he's always been under-used...Just once I want to see him in a romantic role.)"
--a good (female!) friend from Yuma when she saw my 'Deliverance' headshot. i had the pleasure of writing back and explaining that i smoked a cig and spent about 20 minutes talking to Ethan Suplee at Sundance in 1997 when the stars aligned and Jerry and i scored tix to the "Chasing Amy" world premiere...and when we stayed to speak with kevin smith afterwards, they thought we were part of the film, so we were ushered out into the snow with kevin and mewes and joey lauren adams and affleck and jason lee and ethan and scott mosier... and i had a great conversation about film with ethan because everyone was ignoring him because he hadn't had a big part in the movie...(there's a much longer story for another day...)


"you look like you would be cast as someone's beer-guzzling, profanity-spewing best friend- or as a warrior in a medieval drama of sorts, where there's armor clashing and lots of sword play and blood."
--the same friend, commenting on 'Wooly Nelson'

*please note the use of an intentionally ambiguous adjective. thank you.

i don't talk about God or spirituality much on here because most days i feel like less of an expert than i was the day before. but suffice it to say that there is, and always has been, a deep spirituality somewhere in the delightfully chewy centre of my marrow.

i woke up this morning thinking about how unbelievable it is that a creator god would use natural means to order and sustain a universe. (of course, you can also read that sentence as, "I woke up this morning thinking about how unbelievable it is that The Creator God would use natural means to order and sustain the universe!" if you prefer.)

wouldn't a humanly constructed god want to do everything possible to demonstrate supernatural prowess when a natural process would present such a tidy, predictably boring solution?

humanity's growing understanding of the natural sciences keeps proving humanity's prevailing concept of God wrong. what kind of god would set up such a system--whereby humans' natural curiosity and search for significance and understanding would lead them away from their established beliefs about the nature and will of the Divine? what kind of god would do that? perhaps one who never existed in the first place. or perhaps one who really, really doesn't want her sentient earthly representations to lean on their own understanding.

thus, the same new developments, discoveries, and understandings which continue to pave the path of science, clearly urge some down the path toward unbelief, yet propel others toward belief in the unbelievable.

each time science has been pitted against the mainstream church's concept of God, science has inevitably been shown to be the victor. and the church has had to scramble to cope and reform or retheorize or relearn or (least desirable! noooooo!) reverse itself to stay relevant and establish a newly cohesive theology.

impossible cosmology, forced social inequity, totemic fetishization, racial inequality, aggressive bloodshed, messiah as symbology, polytheistic dogma, spiritual salvation as a function of economy, ethnicity, polity, social strata, physical modification, experiential requirement, or tribal identification. Each of these has been a plank in the theology of the mainstream church (which we now call Christian) during one epoch or another.

so humanity discovers. and the church changes. and god....?

Unbelievable!

(aka: "did we lose him again? for good this time?")


It's been a few days and my thoughts have not been terribly cohesive...

I'm planning some fairly large posts that I hope will be coming down the pike soon (you'll see...), but Goldberg and his merry Rubes have not properly aligned yet.

So, I guess I'll write about my obsessiveness.

So, I guess I'll write about my obsessiveness.

So, I guess I'll write about my obsessiveness.

(for the record, i did not use the 'copy' and 'paste' functions on those last couple lines. i typed them. obsessively.)

ok, so here's the deal. i'm learning that i'm a huge flake. i really feel a lot of self-loathing about that. it is uncomfortable and uncomforting and unbecoming to know and readily admit that I CANNOT BE RELIED UPON BY YOU.

sure, that's an overstatement. most of the time I am perfectly reliable and many people have been quite pleased with my level of follow-through. for a while.

i'm really not trying to be a fake. or a flake. i really don't want to be.

i get disinterested. (i got disinterested in this post about 12 sentences ago, so i'm typing this one straight from the sphincter, just for YOU dear reader...)

i don't know why i get disinterested. but i head on a course at 200 mph toward whatever the fascination of the moment is in my mind--it might be a person, idea, or project--and i maintain an amazing level of hyper-focus on that one thing until, all in a moment, the interest dies. and whatever i have committed myself to during that crazy period of bliss, i then find myself bound to. so i reluctantly follow-through. for a while.

you can extrapolate the larger ramifications of that if you'd like, and make assumptions from there. and you're probably not wrong. acting and betsy are two of the only things in my life that i've not grown disenchanted with after having my drunken fill of them.

i feel sucky admitting this. it often makes me feel like i suck as a person. i know part of it ties in with my recently-diagnosed AD/HD (non-hyperactive variety). i have absolutely no tolerance for boredom. on the exterior i am type-b (relaxed, easygoing, flexible), but on the inside my engine runs only on anxiety and tension and worry and challenge and fear.

i hate that i avoid people after openly embracing them during my emotional honeymoon period. hate it, hate it, hate it. and i'm sorry if you're one of those people who feels (or knows) that i've slighted you or avoided spending time with you or who senses i've grown cold.

my obsession (whatever it currently is--right now it is psychoanalysis and going back to school and two or three creative projects that are pinballing through my synapses and threatening to shoot out of my fingertips)... my obsession is a flamethrower with the throttle stuck open.

in the direction where the flamethrower used to be pointed lies the cold carcass of a dead fish.