I lost a follower at Twitter, the first one I had. He suddenly left.
I thought it was a little suspicious how he "followed" me right away. So I kept things pretty close to the vest, hoping to feel him out.
Now, just let me say to the Grange Brotherhood, I understand the whole dynamic at work here. There could be some benefit to you in this. But in this case your informant didn't get much information, did he?
Thursday, August 6, 2009
The Dance Of Doom
The Dance of Doom? Gosh, I hope not. My intuition told me to say say, so in this case I hope it's wrong. Unless the doom is for someone else, because I have the confidence that I'm going to be unscathed.
The grange is kind of weird, but it's just their thing. They're a social group and social groups have their own ways. They want to protect their values and have a predictable way of life. Nothing wrong with that since it's all quite normal. Personally, I like a little more individualism -- being eccentric means being out of the center -- and do like more some unpredictable associations, whether mentally, spiritually, or socially. But I live and let live.
I know I've been going on this week about grange assassins, and I can't remember all that I said. Some of it I was kidding around. Because part of living and letting live is that I live, and part of my life is to kid around. So, just as an aside to any grange assassins who may be thinking about taking me out on Friday night, let's just forget about it. You're cool, you're admirable, you've got it going on, so do I. We all do.
And all that business about their daughters being informants up and down the line, and separating the human wheat and the chaff by apparent immoral means, and the slander against them and their horses (I admit it), that their horses are trained assassins as well, trained to do the bidding of their evil masters, being signaled with something as slight as a twitch, it was all just a misunderstanding. Upon considered reflection, I realize now that horses can't be trained to do anything.
In fact, horses are so stupid we don't even use them. We only reference them as to how much brute strength they have. Like with my lawn mower. It has a 3.5 horsepower engine. That means my lawn mower is 3½ times as strong as the average horse. And it's probably 3½ times smarter as well, since it's man made.
Maybe I'll put my lawn mower in the trunk of my car and take it. Then if one of these assassin horses tries anything, I'll have someone with me who's 3½ times stronger. It's well known horses don't like lawn mowers. Why? Because horses like grass and lawn mowers like grass. They're competing for precious resources.
If it weren't for horse races there'd barely be any horses, because we'd have no reason to keep them around. Which means we'll probably always have horses, because, whether they're 3½ stronger or not, they're usually a lot slower, so lawnmower races never caught on.
Anyway, I'm still planning to go to the dance. The grange people haven't bothered me all these years. They're good people. Stay out of their way and they'll stay out of yours. They just don't want anyone messing around with their old ways. And if they're ever very forward on enforcing their desires, it's just the same old reactionary instincts that other aggressive people prone to violence act on. They don't mean anything by it, they just can't help it.
I could do a whole thing on the group dynamics of tribal people. They do a lot of jumping around, shouting, face painting, etc., unconsciously of course, to dissipate their violent rage. You see a big fire with a missionary in a kettle and all these demons leaping around it. To them it's just group therapy.
We in civilized society do the same thing, as is easily seen even in the daily news with what the Republicans are up to. You know, they say Republicans don't like to dance. It's not that they don't like it and wouldn't try it if their instincts were channeled that way with some guidance. But at this point, they find blood lust a lot more satisfying. And the whole overly blown racist bent, just to cite one example of their behavior, helps reinforce group cohesion.
So whether it's the savages of a foreign land or the savages of our own beloved America, it's all the same. You get at the root of human behavior and you wish you were born a horse! Then at least you can live, move, and breathe unconsciously and be happy. Still, not as happy as the lawnmower, which has plenty of food and isn't burdened with the pressures of sentience. If I had it to do over again I don't know that I would.
The grange people have their dances for many of the same reasons, to sum up. And my own theory is that's what gets them worked up enough that we have more grange people. That is, it's all part of their mating ritual. And therein is the key to why the dance could very well be "The Dance of Doom" for someone who comes into their camp, dancing, chasing the farmers' daughters, and yet not wanting to adhere to their ways. One of the elders twitches his nose, a horse recognizes the signal. Suddenly the last sound you hear is "hee haw," just before being kicked to death.
The grange is kind of weird, but it's just their thing. They're a social group and social groups have their own ways. They want to protect their values and have a predictable way of life. Nothing wrong with that since it's all quite normal. Personally, I like a little more individualism -- being eccentric means being out of the center -- and do like more some unpredictable associations, whether mentally, spiritually, or socially. But I live and let live.
I know I've been going on this week about grange assassins, and I can't remember all that I said. Some of it I was kidding around. Because part of living and letting live is that I live, and part of my life is to kid around. So, just as an aside to any grange assassins who may be thinking about taking me out on Friday night, let's just forget about it. You're cool, you're admirable, you've got it going on, so do I. We all do.
And all that business about their daughters being informants up and down the line, and separating the human wheat and the chaff by apparent immoral means, and the slander against them and their horses (I admit it), that their horses are trained assassins as well, trained to do the bidding of their evil masters, being signaled with something as slight as a twitch, it was all just a misunderstanding. Upon considered reflection, I realize now that horses can't be trained to do anything.
In fact, horses are so stupid we don't even use them. We only reference them as to how much brute strength they have. Like with my lawn mower. It has a 3.5 horsepower engine. That means my lawn mower is 3½ times as strong as the average horse. And it's probably 3½ times smarter as well, since it's man made.
Maybe I'll put my lawn mower in the trunk of my car and take it. Then if one of these assassin horses tries anything, I'll have someone with me who's 3½ times stronger. It's well known horses don't like lawn mowers. Why? Because horses like grass and lawn mowers like grass. They're competing for precious resources.
If it weren't for horse races there'd barely be any horses, because we'd have no reason to keep them around. Which means we'll probably always have horses, because, whether they're 3½ stronger or not, they're usually a lot slower, so lawnmower races never caught on.
Anyway, I'm still planning to go to the dance. The grange people haven't bothered me all these years. They're good people. Stay out of their way and they'll stay out of yours. They just don't want anyone messing around with their old ways. And if they're ever very forward on enforcing their desires, it's just the same old reactionary instincts that other aggressive people prone to violence act on. They don't mean anything by it, they just can't help it.
I could do a whole thing on the group dynamics of tribal people. They do a lot of jumping around, shouting, face painting, etc., unconsciously of course, to dissipate their violent rage. You see a big fire with a missionary in a kettle and all these demons leaping around it. To them it's just group therapy.
We in civilized society do the same thing, as is easily seen even in the daily news with what the Republicans are up to. You know, they say Republicans don't like to dance. It's not that they don't like it and wouldn't try it if their instincts were channeled that way with some guidance. But at this point, they find blood lust a lot more satisfying. And the whole overly blown racist bent, just to cite one example of their behavior, helps reinforce group cohesion.
So whether it's the savages of a foreign land or the savages of our own beloved America, it's all the same. You get at the root of human behavior and you wish you were born a horse! Then at least you can live, move, and breathe unconsciously and be happy. Still, not as happy as the lawnmower, which has plenty of food and isn't burdened with the pressures of sentience. If I had it to do over again I don't know that I would.
The grange people have their dances for many of the same reasons, to sum up. And my own theory is that's what gets them worked up enough that we have more grange people. That is, it's all part of their mating ritual. And therein is the key to why the dance could very well be "The Dance of Doom" for someone who comes into their camp, dancing, chasing the farmers' daughters, and yet not wanting to adhere to their ways. One of the elders twitches his nose, a horse recognizes the signal. Suddenly the last sound you hear is "hee haw," just before being kicked to death.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tweets - 08-05-2009
For 'Brutal Honesty Day' I cleared out a corner in the garage and I'm sitting staring at it. This is how Medicine Men see visions, I hear.
An hour ago I saw a spider walk by. He didn't seem concerned that a giant was staring at him. What if I had a lightning-fast tongue?
I'm envisioning the Grange Brotherhood in my Mind's Eye, but not dwelling on it. I must be open only to what comes, not pictured notions.
It's anticlimactic, I know, to absolutely know I will see victory. But I can't pretend otherwise. That's positive brutal honesty, best kind.
The 3 R's of group dynamics: 1 aRrange / 2 Reconnoiter / 3 Ruminate
The R is an amazing letter. It seems like you can have the 3 R's to every subject, a most helpful mnemonic if you can keep them straight.
Four hours of visions of fiery devil hordes gets kind of boring after a while. I might order a pizza for dinner.
Please, if I see one more vision of bloody hands I'm going to call for an ambulance. Show me something I haven't seen. Cliches.
There's a red-eyed devil, giant fiery head, breathing sulphur in my face three inches close. I'm filing my nails. Thanks for the light, son.
Finally out of the medicine lodge -- garage -- I sweat up a storm. Going to fill the stock tank and take a good long soak. Get some Calgon.
I hope everyone's had a great 'Brutal Honesty Day'!
An hour ago I saw a spider walk by. He didn't seem concerned that a giant was staring at him. What if I had a lightning-fast tongue?
I'm envisioning the Grange Brotherhood in my Mind's Eye, but not dwelling on it. I must be open only to what comes, not pictured notions.
It's anticlimactic, I know, to absolutely know I will see victory. But I can't pretend otherwise. That's positive brutal honesty, best kind.
The 3 R's of group dynamics: 1 aRrange / 2 Reconnoiter / 3 Ruminate
The R is an amazing letter. It seems like you can have the 3 R's to every subject, a most helpful mnemonic if you can keep them straight.
Four hours of visions of fiery devil hordes gets kind of boring after a while. I might order a pizza for dinner.
Please, if I see one more vision of bloody hands I'm going to call for an ambulance. Show me something I haven't seen. Cliches.
There's a red-eyed devil, giant fiery head, breathing sulphur in my face three inches close. I'm filing my nails. Thanks for the light, son.
Finally out of the medicine lodge -- garage -- I sweat up a storm. Going to fill the stock tank and take a good long soak. Get some Calgon.
I hope everyone's had a great 'Brutal Honesty Day'!
A Brutally Honest Post
I'm declaring August 5th "Brutal Honesty Day." And if I can somehow think of it next year on August 5th, I'll plan on observing BHD then as well. There's no particular reason for August 5th, except it happens to be that today and I feel I need to be brutally honest.
Friends, my readership numbers are way down. I used to get traffic through here like you wouldn't believe. Back when the words Information Super Highway meant something. But now nothing. On any given day -- in fact on every given day -- I'm here very much by my lonesome. And I know, I know, I did it to myself! 40 lashes with a wet noodle! There! Are you happy now?
When I was on my hiatus -- if you were here you could back me up on this -- I kept toying with the idea of going on permanent retirement. Remember that? I bet I said it a dozen times. Maybe I should have. I'd be in about the same boat. But I remembered the glory days and decided to make a fresh start of it, knowing there would be some painful rebuilding.
Now, I could do what everyone always does when the old ways are being neglected, like when modern things take over and kick the old ways to the curb. I could blame my predicament on other things that people are doing. Like Blu-Ray discs. Everyone's traffic is down, I hear, thanks to people suddenly hooked on watching Blu-Ray discs. But they're just the same as regular TV, only bigger, clearer, and more expensive. C'mon folks!
What's another modern convenience? The iPod. iPod-this, iPod-that. Podcasts. Pod people. Crazy people. I saw a kid with one of those iPods that has games on it, a driving game. He was running down the street and steering the iPod like a car. It looked weird because none of his turns coincided with turns in the actual road. Multiply him times the possible millions who could be doing this. Or playing an iPod airplane game and jumping off buildings. It's going to be tragic!
Yes, there's a lot that demands people's time. No one's disputing that. And look, it's August, the normal month for family vacations. Everyone packs up their station wagon and their 2½ kids and heads West or East or South. Then they get to the motel, let's say, 9:00 at night. And even though the motel has high speed internet, they're too tired from driving to type in the address to my blog and read it. Frankly, they're not even my target audience but when you're down to the bare scrapings and glad for those, beggars can't be choosers. I'll take anyone, kindergarten classes learning how to go online. With their parental web safety software blocking dangerous sites. (Teachers, I don't allow any blue material on this blog.)
All right, I've wasted enough time talking about possible excuses for the drop off. But we all know -- me and the obviously brain-fried halfwits who stuck around to watch me thrash about on a daily basis -- what the real reason is: The big stink I made during the hiatus. My proclamations that I didn't care what anyone thought, that I was going on hiatus. Yes, yes, I'm guilty as charged. Throw the switch. I'm safely strapped in the electric chair. I've got the metal bands over my wrists. My feet are tied down. I've got the thinking cap on with the little coiled wires. They gave me an enema back in my cell so I wouldn't gross out the press witnesses. I'm ready to die. Pull the switch!
OK, maybe I'm ruing my fate a little too much. After all, what really should I care if there are people here to read my posts? Good question. Why should I care? Is each one going to send me a nickel or a dime or a dollar? No. Will the local newspaper show up and do a feature story about my rise and fall and rise again? No. Even though they did a story about a dog that supposedly writes his own blog! Like a ventriloquist. They had a picture of the dog sitting next to his grinning master, who of course is the true author of the blog. I'm guessing. "The dog is blogging to raise money for cancer research." Give me a break.
I could go on and on. But because I am being brutally honest, I'm sure to lose whatever stragglers are out there. There's the door. Use it. I'll be OK. Like the old Patience & Prudence record, "Gonna Get Along Without Ya Now."
Got along without you before I met you
Gonna get along without you now
Gonna find somebody who's twice as cute
'Cause I didn't like you anyhow
You told everybody that we were friends
But this is where our friendship ends
All of a sudden you changed your tune
You haven't been around since way last June
Mn-hum, mm-hum, gonna get along without you now
Can I be brutally honest? I mean ... brutally honest. I don't want you to leave.
You know how I'm a big fat expert on group dynamics and all that. There's no dynamics without a group. Just solo dynamics. Everything needs a witness. Even a tree has a dog to pee against it. That's what makes a tree happy. Everything needs that. Including me.
We're really going to get into some hair-raising stuff with the Grange Brotherhood thread. You don't want to miss it. Really, it's going to be like a Gene Autry adventure, the way I envision me. A secret society, a cave, a couple of kids who help me out, our own radio show, both good and evil horses. As the horse said who spat it out, "The whole bit."
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Tweets - 08-04-2009
Grandma is nearly always asleep. I am her grandson, who take care of all her internet affairs. And speak my own mind about life as it goes.
I love the independent study of group dynamics. Sometimes it's a real drag to be with people, until you silently note the dynamics going on.
Knowledge of group dynamics is how I will defeat the Grange Brotherhood. I might pit one against the other by sly seating arrangements.
That's why they rearranged the deck chairs on the Titanic. The arrangement of seating is one way to channel (direct) the dynamics going on.
The best way to affect group dynamics is to act on your first thought and deal through intuition. But don't over-think the results.
One thing to know about group dynamics in a college class is this. If participation is key to your grade, speak up from the very first day!
The reason for speaking right up is that the class will silently adopt a particular group dynamic and it's very tough to be included later.
Even in the hot sun, raking sticks, I'm still thinking of group dynamics. There seems to be no more compelling subject! I'm sure of it.
The sun is beating down relentlessly on my head. It's like a tanning salon out here.
I'm already familiar with the Grange Brotherhood's patterns, their group dynamics. It's almost tiresome, it's so obvious. But stick with me.
You never "meet" a group dynamics expert. They're behind a lamp or curtain, taking notes. But they come in later to map the chairs and room.
I love the independent study of group dynamics. Sometimes it's a real drag to be with people, until you silently note the dynamics going on.
Knowledge of group dynamics is how I will defeat the Grange Brotherhood. I might pit one against the other by sly seating arrangements.
That's why they rearranged the deck chairs on the Titanic. The arrangement of seating is one way to channel (direct) the dynamics going on.
The best way to affect group dynamics is to act on your first thought and deal through intuition. But don't over-think the results.
One thing to know about group dynamics in a college class is this. If participation is key to your grade, speak up from the very first day!
The reason for speaking right up is that the class will silently adopt a particular group dynamic and it's very tough to be included later.
Even in the hot sun, raking sticks, I'm still thinking of group dynamics. There seems to be no more compelling subject! I'm sure of it.
The sun is beating down relentlessly on my head. It's like a tanning salon out here.
I'm already familiar with the Grange Brotherhood's patterns, their group dynamics. It's almost tiresome, it's so obvious. But stick with me.
You never "meet" a group dynamics expert. They're behind a lamp or curtain, taking notes. But they come in later to map the chairs and room.
I Will Not Be Silenced
I've been very above board the whole time I've had this blog. I haven't been reluctant to state my opinion and let the chips fall where they may. I've never hidden behind an assumed name, but instead have bravely posted anything and everything quite openly and honestly.
This has had some consequences, positive and negative. What's been positive is the personal satisfaction of knowing I'm an honest, straight shooting guy. Plus, at least there for a while, I had followers and friends, and I've always appreciated them.
Concerning the negative consequences, I think I've been clear about those as well. When my so-called friends and followers abandoned me during my prolonged hiatus, I allowed a root of bitterness its free course. Sustained and nourished by my constant resentment, as I seethed and gave free vent to loathing and recriminations, the root issued forth in vines and the densest of brush, all becoming such a thick tangle that I needed a machete just to comb my hair.
When you're out there like that, as I've been, those who drove by or passed me knew, That's where he lives, that sad, sad man. But the days of the hiatus are over with and we've all moved on.
But now there are other negative consequences presenting themselves, threats against me. These have come just this week when I turned my attention to group dynamics and grange culture. No, there haven't been anonymous scholars at my door disputing my theories on group dynamics, although I can't help thinking there are professors out there who'd love to burn my house down. (Professors always question whether a layman without their academic indoctrination can be credibly conversant on any subject.) In this case it isn't professors, but the representatives of grange culture who have made their negative feelings known.
This is something I expected, but I will continue to be direct and brave. I will not be silenced.
You see, I have an innate knowledge of group dynamics, extending even into grange culture, and therein is the truth that shall set me free. Add to that everything I know about the different degrees of disaffection of the generations since your heyday, and you know I have an in that you won't be able to withstand. You, my friends, are acting out of fear, not confidence. I welcome the confrontation, because I'm going to know where to stick the knife, and I'm going to know where to slice this thing with maximum effectiveness.
Oh man! Honestly I began this post feeling queasy and reticent. I was thinking How can I put on a brave face and maybe bluff these grange devils away from my door? But just the last couple of paragraphs have brought forth in my consciousness that indeed I do have the upper hand, no bluff. That's the kind of inner power you don't get from following external grange rules. (I don't want to say too much and give you an in. But I know something about this you don't know.) And I'm taking this thing right up the line, my friends. Maybe I'll cut here -- I could -- like cutting butter. Maybe I'll cut this other place, like slicing through whipped cream.
I foresee some immediate backing away. Because they'll be able to tell I'm not kidding. True. The key thing you ought to know is this: You are tangling with the wrong person and that's a fact. But I'm begging you -- begging you, if you want to remain the fool -- Bring it on, suckers!
What rich glory that shall be for me!
This has had some consequences, positive and negative. What's been positive is the personal satisfaction of knowing I'm an honest, straight shooting guy. Plus, at least there for a while, I had followers and friends, and I've always appreciated them.
Concerning the negative consequences, I think I've been clear about those as well. When my so-called friends and followers abandoned me during my prolonged hiatus, I allowed a root of bitterness its free course. Sustained and nourished by my constant resentment, as I seethed and gave free vent to loathing and recriminations, the root issued forth in vines and the densest of brush, all becoming such a thick tangle that I needed a machete just to comb my hair.
When you're out there like that, as I've been, those who drove by or passed me knew, That's where he lives, that sad, sad man. But the days of the hiatus are over with and we've all moved on.
But now there are other negative consequences presenting themselves, threats against me. These have come just this week when I turned my attention to group dynamics and grange culture. No, there haven't been anonymous scholars at my door disputing my theories on group dynamics, although I can't help thinking there are professors out there who'd love to burn my house down. (Professors always question whether a layman without their academic indoctrination can be credibly conversant on any subject.) In this case it isn't professors, but the representatives of grange culture who have made their negative feelings known.
This is something I expected, but I will continue to be direct and brave. I will not be silenced.
You see, I have an innate knowledge of group dynamics, extending even into grange culture, and therein is the truth that shall set me free. Add to that everything I know about the different degrees of disaffection of the generations since your heyday, and you know I have an in that you won't be able to withstand. You, my friends, are acting out of fear, not confidence. I welcome the confrontation, because I'm going to know where to stick the knife, and I'm going to know where to slice this thing with maximum effectiveness.
Oh man! Honestly I began this post feeling queasy and reticent. I was thinking How can I put on a brave face and maybe bluff these grange devils away from my door? But just the last couple of paragraphs have brought forth in my consciousness that indeed I do have the upper hand, no bluff. That's the kind of inner power you don't get from following external grange rules. (I don't want to say too much and give you an in. But I know something about this you don't know.) And I'm taking this thing right up the line, my friends. Maybe I'll cut here -- I could -- like cutting butter. Maybe I'll cut this other place, like slicing through whipped cream.
I foresee some immediate backing away. Because they'll be able to tell I'm not kidding. True. The key thing you ought to know is this: You are tangling with the wrong person and that's a fact. But I'm begging you -- begging you, if you want to remain the fool -- Bring it on, suckers!
What rich glory that shall be for me!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Tweets - 08-03-2009
I probably should have it as a footnote that there WERE horse-related deaths in barns, but typically only as a result of training miscues.
I fear I might've said too much. The last thing I want is a grange assassin showing up at my door, wanting to borrow a cup of [BANG!].
I shouldn't blab secrets, I know. But it's like Nietzsche said, "Whatever doesn't kill me must've missed."
Good thing I quit biting my nails. I have bad teeth but not biting my nails anymore is a positive result.
If anyone from the Grange Brotherhood is reading this, it's all ha-ha, joking around, not real secrets.
I also like to examine the group dynamics of kids who haven't been taught social skills and expectations. Little hellions worse than Tarzan.
What grange assassins look like in bad dreams: a black veil covering their mouths, orange beaks for noses, and piercing dark eyes.
OK, it's not all ha-ha, I admit it. But should I be cowed by the Grange Brotherhood? Or should I tell all?
I've gone from being threatened by a hiatus blob last week to the entire Grange Brotherhood this week. When do things get back to normal?
I fear I might've said too much. The last thing I want is a grange assassin showing up at my door, wanting to borrow a cup of [BANG!].
I shouldn't blab secrets, I know. But it's like Nietzsche said, "Whatever doesn't kill me must've missed."
Good thing I quit biting my nails. I have bad teeth but not biting my nails anymore is a positive result.
If anyone from the Grange Brotherhood is reading this, it's all ha-ha, joking around, not real secrets.
I also like to examine the group dynamics of kids who haven't been taught social skills and expectations. Little hellions worse than Tarzan.
What grange assassins look like in bad dreams: a black veil covering their mouths, orange beaks for noses, and piercing dark eyes.
OK, it's not all ha-ha, I admit it. But should I be cowed by the Grange Brotherhood? Or should I tell all?
I've gone from being threatened by a hiatus blob last week to the entire Grange Brotherhood this week. When do things get back to normal?
Group Dynamics And Grange Dances
I confess I don't have any formal education in the field of group dynamics. But naturally, like everything else I set my mind to, I'm an expert in it. I feel that formal education takes away a person's fire and enforces conformity to a particular line of thought. I prefer to think for myself and discern the truth through intuition. Don't believe me? OK, my intuition is telling me right now that you, the average reader, think I'm full of crap, and that formal education should never be dissed. See how good I am?
Now that I've addressed the skeptics, let me invite you to please feel free to quote me in theme papers, term papers, dissertations, or group dynamics seminars. Whatever the style manual says about attributions, go with it. But as for seminars, oral presentations, of course I will understand if you don't feel like attributing the quotes to me personally, because one thing I know about group dynamics, the folks at seminars don't really care about such details. They hate being there in the first place and all they're interested in (short-term) is when the next coffee break is.
As for who I am and how I happen to have such a vast understanding of such a complex field -- group dynamics -- the actual truth is I'm like a hillbilly. You might've driven by and seen me sitting outside my house today chewing on a weed. Because that's what I was doing, the local man sitting there thinking. And I know I was seriously thinking because the weed was chewed to mush, which is what I do. If you tell your seminar audience that your quotes are from a weed-chewing hillbilly, actually that would make them more interested. But there's a good chance that seminar bookers won't want you back, because it's in their long-term interest that you mimic academic standards.
But I'm interested in group dynamics at various kinds of seminars, anything really. I'll just throw a dart and let it stick in one truth about seminars and tell me I'm not right: The audience will kiss the butt of the presenter every time, and they do it magnificently. Because you never know when the presenter is going to be looking right into your eyes, putting you on the spot, and you know you want to look good in the eyes of the rest of the audience. Am I right? Of course I am. But never fear, because the presenter is not going to turn on you. Whatever you say, he or she is going manage to affirm you.
Anyway, that's my group dynamics lesson for the day.
Now, how does this apply to grange dances? There's some serious group dynamics at grange dances, but they're different than at seminars. At grange dances the people all pretty much know each other. The folks who are unknown are those who accompany the regulars. There's a lot of interest in these unknown folks because a grange community is mentally a very inbred thing. Fresh blood raises fresher possibilities. But not everything that the unknown do will be affirmed, big difference. Because the group dynamic is one that has protection of the group at its base. If you fail at any point to impress, you will be shunned until you're so uncomfortable that you commit suicide or are kicked to death by a horse.
Check the stats. In rural areas there's more suicides and "accidental" horse kickings within two miles of a grange meeting place than any other place. (Before the decline of the family farm this wasn't true. At that time, let's say 1972 and before, most suicides took place by people hanging themselves in barns. Granges held second place. Although "accidental" horse kickings never took place in private barns and nearly always at granges.)
Let's say you're a newcomer at the grange. If you make it through the grueling introductions and being sized up, then it's time for the dance. I'm going to say something that they'll never tell you. This is where the real sizing up takes place. There are eyes on you the whole dance. There are people outside, apparently drunk, one leg on their car door. These people are as sober as a fundamentalist and equally eagle-eyed. They are looking for the real you, what you reveal when you think you're safe.
They'll have informants, apparently making out in cars, walking by sloshed, groping at each other, women with their shirts unbuttoned, seeming to be very loose in their morals, men with their pants pulled down, peeing against trees or even the side of the grange. It's all a test. I once saw a dozen people in a figure eight orgy because they wanted to break down one newcomer. And they got him too. He started to unzip his pants -- that's it -- when a horse suddenly appeared and kicked him to death.
If you're a man, say about my age, and you're there to meet a farmer's daughter, chances are you'll meet an informant. Because nearly everyone there is an informant, sizing you up, seeing if you're suitable to fit into their society. For those who make it, there are plenty of positive benefits besides surviving these terrible horses.
One positive benefit is that, from now on, unless they fail morally, they will have a community that watches over them like a hawk, keeping them ever in their sight, giving them that steady sense of protection and inclusion in the group. You'll never make a move without their approval, and you won't want to. Because you appreciate that structure in your life.
You'll feel safe as you advance on, knowing the rest of the group is there keeping that structure as rigid and right as possible. At some point -- you'll find it's like being in the company of polygamists -- you'll be part of a team of five or six, and you will walk in tight formation, staring straight ahead, turning without obvious signals to do so, losing all individuality. It's like they're drugged but it's not that at all. It's a strict discipline that you maintain because you appreciate the group's mind and heart.
It's a beautiful thing -- this group dynamic of discipline -- that, as I've said, extends even to their livestock, particularly their horses. Their horses have lost all the sense of their nature with a neatly enforced conditioning. Somehow they're trained to care about enforcing the structure, standing with a calculated casual stance meant to lull those marked for death into a sense of safety. Then as soon as you step behind them or even to the side, they'll whirl around and embed a horseshoe in your forehead. What they're trying to tell you is this, You didn't make the cut.
I'm planning on launching out a little in life. I've been alone long enough. Wish me luck. I'm going to the grange next Friday night for the dance. My family has a heritage in the grange even though Grandma and I haven't been there for years. I would guess most of them are suspicious of me because my family didn't adher to the discipline.
If I survive -- let's just say I will, fingers crossed -- I'll blog about it here next Saturday.
Now that I've addressed the skeptics, let me invite you to please feel free to quote me in theme papers, term papers, dissertations, or group dynamics seminars. Whatever the style manual says about attributions, go with it. But as for seminars, oral presentations, of course I will understand if you don't feel like attributing the quotes to me personally, because one thing I know about group dynamics, the folks at seminars don't really care about such details. They hate being there in the first place and all they're interested in (short-term) is when the next coffee break is.
As for who I am and how I happen to have such a vast understanding of such a complex field -- group dynamics -- the actual truth is I'm like a hillbilly. You might've driven by and seen me sitting outside my house today chewing on a weed. Because that's what I was doing, the local man sitting there thinking. And I know I was seriously thinking because the weed was chewed to mush, which is what I do. If you tell your seminar audience that your quotes are from a weed-chewing hillbilly, actually that would make them more interested. But there's a good chance that seminar bookers won't want you back, because it's in their long-term interest that you mimic academic standards.
But I'm interested in group dynamics at various kinds of seminars, anything really. I'll just throw a dart and let it stick in one truth about seminars and tell me I'm not right: The audience will kiss the butt of the presenter every time, and they do it magnificently. Because you never know when the presenter is going to be looking right into your eyes, putting you on the spot, and you know you want to look good in the eyes of the rest of the audience. Am I right? Of course I am. But never fear, because the presenter is not going to turn on you. Whatever you say, he or she is going manage to affirm you.
Anyway, that's my group dynamics lesson for the day.
Now, how does this apply to grange dances? There's some serious group dynamics at grange dances, but they're different than at seminars. At grange dances the people all pretty much know each other. The folks who are unknown are those who accompany the regulars. There's a lot of interest in these unknown folks because a grange community is mentally a very inbred thing. Fresh blood raises fresher possibilities. But not everything that the unknown do will be affirmed, big difference. Because the group dynamic is one that has protection of the group at its base. If you fail at any point to impress, you will be shunned until you're so uncomfortable that you commit suicide or are kicked to death by a horse.
Check the stats. In rural areas there's more suicides and "accidental" horse kickings within two miles of a grange meeting place than any other place. (Before the decline of the family farm this wasn't true. At that time, let's say 1972 and before, most suicides took place by people hanging themselves in barns. Granges held second place. Although "accidental" horse kickings never took place in private barns and nearly always at granges.)
Let's say you're a newcomer at the grange. If you make it through the grueling introductions and being sized up, then it's time for the dance. I'm going to say something that they'll never tell you. This is where the real sizing up takes place. There are eyes on you the whole dance. There are people outside, apparently drunk, one leg on their car door. These people are as sober as a fundamentalist and equally eagle-eyed. They are looking for the real you, what you reveal when you think you're safe.
They'll have informants, apparently making out in cars, walking by sloshed, groping at each other, women with their shirts unbuttoned, seeming to be very loose in their morals, men with their pants pulled down, peeing against trees or even the side of the grange. It's all a test. I once saw a dozen people in a figure eight orgy because they wanted to break down one newcomer. And they got him too. He started to unzip his pants -- that's it -- when a horse suddenly appeared and kicked him to death.
If you're a man, say about my age, and you're there to meet a farmer's daughter, chances are you'll meet an informant. Because nearly everyone there is an informant, sizing you up, seeing if you're suitable to fit into their society. For those who make it, there are plenty of positive benefits besides surviving these terrible horses.
One positive benefit is that, from now on, unless they fail morally, they will have a community that watches over them like a hawk, keeping them ever in their sight, giving them that steady sense of protection and inclusion in the group. You'll never make a move without their approval, and you won't want to. Because you appreciate that structure in your life.
You'll feel safe as you advance on, knowing the rest of the group is there keeping that structure as rigid and right as possible. At some point -- you'll find it's like being in the company of polygamists -- you'll be part of a team of five or six, and you will walk in tight formation, staring straight ahead, turning without obvious signals to do so, losing all individuality. It's like they're drugged but it's not that at all. It's a strict discipline that you maintain because you appreciate the group's mind and heart.
It's a beautiful thing -- this group dynamic of discipline -- that, as I've said, extends even to their livestock, particularly their horses. Their horses have lost all the sense of their nature with a neatly enforced conditioning. Somehow they're trained to care about enforcing the structure, standing with a calculated casual stance meant to lull those marked for death into a sense of safety. Then as soon as you step behind them or even to the side, they'll whirl around and embed a horseshoe in your forehead. What they're trying to tell you is this, You didn't make the cut.
I'm planning on launching out a little in life. I've been alone long enough. Wish me luck. I'm going to the grange next Friday night for the dance. My family has a heritage in the grange even though Grandma and I haven't been there for years. I would guess most of them are suspicious of me because my family didn't adher to the discipline.
If I survive -- let's just say I will, fingers crossed -- I'll blog about it here next Saturday.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Tweets - 08-02-2009
I've always been a big fan of the science of group dynamics. And the sexual tensions at grange dances.
You might call me a group dynamologist and a grange dancologist. With an interest in sexual tension. And farmers' daughters.
To anyone who thinks I'm destined to lose in this endeavor, think again. Nothing about this is predestined. I'll be living life as it comes.
A farmer's daughter in shorts! Huff, huff, howullll! Whooooooo! Yip, yip, yip, yowwwwwwouuuulll. Vih! Vih! [Preening].
It just occurred to me that most of the farmers' daughters in my age group, over 50, might not be wearing those skimpy shorts.
There's no horse so deadly as the one trained expressly to kill.
You might call me a group dynamologist and a grange dancologist. With an interest in sexual tension. And farmers' daughters.
To anyone who thinks I'm destined to lose in this endeavor, think again. Nothing about this is predestined. I'll be living life as it comes.
A farmer's daughter in shorts! Huff, huff, howullll! Whooooooo! Yip, yip, yip, yowwwwwwouuuulll. Vih! Vih! [Preening].
It just occurred to me that most of the farmers' daughters in my age group, over 50, might not be wearing those skimpy shorts.
There's no horse so deadly as the one trained expressly to kill.
Shorts On A Farmer's Daughter
Here's what I think of the typical pair of shorts on a farmer's daughter:
[This is going to be a lot of howling mixed in with me strutting and preening myself]: Huff, huff, howullll! Whooooooo! Yip, yip, yip, yowwwwwwouuuulll. [Preening and strutting]: Vih! Vih! Viooooolllll! [Pulling in my gut]. Vih! Vih! Viowwwwwwwwlllll! Yodel-lay-EE-who! Yip, yip, yip, woolllllllleeeeee!]
I like the pattern of my howls. It appears I like to get a running start at everything, and that's true. Like "Huff, huff, howulll!" The huffs are short bursts followed by a lengthier, complementary cry. Plus I see there's some alliteration but it's not strictly so. There's an exception with "Yip, yip, yip, woolllllllleeeeee!"]
No one can dispute it. The typical pair of shorts on a farmer's daughter is almost too much.
Vih! Vih! Veeyahhhhh! Haaa-oooooga! Haaa-haa-ooooga! I'm splitting a gut, climbing the walls, very tight in the legs, shaking my hands, warning others and preparing to fend them off.
[This is going to be a lot of howling mixed in with me strutting and preening myself]: Huff, huff, howullll! Whooooooo! Yip, yip, yip, yowwwwwwouuuulll. [Preening and strutting]: Vih! Vih! Viooooolllll! [Pulling in my gut]. Vih! Vih! Viowwwwwwwwlllll! Yodel-lay-EE-who! Yip, yip, yip, woolllllllleeeeee!]
I like the pattern of my howls. It appears I like to get a running start at everything, and that's true. Like "Huff, huff, howulll!" The huffs are short bursts followed by a lengthier, complementary cry. Plus I see there's some alliteration but it's not strictly so. There's an exception with "Yip, yip, yip, woolllllllleeeeee!"]
No one can dispute it. The typical pair of shorts on a farmer's daughter is almost too much.
Vih! Vih! Veeyahhhhh! Haaa-oooooga! Haaa-haa-ooooga! I'm splitting a gut, climbing the walls, very tight in the legs, shaking my hands, warning others and preparing to fend them off.
Surmounting Your Old Habits
I have a growing concern that my old habits are limiting me. That I have limited myself by allowing habits to take root and grow old. Now that they have I'm stuck in their oppressive groove, up against limitations of my own making.
I see the truth that there are people who can stride and strut, cowing other people into willing submission based on a number of factors. One, people are easily cowed in certain situations. Two, these people know the facts of habits limiting people and, with consciousness, rise above their own limitations and take advantage of other people's. Three, the more they do this the more it sets other people in their ways and the more they themselves are distinguished.
We all have ways of rising above this but it does mean being conscious of it and desiring to do something about it when the opportunity arises. So have you guessed where all this is leading? Probably, you seem smart.
That's right! I'm going to the big dance at the grange! No more wallflower me. I'm going to put it out there. I'm going to be Scrooge after his epiphany. And it didn't even take a ghost to talk me into it. But Scrooge didn't have a blob as big as his house infesting the place. I did and I was cramped. Then I came to the realization that the one cramping me, after the blob got done cramping me and left, was myself, still not excusing the blob. And just as Scroogie-boy owed a debt of thanks to his ghosts, I guess the obvious conclusion is that I owe a debt of grudging thanks to my blob enemy. I just hope he doesn't crawl back into my life to receive the thanks from my own two lips.
It's like the preacher said to the demon that one time, "You shall not return to my brother or to the light. And if you do return, you must bow down and serve the light." Something about that makes me uncomfortable. He tells the demon he shall not return. But then he makes allowances for What if he does? If the blob returns -- my version of the demon -- I will thank him with my lips, but behind my back will be a finely honed sacred sword, destined to dispatch him off to some other world where he can serve the light there, whatever light there may be.
The Grange dance awaits! To which you typically go stag. And hope you pick up someone's daughter, preferably a farmer's.
I see the truth that there are people who can stride and strut, cowing other people into willing submission based on a number of factors. One, people are easily cowed in certain situations. Two, these people know the facts of habits limiting people and, with consciousness, rise above their own limitations and take advantage of other people's. Three, the more they do this the more it sets other people in their ways and the more they themselves are distinguished.
We all have ways of rising above this but it does mean being conscious of it and desiring to do something about it when the opportunity arises. So have you guessed where all this is leading? Probably, you seem smart.
That's right! I'm going to the big dance at the grange! No more wallflower me. I'm going to put it out there. I'm going to be Scrooge after his epiphany. And it didn't even take a ghost to talk me into it. But Scrooge didn't have a blob as big as his house infesting the place. I did and I was cramped. Then I came to the realization that the one cramping me, after the blob got done cramping me and left, was myself, still not excusing the blob. And just as Scroogie-boy owed a debt of thanks to his ghosts, I guess the obvious conclusion is that I owe a debt of grudging thanks to my blob enemy. I just hope he doesn't crawl back into my life to receive the thanks from my own two lips.
It's like the preacher said to the demon that one time, "You shall not return to my brother or to the light. And if you do return, you must bow down and serve the light." Something about that makes me uncomfortable. He tells the demon he shall not return. But then he makes allowances for What if he does? If the blob returns -- my version of the demon -- I will thank him with my lips, but behind my back will be a finely honed sacred sword, destined to dispatch him off to some other world where he can serve the light there, whatever light there may be.
The Grange dance awaits! To which you typically go stag. And hope you pick up someone's daughter, preferably a farmer's.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Tweets - 08-01-2009
April is lithe, August a meatball. 4:20 AM Aug 1st from txt
The Slumps are inferior to no man. 9:05 AM Aug 1st from txt
A used bucket makes a great flower pot. Recycle rather than throwing those ugly things away. 1:46 PM Aug 1st from txt
After shaking hands with people you can have some very interesting odors...literally close at hand. 1:47 PM Aug 1st from txt
A wet nap sounds dirty. 1:48 PM Aug 1st from txt
Isn't this great? The local man has mastered the latest technology. I've come a long ways since grade school. Very cool. 2:05 PM Aug 1st from txt
I ate an extra big lunch in honor of the enormous month of August. And of course bacon for breakfast. 2:20 PM Aug 1st from txt
The Slumps are inferior to no man. 9:05 AM Aug 1st from txt
A used bucket makes a great flower pot. Recycle rather than throwing those ugly things away. 1:46 PM Aug 1st from txt
After shaking hands with people you can have some very interesting odors...literally close at hand. 1:47 PM Aug 1st from txt
A wet nap sounds dirty. 1:48 PM Aug 1st from txt
Isn't this great? The local man has mastered the latest technology. I've come a long ways since grade school. Very cool. 2:05 PM Aug 1st from txt
I ate an extra big lunch in honor of the enormous month of August. And of course bacon for breakfast. 2:20 PM Aug 1st from txt
Paen To Bacon
There is no meat quite as gross and, at the same time, quite as delicious as bacon.
The pack is beautiful, vacuum packed, the bacon often in great alignment within. If the lean is more pronounced than the fat it's a visual sensation. But then it's also gross, because you can hardly stand to open it. When the vacuum leaves it's instantly flabby.
And not just the flabbiness, to touch it in its uncooked state is a fright. I'm afraid to touch bacon but I do. It's slimy. It has whatever microbes there are in it that make Lysol possible. And it looks terrible when lining it up to microwave. To me it looks like a meat taken by violent means, sliced right off the animal while it's standing there with its back turned.
But then, once the microbes are safely locked in the microwave being zapped, the bacon turns a crispy, sultry shade of done. And if you put some ground peppercorns on it, it's got those nice dark spots and look like something from a decent restaurant. It's good to eat at this point, moderately dry is the best. Too wet, the fat content's a killer. But overdone isn't that great either.
To paraphrase and expand on Maurice Chevalier, "Thank God for bacon."
The pack is beautiful, vacuum packed, the bacon often in great alignment within. If the lean is more pronounced than the fat it's a visual sensation. But then it's also gross, because you can hardly stand to open it. When the vacuum leaves it's instantly flabby.
And not just the flabbiness, to touch it in its uncooked state is a fright. I'm afraid to touch bacon but I do. It's slimy. It has whatever microbes there are in it that make Lysol possible. And it looks terrible when lining it up to microwave. To me it looks like a meat taken by violent means, sliced right off the animal while it's standing there with its back turned.
But then, once the microbes are safely locked in the microwave being zapped, the bacon turns a crispy, sultry shade of done. And if you put some ground peppercorns on it, it's got those nice dark spots and look like something from a decent restaurant. It's good to eat at this point, moderately dry is the best. Too wet, the fat content's a killer. But overdone isn't that great either.
To paraphrase and expand on Maurice Chevalier, "Thank God for bacon."
April and August
Well, here goes nothing. I'm writing out of a sense of duty, not inspiration. When you're on a schedule, time waits for no man, as they say.
It feels funny (not ha ha) writing about something other than my hiatus, which now of course is officially over. So I won't be saying much more about it. I'm moving on. Back in the saddle. Willing to work for food.
But I promised a couple days ago to say something about August being a great time to start fresh with something other than the hiatus. I like the word 'August.' It's a good fat, chunky word. To me it's the fattest of all the months. If it weren't for the T on the end it'd be obese. But that T makes it just fat with a hint of lean. Look at the butt on the G. It's hanging down, dragging on the ground.
Each of the months' names have a feel to them but none feel quite as rotund as August. That UGU makes me feel bloated just looking at it. Like "ugh"! I can't move. It's some African tribe that eats people, the giant Ugu tribe.
But all the "embers" (with "ober") sound "limber," even though the MB is big. The M goes up and the butt on B is tight. Plus they're a series, like skinny dominoes about to fall over. October is the roundest one of course, with the O's. And even though it's longer than August, simply because it's mixed in with the other limber months, it hides its girth by being lost in company. And O's roll off the tongue, never slowing you down.
But poor August, poor if you think being weighty is bad, which it isn't always. If you're so skinny that people stare, that's no good. Plus, it's good to have a little meat on; it gives bones something to do and helps your skeleton stay in place. But August sticks out. It's got tiny little July on one side and limber September on the other. It sticks out like a baby elephant. There's no hiding the big guy.
So add it all up. All the weight, it's a time to work out and lose some of that, so right there's a great reason to get back to work.
And look, since my hiatus started in April, which starts with A, how's that for symmetry that I would be back to work in the other month starting with an A? And look how skinny April is with the "IL." It makes a good bookend for August. We say from "A to Z," but this is from "A to A," very significant indeed.
It feels funny (not ha ha) writing about something other than my hiatus, which now of course is officially over. So I won't be saying much more about it. I'm moving on. Back in the saddle. Willing to work for food.
But I promised a couple days ago to say something about August being a great time to start fresh with something other than the hiatus. I like the word 'August.' It's a good fat, chunky word. To me it's the fattest of all the months. If it weren't for the T on the end it'd be obese. But that T makes it just fat with a hint of lean. Look at the butt on the G. It's hanging down, dragging on the ground.
Each of the months' names have a feel to them but none feel quite as rotund as August. That UGU makes me feel bloated just looking at it. Like "ugh"! I can't move. It's some African tribe that eats people, the giant Ugu tribe.
But all the "embers" (with "ober") sound "limber," even though the MB is big. The M goes up and the butt on B is tight. Plus they're a series, like skinny dominoes about to fall over. October is the roundest one of course, with the O's. And even though it's longer than August, simply because it's mixed in with the other limber months, it hides its girth by being lost in company. And O's roll off the tongue, never slowing you down.
But poor August, poor if you think being weighty is bad, which it isn't always. If you're so skinny that people stare, that's no good. Plus, it's good to have a little meat on; it gives bones something to do and helps your skeleton stay in place. But August sticks out. It's got tiny little July on one side and limber September on the other. It sticks out like a baby elephant. There's no hiding the big guy.
So add it all up. All the weight, it's a time to work out and lose some of that, so right there's a great reason to get back to work.
And look, since my hiatus started in April, which starts with A, how's that for symmetry that I would be back to work in the other month starting with an A? And look how skinny April is with the "IL." It makes a good bookend for August. We say from "A to Z," but this is from "A to A," very significant indeed.
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