stupid

You know what? That is one stupid, funny video.

I think my favorite part is the bit at the end where the actor points out, "He's Chris Lowe. And I'm the other one." Priceless.

I liked the song so much that I had to create a light, fluffy remix for big springtime fun love! Enjoy my Boys.

bt on myspace

Wow. I love BT. And now that he's bloggin' on myspace, I can laugh and point fingers at how vacuous and lame he really is!

Oh -- wait -- nope. He's actually extremely bright and insightful. And he has a cute baby girl.

(Part of me wanted him to not have it all: the looks, the musical skillz and the writing. But he does. And I'll just try not to be too jealous.)

Damn him.

Ken Wilber

Okay. Is it just me, or is Ken Wilber the world's hottest philosopher? Ever? I've been reading his book and it nearly brought me to tears today.

In public.

And I wasn't even feeling weepy or anything.

This was the guilty passage:

Is that story, sung by mystics and sages the world over, any crazier than the scientific materialism story, which is that the entire sequence is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying absolutely nothing? Listen very carefully: just which of those two stories actually sounds totally insane?

I'll tell you what I think. I think the sages are the growing tip of the secret impulse of evolution. I think they are the leading edge of the self-transcending drive that always goes beyond what went before. I think they embody the very drive of the Kosmos toward greater depth and expanding consciousness. I think they are riding the edge of a light beam racing toward a rendevous with God.

And I think they point to the same depth in you, and in me, and in all of us. I think they are plugged into the All and the Kosmos sings through their voices, and Spirit shines through their eyes. And I think they disclose the face of tomorrow, they open us to the heart of our own destiny, which is also already right now in the timelessness of this very moment, and in that startling recognition the voice of the sage becomes your voice, the eyes of the sage become your eyes, you speak with the tongues of angels and are alight with the fire of a realization that never dawns nor ceases, you recognize your own true Face in the mirror of the Kosmos itself: your identity is indeed the All, and you are no longer part of that stream, you are that stream, with the All unfolding not around you but in you. The stars no longer shine out there, but in here. Supernovas come into being within your heart, and the sun shines inside your awareness. Because you transcend all, you embrace all. There is no final Whole here, only an endless process, and you are the opening or the clearing or the pure Emptiness in which the entire process unfolds -- ceaselessly, miraculously, everlastingly, lightly.

The whole game is undone, this nightmare of evolution, and you are exactly where you were prior to the beginning of the whole show. With a sudden shock of the utterly obvious, you recognize your own Original Face, the face you had prior to the Big Bang, the face of the utter Emptiness that smiles as all creation and sings as the entire Kosmos -- and it is all undone in that primal glance, and all that is left is the smile, and the reflection of the moon on a quiet pond, late on a crystal clear night.

To quote Joey, from the hit TV show Blossom, "Woah!"

You know I'd get all Ode to a Greecian Urn on Ken Wilber, after a passage like that!

Hokusai + 11

You know Katsushika Hokusai (葛飾北斎). Or, at the very least, you know his work. No -- really!

The Japanese master of brush and block had a career that spanned seventy years. He influenced not only Japan with his revolutionary vision and mad skillz, but the entire world (yo!). His idea to create "random pictures," or as he called them "manga" forever changed Japanese art.

(Yes, today Manga means Japanese comic book or graphic novel art, and it was Tezuka Osamu (手塚 治虫) who popularized the modern form. But Hokusai was kicking it old school back in big bad Edo Period (1603-1867). Let's just put it this way: If Osamu is the "father of manga," it is Hokusai who is the grandfather.

Okay. Enough history. Let's get to the art. Visted the ">Freer/Sackler Galleries today to see one of Hokusai's most famous works. It's called "In the Hollow of a Wave off the Coast of Kanagawa" from "Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji." In the U.S. it's most commonly referred to as "That Japanese print with the big honkin' wave." Know what I'm talking about?

In it, a dramatic, white-capped wave arches precipitously in the foreground, tossing a tiny fishing boat about. Frosty white foam and Prussian blue dominate the lower half of the seascape. The upper portion is all earthy grays and gentle pastels. In the background, Mount Fuji adds a stately calm element.

It's all beneath a pink and clouded sky. At 10 by 15 inches, it is not a large work, but it is powerful and iconic.

I was standing there, just admiring it, when a handsome 20-something walked up beside me. He had a quick smile, a tight t-shirt and a friendly manner. "OMG - he is SO Bel Ami," I remember thinking.

Pyoter told me that Hokusai is an early example of an artist using fractals in his art. "My math instructor in university mentioned him in class," he explained, intelligent brown eyes sparkling. The muscular young Pole elaborated, explaining how the main curve of the wave was echoed at its very edges. He was right. The waves were trimmed with tiny finger-like extensions, each one a miniature reproduction of the larger form. Like the fractal shapes of tree branches or lightening strikes. "Mathematics is the language of nature," I offered, quoting a favorite BT track. Pyoter flashes a quick smile of agreement.

His comment reminded me of a line from Ken "I'm hot *and* a famous philosopher" Wilber's book, A Brief History of Everything, in which he writes, "Reality as a whole is not composed of things or processes, but of the holons (wholes that are parts of other wholes." So true.

"So you're obviously a scientist, then?" I asked Pyoter. I was right. A 23-year old first time traveler to the U.S. from some place in Poland that sounded like "Crack Whore." Unfortunate name, that. He comes from a very old family there, one of his relatives was even mentioned by famous Polish author Henryk Scienkiewicz. Talk about six degrees of separation! "More like eleven," he countered. Touché.
At this point, I have to pause during my writing. I'm sitting in the National Gallery's 'Neath the Fountain Café and I just saw Saddam Hussein's body double walk by. He was a dapper man, kind of run down after his long day at trial. His female companion was humming a tune and seemed rather happy. I wonder if he checked out the Dada exhibit.

Quite right you are, Pyoter. Eleven degrees of separation. Between you and me. Between Saddam Hussein and his body double. Between us all. And there it pops up again. Eleven.

Some highlights of my latest elevens:

11 yellow footholds I used during my first 30-foot climb up the indoor climbing wall at SportRock.

11 drink choices available for our upcoming cherry blossom~tini crawl.

11 members in Brian's Long Island ice tea social club.

11 pianos at the mechanical symphony that I heard play earlier today at the National Gallery (controlled on a Mac MIDI computer).

11 times my grandmother repeats a comment before I get a little sick of it. 'Cause Alzheimer's is a real bitch and life's unfair.

11 servings per container of my breakfast of Irish oatmeal this morning. Yum. Almost better than cattle feed. Without the mad cow disease.

11 times that I've viewed my favorite podcast: "yoga for energy."

11 minutes after I have said goodbye to Pyoter, I realize that he probably wanted to go clubbing in DC, but I forgot to ask and now he'll think that I'm lacking in hospitality. (Real smart one, there, Jblend!!)

Okay. So I didn't get to buy him a drink. But I got to have a great little conversation with him. And the Hokusai ruled today. It was worth the entire day just to see his beautiful prints on a quiet museum outing.

W00t for Hokusai, Baby!

Sigur Ros vid

Absolutely gorgeous. I dare you not to cry.