XORROX

It's easy to neglect the things around you. "Relocate your Art" - we stop noticing things that have been in the same place for a while, and sometimes that includes our own lives.

I was walking again among the pillars of Union Station, appreciating the magnificence of The Capitol Building once more, and  am continually reminded to appreciate the fortune with which i find myself in such a city. To wake up and ride a bike across the grass of The National Mall somewhere along the path of staring eyes of the Lincoln Memorial and where I currently live, Capitol Hill - to walk past the Supreme Court, where the laws of this nation are scrutinized and taken to task by the unwavering power of the Bill of Rights - to be among so many commuters, coming and going, weaving through the mixing bowl or melting pot of America, from foreign lands and nearby states. This is my human experience, to be here, now, under the pressure and within the embrace of this Great Nation.

I walked into the offices of National Geographic and gazed in contemplation at selected pieces from over 1.3 million submitted pictures of the past year. Some beautiful, some captivating; some powerful in color or detached sound and fury; some calm and offering serenity. Some just make you wonder...

...and I walk along townhouses of naked and painted brick and wooded shutters, iron gates and chained bicycles, crossing while the red man stands facing me as metro buses pass at my heels and Capitolites with their dogs jog by; making my way to Eastern Market. Meats and cheeses, fruits and homemade soap that looked like cheese or fudge but was not, photographs and paintings, lattes and flowers and crepes and antiques, all making their way to your fingertips as you walk through the magic of that human experience.

Past Presidents - I wonder what they were thinking - as they watch breaking news and the nation hears the name of a lady and her blue dress for the first time. So much power, such meaningful decisions, with lives at stake and pensions to meet and babies to tend to and industries to protect; all the kings horses and all the kings men rally to fix this one thing of our decade, from communism to families to human rights to the environment.

I've come to realize that it's not what you do that's important; it's how well you do the things that you do. In that is the quality of life. When we live toward a goal that is not life but a security against death we tend to leave things where they are; less balls in the air to juggle; but in that we forget little pieces of our lives. From time to time, we forget large chunks. But if we move things around, even if we do it in our perception of ourselves and the things around us, then we resonate a vibration that adds contrast and clarity to our lives, forcing us to appreciate the details.

I guess that's what they means when they say Life is what happens when you are making other plans. (John Lennon)

These are just musings. These are just a whisper on a breath of what it is for me to live in DC.

James Watson - User Experience Architect, Life Coach, writer, artist, traveler, seeker

I sat on the metro. I turned my head to see what had made the large thud and it was a woman's head hitting the window; she was passed out, either homeless or unable to stay awake on the ride home after a long day's work. The women who sat across from me was singing to herself, her headphones on, her voice rising and falling in and out of audibility from time to time. I had seen her dancing earlier while we waited for the train on the platform, her briefcase swinging beside her, her employee ID dangling from her neck.

I walked up the escalators that had temporarily become stairs and turned left to walk through the archways and between the massive columns of Union Station. A line of people had formed along the street, about 30 people standing in silence, in the cold, waiting for a bus or taxi; I was not sure. The line had formed out of habit; there were no markers, no ropes, nothing to guide the line as it bent out of pedestrians way and around one of the columns. The several dozen people in line had done this before; they did this daily; many standing with their heads down and reading the morning news after another day had brought more. A man stared at me, unconsciously I think, bobbing his head and mumbling a song under his breath, the sign behind him asking if I felt comfortable that my retirement was in the right hands.

There was a tiredness in their eyes. A longing. A waiting. A combined curiosity and fear.

Fear. That word had been with me all day. Did I have the right insurance? Was there a camera at that light? Was that kid going to mug me or is he just "MUG" the way another might be goth or emo or preppy.

I heard an announcement while waiting for one of the trains that the Metro Transit Authority could perform randomized searches of bags. It's for our safety. Three police officers walked by me and grabbed a man in a golfers hat and white pants and took him away. They walked around that went through the backpack of another man I could not see. The man in the white pants returned just as the train was pulling in.

I had asking myself questions along a certain line all day. I didn't have to worry about car insurance, though I appreciated the ad above my head. I was starting to get confused and thought that my confuzzlement may have been brought on by my stint away from America. But how was it that nearly all of the companies promised the same thing: that I could save up to $500 dollars if I went with them. I was confused, and could imagine someone actually wondering if they had made the right decision. Life insurance. I'm not getting any younger, and although I don't have mouths to feed, who will bury me should that need arise? I should start thinking about life insurance. And medical insurance, well, I suppose I'll just risk that one. I'd be better of with traveler's insurance, something I had neglected last time around.

I am not used to the expanse that is a suburban city, Washington DC. This area of it anyway. Even in the clutter there is order that I had not appreciated until I had seen the jungles that were Bangkok, Colombo, Cairo. People seem to have purpose here. It made me think about a sonnet I memorized once when filling bottles with cells that had been infected with the flu virus that now contained human genes in the pursuit of curing cancer or type II diabetes.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action: and till action, lust

Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;

Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,

Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,

On purpose laid to make the taker mad.

(I'll finish the rest in a minute)

The day before I was sitting on a bus and saw a sign asking for volunteers; young volunteers, so really it would be the parents of the individual who would sign them up for a new study on Disruptive Behavior Disorder. The study was to be conducted by the National Institute on Mental Health.

Walking through the cold I passed another man, his head low, his shoulders tight against the wind, his right arm rigid to his side, a briefcase clasped in his frosted hand. He had headphones on. He was singing to himself. Maybe this was all coincidence. Or maybe we all look forward to getting home, to shut ourselves away and relax, taken away at least for a moment by a drink or a show or a book, away from responsibilities and behaviors and rules for which we would play a role the next morning, all to allow us a two day break to unwind before another week began. But for that walk home, people seem to want to be alone, lost in their own music.

The hospital on the corner had been shut down some time ago. Men wrapped in blankets were sleeping on the steps under the street light, hoping to stay visible, hoping to stay safe as much as they cared to stay warm. A sign above them read "Feed America First." Beside it was an Absolute Vodka ad over which someone had spray painted a less common term for a cat that had somehow been transformed to define a weak individual.

As I thought of these things I had an overwhelming sensation that I was fortunate. Fortunate to have been born an American. With all it's flaws, this nation is fresh, clean...new. It can go in any direction and it often does, trying to identify itself. It's an adolescent, making mistakes, interpreting histories in hopes of being wise and not merely smart, but doing so through the lens of subjectivity as anyone else, and at the end of the day, my walk home though bombarded with ads was also lined with a museum of modern culture, speckled in history. A recent history, built upon civilizations and philosophies of old.

And I have opportunity. Such a simple thing, but think of it for a moment.

America is a system, but it sure is wonderful. If only it doesn't drive you mad.

Mad in pursuit and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;

A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;

Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.

   All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

   To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

I have been confronted with the question of love four times in the last 12 hours, by four different people. In one, we spoke of a love taken for granted, and now realizes, desired. In another, we spoke of a love recognized, but not complete. In another, a love that may never be equaled again, but how despite the "love" how another might be a better companion through life. And the last, about the ability to identify that you love someone.

I came to realize that the four ideals which I ascribe as the bohemian ideals (yes, a movie reference but one which I hold in reality) are not so easily defined. They have so many levels and can be so abstract, defined individually by each of our own realities and experiences.

Two of these ideals I have come to find comfort in. Beauty and Freedom are things I feel I have achieved for myself in that I have found peace in my interpretation and identification with them. Truth is one I will always seek, and in the knowledge that I will always seek it, I feel I have succeed. It is in the last that I find turmoil.

Unlike Truth, the seeking of love from no until my end seems tragic. The pursuit of truth is one through which I will grow, but the growth is one in which I find transparency. The greater understanding of "the more I know, the more I know I know nothing" is rewarding; finding myself lost in universe within which I am a sponge and able to take in greater depths of things because of my understandings that allow me to better interpret new experiences reinforces the freedom that I feel.

In my quest for "Truth" I am free, knowing that I am confined to nothing but the laws of a world that can do little to stop me, and that cares little to stop me so long as I am not abusing it. I am free because as much as I want to live I do not fear death, knowing that I am dead if I live in fear, and feel alive living intensely through the conviction that I am free; a free spirit, a free mind, a free body, a free soul.

And in that I seek Truth and have, to me, an unlimited Freedom to live, I see Beauty everywhere. I am constantly confronted with images of the mundane, and in that regular see so much beauty. The gecko sitting on the rock; the feathering of clouds on a clear blue sky; the lightening in the distance with no sound, bringing the night's sky to a glow; the pouring rain in buckets on a tin roof at night…every moment and every breath is so beautiful; everyone, myself included, have so much potential for beauty in the realization that it is everywhere and everything.

But Love…I am tormented by it. My Freedom is held back by it; Truth often distorted to create a reality whereby "Love" wins; Beauty held as a pressing weight on my chest, similar to the choking one feels when holding back tears, because I wish more than anything to share the beauty I experience with a love.

Should I seek freedom from love? Should I seek love, or seek it differently? Should I start by defining it? I think the latter is futile, as there are so many forms, or maybe it is that regardless of "Love" I can succeed in the desires which I wish to fulfill through love, but do so without it.

And here begins another journey...

I would not take the apple from a hungry child to address my own hunger for I believe it to be wrong. But when you have a population where 80% of people would, and would take from one another just as they would from the child, equating to violence and agression among each other and with the child, does it matter what you do?

There is no power that you can attain to change their ways, and as you grow and provide apples to your own, you like the child become a target of agression. The more power you seek to ward off that agreession and defende yourself against the evil ways of others, even when done with good intent and with fairness as your compass and good and your mission, you will always be an agressor in the eyes of the agressor.

You seek no solution through your well meant agression; the only solution and path to peace is to go out of your way to provide for that 80% who mean you harm. Seek to fill their stomachs before your own, and you have found a path to peace. Otherwise, scream peace and freedom and fairness at the top of your lungs so that the gods hear your oppression, and seek to fight those selfish souls that you think do not understand. Or whisper to God that you are thankful to feed your enemies, in peace.

Justice is never attained, but among those things that can only be sought. It cannot be measured nor the degree of our grasp of it understood, as it's infitity and end are coupled with time, that itself only ends with us as it lives on for itself.

The waitress came to the table and asked for our order, went to the kitchen, and then some time later returned again with our meal. We enjoyed the food, asked for our check, and then I proceeded to pay the bill.

How much do I now tip her? Was she good at what she did? Well, maybe. She definitely wasn't as attentive as I would have liked her to be; she came by less often than I liked, so instead of three drinks I only ordered two, and because everything took so long, we didn't have time to order dessert.

But then again, she came to our table as many times as any other server or waiter went to any of their tables. There was nothing bad about our waitress in comparison to the others at the establishment, so maybe this is how serving was run here, and possibly for good reason, as this was a sports bar and grill, and maybe they were expected not to interrupt game watching with their constant interruptions.

So, I couldn't judge her on that. What then? It couldn't be the food because she didn't cook it, and I had no complaints. It couldn't be the way she dressed; everyone dressed the same; and it couldn't be her smile because. well, what's one smile against another anyway? Was it the sincerity of it that I tipped her on? Did she really love me or was it all just an act, using me for my money? Come on, it's her job, and let's face it, who wants to serve other people because that's just where their heart is in life.

So...I guess I had to determine now not what kind of waitress she was, but what kind of person I am. Am I a 15% chump? Or am I just frugal? Or am I a "hey, you were alright." *wink* -- *point* -- used car salesman smile, my sparkling teeth. Or was I the "I'm gonna impress this date by paying more for the meal even though she has no idea what I'm paying since I'm hiding the receipt, so as to say 'yeah, I got this. I'm such a gentleman.' kind of way."

And then it occurred to me that the real problem in all this was that I was tipping a percentage at all! Wait, so if the burger she brought over cost $15 and not $7, then I would have to pay twice as much tip on it? What made her bringing a more expensive burger merit more money in her pocket? I'm obviously not paying her for her service, but paying for the way things are run at this restaurant, so I'm paying her out of an obligation to tip (they don't get paid much hourly and our society is structured around making ends meet for these servers of society by tipping them), and I'm doing it based on how much the restaurant charges me. So I would pay a potentially wonderful waitress at a small family restaurant half what I would pay at this establishment where the service is subpar simply because her family restaurant charges less (less overhead and less entertainment - just better food at a cheaper price) for the same food?

There is obviously something wrong with the way we determine tip...

Do restaurants want to still pay waitresses less and have them perform in the best interest of the customer as well as the restaurant? This is quite possible. But they should set expectations for both customers and servers alike.

When you enter the establishment, either on the front door or within the menu, there is a standard "per person" tip regardless of how much or how little you order. The table at the establishment means more than your coffee alone "no thank you I'm not eating today" to the establishment, and the server still has to serve you as often even if you're having coffee alone; you should be tipping them higher anyway than the standard percentage. And you have the right to pay what everyone else pays for a level of service that the establishment sets. The establishment will be known for having good service or bad, and servers that do not perform at that level do not serve for long. The server is expected to serve at such a pace that the restaurant can turn tables, and thus the restaurant can set baselines for servers as to how much they will make per night based on how many tables they can cover -- the number of tables covered based again on performance. The customers must not be felt rushed nor underserved, as the servers performance is evaluated not only by the restaurant in regards to speed of turning tables, but also by the customer when payment is being made. The customer no longer thinks about how much they will pay, and simply have to determine if the server did an adequate job.

Imagine a table where one person is eating and the other not. In the current state, the server may as well be rude to the person sitting at the table and only drinking water, because that person is not going to tip. The server can ignore this individual all together, not even refilling their water when done, even when requested. The person eating and ultimately paying should be treated with the highest regard. This negates the argument that giving the non-paying person at the table good service is free advertising. The paying customer is the advertising for the level of service you would receive should you upgrade from free user to paying customer.

I may walk into a restaurant and tell the server up front that I am paying $5 for service per person regardless of how much we spend, but also regardless of how good or poor the service is. So if the server finds that we are purchasing more food than $5 covers the 15% or 18% tip we would otherwise leave, they can adjust the level of service to my compensation for that time. I think it also fair for me to say I am only paying $2 as my tip per person even if I spend $100 for my meal if I only want my food brought to me, then left alone until my check is to be delivered. Do not worry about refills or napkins or even to ask if I enjoy my food. Regardless of what you deliver, leave me be until you bring my check, and feel free to bring my check with my meal; I will eat quickly and let you clear this table to make room for someone else, but expect $2 from me. Just because you landed a job at a restaurant that charges more for their food, you have contributed nothing to the ambiance nor the flavor of my experience, so I pay you for what I expect of you...to work $2 for me tonight.

We are less and less in an age of raw materials, and more and more in an age of information, services, and the use of science to enhance our lives to a greater capacity with less waste and greater efficiency. We are no more in the age of oil than we are in the age of gold; we understand what the future holds, and our arms race, though still a nuclear one, is not to control the ability to annihilate the world, but to power it. He who controls the ability to offer energy as a commodity will be the tycoon of tomorrow.

Now, is Iran in an arms race for world annihilation; one that would impact it's own existance in the same way it would that of any other nation; or a race for power in all it's meanings. Which is our greatest fear anyway?

War will exist so long as border security is important; it's importance only because we fear the self fulfiling prophecy that is the breach of our borders from a foreign force; it's force foreign only in that we will never see ourselves as one race; one people. The poverty of our kind leading to the need to secure "our" way of life, never realizing that our "our" encompasses only a fraction of the real "we," the global race.

Do instantly, and you will do more. Whatever you have to do that you cannot do at that moment, hire someone to do for you. You can afford this because you do more, because you do what tasks come to you instantly. Because of this, more are employed, and the world's progress amplified by the magnitude of those who do instantly.