Wax on, wax off

My brother’s treatments continue to go well. The hospital staff are exceedingly friendly and efficient while providing treatment that is generally problem and pain free. Too pain free it seems.

Clearly missing any sort of pain feedback during the treatments that would confirm that something is actually happening, Mike decided to take matters into his own hands. Today at noon, Mike had his back waxed.

Now, unless you happened to be at the ILS office on one of the company’s occasional clothing-optional Fridays, you have probably only encountered Mike fully clothed. As such, you have probably not spent a lot of time contemplating the ramifications of today’s activity. However, those of you who know Mike outside of the workplace, in the wild as it were, have already cringed at seeing the words Mike and waxed in the same sentence.

I don’t mean to imply that Mike is particularly hairy, at least not compared to Chewbacca. But those of you old enough to remember will know what I mean when you hear the words Burt Reynolds and bearskin rug. Yep, Mike is the rug. At the beach nearsighted people have puzzled at his decision to wear a sweater while playing in the surf. Why else do you suppose he chose “Silverback” as his computer password?

If you have already seen “The 40 Year Old Virgin” you may think you have an insight into today’s activities. But watching the movie from the comfort of a movie theater or from your sofa at home does not do justice to the mayhem which took place. The smells and sounds were like something from an Upton Sinclair novel. Think “Passion of the Christ” - Live, on stage. Car alarms kept going off from the bellowing. Two dozen vultures roosted in the tree behind the salon. In neighboring Arizona, Navajo village elders nodded to each other knowingly. In the end the assistants were worn out from having to use pitchforks to fill their wheelbarrows with hair and wax. But it was all worth it.

He emerged, glistening like a seal fresh from the sea. Only redder. And still hairy in front. Standing proudly in front of us it was clear that Mike knew his place in the animal kingdom; right at the top. Or damn near it.

It is to early to tell what impact the “New Mike” will have back in Virginia. But there is one thing I know for certain and it can be expressed in two words, “razor stubble.” Something to think about as we approach a full moon.

Reposted from Nov 2, 2006

Don't use the force, Luke!

Recently, I was described by a close friend as the type of person who, should I become suicidal, would succeed at killing myself. This was not intended as a compliment. It was a criticism of my insular way of making decisions without trusting other people. Yet, I understand just how potent a force it is to control one’s destiny that absolutely.

This ultimate power should not be confused with common attempted suicide. Many suicide attempts, whether successful or not, are driven not by the power over one’s destiny but rather by an overriding sense of impotence. These “cries for help” do often result in death. Yet, these despairing deaths are almost accidental in nature, the result of risky activities used to get much-wanted attention and love.

The same holds true for individuals suffering from physical mental illness. Not merely people that are just dejected or dispirited, these melancholy mortals struggle with chemical demons that the rest of us cannot begin to imagine. Love, support and comfort can help deal with the ancillary misery that the disease causes. Ultimately though, only coolheaded, clinical treatment will help vanquish the torment.

Suicide is usually seen, and correctly so from a biological viewpoint, as an individual’s decision to remove himself from society in the most dire fashion. There are of course less extreme measures that one can take. If it is the Gemeinschaft that a person wishes to flee it is not too difficult to uproot oneself from his present locale. Moving to a distant and remote state or country is the easiest way to leave behind the grinding discontent with family, friends and a wretched future.

If the vexation is with humankind in general it is often harder to escape the tentacles of irritation. Hermits used to be able to live a life of solitude relatively easily. The intrusions of today’s society are almost impossible to escape though. Nosy neighbors and prying governments are pervasive and make true seclusion almost impossible. This is the point where a person may choose to be done with mankind as a whole. G.K. Chesterton wrote:

The man who kills a man kills a man
The man who kills himself kills all men.

Contrary to the common opinion that suicide is a sign of weakness it is a tremendous power to possess and exercise. It is the paramount control over one’s destiny.

Yet, to use its potential is to lose it for all time. Why did Diane Arbus, Richard Brautigan, Kurt Cobain, Sigmund Freud, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, Hunter Thompson and Virginia Woolf choose that particular day to say goodbye? There is always a tomorrow. And with it the chance that tomorrow will be better, more interesting, and different than today was. What is the rush? We can always kill ourselves tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Shouldn’t we wait to see what surprises the morning brings? That is the beauty of such power, the strength it gives us not to use it.