Einstein, consciousness, and sex

Back in the heat of the summer, I shared with a couple work buds a quote which I found pretty insightful. Delivered to my browser's home page via iGoogle, it was by Albert Einstein:

No problem can be solved from the same consciousness that created it.

When the quote appeared on my screen, I suppose it spoke to me because a group of us at work were about to dive into a series of creative problem-solving exercises. We'd been given an advertising/branding concept to which had been attached a specific visual element or two, and it was our task to translate it into practical design guidelines/templates/whatever. While each of us saw strengths in the "givens," we also saw challenges.

So reading the quote made me feel better about those challenges. We were bringing to the table a new consciousness.

Instinctively, I also saw a different type of meaning in the quote -- that, if you have a problem of your own creation, your ability to solve it will be greater if you can somehow look at it with new eyes. Gain a new perspective, change your position to view a new angle. Bring to the table a new consciousness.

My previously mentioned work buds, however, stared at me blankly when I explained this to them. They'd liked the quote when I recited it to them, but apparently they'd translated "consciousness" as a separate person or group, an entity outside of the problem-creating source. Their interpretation: No problem can be solved by the same person who created it.

They seemed to see my point after a minute or so, but the enthusiasm for my interpretation was a bit lukewarm. Their reaction has hung with me, prompting an echo of a question to tickle my brain now and then. Is it too Pollyanna-ish of me to believe that someone can so radically change their own perspective enough to solve their own problems?

I'm not saying it would be easy.....and maybe it would be impossible for people unable to break free of "self" for a minute or two. But it sure paints a bleak picture. It's an image of the masses running on a supergiant hamster wheel, all of them fruitless disciples of one self-help discipline after another. All destined for ultimate failure, despite their fleeting light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments. They're zombie pale. They're wearing dark, dingy grey that has yellowed from prolonged exposure to the blinking, buzzing florescent lights above their heads. Remember the opening sequences of Tom Hanks' Joe Versus the Volcano? It's that sort of vibe, this bleak picture in my head.

Well, recently I decided to google Einstein's quote in order to understand its context. One site used the quote in support of prayer. Many sites used it as part of a call-to-action for humanitarian causes. Other sites, most of which seemed a little more scholarly than the rest, had slightly different wordings. Then...payoff! I found several sites which included the next sentence that came out of Einstein's mouth:

No problem can be solved from the same consciousness that created it. We must learn to see the world anew.

Cool. I still don't know the context in which he uttered the sentences, but apparently he did NOT mean to imply that people couldn't solve problems of their own making. That's exactly what I wanted to hear.

I feel better.

By the way, I put sex in the title just to make this entry more intriguing. Sorry. It was wrong to tease you like that.

Something's been missing, I know

Remember back in July when I announced my poll results to you, my bright-eyed, blog-hungry friends? Have you noticed that I still haven't explained my love for monkeys?

My gut reaction when the question first appeared was simple -- monkeys are FUN! There's nothing to explain, for heaven's sake. Everyone loves monkeys, don't they? Monkeys are carefree! Monkeys are cute! Monkeys throw poo!

Wellll....OK.... I really am a grownup who realizes monkeys don't necessarily have it that great. I mean, they live in pretty complex, hierarchical social groups which one minute can be loving and nurturing and the next minute can seem senselessly cruel. And some of them live in cages. But that stuff is true of life for ALL of us, isn't it? So let's just push the negative stuff aside for a minute, and take a look at the really cool things we -- or at least I -- imagine about monkeys' lives. Hang onto your bananas and coconuts! I think I'll make a list.

23 reasons why I love monkeys

1. They have sweet little hairy human-child faces that make me want to mother them.
2. They scream at the top of their lungs whenever they feel like it.
3. When one monkey screams at the top of his lungs, it excites his friend-monkeys, who join in with unadulterated, euphoric abandon.
4. I just have to smile -- even if it's only a little -- when I look at a monkey. I'll bet you do, too.
5. Say the word 'monkey' three times REALLY fast. Now, that gave you a chuckle, did it not? I'll be willing to bet that, at the very least, it amused someone nearby.
6. They pick bugs out of each other's fur.
7. They are curious and learn very quickly.
8. They really seem to love a good practical joke.
9. They don't have to be at work every day at the crack of 8:30.
10. They have no concept of 'politically correct.'
11. They swing carefree in tall treetops, unafraid.
12. Some monkeys may live in cages, but I'll bet they don't live in metaphorical cages.
13. They make friends with animals outside their own species.
14. A monkey's friends are his friends for life.
15. It's perfectly acceptable for monkeys to be naked at all times.
16. They have no mortgages or other bill-paying obligations.
17. They don't belong to any homeowner's organizations, and -- even if they did -- they wouldn't give a rat's ass whether their neighbors thought their shutters need to be painted.
18. Monkeys scratch whatever itches, no matter who's around.
19. They have impressively strong tails.
20. They're fuzzy!
21. Sometimes they have affectionate group grooming sessions which last for hours.
22. They throw poo at things which displease them.
23. When I was in grade school, I was a giggling, gleeful witness as a baby monkey crawled to the top of Johnny Carson's head and -- you guessed it -- went wee-wee. I still laugh when I remember the look on his face.

Ahhhhhhhhh......

Yesterday I went geocaching for the first times in AGES....it felt great to get back out there! At one point during the day -- to the head-shaking amusement of my geo-bud -- my Nikon and I were drawn to a field of kudzu. At certain angles, the sunlight played with the texture of the leaves quite beautifully. Above is one of my favorite shots. It looks like a warm, airy, comfortable nature-pillow. Couldn't you just sink lazily into the softness and take the best nap of your life? And, as you slept, magical leaf fairies would whisper ancient blessings to bestow you with blue-sky happiness until the end of time.

That weird bathroom lump of nastiness

For some reason I've conditioned myself to go to the last stall when using a public restroom. In the women's bathroom at work, I follow this habit without thinking. I close the door, turn around, and sit. My eyes wander a bit, and it never fails -- I catch sight of this snot-colored, sticky-looking glob of mucouslike mess about half the size of an M&M. And if that's not enough, attached to it is a curly strand of dark hair that loops around a couple times and hangs off each end about 2 inches.

It's been stuck to the backside of the stall door for at least two years.

A few times I've considered sucking up my squeamishness and scrubbing it off -- I mean, it would be better than looking at it for another two years, right? But it's quite strange. By the time I walk five feet to the sink, which would be an ideal moment to dampen a paper towel and turn around to remove the offensive substance, I've completely forgotten about it. And it stays forgotten until the next time I enter that stall, close the door, turn around, and sit.

Only today did the temporary memory loss fail to happen. Because this time, I thought.....blog entry.

How could it have gotten there? Do the glob and the hair have the same DNA? If I worked in a crime lab, I'd stay late one evening to test them. Maybe someone came to work one day with a really severe phlegm-laden cold, and had a deep, gutwrenching sneeze. Maybe her hand didn't make it to her mouth in time. Maybe she conscientiously cleaned most of it off the back of the door, but missed one small spot, which -- while she leaned over to wipe a particularly large bit of unpleasantness from the floor -- pulled a strand of loose hair from the top of her head.

Or.....maybe someone actually planted it there. It might be a sociological experiment to test how much nastiness women will put up with in the workplace. There could be a camera hidden in a ceiling vent to record people's reactions.

Or.....maybe ....

Hmmmm, never mind. Those appear to be the only two scenarios I can imagine.

The chubby girl is dead

A couple weeks ago, I shared with my personal trainer that I was surprising myself with the progress I'd made on the Couch-to-5K run/walk program.

I'd been using the program as a guide for treadmill workouts there in the gym.....and had recently met a friend -- who was also following the program on a treadmill in her gym -- to do Week 2 in the real, honest-to-goodness outdoors. It took a little trial and error for us to get going at the same pace, and I discovered that I was running faster than she was. We compared notes, and it turned out that she'd advanced to Week 4 or 5 going at a jogging speed (4.5 mph), and I had stayed in Week 1 for many weeks, gradually increasing my running speed (5.8 - 6.8 mph).

That made me curious. So that afternoon, I went to the gym to experiment. Turns out I could do a slow jog for 5-10 minutes at a time. I went for 45 minutes on the treadmill that day, mostly jogging, slowing to a walk now and then when I felt like I needed to calm my heart rate. Cool.

Now.......back to the part where I was telling my trainer about it.

She peered at me. Asked a question or two. Then she announced that, in my next weekly session, I would run a mile around the indoor track while she timed me. A test.

Damn it to freakin' hell. You know, my mouth doesn't get me in trouble all THAT much, but when it does, I tend to pay dearly.

Of course I couldn't refuse to do it -- that would be admitting that I didn't think I was capable -- so I resigned myself to prepare for the ordeal as best I could. During the following week, I worked in two 1-mile treadmill jogs. At a pace that I found excruciatingly slow, I could actually do it. Wow! I could NOT believe it.

So. Last night was my test. I did the mile in 10 minutes, 33 seconds. I had to walk a few times since I went too fast in the beginning, but my trainer seemed to be pleased anyway. For the rest of the hour-long session, she put me through some familiar strength training stuff, but she also made me do some new things. I could tell when the new exercises were coming up, too, because I could hear her brain churning as an ever-so-slightly sadistic grin played on her lips.

Sadism, I've decided, is a characteristic shared by most trainers.

The most eyebrow-raising thing she made me do involved an 8-feet-tall structure of a device, from the top of which hung two heavy-duty black straps. Geesh, I'll bet it would be comfortably at home in any space designed for extreme S&M activities. (Not that I would know for sure. I'm just guessing. You believe me.....don't you?)

It was the last exercise, and the words that came out of her mouth chilled me to the deepest part of my largest bone: "You are no longer a weenie. You are a strong, capable woman....the chubby girl you used to be is gone. From now on, no more excuses."

Gulp. How did I manage to fool her like that? I was only pretending. No excuses? I love excuses. I cherish excuses. I AM a weenie.

Will someone please hold me? I'm scared.

Stumbling + cool freeware = a better workout

Whoa! Today I snubbed errands, cleaning-the-house duties, and friends I'd planned to call. I forgot to eat. I ignored my cats. I spent my ENTIRE Saturday absorbed in one obsession-trance after another -- Web surfing, cool Mac software, music, my iPod Shuffle, and working out.

OK, that last one's a slight stretch, but it is involved, I promise.

It started with random Internet surfing while enjoying my morning coffee. Have you guys heard of StumbleUpon.com? It's a browser plug-in that helps you find sites you might like. Well, I'm here to tell you.....it works. Since installing it on my laptop a couple weeks ago, I've wasted countless hours of blue-couch time. I've played fun little Flash games, watched hilarious videos, gotten inspired by artists of many types, been entertained by weird-freaky-crazy ideas and products, cruised some awesome shopping sites, and ran across some of the best reference collections I've ever seen. Good God, there's not enough time in the universe to read it all! What am I going to do? How will I assimilate it all??

Anyway.....

This morning, StumbleUpon took me to a page describing Tangerine, a commercial Mac app that analyzes your iTunes library and assigns beats per minute (BPM) to each of your songs. This caught my attention. It helps my motivation in the gym to walk, cycle, and run in time to music. I'd found the free Podrunner mixes months ago -- which I love -- but I also kept trying to categorize my own songs by BPM. Trial and error was wearing on my patience. I figured there were probably software options to help, but I just never got around to looking for them.

Well, StumbleUpon dropped one of those options in my lap. I almost forked out the $25 immediately, but my inner cheapskate compelled me to search for a freeware equivalent. I found iTunes BPM Inspector and downloaded that puppy.

It's not automatic like Tangerine, but it is very easy. You open iTunes and start playing your songs. For each song, you tap your mouse in time to the music, with your cursor poised above BPM Inspector's little floating window. After 10 seconds or so, it recognizes the BPM, you click "set," and it assigns the song a BPM value within iTunes.

What joy!!

I now have a PERFECT iTunes playlist for my hip little Shuffle. I've listed the songs in order of BPM -- from about 98 to over 200. The slower songs I'll use for warmups and cool-downs, the mid-speed songs I'll use for treadmill walking and running, and the fast ones are for my alone-time with the spinning-class bikes.

The problem is that I'm only a fraction of the way through my iTunes library. But..... if I stay up all night.......

Ten photographs

Not really in the mood to write this weekend, so I thought I'd play with the slideshow feature at photobucket.com. Here are some abstract shots I took at Freedom Weekend Aloft, held in May this year at Simpsonville's Heritage Park.