I heard about this brilliant campaign video earlier that brings together Senators up for reelection, entitlement, corruption, the Gulf of Mexico, the oil spill. I hadn’t known of VoteVets previously, but I’m now glad to have the acquaintance.
That lead me to wanting to figure out how to spell ‘woo-ha’ that i remember Jake Gyllenhall hollering in that Swofford movie a few years back. It turns out that it isn’t spelled like that, and there’s a good deal of history. I shouldn’t be surprised that there is such history in military matters — reminds me of the question, What’s your military story?
Here are two tidbits:
From HOOAH!Bar —
The word “hooah” (pronounced who-aw) is an expression of high morale, strength and confidence that usually means “heard, understood and acknowledged” but can mean almost anything except no. It may have originated with the British phrase “Huzzah!” that dates at least to the 18th Century, although many other explanations are offered. It grew roots in the Army infantry and has now spread to the rest of the U.S. military.
Then in wikipedia —
Hooah (pronounced /ˈhuːɑː/) is a U.S. Army battle cry used by soldiers “Referring to or meaning anything and everything except no.”
I am sharing a set of thoughts that drives my sense of the multi-faceted promises of freelancing. Informed inlarge part by the concept of “racken” in MPollan’s _Omnivores Dilemma_. Racken is ‘rabbit + chicken.’ it is accomplished (by Joel Salatin in OmniDilemma) by building an unorthodox rabbit coop. Rabbit urine and feces fall onto sawdust or hay that chickens then peck through seeking worms. It results in more resources and less waste by constructing a different way of interacting. Simple solution, yet profound shift.
From my vantage, I’m convinced there’s ways that with coordination (and less control/controlling of others) we can —
… work better (more effectively)
… see more realized
… with more people
… contributing their small piece(s)
… with less isolation
… thus, being more (free) and less (burdened, stressed, over-committed).
I use the term ‘coordination’ more often. As it requires unlearning the ways of work we have been traditionally instructed. We have to unlearn in order to ask for help; to admit the limits of our knowledge. These have been molded to suggest weakness, incompetence or lack of commitment.
I have been in New Mexico for 49 hours. Through experiential learning, I have learned the following:
1. making pizza on a grill,
2. differentiating walking by using the back of my legs, rather than the sides.
3. how laughter and humor can be used to mask discomfort. That making silly jokes in response to “what do you need?” reveals fear, grappling.
Two weeks ago, I brought Queenie (my Seattle bike, which is named after the pet chameleon that a colleague once had) on the light rail. It was a little later than I normally commute.
As I arrived to the Columbia City station on MLK blvd, I had to cut the crosswalk (despite Seattle’s zany enforcement of jaywalking) as the train was approaching. An elderly couple was in front of me — she on foot, he straddled a bike. And a typical Schwinn or some other named biped. Since he took the first door, I biked past him on the platform (probably a no-no) to the second set of doors. That’s where the bike hangar is. After he got over the shock of getting beat to the hook, I told him that I wasn’t hanging there. He thanked me. And then he began to covet my bike with his eyes.
He looked, admired. Pointed it out to his wife. He looked at the handlebars. And outloud said ‘Swo-Bow.’ after realizing that his voice was audible to me and the rest of the lightrail crew, he looked up at me.
– Nice looking bike.
– Thanks, it rides well.
I exited at the following station to walk to the next car. Once I hung the front wheel, I stood in the doorway to have the room for my morning stretches and twists. In the course of the next 20 minutes, I had two other grown men, one Asian-American and then a Black man, engage me about the bike. It brought a morning smile to the first guy, and a number of questions from the second.
All in my first 40 minutes out in the morning commute.
In my early days of January, I lost my bus pass twice. Well, nearly lost. The first time was at the Red Apple grocery store on the way to a friends potluck. I had stopped in for a six-pack of local beers and a bag of GoodEnoughtoEat chips. I thought I’d made it in and out without a glitch till I walked two blocks to the bus stop to jump on the 48 northbound.
As I stood there fumbling through my pockets repeatedly, the bus came. And it went. So, I began to walk. 20 minutes into my 20 block walk, I called the store after thinking about how and where I could have dropped it. Sure enough, it had fallen in the checkout aisle where I had pulled my cash or money clip out.
Fortunately, I got to the dinner party. The quick bike ride down added to my appetite and made me adjust my bus pass.
A lot of what we humans do is that we are creatures of habit. Coupled with the fact that we are socialized into not rocking the boat, there’s a lot of dumb shit that we are supposed to perpetuate.
Thus, i enjoy shaking up customs. It is similar to my enjoyment in being an enigma when people want to pigeonhole me by race or sexuality (yes, I’ve been speculated upon many a time).
Presently, a few of the ways that I intentionally rock — the boat, that is — consist of:
> being playful, making work topics fun. If we are gonna do it, might as well go all in rather than being dainty and scared of our own doubts about doing something wrong.
> bringing vegetables and CSA talk into the kitchen and work space. It amazes me how many people eat microwaveable food. And then I get asked questions when I peel a carrot over the sink.
> asking questions. Oftentimes obvious questions so as to invite further explanation, express my willingness to be supportive, or to give someone else the chance to say no.
I’m seeing how a lot goes unsaid. People are scared to understand. Or of being honest, or being understood.
A muddled sense of direction is a result of being implored to do little, or not think independently. I’m tired of that.
Funny when I sat on the toilet in the men’s room. I felt the toilet move underneath me. No, it wasn’t the fault lines shifting. Just someone doing their own business in the Women’s WC.
Made we wonder what connects our seats? If it’s pipes, should they jiggle that much in the wall?
Three lessons and awakenings I’ve had by taking buses, relying on rides and walking more than is normal in Seattle:
1. there is a culture of fear and middle class stigma associated with bus routes and bus rides. The car is the vehicle of class access, and not considering having one is an anamoly in a town like this.
2. without a car, my exploits and busyness of the day is moderate. I’m not scrambling to errands, the grocery store and five additional things prior to doing something else. It has opened me up to a different pace of time, my own awareness of the abundance of time. Rather than scrambling to make up for lost time, or wondering where it went, i’m instead delighted with the tick-tock of subdued minutes.
3. it practically goes without saying but bus pass is a lot less costly than gas, oil changes, insurance, parking meters, the threat of parking tickets, of driving tickets and other fees for infractions. Instead, it is making an investment in the local bike shop. And, no absurd throwing money off to corner gas station, some abstract car insurance provider, and the oil change and car maintenance garages. Or to the private gym company, cuz riding these hills are my gym hours.
Lastly, Seward Park could make me become a runner. I like becoming new endeavors come treintauno.
Listening to some Carolina Chocolate Drops. Folding a Liberacion tee.