"Bradtastic" Defined

Getting older; wiser, dumber, fatter, crazy

When I was a child, I dreamt every day about finally being an adult. There were so many things that I wanted to accomplish; I wanted to go places, create things, fall in love, sit in the Oval Office...

Now I feel old. And it sucks. That's the problem with dreams — fantasy — it's not completely fictional, it just leaves out a lot of icky details.

Like getting fat. My entire life, I've been stick-thin. People wondered if I had an eating disorder; I kind of did, I loved pizzas, tacos, hot dogs, French Fries — all kinds of nasty fast food goodness. I never thought about consequences; as far as I was concerned, those were for everyone else.

It's much harder to lose weight being disabled. When I lived alone, it was easy to stay thin — I forgot to eat much of the time. 6'3" and 155lbs. But then things change, I got a few years older, and suddenly my pants didn't fit properly. What is it about living with someone that creates extra pounds?!

When I lived alone, I lost weight easily. Simply; I can't cook. Longer answer: I don't cook. Maybe I can, sometimes, some things, but I don't. I do other stuff. But people worry about me and bring food over to my place. That's okay; it's not every day. However, living with someone — she can cook — and suddenly I'm eating like I'm thirteen years old and active.

Being disabled adds a few facets. And maybe a few dozen pounds.

Complications... hmm? Well, my disability limits my movement, impedes exercise, retards that whole "staying fit" idea. Add in chronic pain, and you get that annoying depression sometimes. "I'm so sad... but there's food."

It's not just the women going for the ice cream and cookies — like on TV. I don't eat straight from the carton, however. And then there's the girlfriend: "Oh, poor thing... I'll make you something that you like for dinner."

'You like,' as in, 'too many portions that you'll devour anyway.'

I'm old now. I mean, not really... I'm sure some forty-something-year-old reading this at some point will think, "Yeah, boo hoo, oh no, you're almost a quarter-century old! Time to start choosing your casket."

"Yes, I get it. You're older... maybe even wiser (yeah, I'm sure), but being disabled is like aging in dog years; if I'm not careful, I'll get my ass handed to me by an eighty-year-old."

That's another thing that sucks; I can't run my mouth like I used to. I used to think, "So if I get into a fight, so what? Worst case scenario, he'll end up in the ER and, well, I'm a minor, so I'll just point and laugh."

Now I'm fat and old. Or at least that's how I feel. I'm not trying to get a surprise pity-party or gain undue sympathy, I'm just sharing my reality, as it feels. I walk from my car to the entrance of the supermarket — from a handicapped space — when I finally get there, I'm thinking, "Dang... where's a chair when you need one? Crap... my nice seat is back there, inside the car. Oops."

I think about how nice it'll be to finally get home again.

This blog, called "Bradtastic Defined," doesn't need a name change. It does need clarification. I am awesome, and brilliant; according not to my standards, but their's — people, the outside world. By "my own, personal definition," I'm now old, fat, and frankly, a little nuts. My life is chaotic; mentally I can barely keep up, physically? Forget it. I might as well try out for the US Olympic team; and I'm not referring to the 'Special' Olympics.

One thing I've noticed about disability in general is that it isolates people. I don't feel 'lonely,' exactly; I'm fortunate to have people in my life, and I don't mind being alone... but I know that I am somewhat outcast, and I see people pointing and giggling when they think I won't notice.

Everyone is unique; thusly, each disability is slightly different and hard to empathize with... unless you happen to be disabled, too. Is there a camaraderie, or some secret club for us to join? Not exactly, at least, I don't know.

Many perfectly-or-well-enough-abled people just don't care to understand. "Life is hard enough as it is," they might think, "why complicate it further?"

Irregardless of your own condition, you probably know someone with a disability. I ask that you take a small step toward sympathy: share this with someone, able-bodied or otherwise. We shouldn't feel alone... not with how things are in the world, presently. There is enough pain; too much pain.

And so often, a simple gesture or act of kindness goes undone, words unsaid, and the pain lingers on. Not today.

I'm getting too old for that.

On Immortality, part one

The most recent issue of Newsweek contains an excerpt from Long for This World: The Strange Science of Immortality by Jonathan Weiner — after having read the article, I feel compelled to respond.

Additionally, I watched The Twilight Saga: Eclipse less than twelve hours ago; however, my affinity for the beautiful undead doesn't factor into my opinions because, as far as I know, glitter-vampires don't really exist.

The first part: why do we want immortality?

I disagree with author Jonathan Weiner — I don't think it's possible to predict the ramifications of human immortality until it exists (in some form)... but I can't see myself being bored.

There isn't enough time in life; it would take several lifetimes to read the fiction books available on Amazon.com, and even if someone could watch every decent TV show and movie ever made, there will still be new ones created every week. Although we are undoubtedly living longer lives than our ancestors, the pace is increasing. We sleep less, work more, and have more entertainment options than ever before. We turn to vices and stimulants, and when the stress of it all reaches fever-pitch, we use depressants to bring ourselves back down.

Generalizations for the masses.

People are working themselves into hypertension and are self-inducing insomnia — sleeping pills, caffeine pills — Americans know "Ambien!" Even with the recession closing down stores, there's still a Starbucks every-other block. These problems effect our children — ADD, ADHD — give them some Ritalin... easy fix.

We encourage people to become workaholics, people are proud to sleep only four hours each night. Someone getting "a full-night's rest" is considered unmotivated — multi-tasking is a skill aspired to...

If we had more time, this rush might not exist. Though we are living longer, the cost of living has also increased, and the single-income family is increasingly rare. People need to earn money earlier and retire later just to make ends meet, though I can't say that people are more productive.

GTD or "the secret"

It's either all about getting things done or "vibrating" — uber-task management or the law of attraction. These systems are often an additional burden; instead of offering relief, these practices exist as another time-sink, another point of failure and another opportunity for a confidence man to make a quick buck off of the hopeful or desperate.

The myth of the American dream is twofold: anyone here has a shot at greatness and fortune, as everyone in America is equal. People aren't equal, and even an unlimited amount of time couldn't balance the scales or level the playing-field. Life is short and unfair, but some of us still try to make the most out of it.

A dream of a dream.

I desire time outside of time — I'm excited about the afterlife — immortality beyond mortality, the death of the human form... the release, for something greater. I think of the things I can achieve in this lifetime, and allow myself to dream for a moment — what would be possible if my time wasn't limited? What would I do, who would I be? How would I change?

I could spend days on end pondering just that — after my surgery, I spent several days simply staring at the intersection of wall and ceiling. I try to read three books each day alongside two newspapers and the occasional magazine. I stretch for an hour and attempt to eat without feeling more sick. I experience either near-intolerable pain or nausea every moment of every day, and yet, if given the choice, I'd extend this existence forever.

Anything shorter and I'd think... "I could've done more."

I try very hard to expel regret...

Inspired by real magic

 

 

A little over one year ago, I gave up practicing and performing magic as part of my daily ritual. With a long list of reasons and seemingly-solid rationale, I felt confident in my decision and motivated to pursue other dreams.

Wonder, however, is rooted deep.

I was a toddler full of dreams and free from worry when my baby brothers died. It was from then that I remember seeing David Copperfield on TV, wishing I could be free from life's constraints — gravity — free to fly amongst clouds, with the birds... into heaven. I saw his straitjacket escapes as a physical manifestation of freeing oneself from life's bonds and restrictions (I lacked a sense of security and closeness, but that's a wonderfully complex topic for another time). Mastery over elements — space, time — what could be better? Even as a child, I could understand the significance of what I was seeing, and though flying free through the air remained my greatest desire, I could sense that magic was about much more (though I doubt I would've phrased it as such).

I was fortunate to have learned to perform effects on several occasions in my early youth, but I couldn't ignore the sensation that magic had been violently stripped away with the revelation of the secret — almost as if the method still wasn't the truth. I didn't think that I was being lied to (at that point), but I felt a deeper, inherent nature to illusion that I still wasn't aware of. I sought to rekindle that feeling of wonder that knowledge seemed to unravel.

Life's mystery isn't explained to six year olds in Houdini's magic shop at Disneyland.

I clearly and plainly see now that knowledge is not magic's nemesis. Wishful thinking — when I'd decided that I needed to know how to make something levitate or find a chosen card, I was hoping that I'd be given a "real" magic solution (as if somehow that'd be easier).

Illusion is about deception; the irony is that, despite all the mumbo-jumbo about "the magician's code," for the cost of two movie tickets, anyone can buy the "secret." The real magic exists all around us; it is exemplified in the countless hours of practice making something difficult appear simple — until it is simple. Our universe is incredibly sophisticated and precise; we still cannot fathom quantum mechanics and relativity co-existing simultaneously — yet magically, here we are in our Milky Way, likely one of many galaxies containing complex life.

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
– Arthur C. Clarke, third "law" of prediction

Technology and illusion aid and sustain one another. It is the magician's job to appear one-step beyond science, beyond rationale — unexplainable. How could I not be inspired, witnessing the unbelievable? Further, I'm driven to question what "real" is — something need not be tangible to be real.

I am again approaching the art of illusion with the same vigor and resilience necessary to pursue all other art forms and life — itself. I cannot overstate the immensity of current human knowledge; there's too much to learn, life is not long enough, I am not strong enough...

But I continue to do what I can to take a bit of surprise and amazement to others, sharing the dreams of youth — in hopes that the future will pay it forward.