yossarian

From Catch-22, by Joseph Heller.

"Do you know how long a year takes when it's going away?" Dunbar repeated to Clevinger. "This long." He snapped his fingers. "A second ago you were stepping into college with your lungs full of fresh air. Today you're an old man."
"Old?" asked Clevinger with surprise. "What are you talking about?"
"Old."
"I'm not old."
"You're inches away from death every time you go on a mission. How much older can you be at your age? A half minute before that you were stepping into high school, and an unhooked brassiere was as close as you ever hoped to get to Paradise. Only a fifth of a second before that you were a small kid with a ten-week summer vacation that lasted a hundred thousand years and still ended too soon. Zip! They go rocketing by so fast. How the hell else are you ever going to slow down?" Dunbar was almost angry when he finished.
"Well, maybe it is true," Clevinger conceded unwillingly in a subdued tone. "Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if it's to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?"
"I do," Dunbar told him.
"Why?" Clevinger asked.
"What else is there?"

the stars all have names

Do you remember the last time you were thankful?

I let stress and worry consume my thoughts, and forget life is short.

What is your definition of success? Money? Comfort? A little of both?

When did comfort become our god? Maybe I'm unique, but I doubt it. We are strange creatures. We worship comfort, stability, so much so that we make ourselves uncomfortable in our quest for that which eludes, defies definition.

why whiskey reviews are cool, but preachin' don't pay

My name is Joel, namesake of a Hebrew prophet. I like drinking good whiskey and reading thoughtful books (or blogs - check out timbu).

I work in the movie office space, and if I had a million dollars I'd buy an ipod.

I work because preachin' don't pay.
Extortion does, but I still need to look at myself in the mirror when I shave.

More of my autobiography to come. If I revealed all my secrets, I wouldn't have anything to write about, and therefore nothing interesting (hopefully) for you to read.

I'll close my opening thoughts with a lyric by Cedar3:

I watch the smoke chase the moon
On a bitter winter's breath
Mother Nature is open for confession
and I've got so much to confess

I'm chasing away this windchill
with Scotland's finest over ice
how's it so easy to go so wrong
and leave everything that's right?

Stay tuned, and welcome to my life.