Pin Dudeism

Santa Buddha Abides, Man!

2010-12-14T08:32:00.000-08:00

HAPPY HOLIDAYS DUDES! CHILL...

F**k It!

2010-08-08T10:07:00.000-07:00

So I guess you fellers are wonderin' why ol' Moondog placed asterisks in the mid section of one of Dudeism's holy passwords. Well, this is how it happened...

The usual suspects and I were trying to figure out what not to do next at the Duder the other day when this sympatico looking young lady saunters in, sits down at the bar and orders a double White Russian. Well, that got our attention, and as Louise sprang into action to mix up the requested beverage, this young lady flashes a bright smile all around, reaches into her bag and pulls out a book which she slides down the bar to me. The title of the book and the feller's name who wrote it rang a bell... F**k It: The Ultimate Spiritual Way by John C. Parkin. I inspected the tome, reminded myself that I had seen it before, thought it useful at the time, then said "fuck it" before taking proper note of its importance.

At this point...and I acknowledge the fortuitous intervention of our double White Russian drinking lady dude...I think it only fitting to pass the info regarding the book's provenance along to fellow travelers who may not be aware of it or its slow steppin' author, who introduces his deep and profound take on things in this short video...

Not much more to report at this stage of the game...don't want to clutter up such a refined message with a lot of unnecessary strands and convolutions. I'll pass along more details about the double White Russian drinking lady philosopher dude and her inneresting concepts and pronouncements at a later date...

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Dude Be Dude Be Dude

2010-07-03T18:19:00.000-07:00

Well...what can I say? Haven't been DOING...make that writing...much lately...a condition of which I am reminded repeatedly by my compatriots at the Duder. Especially Louise as she mixes one after another...

Its one of those crazy, lazy, hazy days...nights...of summer hereabouts. 'Round Midnight on the sound system...the usual diehards at the bar...Letterman on the TV above the bar...sound turned off...

(Please let play while you read the rest of the piece.)

Ron wanders in and sits down next to me as Louise pushes a Caucasian across the bar to him. He looks around the room then over at me.

"What's doin' Moondog?

"Well not much Ron...what would you have us DO? Are you aware of some situation that needs to be attended to that we here at the bar have somehow missed?"

"Little snarky Moondog? Too much pressure to demonstrate a deep and profound chill all the time?"

I make a show of exuding a huffy demeanor.

"Yeah...right. Do I look like I am succumbing to the unrelenting coercion coming from..."

"This direction..."

Louise slides another one over then continues.

"...You know what the bumper sticker says...'What would Ernest Tubb have done?'..."

"I expect Ernest would have said, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it'...sort of like the way things are around here most of the time...take now..."

Ron grins at my hackneyed axiom before he speaks.

"Yeah...guess if you're not DOING something you're just not worth a shit...huh?"

"Booo!"

Someone down the bar chimes in.

Louise fumbles under the bar and finally pulls out two wrinkled rolls of paper which she ceremoniously unrolls and holds up.

"Guess I'm going to have to put this back up...or maybe this..."

I genuinely relax as the obvious sinks in...as it always does eventually (usually).

"Yeah...good old Lao Tzu...and the good old Dude too, man. Remember The Dude! We should make up a bumper sticker that says that. That's all you gotta do, man...Remember The Dude...when things get really shitty...Remember The Dude. When things are great...Remember the Dude. Why that's what this whole thing we're doing here is all about, man. Not to get preachy on you, man...but..."

Everyone in the bar looks at me in silence for a long moment...then the normal buzz resumes.

I give some thought as to why I was a little out of sorts earlier. Too much conversation, too much thought...too much dissection sometimes of the whole philosophico, religio, psycologico, analytico...hey, man...you know what I'm trying to say. Too many strands and what-have-yous crisscrossing that way and this...too many idiotic questions about the meaning of it all...too much endless rationale for espousals regarding lazy wisdom, hazy wisdom, the implications of the fathomless chill, etc., etc., etc...

...when all anybody really needs to do is Remember the Dude!...and the K.I.S.S. principle...man...

The Dude: Yeah, well. The Dude abides.

The Stranger: The Dude abides. I don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals.

LAZY WISDOM 3

2010-05-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

I'm at the Ol' Duder Bar, as usual...not much doing at the Duder this afternoon...even lazier than "normal", if that's possible. Louise slides another one across the bar...then comes the REmark that I know is way past due.

"Boy...you're sure the guy to be writing about lazy wisdom lately Moondog. Do you claim to be getting wiser as you get lazier?"

I just look up at her and grin.

"You gotta get hip to the subtleties of Lazy Wisdom Practice Louise...chill Lou. Exude laziness until a palpable atmosphere...a deep silent pool...of laziness appears...and wisdom will show up to backstroke in it's depths..."

"Your cockeyed take on 'build it and they will come', huh?"

"The irresistible vortex of Dudely Wisdom..."

This street performer in a court jester's costume roams in and looks around. He bows with a sweep of his arms and introduces himself.

"Good day my good people...Quodudeian at your service! May I offer a few edifying quotations from a selection showcasing orators much wiser than myself in barter for a delicious libation?"

Louise is flabbergasted.

"Well I'll be damned Moondog...here we go again..."

"Why endure the drudgery of all that reading and thinking and such to garner the sagacity of the ages when all you have to do is sit back and let yourself go...let enlightenment wash over you...a veritable river of erudition from my silver tongue..."

"See Louise. What could be lazier...huh? Just sit back and take in a string of one liners from our stand-up philosopher here. What'll it be Quodudeian?"

"Shot and a beer. Any requests?"

Louise shoves a double shot of Jack and an oat soda across the bar to the jester. He downs the shot then take a long pull on the beer.

"You pick 'em Mr. Q. Better have some hot stuff...playing to a strange and jaded crowd here."

Several other Duder regulars from the other end of the bar and the pool table move closer and wait expectantly for the first wise utterance.

Quodudeian speaks. The tongue is indeed silver...mesmerizing...

"After all...all he did was string together a lot of old, well known quotations. H.L. Mencken said that about William Shakespeare.."

He pauses. Deadly silence. He continues.

"O.K. then...just a reminder...I tell you we are here on earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different."

There is a brief pause...then the audience unclogs as the well known Vonnegut-ism sinks in. Everybody cheers. Quodudeian relaxes and begins to move and snap his fingers to jazz that only he can hear. Louise picks of the bottle of Jack.

"Refill?"

"Does the Pope shit in the woods? The Dude"

The crowd cheers louder. Quodudeian continues...bebopping...pausing for just the right amount of time between quotes.

"Think off-center. George Carlin"

"He who trains his tongue to quote the learned sages, will be known far and wide as a smart ass. Howard Kandel"

Lots of applause to that one.

"The taste for quotations...and for the juxtaposition of incongruous quotations...is a Surrealist taste. Susan Sontag"

"Time is bunk. Douglas Adams"

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser. John W. Gardner"

"Buy the ticket take the Ride. Hunter Thompson"

"Walter, he peed on my rug! The Dude"

More wild applause.

"Basically my wife was immature. I'd be at home in the bath and she'd come in and sink my boats. Woody Allen"

"I don't say we all ought to misbehave, but we ought to look as if we could. Orson Welles"

More people arrive. The word is out. Quodudeian knocks back Jack after Jack. Jumps up on the bar.

"Always do whatever's next. George Carlin"

"A good traveller is one who does not know the destination, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from. Lin Yutang"

"Sacred cows make the best hamburger. Mark Twain"

"Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler. Albert Einstein"

“There is a theory which states that if ever for any reason anyone discovers what exactly the Universe is for and why it is here it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another that states that this has already happened.
Douglas Adams"

"I read somewhere that 77 per cent of all the mentally ill live in poverty. Actually, I'm more intrigued by the 23 per cent who are apparently doing quite well for themselves.
Jerry Garcia"

The crowd bravos and begins to chant...

"QuoDUDEian...QuoDUDEian ...QuoDUDEian..."

Louise looks over at me and winks as Quodudeian motions for the customers to quiet down.

"To whom it may concern: It is springtime. It is late afternoon. Kurt the Man said that."

He pauses, then continues...

"And now...the last words of Robert Anton Wilson...KEEP THE LASAGNA FLYING!"

There is a long silence...then someone from the audience yells out...

"Hey, careful, man, there's a beverage here! The Dude"

...cheers and applause. Someone in the back answers...

"Who gives a shit about the fucking marmot! The Dude"

...more applause...and then...

"Is this a... what day is this? The Dude"

"Mind if I do a J? The Dude"

Whistles and hooting...as the late spring afternoon softly turns into evening...

“Not if anything to say about it I have. Yoda"

And finally...

“I had final cut, they wanted me to re-edit it, I refused. Dennis Hopper”

R.I.P. dude...

LAZY WISDOM 2

2010-04-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at the bar sipping a Caucasian and trying to concentrate on the laptop. Louise, the bartender, mixes one for herself eyes me with dudely amusement.

"Still trying to come up with something to write about the supposium on lazy wisdom Moondog?"

"Supposium? What the fuck is a supposium Louise?"

"You say symposium...I say supposium. Supposing...what iffing...is what's been going on around here lately with all this deep philosophizing about your Lazy Wisdom...capital 'l' capital 'w'. Why don't you just stop thinking about it and let stuff happen...then sit back and dig it as it goes down...Moondog? That's my way of not doing lazy wisdom...little 'l' little 'w'."

Finally, my fingers begin to type and words begin to appear on the screen.

In the last dispatch from these regions I promised to fill everybody in on the doings and insights of the Duder Bar supposium on lazy wisdom, but I got distracted and didn't get very far...so here we go again...

As usual, just as I am about to elucidate a significant new strand and what have you, something happens...

This Armani suited stock broker looking guy glides through the door snapping his fingers and bobbing his head to music only he can hear. Everyone at the bar looks at him as he slowly intones...

"Dude be slow steppin', mang...threw away my 3G, multi-tasking smart phone, mang...don't want to talk to you while I'm downloading and gaming and trading at the same time no more, bub...smashed that fucking thing, Maurice..."

He slowly spins and, in a leisurely fashion, syncopates back out into the street.

I type some more...

Unbelievable! Louise was right...I'll get into what Louise said later. Synchronicity strikes again! Is Carl Jung hanging out around here somewhere? Slow dancing at high noon...stop thinking about it and lazy wisdom just dances through the door...

"Hey Moondog..."

Here comes Nancy walking down the bar from the back carrying a brown paper bag.

"Is this yours? Found it in the back booth where you were 'entertaining' last night."

She hands me the bag. I have never seen it before. I reach inside and pull out a book. Look at it in rapt wonder. Everybody at the bar cranes their neck to see.

Doing Nothing: A History of Loafers,Loungers, Slackers and Bums in America
By Tom Lutz

An advertising flier for the book for the book flutters out of the bag onto the floor. I pick it up and read it out loud to the congregation.

"Lutz eases readers into this sparkling cultural history of stylish American torpor with an anecdote about his 18-year-old son, Cody, moving into his house and bivouacking on the couch—perhaps indefinitely. Lutz himself spent a decade before college "wandering here and abroad," so his intense anger at Cody surprised him—and inspired him to write this book about the crashing fault lines between Anglo-America's vaunted Calvinist work ethic and its skulking, shrugging love of idling. An English professor who admits to being personally caught between these warring impulses, Lutz (Crying) has a gimlet eye for the ironies of modern loafing: that the "flaming youth" of the 1920s were intensely industrious; that our most celebrated slackers (Jack Kerouac, Richard Linklater) have been closet workaholics; that our most outspoken Puritans (Benjamin Franklin, George W. Bush) have been notorious layabouts. Lutz's diligent research on a range of lazy and slovenly subjects, from French flâneurs to New York bohos, ultimately leads him to side with the bums. Flying in the face of yuppie values and critics of the welfare state, his "slacker ethic" emerges over the course of this history as both a necessary corrective to—and an inevitable outgrowth of—the 80-hour work week."

"What the fuck!"

Louise is pointing up at the TV above the bar. She turns up the volume as everyone present does a double take in unison then stares at the TV.

Just as Bing and his motley crue are winding up their observations on the nature of things, John Lennon's voice rings out from somewhere down the bar...

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans...Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans..."

It is the ringtone on somebody's cell phone. Sheepishly, Doris, a newcomer to the Duder, answers her phone and hurries to the back of the bar so as not to disturb the proceedings at hand.

Now...at this juncture I think it only fitting to take a step back so as to be able to see the forest and not get lost in the trees...as they say. Obviously, The Duder Bar Supposium on Lazy Wisdom seems to be composing itself. The old Trickster is cracking the cosmic joke once again...reminding me who's who and what's what...and I might as well fuggetaboutit as far as trying to theorize and expound upon those matters "myself". The universe is doing me, I am clearly not doing it...life is living me...I'm not...well shush...you get the picture. During the past brief bit of time here at the humble ol' Duder Bar the DUDE himself is playfully wagging his finger at us sinners and saying...

"Chill...there's NOTHING to do...there's nothing you CAN do, really...when you take a giant step back and have a good look at the whole durn thing. Let go dudes! Chill...deeply...lazy wisdom... abide man..."

LAZY WISDOM

2010-04-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

We Dudeists here at the old Duder Bar have been incommunicado for awhile because of all the mulling about and intense ruminating that has gone into our latest project, a small booklet entitled LAZY WISDOM: PROCRASTINATION AS SPIRITUAL PRACTICE, but I'm going to wait to elaborate further on that until a little later on. First, I want to bring to light a couple of fellers you may have heard about but, if not, will probably get a kick out of...natural born Dudeists both, and both probably sympathetic with our current frenzied quest for the key to profound procrastination.

The first, Wes “Scoop” Nisker, is a writer, radio personality, Buddhist meditation teacher and stand-up philosopher who, years ago, came up with the challenge, "If you don't like the news go out and make some of you own." Interesting concept. Anyhow among the books old "Scoop" is notorious for are CRAZY WISDOM, THE ESSENTIAL CRAZY WISDOM, and, most recently, CRAZY WISDOM SAVES THE WORLD AGAIN! Here's a quote from this last tome that speaks directly to our current cogitations as well as to the Dudeist modus operandi in general.

“If I were in the department of wisdom, I would call for an immediate moratorium on progress, to last at least a half-century. We had a whole lot of progress in the last couple of centuries, and although it brought us pain-killing drugs, space telescopes, and Velcro®, it appears we can no longer keep up with our own ingenuity. We now race madly around in our individual boxes of steel, chasing after satisfaction, and in the process we are throwing the atmosphere out of whack by burning up two or three geological epochs worth of the sun’s stored energy in one great choking bonfire of the vanities. We have spent the better part of our genius figuring out new ways to blow each other up or learning how to go faster, and in our fear and haste we forgot about who we are and where we are going. We need to relax, deeply, and let our hearts and minds catch up with out tool-making ability, which ha gotten way “out of hand.” What we need is a century of less doing and more “being.” The next revolution is a big slowdown."

“I also have some broad suggestions on how we might help heal our sick civilization and the ailing planet, based on the understanding of crazy wisdom, a long-running tradition of tricksters, saints, philosophers, self-proclaimed fools, and other disreputable characters, Rather than practical solutions, crazy wisdom offers a stance, an attitude to carry us as we proceed through these ominous days."

Just think of The Dude as a Crazy Wisdom/Lazy Wisdom master and things begin to fall...some sooner...some later...into place.

The other feller I want to call your attention to, name of Thaddeus Golas, wrote a 79 page book back in the late 60's called THE LAZY MAN'S GUIDE TO ENLIGHTENMENT which was an instant hit at that time. Here's what Amazon has to say...

"Originally published by the author in 1972, the underground classic Lazy Man's Guide to Enlightenment teaches how to improve the quality of life, to feel good, and to determine what's real."

And from an Amazon reviewer...

"I've never been interested in having a guru, and Thaddeus Golas was never interested in being one. He wasn't looking for converts, followers, or even agreement, and I've always felt free to disagree with the way he makes this or that point. So this book has long been perfectly suited to me and my somewhat iconoclastic/refractory temperament."

"This little book is one of a very small handful that I regard as the absolute cream of 'hippie spirituality'. Stephen Gaskin's 'This Season's People' is that literature's Diamond Sutra and Paul Williams's 'Das Energi' is its Tao Te Ching. Golas's slim volume comes very close to Gaskin's in its adamantine wisdom and so ranks as a close second in diamond-sutrahood, but I think of it as something like the Dhammapada."

"Its message is so easy to put across that, technically, you already know everything it says. The heart of the matter is: relax; just love as much as you can from wherever you are. When you come right down to it, you're already 'enlightened' and you don't have anything to prove."

"But somehow, the 'way' Golas puts this message (and the bit about "love as much as you can" is a direct quotation) has some major mojo in it, enough to knock your mind loose from your brain."

If you're interested you can read the entire book online HERE. Or...if you're even lazier...just keep reading...

A selection of reminders from the text (abbreviated):

No resistance.

Whether I am conscious of it or not, I am one with the cause of all that exists.

Enlightenment doesn't care how you get there.

Whatever you are doing, love yourself for doing it.

There is nothing you need to do first in order to be enlightened.

This, too, can be experienced with a completely expanded awareness.

I wouldn't deny this experience to the One Mind.

And on abiding...maybe...

When you learn to love hell, you will be in heaven.

And so fellow pilgrims, enough of homage...time to move on down the line toward LAZY WISDOM: PROCRASTINATION AS SPIRITUAL PRACTICE...or...
DOING NOT DOING...heh, heh, heh...

But first...before we expose the secret keys to the treasure chest containing our sacred doings and elaborations...I would like to share with you some other folk's pronouncements on the subject...

“Procrastination isn’t the problem. It’s the solution. It’s the universe’s way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. ”
Ellen DeGeneres

“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.”
Mark Twain

“I love deadlines. Especially the whooshing sound they make as they pass by.”
Douglas Adams

“Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday.”
Don Marquis

“Procrastinators: Leaders of Tomorrow”
Unknown

“The sooner I fall behind, the more time I have to catch up.”
Unknown

“Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment.“
Robert Benchley

“The two rules of procrastination: 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow.”
Unknown

“Don't fool yourself that important things can be put off till tomorrow; they can be put off forever, or not at all.”
Mignon McLaughlin

“Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.”
C. Northcote Parkinson

“Only Robinson Crusoe had everything done by Friday.”
Unknown

You know what? I think that by now...if you've gotten this far...that you all figure that you've read enough of my scribbling for one day, so I'm going to hold off on presenting any more from the Duder Bar Symposium on Lazy Wisdom till next time.

As the sign on Ken Kesey's magic bus said...FURTHER...LATER (my addition)...

Tao Soda, Man...

2010-01-17T20:25:00.000-08:00

Ron and Nancy asked me to close up since the old Duder Bar had pretty well cleared out some time before I got back from seeing CRAZY HEART and they wanted to go home. I said OK and am now behind the empty bar looking at the clock...1:30AM...about that time. The door opens and this cowboy looking guy wanders in...somewhat dazed...and sits down. Maybe its late and maybe I've had a few too many and maybe I'm still under the influence of the movie, but I swear to god this guy looks just like Bad Blake as stunningly portrayed by Jeff Bridges. He squints at the bottles in front of the mirror behind the bar and points...not at a bottle, but at the mirror.

"I'll have one of them Tao Sodas, man," he drawls.

"Tao Soda?"

"Yep...one of them you got avvertised there..."

He points again. I look at the mirror and see what he is talking about...the reflection of the Oat Soda Brewery sign on the wall opposite the bar.

"Oh...OK...you mean you want an Oat Soda, huh?"

He laughs a friendly laugh.

"Yeah...if you say so bud...I guess Tao is just Oat spelled backwards ain't it?

"Never thought of it that way, but yeah...".

Whole new realms of odd philosophical inquiry suddenly open up. Who is this guy anyhow. I open an Oat Soda and give it to him. He reaches in his jeans for some money.

"Its on the house...er...mind if I ask you your name? You sure do remind me of somebody..."

"What if I told you my name is BAD?" He laughs as he drains the beer. "Since that damned movie came out I get stopped on the street every five minutes...people thinking I'm Jeff Bridges and wanting my autograph."

"Well, you might say you're his spittin' image."

"Yeah...I get that a lot..."

I look at him closely.

"Man, I could swear..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...I look like the older country cousin of the Dude, right? I went into a bowling alley the other night and got that one for the millionth time."

"Well, Bad Blake's first gig in CRAZY HEART is in a fucking bowling alley and he DOES look like the older country cousin of the Dude in that scene. How do you account for that Mr....?"

"Mr. was my father...just call me...just call me..." The grins a mischievous grin. "Aw shush...jus call me that weird Stranger who came into your bar and wanted a drink of Tao..."

Things were getting weird all right. I look around...has the old Duder Bar slipped into the twilight zone...or worse...some Candid Camera ripoff reality show? I open another Oat Soda, look at the label then pass it to the Stranger.

"You know in CRAZY HEART Bad Blake asks Robert Duvall for a "barley pop". Sort of like calling a beer an oat soda but not quite. Do you think that's a reference to The Big Lebowski?"

"Do I look like a goddamed movie writer to you friend?" the Stranger slowly replies. "Why I haven't even seen CRAZY HEART. Feel sort of close to it though. Hear in the end old Bad sobers up and goes back to using his given name...Otis..."

The Stranger stands and finishes his beer. He grins that grin once again. as he leaves me with the evening's parting words of wisdom.

"Otis...Oat is...get it?"

There is a long pause. He laughs at his own stretched reference. A palpable volume of potential insight hangs in the air between us. He finally continues...

"Bad Blake abides, man. He almost dies of drink. He fucks up his relationship with the love of his life. He chews it up and spits it out as a hit song. He STAYS sober...walks away with that slight smile on his face...abides, man. Helluva movie..."

The Stranger wanders out the door of the Duder Bar and into the night.

I lock the front door and turn out the lights.

Outside, the Stranger's voice echoes down the empty street...

"One helluva movie folks! Golden Globes for Best Song...and...AND...the Jeffer wins for Best Actor, man...FINALLY, man..."

THE WEARY KIND begins to play somewhere in the distance...

"...abide, man...the Dude abides..."

HAPPY HOLIDAYS DUDES!

2009-12-15T18:56:00.000-08:00

At The Angel Eyes Lounge

2009-12-04T22:44:00.000-08:00

I’m taking a nap on the sofa in the back room of the Duder Bar, right, and I’m dreaming and then things get very strange because I realize I’m dreaming like the dream yoga guy, Chogyam Dada, was talking about the other day and I say...to myself...well fuck me...so this is what that guy was talking about. Where the fuck am I anyway...looks like the parking lot of some nightclub or something...big neon sign with a martini glass...some broad’s sexy neon eyes above it...some neon spike heels...some words…

ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…

You gotta be kidding...a topless bowling alley?

An early 1970s vintage LAPD black and white pulls up and parks in front of the joint. A big Orson Welles looking cop...overcoat and fedora...gets out of the driver’s side and slams the door. A rangy, hippy type...fedora also...off the wall Hawaiian shirt...gets out of the front seat and out of the back piles...swear to god...The Dude...also going Hawaiian...and Walter Sobchak in his Walter uniform. They all head inside ANGEL EYES talking and gesturing. Looks like they know each other.

I decide to check this out myself. A cab pulls up and a grinning Chogyam Dada gets out waving to get my attention.

“Hey, Hieronymus...glad you could make it...I told you you could...”

I wake up...look around. The back room of the Duder looks kind of peculiar.

“What the fuck was that!?”

I look for the number Chogyam gave me for the Dream Yoga Institute.

A couple hours later I am sitting at the bar trying to sort things out with Chogyam. We are both several cocktails into the conversation.

“So...what you're telling me is that you were dreaming that little scenario last night at the same time I was...and that we were both THERE...at this topless bowling alley...and the Dude and Walter and these other guys pull up...and you wanted me to go in and just sit down and order a round and then just nonchalantly chat with THE DUDE like nothing fucking was even a little OUT OF THE ORDINARY?”

“I would have introduced you Hieronymus...they would have been cool with you joining us.”

“Joining US?...you rolling with the Dude these days Chogyam? Would you mind filling in some blanks...connecting some dots. I know all the fictitious character as independent thought form bullshit...and hanging out in your “Imaginal Realm” bullshit...but man I was THERE ...somewhere. It was REAL Chogyam”

“Yes Hieronymus...it was real and still is. We can go there again if you want to.”

“How did I get there in the first place?”

“I have been leading you in your dreams. You don’t remember...weren’t going lucid yet... ”

“You’ve been in my head without asking? You hoodoo asshole! I should . . . ”

Louise brings us some more drinks and then quickly moves away.

“I thought you wanted to meet the Dude...”

After a long silence, during which I attempt to get some kind of grip on all this, I calmly speak again.

“So Chogyam...tell me about this Angel Eyes Strip Joint and Bowl...and who was the cop and the other guy.

With his Mississippi accent in full bloom....thickening on account of the Jack Daniels...Chogyam fills me in...

“Angel Eyes is a fictitious place. The cop is a hardon LAPD detective named Bigfoot Bjornsen and the other guy is a private eye named Larry “Doc” Sportello. They are both characters in a novel called Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon which came out a few months back. Book is really about Doc and his world. Here...I got an unauthorized copy before it hit the street."

He takes the book out of his bag and shoves it across the bar.

Angel Eyes now sits where the fictitious Club Asiatique once was located in fictitious San Pedro ...not real San Pedro…not far from fictitious Gordita Beach...where Doc lives...not real Manhattan Beach…where Pynchon lived in the 70s. Angel Eyes has stuff from Doc’s world and from the Dude’s world so, naturally, it got dreamed up so they would both have a place to hang. Welcome to the Dude’s Otherworld my friend. It has gotten more solid…more stable…with all the attention the book has gotten plus the continuing exercising of the Lebowskians by the fans like I was telling you about the other day. All the reviewers are saying that Doc and Inherent Vice are REALLY a lot like the Dude’s world. Rolling Stone even called it The BIGGER Lebowski. Don’t know about that, but, anyhow…looks like the Dude and Doc and their cronies are hanging out. How’s about a visit?”

Much later…I wake up inside Angel Eyes. Lots of blue-green and pink neon. Long bar full of customers…a mixture of fictitious characters and dreamers I figure. Some of the faces seem oddly familiar…create little ripples of déjà vu. Chogyam joins me grinning. We order our usuals. There is a stack of Angel Eyes postcards on the bar. I put one in my shirt pocket. There is a translucent blue green plexiglass stage with a pole at the far end of the room. A g-stringed, spike heeled dancer twirls to the throbbing music. Many other barely clad, to good to be real looking girls mingle with the customers. The wall opposite the bar is glass. Beyond the glass is an outrageous, neon bedecked bowling alley. The lanes are made of the same translucent blue green material as the stage. The bowling balls liquidly streaming down the lanes glow with colors not normally found in nature.

The Dude, Doc, Bigfoot, Walter and several girls are sharing a lane. Walter and Bigfoot are talking and gesturing to each other excitedly. The Dude and Doc seem to be sizing each other up. Chogyam is watching me stare at them. He provides a running commentary…

“Bigfoot and Walter are talking about going in together on some new private bodyguard thing. Doc wants the Dude to get his act together and join his operation…L.S.D (Location…Surveillance…Detection…dig…) Investigations, but the Dude wants none of it. They all like the attention they are getting in the press but aren’t sure they agree with everything that’s being spread around town. Tabloid headlines are beginning to appear in The Realm. Fictitious Hollywood scandal can’t be far behind. Are undercover reporters illicitly dreaming their way into Angel Eyes they wonder?”

The Dude drains his drink and walks away from the others toward the bar. He nudges his way up to the bar next to me and Chogyam, looks at us and smiles, then orders…

“Another one of those Caucasians please and a tequila zombie for my friend Doc.” Looking at me, “I don’t know, man…no accounting for some people’s tastes…” Recognizing Chogyam, “Hey, man…did you get home all right last night? You looked a little pale…”

“Yeah…I managed to make it OK Dude…”

“Good, man…we were worried…”

Finally, I manage to speak, “Can I ask you something Dude?”

“Oh…you know who I am?”

“Yes Dude, I do…your reputation precedes you…”

“That’s what I hear, man…what do you want to know?”

I look around at the scene at Angel Eyes, “How do you like the Angel Eyes spot here?”

“Kinda different from your usual neighborhood lanes, huh, man…but the Dude makes the best of it, man…you know. They even let me name it, man…”

“Oh yeah…Angel Eyes?”

“Its not all Creedence all the time, man…”

The Dude’s drinks arrive and he picks them up, turns and heads away.

“…sometimes its Creedence sometimes its Sinatra…great for P.I.s and sentimental cops, man…you know? You guys come on down and join us, man…having you guys around sort of ties the evening together…(suspiciously) undercover eyeballs, man, huh?…intrigue… like the man said…Come On Down!”

He is gone. Our surroundings fade for an instant, then return. We follow the Dude into the VIP bowling salon of Angel Eyes not knowing what is in store for us as we approach this spooky crew…

I hear a loud “pop” and jerk myself awake. I am in the back room of the Duder Bar sitting up now on the sofa. Dazed. I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the Angel Eyes postcard.

ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…

TO BE CONTINUED...

Fucking Chuang Tzu, Man! (A Modest Proposal)

2009-12-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

Its is open mic night at the Duder Bar and things are getting stranger and stranger. Some regular who will go nameless brought the World Famous Bushman into the bar, proceeded to get him drunk and then got him to go on stage and do his thing. The audience is presently going nuts. The Bushman is not used to working indoors. Reminds me of a typical night at the Holy City Zoo back in the day...early Robin Williams and all...Rob Schneider and such... I'm not really comparing the World Famous Bushman to Robin or Rob, of course, but...

As a fitting end to his act, the Bushman lunges at a group of customers who have been taunting him and tumbles off the low stage into their laps. The crowd applauds wildly as chanting begins at the other end of the bar..."GorillaDude! GorillaDude! GorillaDude!..."

First Bushman now GorillaDude...figures...

Actually, getting GorillaDude to the Duder is my doing. GorillaDude is a street theater guy who has gotten people's attention around here lately...gotten a following...article about him in the entertainment section of the paper and all. GorillaDude, among other things, does a dead on impression of Jeff Bridges playing the Dude in the movie...voice, mannerisms, costume...the whole thing. When I first saw this I introduced myself, naturally, and told him to come on down. He immediately recognized that the Duder would be the perfect place to premiere this new take on the Dude he has been working on...plus make a surprise announcement that he knows will "make the entire entertainment industry beat down my door...or maybe just go bowling, man."

Duder DJ Ron finally retrieves the microphone, which is being passed around in the crowd...

"And now folks...live on our stage...direct from Fisherman's Warf...the living legend you've all been waiting for...stand-up philosopher...'Pataphysician...the King Kong of performance art...GorillaDude!"

There are cheers and then the house falls silent as this spookily accurate incarnation of the Dude shuffles to the stage, a large glass jar in one hand and dog-eared movie script in the other. His cheesy robe has a Chinese landscape pattern printed on it. He secures the script under one arm and unscrews the top of the jar. A large number of butterflies flutter into the air...the audience oohs and ahhhs. GorillaDude grins...props his shades upon his forehead...looks the audience up and down...and then speaks...

"Fucking Chuang Tzu, Man!"

People flail about, trying to catch the butterflies, but cannot. Someone cracks the back door of the bar open and the butterflies escape into the night...applause.

"Fucking Chuang Tzu thanks you, man...and I thank you! You guys remember Chuang Tzu, right? Chuang Tzu said he didn't know whether he was dreaming he was a butterfly, or it was the butterfly that was dreaming it was Chuang Tzu. You guys might have just helped some freaky reincarnation of ol' Chuang Tzu escape this crowded bar, man...so Chuang Tzu thanks you! If Master Chuang IS a butterfly, he's got better things to do than hang out here! Fucking Chuang Tzu, yeah... womanizer...trickster..maybe even the first bonafide reality hacking P.I....betcha didn't read about THAT in your Taoism for Dummies didja? Or about how he used the OTHER Butterfly Effect which he was hip to, naturally...to tweak the Tao in favor of his main 'client', King Xuan of Qi. Or...you guys are gonna really dig this, man...howz about his dreaming up of the first Human Flesh Search Engine? Got your attention yet?"

Bemused mumblings in the crowd. I pull out my cell phone and call Joey Zhuang, dudeist P.I. to the max and self proclaimed great "plus 100 generations or so" grandson of Chuang Tzu himself and tell him what's happening. Joey Z. says he'll be here in 15 minutes. GorillaDude holds up his script.

"So here it is folks! FUCKING CHUANG TZU, MAN!...the definitive feature length life story expose' movie of the great chi kungerino Dude himself. Set 2500 years ago, man...but with up to the minute street style verbalizations, of course..."

"Did Chuang Tzu abide, man?" Somebody yells out.

"What you talking about broham? You talking about fucking abiDANCE, man...but not just the 'tolerate and withstand' thing, which is just fine when the usual shit hits the fan, but also...the MAYBE, man...fucking Chuang abided in the MAYBE...Chuang was into paying attention. You guys may have heard this old Taoist tale, but here it is again anyhow...

"There was this old hippie pot grower...they DID have hippies and pot farms in ancient China you know...(laughter)...who had worked his hidden fields for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. Such bad luck, man...they said sympathetically. Maybe, the grower replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. How cool is that?...the neighbors exclaimed. Maybe, replied the old hippie as he lit up another one. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on this latest misfortune. And again, the grower answered...maybe. The next day, the sheriff showed up looking for the young man who had run off into the woods after being discovered making it with his daughter. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, the sheriff figured it could not have been the grower's boy and left. The neighbors congratulated the old grower on how well things had turned out. May...be, said the grower...

"Far out, man...what did Master Chuang have to say about taking er easy, man?" Another dude inquires.

"He had plenty to say about taking er easy...getting things done without doing anything...your basic archetypal effortless...ness, bub. Why to NOT EVEN TRY to amount to something special...all that hyper-casual Dudesmellow stuff...you name it. One more quick take from the script...then I'm going to pass along to you boys and girls the REAL news I have for you tonight.

"There was this guy who was so upset by the sight of his own shadow and so pissed off with the sound of his own footsteps, that he decided to get rid of both. The brilliant method he hit upon was to run away from these aggravating affronts...so he got up and took off. But every time he put his foot down there was another step, plus his shadow kept up with him with no problem ...heh ...heh. He attributed his failure to the fact that he was not running fast enough. So he ran faster and faster, without stopping, until he finally dropped dead. He spaced out the brilliant insight that if he merely stepped into the shade, his shadow would vanish ...poof! ...and if he sat down, poured himself a Caucasian and took er real easy...chilled deeply...there would be no more footsteps..."

"Caucasians! Cuacasians!" The crowd begins to chant. GorillaDude motions for quiet.

"Thank you all for you attentive appreciations and what-have-yous. I think you all agree that old Chuang Tzu deserves the best...so here it is...you guys can say that you heard it here first. Somebody get Variety and the Hollywood Reporter on the phone. Here's the pitch...drumroll please..."

"Fucking come with it GorillaDude! Come on, man..."

Joey Z. taps me on the shoulder just as GorillaDude segways into an unerring Rod Serling introducing The Twilight Zone impression.

"...imagine if you will...The Coen Brothers produce and direct FUCKING CHUANG TZU, MAN! starring Jeff Bridges as the Dude as Chuang Tzu, John Goodman as Walter as King Xuan of Qi, Steve Buscemi as Donny as the Ghost of Lao Tzu, with distribution consultation by Jeff Dowd, spiritual consultation by Oliver Benjamin and the Dudeists, extras by the LebowskiFest guys, writing consultation by me...GorillaDude...and overall deal massaging by you, sir..."

GorillaDude nods in my direction. I yell over the crowd's enthusiastic rumblings regarding GorillaDude's dazzling, killer box office bound proposal...

"Double White Russians for all!"

GorillaDude bellows back, "White Russians!? This is a fucking CHINESE picture, man..."

His protests are drowned out by the chanting of the crowd..."Dude Tzu!...Dude Tzu!...Dude Tzu!..."

Joey grabs my arm and leads me toward GorillaDude, "Introduce me to this guy H. P....tell him who I am..."

*****

From somewhere...out there across the sands of time...Chuang Tzu smiles...then whispers conspiratorially...

"Howzaboutit you guys?"

Dude Standard Time

2009-10-26T07:10:00.000-07:00

I’ve agreed to meet this guy at the bar at three. I walk in at three on the dot, not knowing whether I will find the guy a couple drinks into his afternoon, or not there...but a message saying he’s running 15 minutes late…its always 15 minutes, or just not there.

This guy is one of my more unique old friends…Joey Zhuang…or Joey Dude as we have taken to calling him for the past few years. Joey grew up in the neighborhood, is half Italian and half Chinese, is a private eye with a reputation, and, as we have all told him on many occasions, inhabits his own time zone, which moves along with him like some strange bubble, spacing out anyone within a few hundred yards. Its not that Joey is always late or always early, its just that he does not wear the same watch as others in the general population. We call this anomaly in the space-time continuum Dude Standard Time…DST for short…and I must admit that the old Duder Bar probably inhabits this zone as much of the time as Joey Z…as does The Duderino Lebowski, of course…the father of DST. I guess we should not be too surprised at the way JZ handles reality, of course, since he claims that he can document that he is the "great...plus 100 generations or so later...grandson of Zhuangzi ...Chuang Tzu, to you...", notorious Taoist innovator, incorrigible prankster, and some say, early prototypical op for the King (ostensibly!)...a real "under the radar" way behind the scenes kind of guy.

Joey Z. became Joey Dude after we noticed that he was beginning to greet clients and other visitors…e.g. us…in his home/office, dressed in much the same way that brother Jeffer was dressed at the beginning of the movie. What clinched it was what is now considered an epiphany laden situation, which occurred a few months ago, during which I and a couple of others from the Duder went to the local Safeway to buy half and half, and encountered Joey in the dairy section obliviously dressed in full regalia…robe, jellies, shorts, and so on…sniffing at an opened carton of the designated liquid. He was shocked and embarrassed to see us, and…we truly believe…did not realize he had left the house in his bathrobe. He stammered that he was on the verge of a breakthrough and hurried away toward the checkout. From the point on, Joey Z. was not just Joey Dude to us, but Joey Dude…the Bathrobe Shamus.

Later the night of what has come to be known as the “Bathrobe Shamus Incident” he showed up at the Duder unquestionably looking the part of the near-celebrity tabloid darling…the solver of bizarre, off the wall cases…the notorious San Francisco P.I. that he is. Looks a little like Jackie Chan, FYI. We all had a huge laugh. Joey never took himself too seriously…and still does not.

But I’m going on and on…back to NOW. I enter the Duder and look around. No Joey.

Louise yells, “Joey called. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

I walk on in trying to figure out where the familiar, booming, sonorously London accented voice is coming from. Hadn’t heard this voice for a couple years, but the lilting scotch/rocks laden tones are unmistakable…Reginald “Reggie” Hamm is in the house…

"Extreme BUSYNESS is a symptom of deficient vitality, and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic appetite and a strong sense of personal identity. Robert Louis Stevenson said that my dear friends.”

Reggie is holding forth at the far end of the bar. His small but captive audience is enthralled. He sees me and beams his Falstaffian grin.

“Hieronymus…you’ve finally arrived.”

“Reggie…you old fraud. I wish I had known you were coming, I’d have…”

“…half baked a…”

We hug. Reggie is a great champion of The Idler…that across the pond publication that self applies the following…

' The Idler is a bi-annual, book-shaped magazine that campaigns against the work ethic.

It was founded in 1993 by Tom Hodgkinson and his friend Gavin Pretor-Pinney. The title comes from a series of essays by Dr Johnson, published in 1758-9 in the Gentleman’s Magazine. The intention of the magazine is to return dignity to the art of loafing, to make idling into something to aspire towards rather than reject. As well as providing a radical and thought-provoking read, the Idler is also very funny.'

“And so Reggie…what brings you to our fair city?”

“The Long Now…”

“The what? Oh…you mean Stewart Brand and Brian Eno’s thing?”

“Of course Hieronymous…you and your Dudeists…I have heard the whole story, you know…you guys must attend the Long Now fund raiser. Tomorrow night. You guys claim to inhabit the long now, don’t you?”

“You could put it that way Reginald…without so much snark in your tone. Has The Idler Time Investigation Team discovered just how long NOW is yet…by the way…as they announced they were about to do?"

“Progress Hieronymus…progress. All in good time. I dare say, more progress than you and your Dudenicks are making, I’ll wager.”

“Sorry I’m late…”

Joey Z. strides through the door and heads down the bar with that “I just got laid and you didn’t” smile on his face. He extends his hand. I grab it and do one of our complex, over the top handshakes. Reggie marvels.

“You must teach me the secret handshake Hieronymous…”

“Reggie Hamm say hello to Joe Zhuang…”

Reggie seems to recognize the name.

“Private investigator Joseph Zhuang?”

“Yeah…that’s it. Have we met?"

“I’m afraid not. Read about you in the Weekly World News though.”

“Oh fuck…here we go again…I’ve been able to stop most of that shit. When did you see it?”

“Yesterday…at the airport…”

“What was it about?”

“You. Sounds like you get some interesting cases Mr. Zhuang.”

“You can drop the “Mr.” Reggie, “ I say. “This is Joey Dude, man…fuhgeddaboudit Z. Fuck it Joey! I told you you ought to write about your stuff yourself. Some drinks Louise…for the king of the tabloids.”

Joey look at me and glowers for a second before he cracks up.

“What the fuck…good for business, right? Long as they spell my name right...am I right?”

“Maybe my organization could hire you,” Says Reggie.

“Which organization would that be, Mr. Hamm?”

"Reggie, please, 'Mr.' Hamm was my father. The organization to which I refer is a branch of The Idler magazine...you might have heard of..."

"The Idler has BRANCHES? Yeah, I've heard of The Idler...buddy of mine in London turned me on to it years ago when it ran an article about a relative of mine..."

"Here we go," I mutter.

"No...really...not Chuang Tzu Hieronymus...another relative. Lin Yutang. Great piece in the Idle Idols section, or something like that..."

"Oh, how marvelous...Lin Yutang was your relative?"

"Great, great uncle, once removed..."

At this point, Reggie's un-natural memory kicks in.

"As I recall...that article...'Lin Yutang’s main principle is that the freedom to enjoy life is the ultimate spiritual good. The question of happiness – “entirely neglected by Christian thinkers” – is not to be deferred in the name of abstract rewards. What reward could be greater than a life enjoyed as it is lived? Play without reason; travel to see nothing; a -perfectly useless afternoon spent in a perfectly useless manner – these are the kind of activities that redeem the art of living from the business of living. Lin was tormented by the perception that...all nature loafs, while man alone works for a living...'

Joey rolls his eyes and looks at me, "He was also an inventor, you know. Wanted to live off of royalties. Patented a Chinese typewriter, but it never flew. Too bad. Didn't The Dude live off some invention in the movie?"

"Rubik's Cube inheritance...but it never made it into the movie"

"Too bad. Too bad uncle Lin's typer never...oh well. So Reggie...what would your branch of The Idler need my services for...seems kind of strange that..."

“Something we have to find. How long is the Now? Sounds like it would be right up your alley.”

“For a fee, I’ll tell you that right NOW Reggie. Fuck it…I’ll answer this one on the house…since you’re a buddy of my good friend here and all…”

“Indeed!”

“Now can be measured by measuring the time between just after before until just before after…OK?”

After a respectful pause...uproarious laughter. I request more drinks from Louise.

Much later, after Reggie has said his goodbyes, Joey whispers/slurs two pieces of information to me in what he calls "black op level confidence". First, he tells a tale about a mutual friend of ours finally relenting and taking him on an excursion into the mythical labyrinthine city of vice beneath Chinatown and North Beach…maybe even beneath the building we are sitting in now. Second, he says that...unbelievably...yet another distant relative has passed along to him a set of, up to now, unknown writings of grandpa Zhuangzi/Chuang Tzu...frighteningly ancient knowledge which could "change everything". We are both a little fucked up by this time and he knows that what he is telling me sounds like some hallucination. He manages to write the url of what he says is a TOP SECRET SITE before he stumbles out of the Duder and down the street.

“You mean you’re putting this stuff on the INTERNET?” I yell after him. “Even if it IS private you gotta be NUTS! Private for what…30 seconds after some kid bumbles his way into…”

Joey Z. has disappeared into the night.

A Serious Dude

2009-10-11T11:28:00.001-07:00

Its 3AM at the Duder Bar. Ron and Nancy asked me to close up, so I'm sitting here alone in the back corner booth making some notes about a movie I saw recently...the Coen Bros. (as in Ringling Bros. ?) latest...A Serious Man . I am also expecting a knock on the door. Two old friends, Diego and Lucia, asked if they could stop by after closing and use the Duder dance floor for tango practice...big contest coming up. They are not practicing at home because she kicked him out the other night. Should make for an interesting session...

...anyhow...some Pin Dudeist thoughts on the movie...

As I mentioned in an review I wrote of Cathleen Falsani's The Dude Abides, I sometimes think the Coen brothers should be named the Koan brothers. Their movies, or at least parts of their movies have always seemed like zen koans to me. This is especially true of A Serious Man. Our hero, Larry Gopnik, a physics professor, is first seen, giving a lecture on Schrodinger's Paradox...the notorious alive/dead cat...presented, as is his proof of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, on an immense blackboard filled with scrawled equations. Riddles "clarified"...right? "Proofs"...right? Hilarious...visually overwhelming and baffling to most in the audience (and classroom) I think...at least to me...

I hear Diego and Lucia screaming at each other as they approach the rear door of the bar. There is not a knock on the door...there is a banging. I open the door. They both greet me in a perfunctory fashion, place a boom box on a table near the dance floor, turn it on...still engrossed in their arguing...and proceed to tango. As they move, the arguing becomes bickering, then ceases completely, replaced by intense looks into each others angry eyes. If they dance like this in the contest, how can they lose?

Back to the movie...let the cognitive dissonance work its magic...

Larry Gopnik is introduced "explaining" a famous paradox. Then he goes home to another set of riddles. Larry's wife wants to leave him for an unctuous, weasel-tongued new ("Is his poor wife cold yet? Three years?") widower and Larry has no idea why. His son Danny (a true Dude in the making, as we will see)...days away from his bar mitzvah, is lost in a pot fog. Larry's unemployed and very twisted brother, Arthur, is crashing on his couch. And...his next door neighbor, Mrs. Samsky, whose husband travels, is tormenting him with her nude backyard sunbathing...which he discovers while on the roof adjusting his TV antenna so that Danny can watch F Troop with clarity...the prelude to the devolution...

Are these the baroque machinations of a trickster God? A latter day replay of Job's soap opera? A bad, carnivalesque secondary theater production staged by Larry David and art directed by Diane Arbus?

Odd twists and turns...a lot of ins and outs and what-have-yous...crop up at Larry's university as things move along on down the road. He's up for tenure and the tenure committee is receiving letter after anonymous letter questioning Larry's moral turpitude. On top of that (here comes a dash of Asian thought to flavor the stew folks), one of his students, a Korean young man named Clive Park, apparently leaves an unmarked envelope containing three grand on Larry's desk in an attempt to bribe Larry not to fail him. When Larry questions this, Clive's father shows up at his house and threatens to sue...(from the screenplay)...

Larry turns to Mr. Park.
Larry:...I, uh...See, if it were defamation there would have to be someone I was defaming him to, or I...All right, I...let's keep it simple. I could pretend the money never appeared. That's not defaming anyone.
Mr. Park: Yes. And passing grade.
Larry: Passing grade.
Mr. Park: Yes.
Larry: Or you'll sue me.
Mr. Park: For taking money.
Larry: So...he did leave the money.
Mr. Park: This is defamation
Larry stares at him.
Larry: Look. It doesn't make sense. Either he left the money or he didn't...
Mr. Park: Please. Accept mystery.

Yes Larry...the mystery, indeed. Seeking answers to all of these doings, which are getting "curiouser and curiouser", as Wavy Gravy would say, Larry seeks the advice of his rabbi and winds up having to consult with the junior rabbi instead, who admonishes Larry to..."Look at the parking lot, Larry"...a phrase which may work its way into our lexicon in much the same way as...well...shush...listen to me going on...better not go there just yet...

Anyhow...what the rabbi means is that Larry is looking at his life, as he would the mundane parking lot outside, with tired, world weary eyes. He asks Larry to imagine himself a visitor (from a primitive tribe?), someone who isn't familiar with autos and such, "somebody still with a capacity to wonder, someone with a fresh perspective...Things aren't so bad. Look at the parking lot, Larry."

Larry finally gets to talk with a higher level rabbi who tells him the tale of a dentist's weird discovery in a patient's mouth...the letters spelling "help me" in Hebrew engraved on the inside of the patient's lower teeth...and its aftermath...after awhile the dentist stopped worrying about what it meant...shaggy dogs continue to bark. Still not satisfied with the answers he is getting to his "What the fuck is happening here?" question, he tries to talk to the wisest rabbi in town who refuses to see him because...as his snide, puffy and aged secretary informs him...the rabbi is busy...thinking.

Not wanting to be left out of the party, synchronicity now comes stumbling down the road in the form of simultaneous car crashes...one involving Larry, one involving his wife's lover. The other guy is killed and Larry's wife insists that Larry pay for the funeral. Onward...

Bar mitzvah day arrives and Larry's son, Danny, is stoned. He makes it through the ceremony and is escorted away for the final step in the process...an audience with the oldest and wisest of the rabbis...the one who refused to see Larry. The boy trembles as the old man looks up at him and speaks slowly..."When the truth is found to be lies/And all the joy within you dies/Don't you want somebody to love."...then turns on the portable tape recorder that had been confiscated from the boy in class at Hebrew school. Grace Slick and the Jefferson Airplane...Danny's favorite band (the young Dude's Creedence?)...fill the room and the old rabbi smiles. Wisdom has been passed, once again, from old to young...

And so...is the young, new Dude able to chill? Not quite over yet folks. Back at the university, Larry finds out that he probably has been granted tenure. He also decides to do things the Korean way and take the money Clive left...to pay a criminal attorney now needed to keep his brother out of jail, actually...but that's a part of the story I won't divulge. Don't want to ruin every surprise for those of you who haven't seen the movie yet. Things seem to be looking up. The phone rings. It is Larry's doctor telling him that he has gotten the X-rays back...another detail I left out...and can Larry come in for a personal consultation immediately. No, it cannot be dealt with over the phone. Larry stumbles out of his office...

In the meantime at young Dude's school a storm approaches. The teacher gets a tornado warning and is told to take the students to the storm shelter next door. Outside, we watch as the teacher cannot get the door to the storm shelter unlocked. The tornado bears down as Danny, oblivious, tries to pay off an old pot debt...

Fade to black...and more black? Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you pardner. Take comfort in knowing that young Danny, the designated new Dude, will probably be bounced around a little, but just as probably will roll on out of this OK...to eat the bear another day. And abide...

Diego and Lucia conclude their tango practice and disappear into the night. Once again, the Duder Bar is empty...except for me...

...and the Koans...

Duder Home & Garden

2009-09-30T13:28:00.000-07:00

I posted another version of some of these Pin Dudeist garden pictures back in June. I just got these new ones from my Zen/Pin convert, cultural attache and garden architect in Kyoto...Gerry Kudaka...so I decided to put them up here as well as in the ever growing DudeArt Exhibition and Museum at the old Duder Bar. Hope you find them an enlightening and amusing inducement and enhancement as far as your usual Dudeist meditative mind limbering exercises are concerned.

That rug really kind of holds the garden together...don't you agree?

Those Japanese Pin Dudeists must really be into gardening, man.

Notice how the foreground object subtly changes one's perception of the entire garden.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing...

...the bowling ball abides...

Strange Days?

2009-09-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

You would be watching this instead of reading about it if the fucking mall cops hadn’t confiscated my video camera. Maybe somebody captured it with their cell phone. Here’s what happened…

It is September 11...day of infamy. 23 Pin Dudeist monks and I are at The Duder Bar, along with the other usual suspects and the owners, Ron and Nancy, who have become intrigued by the re-tuned vibe, the heightened hum, which has suffused the bar in recent weeks. Ron, is circumspect, however, responding to the increased level of outlandish synchronicity and surrealism that seems to be finding its way to his door with his usual, "same shit, different day" admonition. Maybe he is the most awake of all...

...anyhow...we decide that the only thing to do is commemorate the Dude’s well known act of prophecy in the first sequence of The Big Lebowski...namely, writing a check for the half & half dated Sept. 11…the day his rug gets pissed on...

NOSTRADUDEMUS!

(Tabloid headlines want to know…”IS THE DUDE A NEW NOSTRADAMUS?”)

...by embarking on a pilgrimage (we call it a meditation) in full Dude/monk gear to the nearest supermarket, opening and taking a taste of the old half & half and then lining up at the checkout and writing 23 checks for our respective purchases, all dated Sept. 11. This phase of the operation is followed, of course, by returning…en masse via public transit…to the Duder and, with single pointed attention…think Zen tea ceremony…watch as Louise, our sacred bartender and White Russian Master…using the newly purchased half & half…prepares the White Russians, which we then contemplate for a respectful time before imbibing, thus consummating the solemnity.

(Several of the 23 have had interface with either the CACOPHONY SOCIETY or the URBAN PRANKSTER NETWORK or both and acknowledge the inspiration factor implied in the above maneuver, by the way…)

Be that as it may…how shall I put it?…our shopping expedition does not go well. The mall cops patrolling the store perceive the invasion of the dairy aisle of the supermarket by 23 fully robed Pin Dudeist monks as a potential threat to the business establishment, the municipality and, indeed, the nation. They call for reinforcements and attempt to round us up but we scatter and proceed to shop in other areas of the enormous store. The real cops are called and we elect to exit sans half & half and head back to the Duder…not embraced by a rainy afternoon of defeat and gloom but by a hurricane of whoops and laughter. The idea of converging upon public transit is abandoned and off we bound in all directions…robes flapping. Back at the bar, we proceed with the “tea” ceremony with complete composure and protocol. A couple of cops arrive…stride up and down the bar sizing up what’s transpiring…then leave, waving at Ron and Nancy as they go.

Educational way to remember September 11, wouldn’t you say? But the day has just begun…and we find ourselves in the midst of a string of Strange Day Occurrences. Are we all stuck inside of a living koan? Is that a whiff of Suntory-satori in the air...or something else?

FATHER GUIDO

All are hungry by this time, so pizza is ordered. Someone, remembering FATHER GUIDO SARDUCCI’S (a Duder Bar regular from days past) game…enshrined on SNL’s Weekend Update…of “Find The Popes In The Pizza”…suggests that we find the Dudes in the pizzas when they arrive. It is surmised that on a day such as this, surely a Dudeist Miracle will occur. Forget about finding the visage of Jesus or Elvis on a potato chip. A wide eyed "delivery associate" arrives and through the, by now, pea soup White Russian fog, the Dude is, indeed spotted on one of the pizzas...

(This holy pie will wind up framed and on the wall behind the bar...itself the object of pilgrimage and adoration. Some will say that gazing upon it cures hangovers and various STDs, hence the throng of aspirants wanting a look each morning when the sacred grotto opens its doors...across the cases of oat soda...down through the ages...)

...then…we hear a roar in the street outside. What now?…we collectively wonder out loud. A tall, skinny gentleman dressed in late 19th century chauffeur garb, complete with scarf and goggles swaggers into the bar and stops in front of Louise.

“Your car, madam,” He announces as he offers his arm to her. She hesitates at this high weirdness, but we all encourage her to take the chauffeur’s arm.

We follow them outside where an immense roadster shaped like a bowling pin is surrounded by the curious. The chauffeur helps Louise into the car and they thunder off down the street.

Elliott, one of the monks, says, “Don’t worry…he’s just taking her through the park and back…”

Turns out Elliot knows a guy who just bought a roadside attraction/bowling museum in the mid-west…including the Pinmobile…and couldn’t resist.

We all go back inside where a video is playing on both of the TV sets behind the bar…we get a video today after all. I will not describe the video…and still don’t know who put it up…but present it herewith for your enjoyment and edification…

I notice a Stranger at the end of the bar nearest the door. Did he just come in? Cowboy hat...handlebar mustache...no...couldn't be. He watches me, grinning, as I walk over...extends his hand. As I get closer I realize the he's not the Stranger I thought he might be after all. Same accent though.

"So what do you think of all this?" I inquire.

"All what?" he replies, taking it all in.

"Where're you from friend...haven't seen you in here before..."

"The Circus," he responds, lifting his glass of sarsaparilla in a toast.

We click glasses and drain our drinks. The Stranger stands, turns to walk out the door, then looks back at me and the crowd of costumed monks and other Duder Bar folk and grins again as he drawls...

"Pardon my language young feller...don't like cussing...but you know what they say...same shit, different day...that's all. Catch you a little further on down the trail."

He turns and disappears into the night.

The Duderino Groove

2009-07-28T07:26:00.000-07:00

So I’m at the Duder Bar beating Bub and this 300 pound Chinese guy, name of Yang, who came in with one of those fancy, screw together pool cues, in a game of Fuck Your Buddy. As most of you probably know, Fuck Your Buddy is a sophisticated bar pool contest involving three players, each of whom has five balls to call their own…1-5, 6-10, 11-15. The object is to knock the other guys balls in while leaving the cue ball where the other guy can’t make your balls if you miss. The winner breaks. We are playing for a buck a game and, so far, I have run the table three times. I am about to break again when Yang speaks.

“You’re sure on a roll Hier…Hier…”

“Hier…ony…mus,” I state as I straighten up after another killer break. “Yeah…I’m in the Duderino Groove…”

“The what?” Yang queries.

Bub can’t resist, “Hieronymus is a Pin Dudeist, so I guess the…”

“Bub…you’re out of your element, Bub,” I interject. “The Duderino Groove is…”

“What the fuck is a Pin Dudeist…a DUDE who plays fucking PINBALL?” Yang interrogates, enunciating ‘pinball’ in such a way that it sounds like a case of the clap.

“Well, the Dude DOES just happen to play pinball…but the Pin in Pin Dudeist refers to the noble sport of tenpins,” I answer as I make another of Yang’s balls, “ …just think of Pin like you think of Zen…you know what Zen is don’t you Mr. Yang? And Dudeist, OF COURSE, refers to one who espouses and prolestizes Dudeism. If you don’t know what Dudeism is, Mr. Yang, look it up…”

“Yang is my FIRST name…bowling, huh? Obama bowls. So what is the point of Dudeism Mr. Hieronymus?”

I make a great combination shot on the seven.

“Reverand Moondog to you Yang…SIR. Point? No POINT. The Dude just ABIDES, man…and AS the Dude ABIDES…most of the time the Dude is in the Duderino Groove too, man. You know…the Dude is really comfortable in his own skin…in the zone, man. A great pinball artist once said…”

I love quoting stuff to assholes like Yang.

PINBALL WORLD CHAMPION KEITH ELWIN

“…’one can enter a groove where there is no physical break between thought, action, and consequence. There is a zen of pinball, when the paddles become direct extensions of your brain, and you no longer feel the little buttons on the side of the machine, nor the spring as you let loose another ball.’…that’s the “His Dudeness Groove-ness” he’s speaking of, man. Same thing with pool…”

I smack in another ball.

ART BLAKEY

“…the cue is alive…part of your arm…you are not shooting pool, man…pool is shooting you. Same with music…the drums play you…the guitar plays you…and El Duderino Groove-O can be like a contact high, man. I was lucky enough to be on the same stage…not playing music, but shooting film, with Art Blakey once…and also Jerry Garcia…and these Dudes were ALWAYS in the groove, man…in the pocket…and looking through the viewfinder…after awhile there was no separation. I was not shooting the music. The music and my shooting it were not two. Just like now and the six ball…”

GARCIA

Whack! The six…three rails into the corner.

“So, you’re stoned all the time?” REVERAND Moondog. What's the REVERAND bullshit all about anyhow?

“Fuck no the Dude is not stoned all the time. But there is a Dudeist State of Consciousness, or DSC, that the Dude abides in MOST of the time…if not interrupted by assholes who piss on his rug…that I like to call the Duderino Groove…like I keep saying, man. You know…flow like a fucking river. The universe plays the Dude, man…the Dude is the instrument that Doctor Universe wails on at three in the morning. Do I make myself clear…YANG…what’s your last name Yang?

“Yang,” says Yang.

“Yang Yang?”

“Si, El Duderino…or is it El Padre Duderino?”

“Oh…a linguist! Well, do you dance Mr. Yang Yang?”

“But of course…every well educated gentleman knows how to da…”

“Can we see you dance Mr. Yang Yang?”

“Here? Now?”

“As they say…if not here…where? If not now…when?

I put some money in the jukebox. Creedence. I put down my cue and begin to weave…way inside the old Duderino Groove-O now… around the table, down the bar and back. I continue to sway and grin as I circle Yang.

“Since you’re a well educated gentleman, you know what Fred Nietzsche said don’t you Yang Yang?”

“Well, I…”

“I would believe only in a god who could dance…said Fred. Dance Yang Yang…for god’s sake…dance!”

I grab Yang and whirl him around. By now, everybody else in the Duder Bar is moving…looking like one giant many armed, many legged single Duderino Grooving creature…holy rolling to Creedence…

Finally, Yang drops his bullshit and spins, dervish style, down the length of the bar and into the street, laughing uproariously the whole way…looking for all the world like some marvelously crazed dancing Buddha.

We hear wild applause and cheers from the assembled passersby in the street outside…

Welcome to the DUDER BAR...man...

2009-07-19T20:25:00.000-07:00

Ever since my “Laughing Buddha Trout Fishing In Mountain Stream Tattoo On Bald Biker Named Buddha” Suntory-satori, the North Beach bar I have been a regular at for decades has taken on a whole new shine. Now it seems like some kind of exotic, spellbinding power spot instead of a local dive. I have been to the Buddha Bar in Paris…and it can really dial you down to mellow while blowing your mind alright…but nothing compared to the hit I now get just walking into what I have re-named the Duder Bar.

The BUDDHA BAR, Paris

So in I go…for the first time since the “Suntory-satori” occurrence. A blast of some kind of weird energy hits me in the face as I go through the door and knocks me back a step. Down the bar in the shadowy light a number of people are crowded around a tall, bald guy in Buddhist robes. Looks from a distance like the Dalai Lama, but how could that be?

The DUDER BAR, North Beach

The bartender’s voice booms out, “Hey Heironymus…get you ass down here…somebody you gotta meet!”

I squint as my eyes adjust to the darkness and stumble down the bar toward Louise the bartender. Couldn’t be the Dalai Lama…the Dudely Lama?…naaa…the ultra-reclusive, mythical Dudely here? The group of people part and a grinning from ear to ear Bruce Willis looking guy sets what looks like a double bourbon on the bar, puts his hands together and bows.

“Say hello to Chogyam Dada,” says Louise. “He knew you were coming and has he got a tale to tell…been hanging out with The Dude…”

I return this guy’s bow and give him a good look up and down. He drains his bourbon.

“…and Walter and Donny”…says Chogyam, finishing the thought in a deep Mississippi accent.

Louise shoves my usual double Caucasian across the bar and pours Chogyam another bourbon.

“So, are they down the street at the motel waiting for your ass, man…?” I reply sarcastically. “Where you from anyway…Chogyam? You don’t talk like Tibet…”

“Don’t be such a hard-ass Hieronymous…he was just telling us about all this far out stuff,” chimes in the ever present and always enthusiastic ‘Bub’.

“Well, please continue then, man,” I insist as I take a heavy pull upon the Russian.

Chogyam does so, “I’ll back up a little bit…the Cliffs Notes version is this…fictitious characters in books, plays and movies…are thought forms which actually exist and become more and more independent…and stronger the more they are ‘exercised’…the more attention is paid to them. For example, Hamlet has been exercised a lot because he has been played over and over in all the productions of the play.

“These characters, and other thought forms, exist in what I call the Imaginal Realm…the ‘Otherworld’…which interacts with what we call reality all the time. One way these characters show up and hang out in our world is in dreams…now pay attention because this is the important part. We interact with them all the time but usually don’t recognize these folks for who they are…unless we have a lucid dream…a dream where we realize we’re dreaming, then can take the time to talk to these strangely familiar ‘people’ who turn up, or we invite in…then remember it later.

“Tibetan Buddhism has a practice called Dream Yoga that we use to play around with lucid dreams for all sorts of reasons. With a little practice we can get several people in on the same lucid dream, and they can talk to each other in the dream…and talk to the thought form beings they find there, or bring there with their group intention to do so…

I begin to see where Chogyam is going with this, “So Chogyam, now you’re going to tell us…”

“Let him fucking finish Hieronymus,” Louise insists, so I shut up.

“Thank you sir,” Chogyam intones graciously in my direction. “Anyhow, a group of us at the Dream Yoga Institute are huge fans of The Big Lebowski…go to Lebowskifests…get ordained…so now I’m a Buddhist Dudeist…and so on, and what not…so we figure…we do all this dream yoga practice for spiritual reasons…let’s see if we can contact the Dude and Walter and Donny…they must be really chillin’ INTENSLY out there somewhere because of all the energy they get from the fans…people “getting into character” and all. So we did. Kinda strange…THEY don’t quite know what to make of us, or who the fuck we are wandering into the bowling alley looking lost…

“You just said fuck, man…” I have to point out. “I didn’t think a Tibetan Buddhist priest would cuss like that…and drink one straight bourbon after another, either.”

“You obviously aren’t familiar with the work of my teacher…Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, man…” Chogyam grins.

CHOGYAM TRUNGPA RINPOCHE

“Far out,” I offer….being familiar with the doings of Chogyam Trungpa, This guy may be OK after all. Full of shit maybe, but OK.

“I’m not ‘full of shit’ Mr. Moondog…as you were just thinking. I can take you to meet the Dude ‘in person’ if you’re willing to work at it a little. May take some time, but it will be worth it.”

Did this guy just read my mind? Maybe he’s not completely full of shit after all. I am familiar with the stuff he was talking about…just never experienced it. I decide to take him up on his offer. I will fill you in about who this guy is, how he wound up in the Duder Bar, and the results of my experiments at the Dream Yoga Bowling Alley with the Dude and company as time goes along.

On a final note for this installment, I’m including an image of the business card Chogyam Dada, who also calls himself the Salvador Dali Lama, gave me as we parted…

ARE YOU SERIOUS?...man...

2009-07-12T17:07:00.000-07:00

A Pin Dudeist goes into a bar…

*****

“Are you SERIOUS Hieronymus?” I get this question a lot lately. “Are you FUCKING SERIOUS…how can a REAL religion be based on a made-up character…in a MOVIE…in a COMEDY?”

“Just cracking the cosmic joke man,” I reply, with a grave look upon my face.

“Oh…so it’s a joke then?”

“Fuck no, its not a joke…” here I do my best Walter Sobchak impersonation, ”it’s the COSMIC joke…the BIG PRANK…am I wrong?…don’t you GET IT you idiot? A little CRAZY fucking WISDOM, you pederast!”

“Pederast?…So the next thing you’re going to tell me is that Jesus and the Buddha were stand-up comics. What’s a pederast?”

I ignore the question. “Hmmm…not a bad image Bub…Jesus…not “The Jesus” Quintana…the OTHER Jesus…and the Buddha doing stand-up on stage at God’s Big TOE…”

“God’s Big TOE?”

“God’s Big Theater of Everything, Bub. So what if The Dude’s a ‘made-up character’ as you pointed out in such a shitty and dismissive fashion…so what if ‘The Big Lebowski’ IS a movie…a COMEDY? Movies now are like telling tall tales around the fire used to be thousands of years ago…Bub…where do you think your high sounding MYTHS came from…huh? Besides…haven’t you heard “professor”…the universe is made of stories, not atoms….YOU are a ‘made-up character’ yourself. Better watch out…you can be re-written you know…”

Smelling blood, the crowd moves to our end of the bar. I order another double White Russian.

“You’re losing it Hieronymous…”

“Quite the contrary…” I reply, adopting a haughty and superior tone, “You call yourself educated…you MUST know that what you think of as “reality” is a construction…a fabrication…YOU are a fabrication…an illusion, man…” I lunge at the crowd…”POOF!…you’re GONE!…

They jump back.

LAO TZU

“…and talk about basing spiritual stuff on highly suspect yarns…what about Lao Tzu?…I really dig his stuff but he never existed…poor Lao Tzu was put together from bits and pieces of several guys in 4th or 6th century B.C. China…your “experts” don’t know which…concocted by those venerable SAGES to give their new Taoism thing a hook to hang its hat on. Doesn’t make Taoism any less powerful does it? And what about Don Juan Mateus?…Castaneda’s coyote man who helped blow the mind of a generation?

HOAX! Whole thing was made-up…still strong stuff though…STILL TRUE like LAO TZU…not to mention the doings of the inimitable Mullah Nasruddin, who is still hanging out somewhere on the other side of history…

NASRUDDIN

...and we can’t leave out JA-HEESUS”

“Jesus?” The crowd mutters with one voice.

“Check it out…‘The Laughing Jesus’ by Tim Freke …if you really want to have you rug pissed on folks. After those guys in Rome converted back in the day, they could not find any real, historical Jesus at all, at all in their hip new religion…just allegorical fables…so they decided to just TELL people that he was a real guy…and make that the official reality…the “you better believe it or be fed to the lions” Emperor’s Reality…to make it different from all the other mystery religion parables and legends JUST LIKE IT that were floating around The Empire…just needed a real dude to tie the room together…you know…so don’t talk to me about made-up characters!”

The bar falls strangely silent. I look around. Did I go too far? Then someone in the back loudly whispers, “Uhhh…far out…man…”

As I head for the john I mumble resoundingly…“As George Carlin once said…I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don’t have as many people who believe it…”

Someone in the audience yells back, “And as Paul Krassner once said…Pope John Paul would have been more popular if he had called himself Pope John Paul George and Ringo…”

“Abide, my brother…” I reply quietly as I wander off into the shadows.

*****

When I return to the bar everyone is crowded around a bald biker looking guy, name of Buddha, who was not there when I left. My buddy, “Bub”, waves me over.

“You gotta check this out Hieronymus. You gotta get one of these…”

Buddha grins from ear to ear as he holds up his arm for me to admire. Tattoed upon it is the image of a laughing Buddha fly fishing for rainbow trout in a mountain stream. I immediately attain Suntory…which is what satori is called when it happens while drinking in a bar.

Bodhidharma and Pin Dudeism

2009-07-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

Legendary Buddhist monk Bodhidharma who traveled to China around 495 AD is generally credited with the founding of Chan Buddhism...the original Chinese expression of Zen. Bodhidharma, as the tale is told, set up shop at the northern Shaolin Temple, got the unhealthy monks in shape, invented Kung Fu and Zen and then wandered off into the misty valleys of myth and tall tale.

I suspect that Bodhidharma's accomplishments were not limited to the brilliant ministrations outlined above. In a shop near the entrance of the Forest of Steles in Xian many years ago I purchased a rubbing depicting Bodhidharma made from one of the centuries old steles that I had noticed inside. A photograph of the rubbing is presented above for your perusal, analysis, edification and amusement. Since the image clearly...to my admittedly untrained eye...shows the fabled monk holding a bowling ball, not a begging bowl, I am going to jump to the unprecedented conclusion that Bodhidharma...undoubetedly a dude to the core...also was an early contributor to the Dudeist creed...the Pin Dudeist form in particular.

Alternative interpretations entertained...

Joining The Pin Dudeist Order

2009-06-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

Pin Dudeist Monk...pre da-pin...

"So how do I join the Pin Dudeist Order, man?"...you may wonder...or not...whatever...

First...get yourself ordained as a Dudeist Priest (click Dudeism link in sidebar). Then...

Method 1. Assume the "Un-Occupied, Un-Employed" (see sidebar) posture for ten minutes in a public place, then tell somebody what happened. (Recommended. This can also make you an evangelical Dudeist, so be careful.)

Method 2. While actively disregarding Method 1....pour and sip a white Russian...abide...

Method 3. While actively disregarding Method 1. and Method 2....just abide...

Or...pause...then...

...you mutter intensly to yourself... "You can't tell me to abide as a condition of joining some fucking Order, you fuck...abiding is just abiding...you can't turn it on and off like a fucking blender!..."

Welcome to The Pin Dudeist Order...you may proceed to the gardens (see below).

Standing da-pin

2009-06-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

Zen Buddhists sit zazen. Pin Dudeists stand da-pin.

What is standing da-pin, you may ask. Da-pin is the position you are in...when bowling...at the moment the ball has been released. If you freeze in this position after releasing the ball, you are standing da-pin.

Contemporary da-pin master

Standing da-pin for any length of time can get tedious, man, and result in cramping...but a true Pin Duder can hold the position for a long time...which may result in pintori or, better yet, the elusive STRIKE! (see "What Is Pin Dudeism" post below) Groups of Pin Dudeists standing da-pin attract considerable attention down at the local sports center...

Da-pin instruction

Pin Dudeist Master Obama about to stand da-pin...

Early Pin Dudeist nun practicing da-pin

What is Pin Dudeism?

2009-06-21T16:55:00.001-07:00

LAUGHING PIN DUDEIST

Pin Dudeism is to Dudeism (The Church Of The Latter-Day Dude...see link below) as Zen Buddhism is to Buddhism.

The "Pin" in Pin Dudeism is a bowling pin, of course, which according to Pin Dudeists, points to the true nature of reality, and the repeated meditation upon which can result in a STRIKE!...Pintori...Enlightenment...

Like Zen, Pin Dudeism provides the seeker with koan-like riddles known as Gutters, which seem to lead away from the STRIKE but, paradoxically, are the most direct way to realization.

PINTORI

A few Gutters for your amusement...

"You and the ball are not two...how do you roll?"

"How do you not release the ball just before it touches the wood?"

"When does bowling occur?"

"Bowling is to Zen as Pool is to Advita?"

"Are you not the sound of the strike?

"STRIKE! WHACK! KWATZ! WAKE UP!...chill...

For Dudeism.com please click HERE.

"Bowling needs a blend of skill, focus, cool and absolute passion and conviction.

With bowling, as with all highly skilled sports, the more you play the better you get, but…attitude and focus are what separate the merely good from the master bowlers.

The ability to block out distractions and exist only in the now is crucial to any sports performance especially when accuracy and keeping nerve are vital.

Don't get distracted by imagined outcome - be the process

You may find sometimes you lose your cool when bowling or get caught up in the outcome rather than process.

Outcome is all about how things will be - whether you lose or win, how you seem to others, or whether you're going to get your best score. Process is about losing all that and becoming totally absorbed in the reality of the immediate moment. Bowling is all about process and flow. Outcome comes later when you enjoy the winning.

The Zen archers of ancient Japan felt no disconnection between themselves, their arrow and their target. So missing felt impossible, as how can an arrow which is also a target miss itself? Look at things this way...you'll begin to feel as physical connection with the pins."

BUDDHA?

CONTACT: hpmoondog@gmail.com