evil evil toaster

Vociferous voices

I found out that my toaster is sentient this morning. Sentient, and maybe just a little bit evil. I put my toast in, and I sit there, looking at it, waiting for the toast to pop. Because you know that there is nothing worse than trying to spread cold butter on cooling toast. It ruins the whole piece of toast! Come on, you know it... you've ranted and cursed and gnashed your teeth as our silver cutlery crumbles and shreds that white toasted plane.

And here's what my toaster does. It waits... it watches.... as I glare and mutter under my breathe "pop mother fucker. pop"

ahhhh but the toaster is patient. And as soon as I reach to do somethin, something that takes two hands and cannot be dropped quickly. Something like taking hot oatmeal out of the microwave.

POP!

Up comes the toast as I fumble around, putting down the oatmeal, scrambling for a knife, scraping off some butter.... but alas, it's too late. That crucial moment has passed and my perfect piece of honey'd toast is ruined.

And it was planned. There was thought put into this waste.

With my next piece of bread-become-toast I waited. I didn't pick up anything, I didn't turn my back. I waited like the patient toast predator that I am. And it burned! It burned before it popped!

Okay, one more test. This time I put the toast in, and with breakfast-ninja like relexes i spin, snatching the milk from the fridge, balancing my bowl on my box of wheat chex, and glide towards the table, the toast hasn't been down for 15 seconds yet...

and POP! the toast... or bread still actually, is up. I have no choice but to waste those few crucial moments of perfect "toasted freshness" when the butter would have melted off the knife like summer sun off a red playground slide, while I put down my cereal, my milk and my bowl.

So now I know.... that my toaster is alive, and harbors some sort of grudge against me.

Tomorrow... the invisible faeries that make me drop things in the morning. Oddly enough they go away after I start drinking coffee....

Vociferous voices

Vociferous voices

Wanna get upset about something? Read this.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/this_world/4038375.stm

I'm so sick of the whole "we're right because we're us" mentality. Like because we are the united states we are infallible. We've stopped examining out own actions. We've slid into this lazy state of mind where we just assume that we are the moral high ground and anything we do is beyond question. This is so wrong, and what's behind it? The same sickness that is spreading through out the U.S. It's in our politics, it's in our healthcare, it's in every aspect of our day to day lives.

It's the dehumanization of our population. It's turning people into test subjects, or marketing numbers. The loss of all sympathy and compassion. And how that get's aligned with the moral right? It's just beyond comprehension.

YFORUM

Wow... I still think it's a good site. But if you go there, be ready.. Some of the things are gonna tick you off. The sheer level of ignorance and intolerance some people have. It makes me shake with rage and frustration at the same time. Here's an example of one tha I was very very tempted to let loose on. But I didn't. I'm goign to wait until I can formulate something a little more rational and a little less angry.

"Category: Sexual Orientation
Subject: First holding hands, now marriage
Reply: (read original message)I think it's an outrage that gay people want to have the same rights to marriage that straight people do. Back in the 1930s, there was no such thing as gay people. If you were gay, you kept it to yourself because someone could kill you and they're only defense would be, he was gay. Then in the 1970s you saw everything - whores, gay people, people just walking around nude. Gay guys who just had hundreds of partners a night. And thus this is where society discovered AIDS. So now gay people can be gay, someone can know about it, they can even walk down the street and hold hands with another gay man and have no fear of what's going to happen. But alas, that's still not good enough. Gay people want their own schools and, most appalling, the right to marry. Why is it that I can't go to an all-Christian school for free, but gay people can go to an all-gay school? I think it's sad that we've become this type of society.POSTED 1/25/2004Renee, Clinton, MD, United States, Female, Christian, Black/African American, Straight, Technical School, Lower middle class, Mesg ID 1172004105850"

yforum

I found this little site. I heard about it on a radio talk show and thought I'd do my part to spread the word. I'ts honest questions and honest answers. It's not a political site. The questions are more of the race, sex, age, sexual orientation type. You post a question that you have, but haven't been comfortable asking, and then you look to see if there are any you can reply to. I'll admit, that being a middle age over weight white guy... there weren't many questions that I could answer.

http://www.yforum.com/

watchya lookin' at!?

here, I want to see if this cut and paste icon to my little yahoo group with only 23 posts works. It's pretty inactive, but I still like it as a good place to keep all my favorite links accessible form anyplace with web access.


Click to join thisredrock

turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey

... and the chaos begins.

Sarah's parents arrived while we were still into he shower. Sarah's Mom seems happier than before, a little more relaxed than I remember seeing her. She just getting over being sick for quite a while. Kidney stones, and infections, and dehydration and a whole cornucopia of unwellness. SO maybe she's just on a "feeling better" high. -found out later that she was on Oxycodone the whole time... she could have at least shared.

There's a tension between her and Roger, Sarah's Dad. It's almost a visible line pulled tight between them.

I know that the past months have been hard for him. Very hard. The past year maybe even.

He lost his job when the factory closed. Wasn't able to find work, not for lack of trying, i'll attest to that. And ended up on disability. But medicare hasn't kicked in yet, and even when it does it's going to leave a lot left over.

And he's been told time and time again that he's not insurable.

Add to that the incompetent doctors that Margie has, and her utter -nearly religious- devotion to their folly.

I admire him imensely for staying sane thus far: I don't think I would have been able to.

And Sarah is stressed, and she gets... well short... when she is stressed. Kinda rude even sometimes. It's hard to stay angry at her for it though. When the frenzied fog lifts she's sorry, and harder on herself than any guilt trip I could lay down.

So you've got these three, as well as Ashley, all in our little kitchen. And Ashley is like the catalyst in a reaction that you really don't want to take place. She hasn't quite figured out how to talk and do anything else at the same time. And she hasn't quite picked up the "not talking" skill yet. Her monologues are never ending.

So either Sarah or I are constantly telling her to "stop talking, start eating", "stop talking, start getting dressed," stop talking, start brushing," "stop talking and get in the car," "for heaven's sake stop talking and remember to breathe!"

Sarah didn't loose it though, kudos to her for that. And at about a quarter after 9:00 I took Ashley to church for the dress rehearsal. Leaving Sarah, her Mom and her Dad at home with the turkey. And now i'm a little nervous about that.

It gived me an hour in fellowship hall w/ my coffee and 2 slices of cranberry bread though.

Enough time to jot down the day thus far....

The children's program was honestly fun. Does that mean I'm old?



We were the featured family this week, so all three fo us stood in front of the church while a little piece about us was read.

It was our internet coming out. The first time we have really confessed that to more than our closest friends that we met online.

Oh, there were a couple little bumps in the pageant. When Ashley was trying to adjust the mic in the middle of the hshow she smacked herself on the lip. She held it together for a good 5-10 seconds before running off the stage to us in the pew crying.

But before the end of the song her tears were wiped on my shortsleeve, her nose was blown in a slightly used kleenex, and she was back onstage.

We got home, I carved the turkey, Sarah's Mom made stuffing, Sarah made her famous mashed patatos, and steamed veggies, and we all sat down to a veritable feast.

I ate enough for three meals, maybe more.

We opened gifts, and Sarah's parents took off a little after 4:00.

We watched Star Wars and then the Simpsons, and then Desperate housewives.

Wow, we're lazy lazy bums. And now I can't believe that the weekend is over alread...

Raymond says "wal-mart sucks"

We slept in until 8:30 today. Over slept. Ashley was already up playing Tony Hawk.


She made her own completely green character. We had to rush to get Ashley to her 9:00 church rehearsal for the Christmas pageant tomorrow. Sarah took her in, picking up Anna on the way.

Then Sarah came home, we showered together. After the shower we called Mom and Andrew to get ideas for Christmas present, and took off on our errands.

First to Wal Mart. We didn't really want to go there, but the girl that we picked for the giving tree wanted clothes with the Olsen twins, and you can only get those at Walmart. We told ourselves that we'd just get that one thing and get the heck out before the evil seeps into our skin like old ink.

The problem is that things are really cheaper there. Undeniably so. We found the coffee maker for my Mom at $20.00 less that the same coffee maker elsewhere.

We picked up Ashley and Anna from the church at 11:00. The original plan was to drop me off at this point. I was going to stay at home and write a little, spend some time in relative silence with my Mac in the basement. While Sarah took the girls to Toni's too look at some discounted stamps or something.

But i got talked into coming along. Somehow I always do... oh poor me... gnash gnash... oh the ashes....

Sarah promised to keep is at 10 minutes or under. At 11:30 she left me sitting in the car.

I don't mind it much though. Silence becomes a tangible, almost medicinal commodity at some point

Even the relatively short drive from the church to Toni's was nearly enough to break me. Both Anna and Ashley talking in the back seat. Yes, both talking, not figuratively, literally. They just talk over each other, not waiting for the other to stop. Their conversation wasn't so much a tennis match, it was more like a dodgeball game with at least 12 balls in play at once.

And Sarah talking to me nearly the whole time. "mmm hmmm" and "ya" for my part of the conversation. Not that she was saying annoying or pointless things, I just over loaded at some point.

And beneath it all the radion station I was trying to listen to.

I've been listening to too much 92.1, Air America, lately.

It's a liberal radions tation, and though I usually like it, sometimes it's just rhetoric from the other side of the spectrum,

11:57, they're back... looks like my rhetoric rant is cut short, lucky you. All three of them are talking already, thy doors to the car haven't even closed yet. Here we go....

...the mall was hell. Hell I say!!!! It was so packed, and everyone was so focused on their own frenzied chaos tha all common courtesy wand human communication was lost. And that is hell.

Lunch at 2:00, reheated chili. Scavenge for supper. Jelly on toast and cereal. Why can't all meals be breakfast? Played Star Wars duels with Ashley as I ate.

I'm watchign "the day after tomorrow" w/ Sarah now, and will rpbably fall asleep soon. I should remember to write up a little review of the movie for my group.

jam on my crotch

Jam has got to be about the worst thing that you can spill on your crotch on the way into work in the morning. Well... wait... maybe that's not true. I'm imaging all the things that could be spilled on my crotch and I can readily come up with some that are worse.

But it's annoying all the same.

I had my microwaved eggs and toast breakfast in the car again.

Work was work... isn't it always?

Home by 4:00, Sarah had Janet and the girls over. After they left we went out to pick up a few groceries. We stopped by Hollywood video and picked up Tony Hawk for the XBOX, and Taco John's for supper. Watched Joan of Arcadis (star trek was a re-run). After we put Ashley to bed we watched en episode of 6 Feet Under.

I fell alseep near the end, but once I was upstairs I started coughing. All night long I kept waking myself up hacking up phlegm. Today (i'm writing this the next morning) I'm tired and phlegmy. I can taste it running down the back of my throat...

eggs and toast

Today I had eggs and toast for breakfast. I didn't have time to eat it at home, so I put it in a Tupperware and took it with me. For lunch, I packed a bologna and lettuce sandwich. A bunch of oranges, 5 total i think. I'm trying to O.D. on vitamin C, my cough is worse and my throat still hurts.

Work was work. isn't it always? Sitting at a desk 'til my ass falls asleep. Then I walk around, maybe to the drinking fountain and back. And then I sit back on my ever spreading ass again. I don't have scheduled breaks. I could take them if I wanted, but it seems pointless, they just make the day longer.

Sarah stopped by on her way home from work and we went to Hollywood video to get a gift for Greg and Melissa. Then I went back to work for the rest of the day.

Worked until 5:00, Sarah had chicken noodle soup ready for me when I got home.

Went to bed early, hopefully sleep will help me feel a bit better.

I'll try harder

I'll try harder I have done you all a disservice. I have let you, my faithful readers down. errrrmmm.... wait, I have no freakin’ faithful readers ! (you don't count Sarah).

Oh well, let's just pretend that I do for a moment... a willful suspension of disbelief as Professor Dorgan would say.I'm going to make a concentrated effort to write on this thing a bit more. I'm not ready to give up yet. Here's the chief problem. I like putting pen to paper.

There just isn't an electronic equivalent to that subtle but addictive joy of scrawling black ink across a clean white page. The closest I've ever come ot that joy was peeing my name across a snow bank when I was 11. So even when I make entries here I have the tendency to write them down first. And let's be honest, this blogger won't be around forever. My journals will. Or at least until I accidentally burn this whole world down with innate pyrokinetic abilities.

But I'll try. Just as a warning my entries will probably be a lot more mundane and boring. But let's be honest, they weren't exactly stellar to begin with anyway. So starting tomorrow (ya ya ya... procrastinate this you pine scented bastard) I'll try to enter at least something every day.

the next chapter

It's not just "like" I'm starting a new chapter in my life. I AM starting a new chapter in my life. If you were writing a book about me you'd be looking for a cliffhanger, some unanswered question to pull the reader into the next portion. And very soon you'd be ending the paragraph with a big chunk of blank space before the bottom of the page. And you'd be typing "Chapter 5" on the next page. Or maybe I'm not up to 5.... or maybe I'm well past 5, I don't know.

As of Monday I'm not "Christopher the trainer". I won't be ushering in a new group of 20-30 trainees every 6 weeks. Won't be spending 8 hours a day with them, training them to do the job they were hired for, and trying my damndest, in my own subversive way, to teach them a little bit about bigger things as well. And maybe, against policy, even if it was unwritten policy, make the whole 6 week ordeal fun as well.

wake up

Goldfinger - Open your eyes

Today is the last night of my class. My last night as a trainer over all. My emotions are so mixed. I know that to be too content is to be too comfortable, is be be stagnant is to be dead. I do believe that when we quite trying new things, quite putting ourselves in uncomfortable situations, we quiet growing as well.
I think that I'll probably write enough about my change in jobs over the next few days or weeks.

Instead, as I'm listening to this song, I'm thinking how timely it is. It's not a recent song, I don't, think so at least. Hold on a second... "go google go!" It came out in 2002. 2 years into the Bush/Cheney reign, so maybe it's not such a coincidence that it fits so well today.

Open your eyes To the millions of lies That they tell you everyday
Open your mind To the clever disguise That the advertisements say
How do they know What's good for you?
Wake up, wake up, whoa Wake up, wake up, whoa
A shot to the head They're better off dead
Will you wake up, wake up, whoa
Destroy all the land And kill what you can Just to make the profits rise
Sell you from birth For all that you're worth
The money spreads like lies
And how do they know What's good for you?
Wake up, wake up, whoa Wake up, wake up, whoa
A shot to the head They're better off dead
Will you wake up, wake up, whoa
Don't wanna hate youDon't wanna blame it all on you
I'm out of options
If you don't look I'll force you to
If you don't look I'll force you to
If you don't look.. I'll force you to
Wake up, wake up, whoa Wake up, wake up, whoa A shot to the head
Just so you can be fed
Will you wake up, wake up, whoa
Open your eyes...
Open your eyes

-Later-
I broke my fast. What was that 3 Thursdays? 4? I didn't make it too long. It wasn't even that I needed to eat. I wasn't that hungry, and I broke my ritual for one slice of crappy pizza. Maybe that's why I quite though. I lost sight of the point. Today for instance, it was 2:00 before I remembered it was my day to fast. And I hadn't eaten anything anyway. And I think I learned my lesson, I probably knew it before anyway. We are such a food centered society. On the Thursdays that I swore off food, and I was a little more hungry than usual, I noticed it more. There's food everywhere. Restaurants every couple of blocks, half of TV is about food, and it's really all people talk about. Going one day a week without eating really wasn't so hard. Maybe I should try another experiment sometime and try to go one full day without talking about food. Now that would be hard.

why???

Why don't you love the kittens?

kittens

what? you don't love kittens?

to Mike
On the first day of class I pegged Mike as a trouble maker. He looked young. Way too young. I know, i know, it's not like I'm training marines or something. But still, it's a job that requires patience, sympathy, maturity, and intelligence. It's not like customer service anywhere else. That sounds cheap. But it's true. The stress during the 6 week training period is high. So is the attrition.
In some classes, when I'm feeling like more of a hard as on the first day, I warn them up front that 1 out of every three quiet before the end of class. "So look at the person on your right, look at the person on your left, one of them won't be here at the end of 6 weeks".
Of course I follow it up with the "there's no shame in that" speech. "It's not the job for everyone, and that's okay."
So I pegged Mike as the guy who would either realize how hard the job is and leave, or rack up too many Attendance issues and be ushered out.
Tall, taller than me, and I loose track at some point. Maybe six foot or so. Probably barely weighing 150 though. Tall and lanky, and looking young and goofy. Frankly goofy.
The first thing that threw me off balance was his smile. Fine, fine, it was a goofy smile too. But it was true. There was no fear, no smug pride, no flip apathy of youth. Just an honest, "hey, how ya doin'?" I was wrong about Mike from the very beginning. On the most mundane level, I was wrong about him as a trainee. He was apt, dedicated, mature, easy going, but hard working.
But I was wrong about him as a person too. We've got this pretty strict no cell phone rule. And I did have to talk to Mike once about having it all the way off, not just turning the ringer off and receiving text messages. He didn't argue, just turned it off. The next day one of the other trainers told me that one of my trainees had been in the hall talking on their cell phone. We hadn't had our morning break yet, so it was someone that told me they were going to use the bathroom. And there were only 4 guys in the class. I jumped on Mike right away. Not accusing him, but asking him. He said that it hadn't been him. Again, not defensive, just honest, and open. I should have known right away. And even though I didn't push it, I was sure it was him. I went so far as to have the other trainer point the person out. And it wasn't Mike. I should have trusted the little fucker. Should have known he didn't have that dishonesty in him. I apologized to him. Even though I hadn't really accused him, I'd felt it, and I'd thought it, and in my mind I was sure.
I saw Mike as a person in that class. He lost a friend during class. He took a little time off to speak at his friends funeral. I don't even think he took a full day. But when he told me that he'd be speaking at his friends funeral I saw the true unabashed pain in his eyes. The loss. There was a depth to this kid so great that I felt it spilling out from him.
I remember the Blue Earth river. It's one of those green little country rivers in southern Minnesota. With sandy shores mixing into mud more often than not. Cutting through fields and groves, and mostly hidden. We used to fish in it and canoe in it and swim in it. You could never see the bottom of it. Not even when it was only a foot or two deep. You'd be wading across it, maybe to get to a sandbar in the middle, maybe just to get to a swimming spot on the other side, your feet sinking to the ankles in the mud-sand. The cool green water rushing by your knees, the current pushing against your lower legs. And then suddenly, if you weren't careful, you'd step into a deep spot. Unseen, unpredictable, it was hidden beneath the green rushing water. Sometimes spilling in up to your waist, where the current would inevitably sweep you off your feet and down river a ways. Some of those little spots were much much deeper though. There were some whose bottom we never could reach.
You're probably with me up until now. Bored maybe.. but fuck it. It's my blog. But I'm hoping that I'm getting across the fact that Mike is a great guy. I'm not even sure how old he is, 19, 20 probably. But he was balanced, you know? Mature for his age, but with the youthful spark that makes the first to crack a joke, laugh out loud. So you've got that, right? But here's were I buck you.
I was wrong about the magic in Mike too. I don't have magic in me. I'm plain and boring and expanding at the waist. I'm mistaken for "that one guy" at least 10 times a day. But I know that some people do have that magic in them. There's this theory that a spinning object distorts the space around it. Well, that's not a theory really, that part is truth. A blender in water. The water whirls and spins around the blade, in distorted spirals. But now make the medium less substantial, and spin the object faster. A propeller in air. Pulling invisible currents into, spindling them around, and throwing them wide. vvvrrrooOOOOMMM. take off. It work with energy too. An object spinning fast enough distorts the energy around it, distorts even the light around it, if the object is substantial enough, and if it spins quickly enough. Now the theory goes on to say that something large enough, heavy enough, spinning quickly enough, will distort even time and space. now that's fine and dandy... and into the future we zoooOOOOMMM. But here's what I think. I think some people spin quickly enough, not literally of course, you fuckin' ninny, but in a different sense. Not that they think that much more quickly, or that they are super smart, or super charged, but they are more alive than the rest of us. They pull the "stuff" of life into them, spindle it around them and spin it back out in wide arcs.
I give my class stupid little toys. Army men, little action figures, christmas figures. Stupid little things that they set on the top of their computers when they have questions. For this class I had purchased a whole bunch of little super hero figures at a 5 cent apiece clearance. I put them all in a plastic tub and told them to pick one out. I'm going around the room, having people choose, most are painfully slow. Like they are choosing their first child or something. but I respect that. I made sure I grabbed Hellboy before anyone else could after all. I get to Mike, and without hesitation, barely glancing into the plastic tub, he rummages around a bit and pulls out Plastic Man. Mike smiles an easy smile and says "I knew I'd pick him". I smile and chuckle a bit too. I was still misjudging him at this point. I figured he had sneaked a peak when the person sitting next to him was choosing. And the physical resemblance was obvious. Mike resembled Plastic Man in about every way imaginable. Tall lanky, I expected him to reach out, stretching his arm the length of the classroom at any second.
Later in class Mike sat by a lady who did tattoos in her spare time. The sat near the front of the classroom, and I could hear them talking. Mike found out that his roommate has a tattoo. He didn't know it when they moved in. So what you say? A tattoo of what you ask? Plastic Man. And why? His roommate didn't really know. Just did it for kicks.
Even later in class Mike told me a story. He was at the Rave. he was talking to a guy at the bar. The guy at the bar was a little drunk... maybe very drunk. "I whuzz n actor" the guy slurs. And Mike listens. Smiling I imagine. So the guy talks more. "I whuzz plaztic man in the 80s" Now Mikes's face nearly splits in what should be a patten Mike Smile.
"No way man, I'm Plastic Man. I've always been Plastic Man"
I wish I knew Mike better, I wish there was more I could do right now even. Hi world has got to be turned upside down. He's not going to be able to keep his job, he's going to miss too much work now. He just bought a condo. He's got so much ahead of him yet. Someone said that it runs in his family... the cancer. Like that's some excuse, like that makes it okay. It's just fucked up. Here's to you Mike. For all I've ever believed is good and true you've got to be okay.

Life is so fucked up.. Or maybe it’s death that if fucked up. Or maybe they both are.

♫ Seven Mary Three - Cumbersome ♫

I'm fasting again today. Not really achieving any spiritual enlightenment, and I'm sure as hell not loosing any weight. I've seen one ugly greasy fact, and I'm party to it. We are a society obsessed with food. You already know that, I already knew that. But somehow, being a little hungry just makes it all the more clear. Every other commercial is food, I pass 3 restaurants on my short walk into work. Every 3rd person that I pass on the sidewalk has food in their hands, or a soda, or both. All people at work talk about is food. It's not "how's the weather?" any more, it's "how's the line at McDonald's?" It's sick. And I'm so a part of it. I'm not breaking free from it. Fasting just makes me think about food more. And when midnight hits I usually cram a whole pizza into my face and follow it up with a couple cans of soda. I'm very much considering ending this experiment.

♫ AFI - Silver and Cold ♫

I found out that Mike Carmody, a former trainee of mine, has cancer. He's not working right now. And I'm having a hard time getting details. I know that it's melanoma, and that it's in his back, and he'll be going in for surgery very soon. And I know that the prognosis is not good right now. It hit me harder than I would have thought it could. I trained him at the beginning of this summer, he was in one of my bigger classes. It started with over 30 trainees, we had to take the partition out between two separate rooms. He was unique. I'll saw that. And he broke every preconception that I formed, just when I thought I was getting good at judging on first appearance. He's one of those trainees that ended up teaching me more than I taught him. I hope that he's going to be okay. I want him to be okay.

Barb from church died. It doesn't seem possible. I'm in a study group with her. We are all reading a book on Matthew. She was at the 50th anniversary celebration for the church. She had a part in a little game show thing we put on. She was so... alive. I can't even imagine her as anything else. I guess she had been doing yard work all day, and said she felt very tired. She went home, went to bed, and passed into the clearing.

Everything feels like it's out of perspective. Slanted, off kilter. Cliché. There's no insight, no moments of clarity.. just long questions into the night, a dark ceiling and a spinning fan and wind rushing by an open window.

political ignoramus , who me?

O Black Heart processional, Blue Tears O

I should start by saying that i am a political ignorant. I don't know anything about political science, poilitacl history or the current political landscape. When it comes to politics I should by all mean keep my fuckin' mouth shut.
And usually I do.
When I hear that Bush is "just a good guy, that's why he's got my vote, he's like, you know, a real person like us". I keep my mouth shut.
When i hear that Bush "get's my vote because he's the Christian candidate" I keep my mouth closed.
When I hear that we need ot go to war because it's going to keep us safer, and there is no pause, there are no gears turning, it's just a given. I keep my mouth shut. When I hear that all republicans aer evil and cold. I keep my mouth shut. When I hear that Democrats are god-less liberals without common sense, I keep my mouth shut. But here I go....
I hated the debates. I They made me want to not vote for anyone. I'm still thinking about it. I think Sarah woudl kill me. Maybe it I just go to the polls and "pretend to vote". They are both stuck in their ruts, they are both just repeating rhetoric that they've memorized. They are both just going for sound bites, dodging questions, and distorting facts.
I do not like Cheney. Maybe it's that time he kicked the puppy, or bit the head off the live bat, or maybe it's because “[As Secretary of Defense], Cheney conveniently changed the rules restricting private contractors doing work on U.S. military bases, allowing the Kellogg Brown & Root subsidiary of his future employer Halliburton to receive the first of $2.5 billion in contracts over the next decade.”-- Robert Scheer, Salon.com, 7/17/02. But he did try to take an issue that has been over simplified and really explain it int he debates. He failed, he was on the wrong end of the issue, and he explained it ina condescneding "you should know this" tone. But he tried... Still hate him though.
I think that what it's going to come down to this year is a vote cast agains a candidate, not for one. And that's a shame.

O DJ Encore feat. Engelina - Open Your Eyes O

I don't have what it takes to be president. Don't let me pretend otherwise. If i do throw a toaster at my head. And by all means, if anyone else does, throw a toaster at their head too. I'm not even sure what the minimum requirments to be president of the united states are. But let me suggest a few.
1) The position of president should be a promotion for you, not a dmeotion or a lateral step. Becoming the president should not mean that you'll have less vacation days than in your previous job. The white house should be bigger than your house. Becoming the president should not involve a paycut. You shold fully expect an know that along with the bigger house, the bigger paycheck and the increased influence, you are goin to have to work your ass off. You should appreciate this and never complain about it, or even infer that you're working harder than you need to.
2) At some point in your life you should have had to choose between paying rent and buying groceries for the week.
3) For at least a month you should have had to make due without a vehicle, not because it gettign fixed, or outfitted, or the humme ris in the mail, but because you can't fucking afford even a P.O.S. to drive you across town.
4) You should have fucked up big time at least once. You should accept it, not hide it. And learn from it. You should have a freaking field of zombie warriors in your closet, not j ust a single skeleton.
5) You should b used ot putting in 50-60 hours a week and still not being able to make ends quite meet.
6) Your household should be on a budget that limits how many times you eat out in a month.
7) You should have been hungry at least once, really hungry. Maybe not starving, but that gnawing gnot in your stomach that usurps your entire consciousness, hungry. And have nothing but Ramen noodles, or saltines and not even enough change in the cushions to buy something else.
8) You should have at least once questionioned your sexuality, or at least your identity.
9) You should have paid for your own freaking college education. I knew too many kidas whose moms or dads paid their way through. I know the swaggering "i don't give a damn' attitude that those sods brought into the classroom. I know how they approached their studies, and I know thath they were inflicted with entitlementitis (inflamation of the belief that you are entitled to something in this world)

O Apartment 26 - Give me more O

10) You should believe in something. But your belief should bring you more questions that answers. The confident satisfied faith is the stangant faith, is the rotting faith, is the prideful faith, is the dangerous faith.
And there's probably more, but that's enough for me today. Add some more on if you want. Nobody reads this shit anyway.

odd night

♫ The Vines - Ride ♫

Last night was such a strange night. Just eerie in a nondescript sort of way.

I can remember when I lived in Steven’s Point, in a trailer park (yes, in my college years I fit the rough description of trailer trash… minus the mullet... and working on a college degree... and I grew bonsai trees in the lot behind the trailer) On the windy nights, when that little tin can apartment would rock in the gusts, and the moon was bright lighting the outside lot like a cinema stage. Every room had windows, every room was an "outside room", and the blue suffused everything, fell everywhere. And on the distance, not in any particular direction, not from any particular distance, but just “in the distance” the train whistle would blow. Long mournful and unrelenting.

Last night was kinda like that again. I stayed up late reading King’s “Wizzard and Glass”. From the Dark Tower series. (Which I recommend highly…. I know, I know…. You don’t read Stephen King, but these are not Stephen King novels, even by his admission, they are something altogether different) It is a surreal book in and of itself, a book that doesn’t’ end well. You know it won’t end well, and reading towards the end is like watching some inevitable tragedy that you are helpless to stop, though somehow you never quite hoping that it will turn out differently. Seriously. You know that the girl is going to die. You knew it 3 books ago. But the way it plays out, you never give up hope that things will play out differently. Right up until the end you think that her death is a mistake or some literary trick, though you know it isn’t.

Sarah was sleeping peacefully, making troubled little breathing noises. It is entirely possible that I’m insane, but I swear that you can tell when someone has entered a place of dreams. Without looking at them even. Maybe it’s just her breathing; maybe it's the stillness of her body. Maybe. But rather, I think that it is a felt distance. I know that she is far away, in another place, maybe back in her childhood, roaming the streets of another city, maybe she's not even Sarah anymore, she's someone else entirely at that moment. She has gone wandering, and I feel that distance just as I feel her absence any other time we are not together. So as I’m finishing my dark book -alone, a full moon seeping in through our battered blinds - and suddenly
*flit*
Something small gray and quicker than a shadow darts across the floor of our bedroom. It must be my imagination. A combination of the late hour and the book I’m reading.
And it was silent, it didn't make a noise. So I go back to reading. I get another chapter done, I'm just being pulled back into the book when *flit* there it goes again. It's grey. And faster than guilt. This time it darts into our room.

♫ Apartment 26 - Give me more ♫

I used to hallucinate. In the past. I don't admit it often. I'm of sound and strong mind, not the type that hallucinates or gives in to flights of fancy.... ya right. But I had these hallucinations for a good year. At first I knew they were hallucinations and it was kinda intriguing. Like a cute quirk. Then I couldn't tell when it was a hallucination and it wasn't fun anymore. All the visions had this in commons, they were grey and fast.

Once is a fluke, twice is something more. Adrenaline instantly flooded my blood, and I could feel my body flush with heat. None too gently, I woke Sarah up. Okay so I shook her and said "wake up, wake up there's a squirrel or something in the house!" And then I was out of bed in a shot. Like a stealthy ninja in my memory. Like an over weight sleepy white guy in boxer shorts in my wife's memory. And I saw it. The creature. The grey ghost. The demon plotting to erode my sanity one little shred at a time. The vision from the deepest Hades of my psyche.

I know, I know. She looks all innocent and cute. But inside the adorable fuzzy chinchilla shell lurks the dark soul of Charlie the sin-chilla.
See, that's more the look she had on her face.... ya she knew what she was doing. So the scrabbit was apprehended, and returned to her cage... umm home...

♫ Fatboy Slim - Cotton-Eyed Joe Remix ♫

I went back to bed. Sarah was out in seconds, and I was alone again. The adrenaline wore off, and surrealism and unexplained anger set in. I wrestled with it, tried to find its source, decided it was a chemical imbalance, drank a lot of water and tried to ignore it.

At about 2:30 it started raining. It was sudden. There was silence outside our window, with only the sound of the passing cars and the breeze in the leaves. There was a popping sound first. Something I thought was just distant thunder reverberating oddly off the apartment buildings, distorted by the spinning ceiling fan or something. Like the sound that you made as a kid during that lollipop song. Sticking a saliva wetted finger in your mouth and pulling against the inside of your cheek *pop*. Only the kid must have been the size of a beached whale to make a *POP* like that.
The rain moved from nothing to the sounds of sheets of water falling on the street. A sudden downpour. It neither increased nor abated over the next half hour. At 3:00 I finished my book. 3:00, the loneliest hour. Not even the early birds are up yet, and even the night owls have passed out or turned in by choice.
Still not tired, I slip out of bed and over to the window. The sounds of rain have lessened now. But it's "heavy" sounding still. Like a small down pour, and it's made me curious.

♫ DJ Encore - Walking in the Sky ♫

I could tell by the watermarks on the street that the arc of water had lessened. It had nearly hit the other side of the street at one time. There was police tape blocking off the driveway by the hydrant, and a cop car parked in the background. But nothing was moving. I watched for a while, letting ideas, hypothesis’s form and dissolve, and form again. Until a city worker pulled up, capped the damn thing off, gave a nod to the apparently empty cop car, and took off.

Finally at 3:30 I went back to bed, and fell asleep. Slipping effortlessly into dreamless sleep.

creepy crawly

♫ Nirvana - About a girl ♫
I'm not really a big fan of spiders. I don't want a pet spider, i wouldn't let one crawl around on my hand, even if I knew it was safe. But this fall I've been noticing more of them than usual. They haven't really caused any trouble, and after the number of earwigs we've had I just don't feel any aggressive animosity towards the spiders. So I've been catching them and just letting them go outside. I don't even know what species they are, so if you recognize them let me know if I should be worried.

Number 1


Number 2


Number 3

oh, and if I didn't say it already... this one is dedicated to you my love.

apples and the buzz cut

ahhhh the first cold day of the year.

♫ Catherine Wheel - Sparks are gonna fly ♫

The first day when you wake up, and immediately cover your feet with the old quilt. The first day when a hot cup of coffee is a comfort for your cold fingertips. The first day that you can feel the sterile coldness in the room, expanding it, pulling the space between the walls wider. The first real day of Autumn. I love this weather. I live for this season. These in between times are the only real times. The rest is just waiting. The transition is when things can be felt. The first cold day after the sweltering humid summer, and the first warm sun after the frozen dry midwest winter.
It's also the day that we went pumpkin picking at epel garden. (http://www.eplegaarden.com/)
It' a good place. I've got to remember to write a review to put on my two web sites (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thisredrock, and http://groups.msn.com/MadisonAdventures). Both of which are almost dead anyway.

It wasn't too busy when we went, but then again Sarah had purposely planned our trip on a day that there was a home Badgers game. She's so wise that way. There's no admission fee, which I admit was one of the initial hooks that got us. When we got there there were enough cars in the lot to make me glad that Sarah had chosen this cool sunny badger game day. Sarah and Ashley went to see the "Harold Potterson" show. $3.00 for kids (or wizards as the sign proclaimed) and $5.00 for adults (or muggles appearantly)

♫ Joan Osborne - Lumina ♫

I stayed ouside while they were led on their mysterious quest. They were gone for a good 30 minutes, just long enough for me to wonder if this was a Neil Gaiman story int he making. But they both came out smiling. According to the muggle and the witch, it was fun. Not shoddily thrown together, and with enough variety to be fun and not trite. A quidditch match, digging for dinosaurs, a sorting hat, a corn maze, and graveyard for unknown souls, or somthing. I guess they were all Harry Potter themed, but I'm not a fan myself, so I'm kinda glad I waited outside, I probably would have been a killjoy.


And I found the perfect apple!

And it's the day that I shaved my head.

OTori Amos - '97 Bonnie and ClydeO
Today is the day that I begin my fasting ceremony.

I'll admit that I didn't even remember it until about noon. I'm training a night class right now. My last training class ever. And it's entry instead of customer service. A bit of an added stress I admit. Training something that I don’t' know. I've been a good trainer, a very good trainer. I'm comfortable with saying that I'm the best trainer in the department right now. And not just because I think it, but because enough other people think it, and tell me so. Not people bound by any loyalty to me. My two strengths have been in my approach. I've never lost the sympathy, the empathy, with the trainees. I'm there to serve them. I'm there to help and teach them. And in my mastery of the subject material. I was a good customer service rep. One of the best, I promoted quickly because of it. And even as rules change it's very hard to knock me off balance in the realm of TRICARE Customer Service. But entry.... it's an all new world. And one I haven't had time to learn. There was no break between classes. It's been 9 weeks straight now. Anyway, that's another topic.

Today I started my fasting ritual. I didn't remember until noon when I was about to pop my new French toast into the toaster. And then it struck me.

Today is the Thursday it begins.

Why? Well, that's a tangled question, and I tried to sort through it myself before committing to anything. It started with the reading for the Church class. Three Months with Matthew. The position on fasting. Nobody fasts anymore. And why not? That was the question poised. Why not. There are probably countless reasons. My smaller mind only came up with a few. It's inconvenient. And we hate inconvenience. Our lives circle around convenience. It sells. It fits into the very logic hardwired into our brains. And we are a people who like to be comfortable. We don't deny ourselves much. There it is. Like fumbling for my bedside glasses pre-dawn. I feel around the edge. We don't deny ourselves anything really. If it is available, and if we can afford it, hell sometimes if we can't even, we deserve it. If we want it, and it is within our reach, it is also within our right to have it. Denial doesn't fit anywhere into our logic. OFiona Apple, Get GoneO I think that's probably a truth. Denial is gone from out society. Financially, spiritually, politically, sexually... it's gone.

Was there a validity to denial? Luther wore his coat inside out so that the rough outer wool would chafe against his skin. Maybe it was that sort of puritan denial that turned us away. Denial of anything pleasurable, denial of any comfort. That was without a doubt too extreme. But now the pendulum has swung too far. What was the purpose of denial? Even in it's extreme form. To pull the focus away from the physical and let it rest on the spiritual? But that doesn't seem right. When you're body wants for even the basics, when discomfort is something you are constantly aware of, your mind is more on your physical self than it ever was.

They say you should always write a little cold and a little hungry.
Biblically? Fasting was done as a community in the times of the early Christian church. Not an individual choice, but like community prayer, or a church service. So there is a validity in that, in strengthening the spiritual community. But that is past, and doesn't pertain to now.

Could fasting be a sort of prayer? a sacrifice offered up over a course of time? Maybe, and if I stay this course, that's what I want to view it as. For one day I will fast. My first thought (or my first thought upon remembering that today is the day I'm fasting) should be that this denial is a sacrifice that I'm offering up. Not in a public arena, not to be viewed by others. In fact, I'd rather that no one other than Sarah even know that this is what I'm doing. It should be personal, not a cry for attention.

From midnight to midnight, I won't eat anything solid. I'll drink only fluids. That should affect my health, but it should be enough that I'm hungry, that I'll want to eat. And there in will be the denial. The discipline, something I need and have too little of.

So today was the first day of my little experiment. Was it a coincidence that Molly brought in cake? That Rachel's class had a food day, and that there were brownies so heavy they ripped through a single napkin. With chocolate chips, and caramel and crushed Oreo? And taco dip. And I had honestly forgotten that it was the night of the LHE food day. About 100 trainees all brought in food. A veritable banquet laid out.

And the final temptation....
When the OCR entry staff reach their entry goals the company buys them cookies. So we had a big box of double chocolate, sugar cookies, soft chocolate chip cookies, and butterscotch cookies.

But I went the whole day without eating. And more importantly for me, I didn’t broadcast it, didn't even let anyone know really. I told the people I saw during the day that I was saving room for the night food event, and I told the people at night that I'd stuffed myself during the day. So it was a personal thing for me, not a public show.

I'll confess, and I don't think it's a bad thing, I think that if anything if would have made God smile a little smile. I'll confess that I did bring one of those heavy brownies home, wrapped in a napkin that was soaked through with oil or grease or whatever is in caramel and chocolate and brownie, and at 12:01, accompanied with a tall cold glass of milk, I ate what was left of the brownie after Sarah took her share.


OJem - TheyO
And I'm glad I did it. I'm glad that for 24 hours I could discipline my body. I didn't lose any weight, I didn't hurt or help my health over all. But I denied myself something I wanted. And that makes me feel just a little bit stronger.

last class

My last training class EVER starts today. it's entry, I wish I could have gone out with the last class. They rocked. They would have been a good last impression. A magnum opus, er whatever....

promote me!

So... I got the job. The new job. No more training for me. Good bye training... hello something else.

umm.... not that sort of training. Even though sometimes it felt more like that.

Ya, more like that kind of training. It was the closest to being in front of a class that I've ever had. And it feels right to be up there. I'm not sure I can explain it, I'm not sure anyone can adequately explain it without having done it. It's like you're on stage. You've got to be the entertaining as well as the educator. And the two have to be balanced to be effective. I wasn't the best educator, and I wasn't the best entertainer, but I struck the best balance.

It's so draining. Your "on" for 8 straight hours. You mind constantly working in at least 10 different directions. How can i keep their attention? How can I entertain them? Am I still teaching them the right material? Do I know the material well enough, I've got to be sure i'm accurate. Is what I'm doing now something that would please my boss? Is what I'm doing now something that would please their future boss (a different person than my future boss). Am I keeping them in line? Is their behavior appropriate to their position? Are they having fun anyway? Who in the class room is not paying attention? How can I get their attention back? Who in the classroom is not learning? Is it because they aren't listening? Or are they building up anxiety inside ready to burst or just not come back? Am I on schedule? Do I need to make up time? Can I slow down a bit and relax the atmosphere? What topic is next? Do i have everything ready for it? Worksheets, lesson plan, examples, power point, handouts.

OJack Johnson - Walk AloneO

For 8 hours all these things and more buzz constantly in your mind. And then when you send them out the door you mind just collapses into the soft easy chair of fatigue. It's stressful, but fulfilling too. And all the different people I’ve met. Over 300 easy. Some have been interesting, intriguing, intoxicating almost. For some 6 weeks in their presence was an eternity. But they all made their impressions on me, and they all had some story to tell.

I never thought I'd have a job that I loved, a job I was passionate about. And maybe I never will, not everyone is that lucky you know... but training is as close as I’ve gotten so far. It did become a part of who I am. I'm Christopher the trainer. Maybe that more than anything else is a sign that it's time to move on. I don't want to BE my job. Not until I can find that job that is who I really am at least.

It wasn't an easy decision, whether or not to even apply for this job. I've let other opportunities to leave the training department slide by. Other chances at higher pay, and a change of scenery. They just didn't feel right. And nothing "clicked" in my head this time either. It wasn't like some inner part of me sprung up and said "yes yes this is what we've been waiting for". This is who you are. But nothing cried out against it either.

O Sarah McLachlan - Fumbling Towards Ecstasy O

So I decided to see what way fate tugged me. I decided to listen to those around me, those who care for me, and put myself in the hands of something bigger than me. Everyone around me pushed me towards applying for the new position. People who love me, or even just care about me. I went into the interview and gave it my best, I admit there wasn't the fervor, the fire, but I did my best. And I've got the job. Ironically, it had com down to a decision between me an a former superior of mine. And I won out.

So I'm trusting that this is the right thing. But I'm not sure. I don't feel it to the core of my being. Maybe I'm just afraid. Maybe I'm just reluctant to give up this little bit of happiness that I've found. But without change we just stagnate and rot, right? And without putting out little happiness at risk we never even have a chance at greater happiness, right? We'll find out I guess....

insanity

Insanity


This is an article about the ban on assault weapons that is about to expire. Here is a excerpt.

“The Consumer Federation of America said the gun industry is getting set to market military style firearms if the federal ban on such weapons expires as scheduled next Monday.

The consumer group said it checked with sales people, as well as manufacturers' catalogs and Web sites. ArmaLite, a gun manufacturer in Geneseo, Ill., is advertising a "Post-PostBan Rifle Program," offering consumers attachments to convert their firearms to pre-ban configuration.”


Now as frightening as that may be in and of itself, what I really got a kick out of was the poll that goes along with it. The poll asks:

Should congress renew the federal ban on assault weapons?

Yes, Military style firearms should be banned
No, people have the right to own any firearm they want.

Here is how the poll stands as of now

Okay that’s fine. We are all entitled to our opinions, and I know that’s a highly debated issue. Just look at all of the controversy that the conceal and carry issue brought up. And even though the arguments run contrary to what I would think of as logical, I can begin to see both sides of it.

There is another article
This one is about French school girls. Oh settle down… it’s purely political.
Here is an excerpt.
“The law forbids conspicuous religious symbols and apparel in public schools. It also calls for a period of dialogue for those who fail to comply. If students don't agree to follow the new law during the discussions, then measures are taken to expel them.
While the law targets Muslim head scarves, it also forbids Jewish skull caps and large Christian crosses in classrooms.
The law is meant to bring France's increasingly vocal Muslim population, estimated at 5 million, into line with the country's cherished principle of secularism.”

So the goal of the ban is to remove anything smacking of religion from schools. Keep that in mind.

There is a poll along with this article as well.
It asks

Do you agree with the ban on religious symbols and apparel in France’s public schools?
-Yes
-No
And here is how we stand on that issue as of now. And again, keep in mind that the odds are pretty good that the 9761 people who voted on the last poll are the same ones participating in this poll. At least a good majority of them.


So... We are a nation in support of citizens with assault weapons. Bear in mind, part of the definition of an assault weapon is that it is not used for hunting purposes. It’s used for assaults… that’s why it’s called an “ASSAULT weapon” for pete’s sake. And as Americans we want them.

We also approve of the ability to tell a person what they can and cannot wear. Specifically, we think that it’s right to be able to tell a person that they cannot wear an article of clothing because it has religious connotations.

So here’s to America! May our guns grow ever bigger, and may our freedom of expression continue to dwindle.

1000th

not really a milestone that we wanted to reach, but here we are anyway. The 1000th use military member to die in Iraq. Well over 6000 wounded. It's a terrbile number in and of itself, but it leaves me wondering. How many Iraqi soldiers have died? How many citizens? not to lessen the loss of our troops in any way, I wouldn't do that. But to realize that the cost of war isn't just measured in the deaths of one side. That's why civil wars are so terrible, we have to count the losses on both sides.

paper thin

I don’t feel worn out, I feel worn thin. not even stretched thin, or pulled tight, just worn thin.

Like tissue paper rubbed too long between the thumband fore finger. -until you swear you can feel the ridges of that opposing digit right through it. Knowing that if you apply just alittle more pressure it will rip apart.
I’m not close to snapping. I won’t pretend to be. I’m not like a rubber band. I am tissue paper, and I’m close to the tear.

better than...

"We live in a world where too many people won’t go far enough, wont do what they know is right - what they believe. I don't know how or why it got this way, where the world has become so complicated that to involve yourself in someone else’s problem is to invite them needlessly on yourself."

-Chris Carter via Frank Black in Millennium, The Well Worn Lock.

It doesn't sound nearly as impressive without Frank Blacks gravely voice. It doesn't sound quite as prophetic either. Reading over it separate from that the scene, I'm not even sure it sounds true. It is true that we live in an impossibly complicated world. Trying to gauge the complexity of our lives alongside the lives of our ancestors would be futile, impossible. The difference isn't even one of degrees, but of planes of existence.

The number of variables that we juggle in our daily lives. The layers that our minds work on. Multi tasking as a survival trait. Compartmentalizing is survival of the fittest. And it's not even that we are deeper thinkers. Our philosophers are rock stars, or movie stars who don't even speak their own words, but recite the lines of other men who lack the conviction to quote themselves. We are stretched thin, a membrane pulled tight as a drum, and infinitely tangle skein. Our complexity is not our strength, it is not our survival trait - it is our snare, it is the variable by which we will achieve our summit, our stagnation.

But to say we don't go far enough is a grotesque understatement. We do not go.... period. There was a conversation recently, between two people I care about, and two people I respect. Party #1 and Party #2.

Party #1 had just voiced the fact, in passing, not as a center piece to the conversation, that they had decided not to go to Wal Mart any more. For reasons molded purely from conscience and social awareness. Party #2 inquired as to why this choice had been made. A congenial inquiry sounded mostly from curiosity, maybe just a sliver of disapproval.

Reasons were given. Their validity debatable, as always. The tactic towards small town, the initial low prices until, to the very calendar month, the neighboring small businesses disappear, and the sudden rise in prices. The misleading advertising. Take the test yourself. 80% of all items are made overseas in this "all american" store. The lawsuits from employees. The unfair wages, the sexual harassment, the unjust terminations. And the conversation ended. Thank heavens, all that social awareness was getting boring anyway.

Until party #2 calls back later that night. I'm not in on that conversation, so all this is hearsay mind you. And yet, two things from that relayed conversation, monologue maybe. Stay with me.

First, the assertion that Party #1 is only hurting itself by going someplace with higher prices. Wal Mart has the good deals.

Second. That what party number one is doing is pointless. The mere and small fact that they won't shop there anymore is too small to make a difference anyway.

And that, somehow, sums up so much of what is wrong.

You're not going to go stand beside the woman who was sexually harassed and then fired for it, her supervisor given a verbal warning, took a corporate sensitivity class, and was promoted. You're not going to help her now that she's homeless, or stand outside a wal mart telling her story. I mean, you don't even know her. You wouldn't be expected to. I don't expect you to. I'm not helping her.

But would you even quite shopping at the store that did this to her? Stop giving money to the corporation that lets this happen? I mean, heck you're against sexual harassment, in principle at least. But it's not like it was your wife who was had her ass groped and humiliated. And besides Wal Mart does have the good deals.

You're a good person, you know sweatshops are bad. You don't think that's a good word, and you wouldn't wan to work at one. But you don't know those kids in any of the at least three factories that Wal Mart purchases products from, keep financially afloat.

In general, you don't like the idea of children being paid $2.13 for 14 hours of labour without so much as a break for the restrooms, with no healthcare, no safety procedures and no hope for anything better.

But you aren't about to chain yourself to the machine that makes the shirts. You aren't about to confront the floor manager as he scowls at children as young as 8 years old. And who would blame you? Not me. I'm too god damn lazy to even look up where the place is, much less go there.

But would it kill you to quite buying the shirts that their little fingers bled on? But it's not like it's your granddaughter being mistreated, and they do have the good deals.

It's not that we don't go far enough - though we don’t, I don't - it's that we don't go at all.

We are not a socially conscience people. We don’t' see beyond our lives. Our little lives with the shiny car, the well trimmed lawn, the clean house. We lack that thing that allows us to view ourselves as part of a greater society. We are fractured and disconnected and apathetic.

Which is fine. Maybe we've always been that way. But I wish we'd quite pretending that we are something better if we aren't going to really strive to be something better.

expiriment

does this work to link right to my yahoo group?



alt="Click here to join thisredrock">

Click to join thisredrock

Yahoo Group

Started a yahoo group, because I'm not quite stretched thin enough yet to be ineffective.  This should to it though.  It's at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thisredrock/

hey man… did you say you’ve got ding dongs?

 
There are Ding-Dongs in the break room vending machine.  Every time I look at them I can hear, as clearly as if it was spoken over my shoulder, the Voice of Bruce Campbell doing Elvis and saying, “hey man… did you say you’ve got ding dongs?”
And I don’t know if that’s the sign of a sick mind, or a sick vending machine.
When I was younger, in about 5th grade, maybe it was 4th grade, I heard about lucid dreaming for the first time.  I checked out library books, learned a few tricks.  I learned about triggers, timing, conditioning, and phases of sleep.  I became the subject of my own experiment.  I don’t know if it worked, I don’t know if anything was accomplished.  I think that I can me to a point where I could easily recall and control my dreams.  I could bind the fabric of them so that they were a real and inter-active landscape that could be consciously tread upon and lived through.  But before long dream memories mingled with waking memories and formed a tight tangled knot that refused to unravel. 
Which isn’t that odd when you think about it.  Memories are, as un-poetic as it may be, are just chemical pathways.  Just neurons, little bits of flesh and electricity, lining up in a given pattern. Dreams are the same thing.  Flashes of chemical and lightning along pink pits of organic material.  There aren’t separate file folders for each.  You can’t keep one on the red disk and one on the green disk. 
Maybe that’s why dreams fade so quickly, maybe it’s an evolved trait, like stitches that dissolve, dreams steam away with the morning light so that they don’t mingle themselves in with our waking memories.
But part of this experiment, part of being able to walk trough your dreams was being able to recall them afterwards.  And in building up that tenuous self dissolving string into a chain of recall, that self defense mechanism was destroyed.  There is a patch of my life, a period of about 6 to 9 months from which I cannot trust my memories.  Into which all sorts of things that I know must be dreams, are mingled with true memories. Some of them are easy.  I know that I did not receive that sweet soft kiss from my biggest fourth grade crush.  But some of them are not so well defined.
I have a very very clear memory of a patchy cornfield in late summer. Of exploring it and coming upon and dried spot of flooding, a bald spot in that tall green maze.  And startling something that stood and fled so quickly it was hard to get a good look at.  A white flash taller than a deer, its legs bent backwards like an ostrich, and completely white.  Something albino whatever it was.  I have no idea if that was real or imagined.  It seems so real.  And there are so many others.
Sometimes, as butterfly like as it is, I wonder if this isn’t still one of those lucid dreams.  I just feel so out of place sometimes.  Like today, here at work.  I feel like I’m the item on the right hand side of the children’s bulletin. 
See the 2 pictures of Jesus?  What’s different in the picture on the right? What doesn’t belong?  There’s the wrist watch on Judas.  I think Thomas is holding an umbrella, and does Mary have a wedding bouquet?  Oh, and what’s that off in the corner?  It’s me! I don’t belong in this picture either… bugger all.
There’s this little mantra, I’m sure it should be attributed to someone, but I don’t know who, that says “you are exactly where you need to be at this very moment.”  I’ve clung to it, and calmed myself with it time and time again.  I’m not prepared to disregard it entirely, but on days like today, it serves no salve.
It’s probably self centered and egotistical to say that I feel like I should be doing something bigger.  And I’m probably too lazy to be doing something bigger.  But there ist is anyway.  I feel like this is all a pointless waste.  At least I’m getting something bloggable out of it though.
So many things in my life seem like wasted space.  Wasted energy going into wasted places. I try to take stock.  There are some things that are right and good.  I love my wife, I love my daughter, and I can’t imagine any existence without them.  They are right.  But like me, they are in the wrong scene as well.  And to make it worse, I have no idea what the right scene is. 
Sometimes I get some vague inkling of it.  Some apple pie scent upon summer wafting breeze.  But it’s gone. And I’m frustrated.  It’s not to be rich.  Not only is that something I can never have, but luckily it is something to which I do not aspire.  It might be to be famous, but only on a smaller level.  I will confess that the prospect of having my name recognized, at least in some circles, is appealing. It is to own less and do more.  It is to live a little life and leave a larger wake. 
           

My first post

My first post, my first blog, my first on-line type thing at all. How boring and trite to say that I don't have a purpose or an idea, yet there it is.

Today... today I wish more than anything that I was something or someone else. There is sunshine outside, a breeze across damp grass, just a hint of moisture fringing the sidewalks, last nights rain dissipating east and even the footprints it letft behind are fading. Everything feels young. Everything has hope, and a "freshness". Everything but me. I feel old, and trapped and worn thin. Like tread that has taken too many sharp corners, scraped the curb too many times when parking. I feel my little wires poking through, I feel my surface stretched tight with no tension beneath, only tired stale air waiting to escape, not in an explosion, but in a putrid sigh.

There's good in life, of course there is. There are simple little pleasures that I look forward to. There's a small patio, a square on concrete you could barely fit in if you laid down. There a sturdy wooden picnic table, and a red, glass globe with a candle in it, there's a wooed hill to the west, soaking up the sunlight from early afternoon until sunset. There's the shifting shade that the trees throw across that cement slab, that wooden table, that red globe.

But sometimes those little things shudder next to the all the fun and excitement that I know the Young are stirring up just out of sight. I know they're doing it right now, and I know I'm missing it. I'm missing it because I'm old, and aging and getting rounder every minute. And I'm tired, and I want to be irresponsible, but can't. And yes, i would like a side of coleslaw with that big ole helping of self pity.

Maybe it's just summer, maybe that's why i like winter more anyway. Everyone feels old in the winter, everyone covers up and cowers indoors. I think I just crossed the line into grumpy-oldman-hood.

Whatever... whipper-snapper.