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.