some pretty hilarious stuff
at a fairly hilarious site.
have fun.
3.25.2005
3.23.2005
3.16.2005
from the fine folks at Tickle
from the folks at Tickle
who obviously have too much time on their hands.
When talking to your partner, you're a Diplomat
This means that you tend to be a cooperative partner with first-rate listening and negotiation skills. Above all, you seem to try to keep the lines of communication open between you and your significant other. In your mind, it's usually far better to talk about problems as they arise rather than sweep them under the rug. For you to really feel connected to your special someone, it's important that they hear and understand you. Ordinarily, you'll return this courtesy tenfold by paying close attention to your partner's perspective.
Experts agree that for a couple to thrive, they must be able to communicate. People with compatible communication styles tend to bring out the best in one another because their approach to relationships is like-minded. But if you're with someone whose communication style clashes with yours, you're headed for more challenges than most.
Your moves are fresh when it comes to Being Creative
It's clear you're a unique individual with your own way of expressing yourself and your inner artist. Whether it's with a pen, paintbrush, play, or punk rock band, you've got a creative energy you just can't ignore. Your fresh ideas and imagination are sure to shine through wherever you go. Maybe your flair for fashion shows up in your wardrobe. Maybe you cause a stir with your latest performance piece or surprise people with your latest artistic creation. However you do it, you're sure to attract many admiring fans with your fresh perspectives and creativity!
Suave
Wow — you're quite the Casanova! You know how to play the dating game; in fact, you're damn good at it. We can tell you're a real woman-magnet and are never without an admirer or three. When combined with your significant charm, your attentive, sensitive demeanor makes you irresistible. Someone definitely made sure that you know how to treat a woman — ladies always feel special and appreciated when you're with them. You've got a knack for expressing yourself and showing your interest without looking too eager, too. That's a difficult balancing act, and you deserve a pat on the back for perfecting it. At the rate you're going you won't be dating much longer before you score your dream girl!
...bring her on....
Looks like your sex drive's in Fourth Gear!
So how's the view from the driver's seat? Your sex drive is in a very healthy Fourth Gear, and you're cruising down what Aretha Franklin called the freeway of love in a pink Cadillac! It's great that you know what you want, when you want it, and with whom. Your lusty interest is certainly piqued, but let's make sure that it's not peaking! The key to maintaining that healthy libido is maintaining a healthy lifestyle. A wholesome diet (plenty of water, a good dose of fiber every day, vitamins, minerals—the works) will keep that motor humming. And a smart exercise plan will help you stay flexible, strong, and ready for love. Healthy moves like these will help your lust for life keep up with your lust for, well, you know.
Material Upkeep
Although you definitely appreciate a first-class lifestyle, you don't feel a constant need to indulge yourself. Sure, it's fun to spoil yourself with fancy dinners or designer clothes every once in a while, but you probably don't need everything in your life to be top of the line all the time. Congratulations! You know how to indulge yourself the right way — in moderation.
Emotional Upkeep
You like being a top priority in your partner's life, but you also respect his/her independence — good for you! Sure, it's important for you to feel valued and appreciated in your relationship, but your expectations for your significant other tend to be realistic and attainable. You definitely know how you want to be treated, but you don't think the only fulfilling relationship is one filled with constant doting.
and the horoscope says......
yesterday's: If you're single, it's time to get out there and resume your hunt for the perfect partner. You'll be amazed at how many prospective admirers will want to have a shot at the title, too. All you have to do is get dressed and get yourself on the scene. You'll be the center of attention, no matter where you are -- and for only the loveliest of reasons.
today's: After days of dashing about, doing at least three things at once, you're suddenly in the mood to snuggle -- and you know exactly who to invite to help satisfy that wish. If you're single, however, don't settle for a teddy bear. Get out there and start looking around. You're definitely due to meet someone new. And this time out, they'll probably be intelligent enough to keep you interested.
....stars trying to tell me something? maybe that explains why the girl in the bar the other night decided to back between my legs as i sat on the stool at the bar, lean her ass against me and reach behind herself to fondle me.......who knows?
who obviously have too much time on their hands.
When talking to your partner, you're a Diplomat
This means that you tend to be a cooperative partner with first-rate listening and negotiation skills. Above all, you seem to try to keep the lines of communication open between you and your significant other. In your mind, it's usually far better to talk about problems as they arise rather than sweep them under the rug. For you to really feel connected to your special someone, it's important that they hear and understand you. Ordinarily, you'll return this courtesy tenfold by paying close attention to your partner's perspective.
Experts agree that for a couple to thrive, they must be able to communicate. People with compatible communication styles tend to bring out the best in one another because their approach to relationships is like-minded. But if you're with someone whose communication style clashes with yours, you're headed for more challenges than most.
Your moves are fresh when it comes to Being Creative
It's clear you're a unique individual with your own way of expressing yourself and your inner artist. Whether it's with a pen, paintbrush, play, or punk rock band, you've got a creative energy you just can't ignore. Your fresh ideas and imagination are sure to shine through wherever you go. Maybe your flair for fashion shows up in your wardrobe. Maybe you cause a stir with your latest performance piece or surprise people with your latest artistic creation. However you do it, you're sure to attract many admiring fans with your fresh perspectives and creativity!
Suave
Wow — you're quite the Casanova! You know how to play the dating game; in fact, you're damn good at it. We can tell you're a real woman-magnet and are never without an admirer or three. When combined with your significant charm, your attentive, sensitive demeanor makes you irresistible. Someone definitely made sure that you know how to treat a woman — ladies always feel special and appreciated when you're with them. You've got a knack for expressing yourself and showing your interest without looking too eager, too. That's a difficult balancing act, and you deserve a pat on the back for perfecting it. At the rate you're going you won't be dating much longer before you score your dream girl!
...bring her on....
Looks like your sex drive's in Fourth Gear!
So how's the view from the driver's seat? Your sex drive is in a very healthy Fourth Gear, and you're cruising down what Aretha Franklin called the freeway of love in a pink Cadillac! It's great that you know what you want, when you want it, and with whom. Your lusty interest is certainly piqued, but let's make sure that it's not peaking! The key to maintaining that healthy libido is maintaining a healthy lifestyle. A wholesome diet (plenty of water, a good dose of fiber every day, vitamins, minerals—the works) will keep that motor humming. And a smart exercise plan will help you stay flexible, strong, and ready for love. Healthy moves like these will help your lust for life keep up with your lust for, well, you know.
Material Upkeep
Although you definitely appreciate a first-class lifestyle, you don't feel a constant need to indulge yourself. Sure, it's fun to spoil yourself with fancy dinners or designer clothes every once in a while, but you probably don't need everything in your life to be top of the line all the time. Congratulations! You know how to indulge yourself the right way — in moderation.
Emotional Upkeep
You like being a top priority in your partner's life, but you also respect his/her independence — good for you! Sure, it's important for you to feel valued and appreciated in your relationship, but your expectations for your significant other tend to be realistic and attainable. You definitely know how you want to be treated, but you don't think the only fulfilling relationship is one filled with constant doting.
and the horoscope says......
yesterday's: If you're single, it's time to get out there and resume your hunt for the perfect partner. You'll be amazed at how many prospective admirers will want to have a shot at the title, too. All you have to do is get dressed and get yourself on the scene. You'll be the center of attention, no matter where you are -- and for only the loveliest of reasons.
today's: After days of dashing about, doing at least three things at once, you're suddenly in the mood to snuggle -- and you know exactly who to invite to help satisfy that wish. If you're single, however, don't settle for a teddy bear. Get out there and start looking around. You're definitely due to meet someone new. And this time out, they'll probably be intelligent enough to keep you interested.
....stars trying to tell me something? maybe that explains why the girl in the bar the other night decided to back between my legs as i sat on the stool at the bar, lean her ass against me and reach behind herself to fondle me.......who knows?
3.10.2005
3.09.2005
reimpacting by surprise
reimpacting (a surprise) and further clarity
spent the past two days at a regional conference. it happens every year. when i took my current assignment, i attended one. it sucked. spent more time in transit than in actual conference sessions, and the sessions were mostly crap, and the ones that weren't covered stuff i already knew, and in some cases even stuff that i originated in past programs that i've managed. (stayed actually in the same place where you, 2+ years later, planned to meet your married lover while in town to attend a show. i wonder if you stayed in the same room that i did, when i was there, doing what i said i was doing, not cheating. missing you, even. all i remember was that the room i stayed in smelled like pipe tobacco and had some luminary's name on a plaque outside the door. you went to the concert, but i ruined your fuck plans.)
i've blown off this conference the past two years. for a couple of reasons: the last one i went to sucked (was a waste of time and limited resources); i know most of this shit already, and have grown tired of listening to people present things as if they're breaking new ground when they're not doing anything more than i've ever done and -- as i said above -- a lot of it is stuff that *i* broke ground on (if there were royalties in this business, or if intellectual property could be reasonably patented, i'd be a rich fuck); i've lost my patience with the high number of absolute hacks in my field who do nothing but embarrass me with how disproportionate their actual knowledge is to their titles; and i didn't want to see the fucker who you had an affair with.
you "met" him through a fucking professional email discussion list back before we even moved out here. attracted, as you are, to men in positions of authority. that's the only reason you were initially attracted to me, too. now i know. not that i've ever considered my job to be anything more than that. a job. authority? god. can't even keep your fucking pants on online. what's funny is that it bothers me as much that you actually on some level considered him to have as much so-called "authority" as me. i've known him longer than you, and he's a fucking a hack. fake-assed poser. how many of *my* ideas, which you internalized so well that i was proud of you, did you pass on to him, doll? you threw away more than yourself -- you threw away my hard work, too. (i even remember once, during dinner, commenting on him, and his bullshit, and remember being surprised when your response indicated that you thought he was "ok." uh-huh.)
so, i remember another similar, bigger, annual conference in chicago. thought it would be cool to come with me. spend some time together. get out of town. share costs for the room and maybe even learn a few things. i remember, after a day of sessions, turning to see you smiling at this asshole, and him smiling at you, your hands attached in what appeared to my innocent, blind eyes at the time to be a simple professional handshake. a greeting between colleagues who had corresponded on the discussion list. i remember too, afterwards, us returning to our room to chill. there was an hour or so before evening social activities. i remember us lying together on the bed, i remember wanting to make love with you, wanting you, trying to seduce you, showing my desire. and you telling me that you had a headache. maybe you did, but you also had guilt, i know now, because you didn't come to chicago with me because you wanted to be with me, or because you wanted to go to the conference. you went because you wanted to see this person. you fucking freeloaded on me to flirt with some asshole. who i knew, through the grapevine. married. 5 kids. what the fuck.
and i remember the next morning. you asking me if i would mind if you met some people for breakfast. of course i didn't mind. why would i mind? now, of course, i also remember how, that morning, you were up and ready way before me. because you wanted to increase the odds that you could go to breakfast without me, could escape, because i wouldn't be ready when you said you were going to meet your colleagues. you asked me if i would mind, because you had no intention of inviting me to join you. they were my colleagues, too. but, you weren't meeting colleagues. now i understand. you were meeting him. or did you just go off on your own, and write your little letter to him? letting him know how much you wanted to spend time with him, getting to know him, how you envisioned spending time with him. bitch. or did you have breakfast with him? did you have each other for breakfast, honey? did you kiss him, honey? did you blow him, honey? whatever you did, fuck you, honey.
so, that's what happened in chicago. then, the next time you and this asshole were at a conference together (did he even plan to go to the cherry valley conference for professional reasons? or was it all a scheme to have your disgusting little tryst?) you were expected to go, and he would meet you there. fuckers. both of you. him married, and you wearing my ring, the diamond i put on your finger the christmas before. did you even take it off your finger while you fucked him, honey?
i remember another time. you'd heard from someone, somewhere, about some possibility to take a job. would involve a lot of time on the road. but you were frustrated with what you were doing, and you thought it sounded like an opportunity. told me about it. took me by surprise, because you couldn't ever stand to be away from me for a second. you are needy that way, dependent. remember what i told you? that if that's what you wanted to do, of course i'd support you -- but i wanted you to really think it through, and not be impulsive about it, because it would mean that we'd be apart a lot of the time, and that was something that made you unhappy. it always had up to that point, anyway. now i get it -- what you wanted was to be able to have a job so that you could have ready reasons to be away from me, to be out of town, so you could pursue your little fuck fantasies. and keep me both in the dark and in your life. fuck you, honey. so, why'd you end up dropping that plan? maybe you thought, shit -- he'll get sick of this real quick, and break up with me. maybe i would have. who knows. we'll never know. but i do know that we are different that way. because, if i didn't think things could work out, as i know now, or if i wanted something else, as i do now, or if i were just tired of us, or sick of you, which i never was -- yes, i would have broken up with you. unlike you who, for whatever twisted reason, changed the rules, changed the reality, broke promises and commitments, and still waited for me to kick you out of my life. fuck you for that, baby. get a spine.
how hard it was for me to comprehend the extent of your deception, your betrayal -- now i get it. you've become so good at lying to yourself that lying to everyone else is second nature. now i understand why, despite how fucking outraged you could be at the world, your family (your father, your brother, your sister), your friends (all of them -- well, wait, besides me, you only really have one), your coworkers (everywhere you worked), me, my son -- everyone -- despite that, you couldn't handle anyone's anger when it was directed at you. how that double-standard drove me crazy. remembering that helps me not miss you.
you can't handle anyone being angry with you because everything you fucking do is an act. nothing's real. it's all conjured up to create some scene you've got playing in your head. it's control freak shit. when those scenes that you so carefully composed didn't work out exactly the way you envisioned, and your behavior actually pissed someone off -- because the rest of us ARE living in the real world, honeybitch -- you couldn't comprehend it. how could anyone be angry at you? because you KNEW that it was all bullshit, all an act, all a lie. and your intention wasn't always to piss people off, because you knew you didn't like that feeling. that sense of being under a dark cloud. the same sense so many of us -- your family, your friends, the people who really care about you -- could feel, the burden of your pain that was tangible when you were feeling it. it leaked, poured out of you. you subjected us all to it. because the only way you know how to connect with people when you're angry is to make them to feel the same shit as you.
pretty republican of you, actually. give everyone what they want -- tell them anything to get them on your side, to win them over, get what you want from them, and then screw them over in the end. you really oughtta think about switching parties. you'd fit right in.
it's all a game for you, babe. everything is made up. your personality, your life, your face. it's all fucking fake. that's why you douse yourself in baby powder every morning. you're afraid of your own scent. i hated that. i love how women smell. they don't smell like babies. you're 29 for chrissakes. take it from me (i've had other lovers before you, baby -- remember?) -- the baby powder? it's not sexy. nothing sexy about having to get through a thin coating of baby powder every time i went down on you, before i could actually lick you, taste you.
all i wanted was you. the real you. the you i thought i knew. the you i was in love with. the you i gave my heart to. maybe she existed. once. but she's gone now. and because of her, you're fading.
so i went to the conference this year. i went because i could, because i felt like it. because i called the asshole-who-you-had-an-affair-with's wife, and told her the whole deal. sent her all of your fucking fantasy love emails. all those words. still seared in my memory. just fucking think about this: how would you feel if you had no clue and then had to read the words you wrote to him? if you found me writing to someone the words you wrote to him? "i want this man -- physically, spiritually, passionately, completely -- i want all of him. i want to be your wife, kevin." you wrote that shit, honeybitch. not to me. yet you lived under my roof, slept in my bed -- i thought it was ours. now i know. it was just mine. you were never really here. it was my home, but it was just your stage.
so i went to the conference. i wondered if he'd be there, after the confessional. wondered how i'd deal with it, with him. i still wonder. would i attack him? would i ignore him? would he try to confront me? would he steer clear? i still want to strangle him and break his balls, yes. i'm ok with him knowing that. knowing even that i'd enjoy it. but it's different now. it's all different now. so i went to the conference. and you didn't.
but it's clear now, at least. so clear that you lied to me and lied to me and lied to me. now i understand. a few things. distance does give clarity, and time does all the formatting. in the end, the story becomes clear, and the presentation is perfect.
spent the past two days at a regional conference. it happens every year. when i took my current assignment, i attended one. it sucked. spent more time in transit than in actual conference sessions, and the sessions were mostly crap, and the ones that weren't covered stuff i already knew, and in some cases even stuff that i originated in past programs that i've managed. (stayed actually in the same place where you, 2+ years later, planned to meet your married lover while in town to attend a show. i wonder if you stayed in the same room that i did, when i was there, doing what i said i was doing, not cheating. missing you, even. all i remember was that the room i stayed in smelled like pipe tobacco and had some luminary's name on a plaque outside the door. you went to the concert, but i ruined your fuck plans.)
i've blown off this conference the past two years. for a couple of reasons: the last one i went to sucked (was a waste of time and limited resources); i know most of this shit already, and have grown tired of listening to people present things as if they're breaking new ground when they're not doing anything more than i've ever done and -- as i said above -- a lot of it is stuff that *i* broke ground on (if there were royalties in this business, or if intellectual property could be reasonably patented, i'd be a rich fuck); i've lost my patience with the high number of absolute hacks in my field who do nothing but embarrass me with how disproportionate their actual knowledge is to their titles; and i didn't want to see the fucker who you had an affair with.
you "met" him through a fucking professional email discussion list back before we even moved out here. attracted, as you are, to men in positions of authority. that's the only reason you were initially attracted to me, too. now i know. not that i've ever considered my job to be anything more than that. a job. authority? god. can't even keep your fucking pants on online. what's funny is that it bothers me as much that you actually on some level considered him to have as much so-called "authority" as me. i've known him longer than you, and he's a fucking a hack. fake-assed poser. how many of *my* ideas, which you internalized so well that i was proud of you, did you pass on to him, doll? you threw away more than yourself -- you threw away my hard work, too. (i even remember once, during dinner, commenting on him, and his bullshit, and remember being surprised when your response indicated that you thought he was "ok." uh-huh.)
so, i remember another similar, bigger, annual conference in chicago. thought it would be cool to come with me. spend some time together. get out of town. share costs for the room and maybe even learn a few things. i remember, after a day of sessions, turning to see you smiling at this asshole, and him smiling at you, your hands attached in what appeared to my innocent, blind eyes at the time to be a simple professional handshake. a greeting between colleagues who had corresponded on the discussion list. i remember too, afterwards, us returning to our room to chill. there was an hour or so before evening social activities. i remember us lying together on the bed, i remember wanting to make love with you, wanting you, trying to seduce you, showing my desire. and you telling me that you had a headache. maybe you did, but you also had guilt, i know now, because you didn't come to chicago with me because you wanted to be with me, or because you wanted to go to the conference. you went because you wanted to see this person. you fucking freeloaded on me to flirt with some asshole. who i knew, through the grapevine. married. 5 kids. what the fuck.
and i remember the next morning. you asking me if i would mind if you met some people for breakfast. of course i didn't mind. why would i mind? now, of course, i also remember how, that morning, you were up and ready way before me. because you wanted to increase the odds that you could go to breakfast without me, could escape, because i wouldn't be ready when you said you were going to meet your colleagues. you asked me if i would mind, because you had no intention of inviting me to join you. they were my colleagues, too. but, you weren't meeting colleagues. now i understand. you were meeting him. or did you just go off on your own, and write your little letter to him? letting him know how much you wanted to spend time with him, getting to know him, how you envisioned spending time with him. bitch. or did you have breakfast with him? did you have each other for breakfast, honey? did you kiss him, honey? did you blow him, honey? whatever you did, fuck you, honey.
so, that's what happened in chicago. then, the next time you and this asshole were at a conference together (did he even plan to go to the cherry valley conference for professional reasons? or was it all a scheme to have your disgusting little tryst?) you were expected to go, and he would meet you there. fuckers. both of you. him married, and you wearing my ring, the diamond i put on your finger the christmas before. did you even take it off your finger while you fucked him, honey?
i remember another time. you'd heard from someone, somewhere, about some possibility to take a job. would involve a lot of time on the road. but you were frustrated with what you were doing, and you thought it sounded like an opportunity. told me about it. took me by surprise, because you couldn't ever stand to be away from me for a second. you are needy that way, dependent. remember what i told you? that if that's what you wanted to do, of course i'd support you -- but i wanted you to really think it through, and not be impulsive about it, because it would mean that we'd be apart a lot of the time, and that was something that made you unhappy. it always had up to that point, anyway. now i get it -- what you wanted was to be able to have a job so that you could have ready reasons to be away from me, to be out of town, so you could pursue your little fuck fantasies. and keep me both in the dark and in your life. fuck you, honey. so, why'd you end up dropping that plan? maybe you thought, shit -- he'll get sick of this real quick, and break up with me. maybe i would have. who knows. we'll never know. but i do know that we are different that way. because, if i didn't think things could work out, as i know now, or if i wanted something else, as i do now, or if i were just tired of us, or sick of you, which i never was -- yes, i would have broken up with you. unlike you who, for whatever twisted reason, changed the rules, changed the reality, broke promises and commitments, and still waited for me to kick you out of my life. fuck you for that, baby. get a spine.
how hard it was for me to comprehend the extent of your deception, your betrayal -- now i get it. you've become so good at lying to yourself that lying to everyone else is second nature. now i understand why, despite how fucking outraged you could be at the world, your family (your father, your brother, your sister), your friends (all of them -- well, wait, besides me, you only really have one), your coworkers (everywhere you worked), me, my son -- everyone -- despite that, you couldn't handle anyone's anger when it was directed at you. how that double-standard drove me crazy. remembering that helps me not miss you.
you can't handle anyone being angry with you because everything you fucking do is an act. nothing's real. it's all conjured up to create some scene you've got playing in your head. it's control freak shit. when those scenes that you so carefully composed didn't work out exactly the way you envisioned, and your behavior actually pissed someone off -- because the rest of us ARE living in the real world, honeybitch -- you couldn't comprehend it. how could anyone be angry at you? because you KNEW that it was all bullshit, all an act, all a lie. and your intention wasn't always to piss people off, because you knew you didn't like that feeling. that sense of being under a dark cloud. the same sense so many of us -- your family, your friends, the people who really care about you -- could feel, the burden of your pain that was tangible when you were feeling it. it leaked, poured out of you. you subjected us all to it. because the only way you know how to connect with people when you're angry is to make them to feel the same shit as you.
pretty republican of you, actually. give everyone what they want -- tell them anything to get them on your side, to win them over, get what you want from them, and then screw them over in the end. you really oughtta think about switching parties. you'd fit right in.
it's all a game for you, babe. everything is made up. your personality, your life, your face. it's all fucking fake. that's why you douse yourself in baby powder every morning. you're afraid of your own scent. i hated that. i love how women smell. they don't smell like babies. you're 29 for chrissakes. take it from me (i've had other lovers before you, baby -- remember?) -- the baby powder? it's not sexy. nothing sexy about having to get through a thin coating of baby powder every time i went down on you, before i could actually lick you, taste you.
all i wanted was you. the real you. the you i thought i knew. the you i was in love with. the you i gave my heart to. maybe she existed. once. but she's gone now. and because of her, you're fading.
so i went to the conference this year. i went because i could, because i felt like it. because i called the asshole-who-you-had-an-affair-with's wife, and told her the whole deal. sent her all of your fucking fantasy love emails. all those words. still seared in my memory. just fucking think about this: how would you feel if you had no clue and then had to read the words you wrote to him? if you found me writing to someone the words you wrote to him? "i want this man -- physically, spiritually, passionately, completely -- i want all of him. i want to be your wife, kevin." you wrote that shit, honeybitch. not to me. yet you lived under my roof, slept in my bed -- i thought it was ours. now i know. it was just mine. you were never really here. it was my home, but it was just your stage.
so i went to the conference. i wondered if he'd be there, after the confessional. wondered how i'd deal with it, with him. i still wonder. would i attack him? would i ignore him? would he try to confront me? would he steer clear? i still want to strangle him and break his balls, yes. i'm ok with him knowing that. knowing even that i'd enjoy it. but it's different now. it's all different now. so i went to the conference. and you didn't.
but it's clear now, at least. so clear that you lied to me and lied to me and lied to me. now i understand. a few things. distance does give clarity, and time does all the formatting. in the end, the story becomes clear, and the presentation is perfect.
3.06.2005
can't tell if this is good news or not....
my horoscope for today:
You're about to shock and amaze your family, friends or anyone else who's
never seen this side of you before. Sure, you're usually eerily objective,
compassionate without getting too emotionally attached -- and you're good
at it, too. But lately? Well, you'll be hard-pressed to keep the tears from
your eyes at a good baby-food commercial. Don't panic. This, too, shall
pass.
hmmmmm...
You're about to shock and amaze your family, friends or anyone else who's
never seen this side of you before. Sure, you're usually eerily objective,
compassionate without getting too emotionally attached -- and you're good
at it, too. But lately? Well, you'll be hard-pressed to keep the tears from
your eyes at a good baby-food commercial. Don't panic. This, too, shall
pass.
hmmmmm...
2.26.2005
2.23.2005
welcome back (to me)
dear readers,
sorry for my delayed absence. it's been awhile. it's been almost 4 months. one could argue, almost 3 years. one could argue, almost seven years. anyways, i'm back.
how back am i? hard to tell. what is clear is that it's a feeling. kind of like finally feeling better after a really bad illness. like waking up from a coma, maybe. like returning from war, maybe. like, wow, here i am again, and i'm ok, and the world is ok, and no one's shooting at me. kind of like that. i feel better.
how better? hard to tell, but getting less so, less hard to tell, that is. feeling more normal. more baseline. you know -- water on the stove for tea and laundry in the dryer normal. not the spinning out of control, grasping, gasping, clinging-for-dear-life abnormal.
feeling done. better, but done.
moving on is odd. interesting, intriguing, bizarre. here's one indication: i spent a portion of last night lending my ear and support to a stripper who's having relationship problems. and another portion chatting with some mid-30's woman who was raised by a stripper/hooker (well, not-raised would be more accurate, based on her pretty straightforward description of her mother as "not mother material -- it's like she never matured." she pretty much has spent most of her life mothering her mother.) i was attracted to her hair, so sat down next to her and said hi. she had strong rough hands, and a rough face semi-hidden by make-up in that way that makes a woman look about 5-10 yrs younger than she is from across the room, but up close you can tell. can see the lines. can see the rough spots. she talked pretty much non-stop, and i listened. talked about her kids, and her on-again-off-again boyfriend, and her ex-husband ("he's 42, but he's old -- and he wants to be -- he wants to be an old man").
about how she likes to dance and is a very good dancer, as is her 9 year old daughter, about her mom, who danced for larry flint, about how she quit drinking for 10 years but started again recently, about her brother, who she loves but is tired of enabling, how he's in jail now, for burglary, but before, when he was living with her, was stealing her food and giving it to junkies, and how he punched her and she slashed his forehead.
about the job she lost making $50K/yr because of a drug habit that her mother created, how she's looking for work, because she got laid off from her last job and she's thinking of waitressing because she's worked with the public since she was 19, was on her own at 13, about how her uncle died recently from a drug problem, and she inherited the leather couch that he died on because no one else wanted it, and all his clothes, and how she was close to him, so was glad that, though they'd been fighting, they'd reconciled about two months before he died, about how badly in debt he was and no one knew.
interesting. pretty hair. not quite my type. finished my beer while a vietnam vet fondled a beautiful young woman who was i would say 3X younger than him. she took it in stride. a complete professional.
they say when you can begin to help others, you must be on the mend.
dear readers,
sorry for my delayed absence. it's been awhile. it's been almost 4 months. one could argue, almost 3 years. one could argue, almost seven years. anyways, i'm back.
how back am i? hard to tell. what is clear is that it's a feeling. kind of like finally feeling better after a really bad illness. like waking up from a coma, maybe. like returning from war, maybe. like, wow, here i am again, and i'm ok, and the world is ok, and no one's shooting at me. kind of like that. i feel better.
how better? hard to tell, but getting less so, less hard to tell, that is. feeling more normal. more baseline. you know -- water on the stove for tea and laundry in the dryer normal. not the spinning out of control, grasping, gasping, clinging-for-dear-life abnormal.
feeling done. better, but done.
moving on is odd. interesting, intriguing, bizarre. here's one indication: i spent a portion of last night lending my ear and support to a stripper who's having relationship problems. and another portion chatting with some mid-30's woman who was raised by a stripper/hooker (well, not-raised would be more accurate, based on her pretty straightforward description of her mother as "not mother material -- it's like she never matured." she pretty much has spent most of her life mothering her mother.) i was attracted to her hair, so sat down next to her and said hi. she had strong rough hands, and a rough face semi-hidden by make-up in that way that makes a woman look about 5-10 yrs younger than she is from across the room, but up close you can tell. can see the lines. can see the rough spots. she talked pretty much non-stop, and i listened. talked about her kids, and her on-again-off-again boyfriend, and her ex-husband ("he's 42, but he's old -- and he wants to be -- he wants to be an old man").
about how she likes to dance and is a very good dancer, as is her 9 year old daughter, about her mom, who danced for larry flint, about how she quit drinking for 10 years but started again recently, about her brother, who she loves but is tired of enabling, how he's in jail now, for burglary, but before, when he was living with her, was stealing her food and giving it to junkies, and how he punched her and she slashed his forehead.
about the job she lost making $50K/yr because of a drug habit that her mother created, how she's looking for work, because she got laid off from her last job and she's thinking of waitressing because she's worked with the public since she was 19, was on her own at 13, about how her uncle died recently from a drug problem, and she inherited the leather couch that he died on because no one else wanted it, and all his clothes, and how she was close to him, so was glad that, though they'd been fighting, they'd reconciled about two months before he died, about how badly in debt he was and no one knew.
interesting. pretty hair. not quite my type. finished my beer while a vietnam vet fondled a beautiful young woman who was i would say 3X younger than him. she took it in stride. a complete professional.
they say when you can begin to help others, you must be on the mend.
1.28.2005
i've been stabbed
that's what it feels like, anyway. for the past two months, since the break-up, i've had a burning sensation over my left shoulder blade which ranges from a concentrated spot of pain, like a knot in a muscle, to a burning that covers my entire shoulder blade and spreads to my tricep, kind of tingly and numb around the edges.
i know it's nothing muscular. it started with the break up, and it has intensified as things got worse. or, rather, more final. i've tried stretching, i've tried heat, i've tried alleve. no effect. it's in my head. or, rather, my heart. this is a clear physical manifestation of my emotional and spiritual pain.
here's what i think. if our bodies are the vessels of our souls, and we love another person so deeply that we feel connected to their soul -- if you love them so that they are in your blood, in your skin, your breath -- so that when they are gone, you remind yourself of them -- then, when they leave you, your soul has to disentangle from theirs.
my soul, for the past two months, found this spot on my shoulder blade. i don't know why. it's near enough my heart. maybe my heart's too strong, or maybe it isn't "my time" yet. maybe i was mortally wounded by an ax blow to my left shoulder in some past lifetime, or in many, in some past war, and this particular spot on my body is weak. or maybe not weak, but predetermined by my soul's past history to be kind of a portal, an entry point, an exit route.
to disentangle itself from alison's soul, my soul used this spot on my shoulder blade to do its work. it's still doing it. it still hurts like hell. it had to leave me, and i think a lot of the pain has been the result of me unconsciously trying not to let it go, trying desperately to hold on, to my soul, to her soul, to what we had, to what she ruined. but the soul knows no boundaries, and when it needs to go, it goes.
and in its leaving, and in my desperate grasping, i have felt the fierce power of my own soul leaving my body to do what it needs to do, burning my flesh, tearing my skin, pulling itself out of me to disperse in the universe, to do the reverse dance, to disentangle itself from her so that i can survive.
i think what i'm feeling now is it coming back into me. my soul is returning. my wound is still fresh, it still aches, is still sensitive to the touch. but i'm hoping that just as the leaving caused this metaphysical rupture, this spiritual laceration, that the returning will be eventually like a soothing balm, like a slow gradual repairing of the damage.
that's what i think. that's where i am. peace.
that's what it feels like, anyway. for the past two months, since the break-up, i've had a burning sensation over my left shoulder blade which ranges from a concentrated spot of pain, like a knot in a muscle, to a burning that covers my entire shoulder blade and spreads to my tricep, kind of tingly and numb around the edges.
i know it's nothing muscular. it started with the break up, and it has intensified as things got worse. or, rather, more final. i've tried stretching, i've tried heat, i've tried alleve. no effect. it's in my head. or, rather, my heart. this is a clear physical manifestation of my emotional and spiritual pain.
here's what i think. if our bodies are the vessels of our souls, and we love another person so deeply that we feel connected to their soul -- if you love them so that they are in your blood, in your skin, your breath -- so that when they are gone, you remind yourself of them -- then, when they leave you, your soul has to disentangle from theirs.
my soul, for the past two months, found this spot on my shoulder blade. i don't know why. it's near enough my heart. maybe my heart's too strong, or maybe it isn't "my time" yet. maybe i was mortally wounded by an ax blow to my left shoulder in some past lifetime, or in many, in some past war, and this particular spot on my body is weak. or maybe not weak, but predetermined by my soul's past history to be kind of a portal, an entry point, an exit route.
to disentangle itself from alison's soul, my soul used this spot on my shoulder blade to do its work. it's still doing it. it still hurts like hell. it had to leave me, and i think a lot of the pain has been the result of me unconsciously trying not to let it go, trying desperately to hold on, to my soul, to her soul, to what we had, to what she ruined. but the soul knows no boundaries, and when it needs to go, it goes.
and in its leaving, and in my desperate grasping, i have felt the fierce power of my own soul leaving my body to do what it needs to do, burning my flesh, tearing my skin, pulling itself out of me to disperse in the universe, to do the reverse dance, to disentangle itself from her so that i can survive.
i think what i'm feeling now is it coming back into me. my soul is returning. my wound is still fresh, it still aches, is still sensitive to the touch. but i'm hoping that just as the leaving caused this metaphysical rupture, this spiritual laceration, that the returning will be eventually like a soothing balm, like a slow gradual repairing of the damage.
that's what i think. that's where i am. peace.
12.01.2004
11.23.2004
alive and well
guess who I saw on Sunday night? uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-huh-ooooooooooo!
yup. the Pixies, ladies and gentlemen. happy to report that all are well. Charles (Black Francis/Frank Black) Thompson can still scream, Kim Deal is still totally cool, Joey Santiago still throws feedback around like nobody's business, and David Lovering still channels Keith Moon.
go see 'em.
guess who I saw on Sunday night? uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-huh-ooooooooooo!
yup. the Pixies, ladies and gentlemen. happy to report that all are well. Charles (Black Francis/Frank Black) Thompson can still scream, Kim Deal is still totally cool, Joey Santiago still throws feedback around like nobody's business, and David Lovering still channels Keith Moon.
go see 'em.
10.29.2004
10.08.2004
authentic happiness
took this survey today. here's what it said, based on 9 pages of self-scoring questions:
Signature Strengths ("The ranking of the strengths reflects your overall ratings of yourself on the 24 strengths in the survey, how much of each strength you possess. Your top five, especially those marked as Signature Strengths, are the ones to pay attention to and find ways to use more often.")
Top Strength
Creativity, ingenuity, and originality Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.
Second Strength
Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness You are an honest person, not only by speaking the truth but by living your life in a genuine and authentic way. You are down to earth and without pretense; you are a "real" person.
Third Strength
Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.
Fourth Strength
Love of learning You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.
Fifth Strength
Bravery and valor You are a courageous person who does not shrink from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain. You speak up for what is right even if there is opposition. You act on your convictions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
well ain't i just special.
took this survey today. here's what it said, based on 9 pages of self-scoring questions:
Signature Strengths ("The ranking of the strengths reflects your overall ratings of yourself on the 24 strengths in the survey, how much of each strength you possess. Your top five, especially those marked as Signature Strengths, are the ones to pay attention to and find ways to use more often.")
Top Strength
Creativity, ingenuity, and originality Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.
Second Strength
Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness You are an honest person, not only by speaking the truth but by living your life in a genuine and authentic way. You are down to earth and without pretense; you are a "real" person.
Third Strength
Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.
Fourth Strength
Love of learning You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.
Fifth Strength
Bravery and valor You are a courageous person who does not shrink from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain. You speak up for what is right even if there is opposition. You act on your convictions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
well ain't i just special.
10.01.2004
enuff to go around
well, shit. just when it looked like i was getting back into a groove of regular posting (well, it felt that way to me, anyway), some latest MS upgrade made posting to blgger from Internet Explorer at first a big pain in the ass (see reference to lost post, below) and then completely impossible. hence, the hiatus.
so, a tip from a techie led me to download and install the free version of Mozilla's Firefox. and now everything works better than it ever has. fancy that. kinda makes ya wonder if maybe MS is working on its own version of blogger........
of course, now that it works again, i'm not much feel like writing. since you've been kind enough to check up on me, though, here's what i've been up to:
finished reading:
and, last night, like all of you, watched the debates. thought our boy John did pretty well for himself. let's hope that helps realign the momentum.
have a weekend.
well, shit. just when it looked like i was getting back into a groove of regular posting (well, it felt that way to me, anyway), some latest MS upgrade made posting to blgger from Internet Explorer at first a big pain in the ass (see reference to lost post, below) and then completely impossible. hence, the hiatus.
so, a tip from a techie led me to download and install the free version of Mozilla's Firefox. and now everything works better than it ever has. fancy that. kinda makes ya wonder if maybe MS is working on its own version of blogger........
of course, now that it works again, i'm not much feel like writing. since you've been kind enough to check up on me, though, here's what i've been up to:
finished reading:
- Broken Music: A Memoir, by Sting. Interesting, on a number of levels, but nothing like I anticipated it would be. Turns out the Stingster is just a normal guy, the son of working class people, who struggled and worked hard to make it big, and who cites that and sheer determination more than any brilliant talent as the reason for his success. Perhaps he's just humble. When I finished the book, I was sad.
- Jarhead, by Anthony Swofford. A much better read, as books go. Swofford has the way, that's for damned sure. I intended to leave you an excerpt here, to get a taste of his style and the tone of the memoir, but I had returned the book before I was able to start posting again. Choppy at times, but only in that way that people who know how to write will notice, and only in a way that makes them (read: us) jealous that Swofford was able to either get past any worries he had that the style would prevent the book from being accepted by a publisher, or he's brilliant enough to have worked in the choppiness intentionally to reinforce that sense of the soldier waiting for combat -- who said it? -- "long periods of boredom alternating with tedium, with occasional side trips to ennui." Anyway, read it. Well worth it.
and, last night, like all of you, watched the debates. thought our boy John did pretty well for himself. let's hope that helps realign the momentum.
have a weekend.
9.08.2004
more catch-up
Tried to donate blood last night. Apparently, there's some health requirement that students can fulfill by donating blood, because the place was crowded as hell with an inordinately high number of freshman. Talk about feeling old! I signed in and sat down to wait to be called. The girls, in jeans, flip-flops and cute t-shirts ("Everybody loves an Irish girl" said one). Their faces are so young, still carrying a little baby fat, trying to sit up straight to look worldly or something. The guys sat together in packs, non-stop verbal banter -- attempting to make witty comments about every situation they're in and every topic that comes up. So wanting to be cool, yet doing everything that confirms how far they have to go to get there. Really gives me a better idea of why so many girls are attracted to older guys -- these young dudes reminded me much more of my 14-yr-old son than of the swaggering image of the carefree and available young college buck. Many of them were sporting those silly attempts at full beards that you see on young guys. Like their efforts to look cool, their baby-beards have the same effect -- instead of highlighting their masculinity and perhaps reinforcing their virtility, they look more like kittens. Just as I couldn't envision any of these young women taking a romantic interest in my eight-grade son, I couldn't imagine any of them taking an interest in these fuzzy babyfaced boys, either. How long do guys efforts to achieve one effect result in the opposite?? When's that stop? -- when you're in your mid-20's? Later?
So there's a positive thing about being older -- I'm past that shit. Now, when I'm cool, I'm cool. If I appear to be displaying cool detachment, I'm either not paying attention, or tired. When I convey an air of indifference, it's generally a pretty good sign that I really don't give a flying rat's ass. (Though pretty girls typically can draw me out.)
Damn. I had a pretty lengthy post about self-image here, but beloved f-in Blogger ate the whole damned thing. Sucks. Not feeling like recreating it either, at the moment. I'll leave you with this link to American Soldier -- amazing firsthand accounts of what our young enlisted men and women are dealing with.
And this sad, sad fact: Over 1,000 American soldiers have been killed in the Iraq conflict, and over 7,000 have been injured (with 1,000 of the injuries taking place in the past month alone). Over 10,000 Iraquis have been killed in the conflict so far. It's a true and awful mess.
Time for a change, kids. Time for a change.
Tried to donate blood last night. Apparently, there's some health requirement that students can fulfill by donating blood, because the place was crowded as hell with an inordinately high number of freshman. Talk about feeling old! I signed in and sat down to wait to be called. The girls, in jeans, flip-flops and cute t-shirts ("Everybody loves an Irish girl" said one). Their faces are so young, still carrying a little baby fat, trying to sit up straight to look worldly or something. The guys sat together in packs, non-stop verbal banter -- attempting to make witty comments about every situation they're in and every topic that comes up. So wanting to be cool, yet doing everything that confirms how far they have to go to get there. Really gives me a better idea of why so many girls are attracted to older guys -- these young dudes reminded me much more of my 14-yr-old son than of the swaggering image of the carefree and available young college buck. Many of them were sporting those silly attempts at full beards that you see on young guys. Like their efforts to look cool, their baby-beards have the same effect -- instead of highlighting their masculinity and perhaps reinforcing their virtility, they look more like kittens. Just as I couldn't envision any of these young women taking a romantic interest in my eight-grade son, I couldn't imagine any of them taking an interest in these fuzzy babyfaced boys, either. How long do guys efforts to achieve one effect result in the opposite?? When's that stop? -- when you're in your mid-20's? Later?
So there's a positive thing about being older -- I'm past that shit. Now, when I'm cool, I'm cool. If I appear to be displaying cool detachment, I'm either not paying attention, or tired. When I convey an air of indifference, it's generally a pretty good sign that I really don't give a flying rat's ass. (Though pretty girls typically can draw me out.)
Damn. I had a pretty lengthy post about self-image here, but beloved f-in Blogger ate the whole damned thing. Sucks. Not feeling like recreating it either, at the moment. I'll leave you with this link to American Soldier -- amazing firsthand accounts of what our young enlisted men and women are dealing with.
And this sad, sad fact: Over 1,000 American soldiers have been killed in the Iraq conflict, and over 7,000 have been injured (with 1,000 of the injuries taking place in the past month alone). Over 10,000 Iraquis have been killed in the conflict so far. It's a true and awful mess.
Time for a change, kids. Time for a change.
9.07.2004
catching up
Howdy, dear readers. Hope you had a pleasant and relaxing Labor Day weekend. Mixed it up a little here -- nothing wildly exciting, but kept busy. Saturday morning went to a John Kerry rally -- sad to say it was terribly boring. Stood with the masses for an ungodly length of time listening to a string of local politicos do their best to rev up said masses -- leading me to conclude that, if I plan to get serious about showing my face at such events, I may need to make some kind of donation so that I can at least sit when the show sucks. I don't mind standing, if the act is worth it -- but -- ~sheesh!~ this was tedious. And hot. And people were annoying. And ugly.
Kerry needs to do something. Seems like a nice guy, really. But, what is his plan? Says he's gonna make it so that Medicaire can get a bulk rate on drugs so senior citizens can afford their meds. Says he's gonna stop the hemorrhaging of American jobs -- how? Says he's gonna make taxes fair for the middle class -- how?? The whole platform at present seems to revolve around "Bush lied to us, so elect me." And, while that is, imo, enough of a reason not to re-elect Dubya, I think it may still be a little too abstract for your typical American. Like, they still want a plan. Trust me -- I was surrounded by these yokels at the rally. So many of them are broke-ass poor, if not unemployed and, if they are working, they're slogging away at some grueling soulless $7/hour factory stint, showing up for work each day paranoid that it may be their last, looking forward only to their lunch breaks so they can engage in the bonding ritual of the proletariat -- dissing management (still know to them as "The Man") for taking advantage of them, for screwing them, for getting fat off the sweat of their labor, blah, blah, blah.
Forgive my insensitivity. But, really -- wake up. Wake the fuck up. Ya know what, folks? -- the only way to ever really start resolving the true problems of our nation -- inequality, bigotry, poverty, hopelessness -- is education. I'm tired of hearing people talk about unions, and tired of hearing unions talk. Unions are on the way out. They've served their purpose (I mean, hell yeah, Workers of the World Unite!), but it's played out. All it is now is a sad, empty shell -- the Fat Cats haven't gotten any thinner, and Joe Six Pack hasn't gotten any more financially independent. It's just one more tool of The Establishment to keep the class system in place, and to keep the working class in its place. Which is, of course, at the bottom, doing the shit work for the owners. None of that has changed, and anyone who thinks it has is shortsighted. I stood there listening to all the pro-union talk, listened to the union reps make all the pro-American worker proclamations -- man, it makes me sad. Unions are a crutch -- they don't help anyone anymore, they just make people think that their intolerable situations are better than they are. It f'in blows.
So, union people, listen up: You want improvements? Get educated. Support education. Build education opportunities into your labor contracts so that your members can free themselves from this archaic form of oppression. You wanna help the working class? -- you oughtta be advising them to get out of the fucking union, not trying to convince them to join one. You oughtta be getting them pumped up to take some personal responsibility for improving themselves, and their own existence -- instead of conning them into thinking that if they are loyal, if they pay their dues, if they work hard enough that you're gonna take care of them. Because you aren't, and you won't. Unions are institutions, and institutions in our capitalist democracy exist to take care of themselves, not their members.
Cynical? Perhaps. But, hell -- I've never been in a union in my life, and I've done alright for myself. Not as well as I'd like to, but better than just about every single person I've ever met or known who is part of a union. I know you hate to hear this -- sounds like one more elitist voice from some privileged rich kid. Makes you wanna tell me the way it is and maybe kick in my face for emphasis. I'm sorry about that, and I wish you didn't feel that way -- and not simply because your assumption is wrong (I've worked hard to get where I am, and the only people who ever gave me anything were my parents, god bless them). I'm afraid that on this point, I'm stone-cold right. You're living in denial if you think otherwise. If it's too late for you to do anything about your own situation, then at least for crying out loud emphasize the importance of getting an education to your children and your grandchildren. Get over yourselves and your blue collar pride and at least make sure your kids won't be sentenced to the same sorry-assed existence that was passed on to you.
[~exhales~]
Saturday evening, went to a county fair with my seester. Was fun to spend some time with her.
Sunday, spent the bulk of the afternoon in the woods, hiking around a bridle trail. It's been a good summer that way -- I've spent quite a bit of it outdoors, mostly in the woods, hiking, largely by myself. This I enjoy. Communing with nature -- giving my regards to the trees and the streams, the turtles and the deer, the ducks and the hawks, the chipmunks and the squirrels. It's also why I so love the summer, and so do not enjoy the winter. Daylight's already fading, which means that if I don't pretty much fly out the office door by five, the window of opportunity for my daily three-mile hike is already closing. I like to get out there for at least two hours, I like to work up a sweat, I like to feel it in my legs and in my knees when I'm done, like to feel like I've actually managed to do something after having spent yet another eight hours mostly sitting on my ass in front of a PC (at my safe professional non-union solidly middle-class job).
Yeah, in many ways, I've got the dream job. You know -- nobody breathing down my neck, having more people reporting to me than I have to report to, pretty standard hours, safe office, no dangerous work, and a staff of basically-good-if-boring/annoying-in-that-conservative-traditional-midwestern-family-values-kinda-way. And -- you've heard this before -- it mostly drives me nuts. Very often has me questioning what I'm doing with my life, even though I'm confortable knowing that I am helping to make a difference (I raise money for higher-education) in our little part of the world, in our society, in the lives and experiences of current and future students. But -- g-a-w-d! I so wasn't born to spend this much time indoors, let alone sitting in an office, let alone sitting in an office in the friggin' midwest! But here I am, making the most of it, as I have been doing for close to twenty years now.
Damn. "Close to twenty years" -- now, there's a statement that makes me feel old. At 42, I really don't consider myself to be "old," though I'm certainly no spring chicken (am i?).
More to add here, but I'm gonna go try to donate blood. We'll try to pick up this thread soon, using the metaphor of time passing like sand through the hourglass, except the sides of the hourglass are actually lenses, with the perception of the Self changing over time, depending on which area of the hourglass you happen to be looking through as you examine your own life at different points in time...
-- and more on this, too, because I was watching this. plus some recent shows I've seen but neglected to tell you about.
Howdy, dear readers. Hope you had a pleasant and relaxing Labor Day weekend. Mixed it up a little here -- nothing wildly exciting, but kept busy. Saturday morning went to a John Kerry rally -- sad to say it was terribly boring. Stood with the masses for an ungodly length of time listening to a string of local politicos do their best to rev up said masses -- leading me to conclude that, if I plan to get serious about showing my face at such events, I may need to make some kind of donation so that I can at least sit when the show sucks. I don't mind standing, if the act is worth it -- but -- ~sheesh!~ this was tedious. And hot. And people were annoying. And ugly.
Kerry needs to do something. Seems like a nice guy, really. But, what is his plan? Says he's gonna make it so that Medicaire can get a bulk rate on drugs so senior citizens can afford their meds. Says he's gonna stop the hemorrhaging of American jobs -- how? Says he's gonna make taxes fair for the middle class -- how?? The whole platform at present seems to revolve around "Bush lied to us, so elect me." And, while that is, imo, enough of a reason not to re-elect Dubya, I think it may still be a little too abstract for your typical American. Like, they still want a plan. Trust me -- I was surrounded by these yokels at the rally. So many of them are broke-ass poor, if not unemployed and, if they are working, they're slogging away at some grueling soulless $7/hour factory stint, showing up for work each day paranoid that it may be their last, looking forward only to their lunch breaks so they can engage in the bonding ritual of the proletariat -- dissing management (still know to them as "The Man") for taking advantage of them, for screwing them, for getting fat off the sweat of their labor, blah, blah, blah.
Forgive my insensitivity. But, really -- wake up. Wake the fuck up. Ya know what, folks? -- the only way to ever really start resolving the true problems of our nation -- inequality, bigotry, poverty, hopelessness -- is education. I'm tired of hearing people talk about unions, and tired of hearing unions talk. Unions are on the way out. They've served their purpose (I mean, hell yeah, Workers of the World Unite!), but it's played out. All it is now is a sad, empty shell -- the Fat Cats haven't gotten any thinner, and Joe Six Pack hasn't gotten any more financially independent. It's just one more tool of The Establishment to keep the class system in place, and to keep the working class in its place. Which is, of course, at the bottom, doing the shit work for the owners. None of that has changed, and anyone who thinks it has is shortsighted. I stood there listening to all the pro-union talk, listened to the union reps make all the pro-American worker proclamations -- man, it makes me sad. Unions are a crutch -- they don't help anyone anymore, they just make people think that their intolerable situations are better than they are. It f'in blows.
So, union people, listen up: You want improvements? Get educated. Support education. Build education opportunities into your labor contracts so that your members can free themselves from this archaic form of oppression. You wanna help the working class? -- you oughtta be advising them to get out of the fucking union, not trying to convince them to join one. You oughtta be getting them pumped up to take some personal responsibility for improving themselves, and their own existence -- instead of conning them into thinking that if they are loyal, if they pay their dues, if they work hard enough that you're gonna take care of them. Because you aren't, and you won't. Unions are institutions, and institutions in our capitalist democracy exist to take care of themselves, not their members.
Cynical? Perhaps. But, hell -- I've never been in a union in my life, and I've done alright for myself. Not as well as I'd like to, but better than just about every single person I've ever met or known who is part of a union. I know you hate to hear this -- sounds like one more elitist voice from some privileged rich kid. Makes you wanna tell me the way it is and maybe kick in my face for emphasis. I'm sorry about that, and I wish you didn't feel that way -- and not simply because your assumption is wrong (I've worked hard to get where I am, and the only people who ever gave me anything were my parents, god bless them). I'm afraid that on this point, I'm stone-cold right. You're living in denial if you think otherwise. If it's too late for you to do anything about your own situation, then at least for crying out loud emphasize the importance of getting an education to your children and your grandchildren. Get over yourselves and your blue collar pride and at least make sure your kids won't be sentenced to the same sorry-assed existence that was passed on to you.
[~exhales~]
Saturday evening, went to a county fair with my seester. Was fun to spend some time with her.
Sunday, spent the bulk of the afternoon in the woods, hiking around a bridle trail. It's been a good summer that way -- I've spent quite a bit of it outdoors, mostly in the woods, hiking, largely by myself. This I enjoy. Communing with nature -- giving my regards to the trees and the streams, the turtles and the deer, the ducks and the hawks, the chipmunks and the squirrels. It's also why I so love the summer, and so do not enjoy the winter. Daylight's already fading, which means that if I don't pretty much fly out the office door by five, the window of opportunity for my daily three-mile hike is already closing. I like to get out there for at least two hours, I like to work up a sweat, I like to feel it in my legs and in my knees when I'm done, like to feel like I've actually managed to do something after having spent yet another eight hours mostly sitting on my ass in front of a PC (at my safe professional non-union solidly middle-class job).
Yeah, in many ways, I've got the dream job. You know -- nobody breathing down my neck, having more people reporting to me than I have to report to, pretty standard hours, safe office, no dangerous work, and a staff of basically-good-if-boring/annoying-in-that-conservative-traditional-midwestern-family-values-kinda-way. And -- you've heard this before -- it mostly drives me nuts. Very often has me questioning what I'm doing with my life, even though I'm confortable knowing that I am helping to make a difference (I raise money for higher-education) in our little part of the world, in our society, in the lives and experiences of current and future students. But -- g-a-w-d! I so wasn't born to spend this much time indoors, let alone sitting in an office, let alone sitting in an office in the friggin' midwest! But here I am, making the most of it, as I have been doing for close to twenty years now.
Damn. "Close to twenty years" -- now, there's a statement that makes me feel old. At 42, I really don't consider myself to be "old," though I'm certainly no spring chicken (am i?).
More to add here, but I'm gonna go try to donate blood. We'll try to pick up this thread soon, using the metaphor of time passing like sand through the hourglass, except the sides of the hourglass are actually lenses, with the perception of the Self changing over time, depending on which area of the hourglass you happen to be looking through as you examine your own life at different points in time...
-- and more on this, too, because I was watching this. plus some recent shows I've seen but neglected to tell you about.
8.13.2004
betcha didn't even apply.....
Job Opening: Surely You Jest...
Thu Aug 5, 2004 12:20 PM ET
LONDON (Reuters) - WANTED - A court jester to fill a post vacant for 350 years since England executed its king.
English Heritage said in an advertisement in the Times on Thursday applicants for the competition at the weekend should bring their own costumes with bells, but said it would provide a bladder on a stick -- a traditional jester's prop.
Contrary to the image of a buffoon, court jesters had to be highly astute, able to lift the spirits of their monarchs and risked death if they failed -- as many did. The duties of the last court jester, whose job ended in 1649 when Charles I lost his head, included making him laugh and providing a distraction from politics.
This time, however, English Heritage said the winner would not risk decapitation but would still have to provide trenchant wit. Would-be fools should attend a public audition Saturday at Stoneleigh Park in central England, wearing their costumes.
UPDATE:
England Gets First National Jester for 350 Years
Mon Aug 9, 2004 07:55 AM ET
STONELEIGH, England (Reuters) - Nigel Roder beat six rivals by public acclaim on Saturday to become England's first official jester for more than 350 years, succeeding Muckle John who lost his job when King Charles 1 was beheaded in 1649.
"This is a real job. He will have to amuse and provoke -- although failure to do so will no longer risk beheading," Tracy Borman, events director of English Heritage, told Reuters.
Unlike court jesters of old, Roder will be able to negotiate his salary, and his initial contract with English Heritage -- to divert the public from the tedious daily grind -- will run from March to October 2005.
Roder -- professional name Kester the Jester -- juggled and diaboloed his way to victory over a diverse field that included a poetry-reading Frenchwoman in the contest near Warwick in central England.
"It feels good. I am a national fool now. It is the best thing a man can be," he said after his victory.
Jesters of the past, though figures of fun at the royal court, were often highly intelligent men whose quick wit and sharp tongue both diverted the monarch and reminded him of his mortality.
Success could bring fame and fortune, but failure could result in shame, pain and even death. Two jesters, Will Somers under the quick-tempered King Henry VIII, and Tarlton under his younger daughter Elizabeth I, were household names in England during their lifetimes.
Many of William Shakespeare's plays feature fools both as buffoons and as rapier-tongued deflators of bombast -- notably in Twelfth Night and King Lear.
The role of court jester died out in Europe in the 18th century, though their roles were taken up by comedians and satirists. "It is about time we had a jester again. We could do with one," Borman said.
- 30 -
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Job Opening: Surely You Jest...
Thu Aug 5, 2004 12:20 PM ET
LONDON (Reuters) - WANTED - A court jester to fill a post vacant for 350 years since England executed its king.
English Heritage said in an advertisement in the Times on Thursday applicants for the competition at the weekend should bring their own costumes with bells, but said it would provide a bladder on a stick -- a traditional jester's prop.
Contrary to the image of a buffoon, court jesters had to be highly astute, able to lift the spirits of their monarchs and risked death if they failed -- as many did. The duties of the last court jester, whose job ended in 1649 when Charles I lost his head, included making him laugh and providing a distraction from politics.
This time, however, English Heritage said the winner would not risk decapitation but would still have to provide trenchant wit. Would-be fools should attend a public audition Saturday at Stoneleigh Park in central England, wearing their costumes.
UPDATE:
England Gets First National Jester for 350 Years
Mon Aug 9, 2004 07:55 AM ET
STONELEIGH, England (Reuters) - Nigel Roder beat six rivals by public acclaim on Saturday to become England's first official jester for more than 350 years, succeeding Muckle John who lost his job when King Charles 1 was beheaded in 1649.
"This is a real job. He will have to amuse and provoke -- although failure to do so will no longer risk beheading," Tracy Borman, events director of English Heritage, told Reuters.
Unlike court jesters of old, Roder will be able to negotiate his salary, and his initial contract with English Heritage -- to divert the public from the tedious daily grind -- will run from March to October 2005.
Roder -- professional name Kester the Jester -- juggled and diaboloed his way to victory over a diverse field that included a poetry-reading Frenchwoman in the contest near Warwick in central England.
"It feels good. I am a national fool now. It is the best thing a man can be," he said after his victory.
Jesters of the past, though figures of fun at the royal court, were often highly intelligent men whose quick wit and sharp tongue both diverted the monarch and reminded him of his mortality.
Success could bring fame and fortune, but failure could result in shame, pain and even death. Two jesters, Will Somers under the quick-tempered King Henry VIII, and Tarlton under his younger daughter Elizabeth I, were household names in England during their lifetimes.
Many of William Shakespeare's plays feature fools both as buffoons and as rapier-tongued deflators of bombast -- notably in Twelfth Night and King Lear.
The role of court jester died out in Europe in the 18th century, though their roles were taken up by comedians and satirists. "It is about time we had a jester again. We could do with one," Borman said.
-7.21.2004
alternative visions
Sihstrin as Pinup | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com
The Angel Balm | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com
Brings to mind the images of Gustav Klimt:
Hygieia | Gustav Klimt
Sihstrin as Pinup | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com
The Angel Balm | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com
Brings to mind the images of Gustav Klimt:
Hygieia | Gustav Klimt
7.20.2004
7.19.2004
Life in Mosul
As seen through the eyes of a soldier in the U.S. Army: My War - Fear And Loathing In Iraq.
As seen through the eyes of a soldier in the U.S. Army: My War - Fear And Loathing In Iraq.