This is the last post I'm doing on this blog. I've started a new one. I'm not going to delete this one, just because I don't want to lose what I've written.
The new blog is here:
http://www.notyourfrog.blogspot.com
Please come check it out. See you there!
2.13.2009
2.03.2009
The Prodigal
I can't say with any surety that this post will be the rekindling of my blogging passion, but it's a post.
My last post was in November. A lot has happened since then. I was working at the YMCA up until a couple weeks ago, when I was wrongfully fired. The director hates me. I know that sounds like a lame and childish reaction, but I assure you: this woman DOES NOT like me. The reasons they gave me were twofold: (1) "Decreased work performance." Here's the rebuttal for that one: I was a peon. They gave me ZERO responsibility, so once I had learned everything (and there was no room to grow), naturally my learning curve would level out. Then they restricted my duties further, switching to a severe micromanaging style that would make anyone cringe. As one person phrased it: They killed my spirit, then fired me for not having enough spirit. Obviously, I would get bored. One such day (and this is reason 2), I created a fictional member account for the Dr. Seuss character Star Bellied Sneetch. Now, there are two kinds of member accounts in the computer system of the YMCA. One is a standard, active membership - these get billed, have membership cards, etc. The other kind is called a "Program Participant" account. These never pop up unless you specifically search for that member. They don't contain billing information and don't have membership dues to pay. They are for all extents and purposes nonentities. The Star Bellied Sneetch was just such a nonentity. Michelle (the cow) has no sense of humor for things like this, and cited it as the final straw.
All is not lost however. I have been in the process of applying to the Norfolk, VA Police Academy. I passed the written and physical portions of the entrance exam, feel strongly about the personality screening, and should be hearing within the next week about a time I can go in and take the Polygraph test. Assuming I don't surprise myself and turn out to be a horrible liar, I would progress to the next (and final) step before admittance to the academy: a panel interview. I'm quite optimistic that things will continue to go well, which is exciting for more than just the fact that I would again be gainfully employed. I have never wanted a job so badly in my life. I think I would do quite well as a police officer, and see it becoming a career.
All that is well and good, but the Academy doesn't start until somewhere between May and July, which means I need temporary income. Any ideas - maybe something I could do from home . . . . I'm getting desperate. Money has been all but nonexistent since I started that stupid window washing company in November '07. Hopefully, things will soon change. I would love to stop ignoring the bill collectors' phone calls and living in fear of having one utility or another shut off.
My last post was in November. A lot has happened since then. I was working at the YMCA up until a couple weeks ago, when I was wrongfully fired. The director hates me. I know that sounds like a lame and childish reaction, but I assure you: this woman DOES NOT like me. The reasons they gave me were twofold: (1) "Decreased work performance." Here's the rebuttal for that one: I was a peon. They gave me ZERO responsibility, so once I had learned everything (and there was no room to grow), naturally my learning curve would level out. Then they restricted my duties further, switching to a severe micromanaging style that would make anyone cringe. As one person phrased it: They killed my spirit, then fired me for not having enough spirit. Obviously, I would get bored. One such day (and this is reason 2), I created a fictional member account for the Dr. Seuss character Star Bellied Sneetch. Now, there are two kinds of member accounts in the computer system of the YMCA. One is a standard, active membership - these get billed, have membership cards, etc. The other kind is called a "Program Participant" account. These never pop up unless you specifically search for that member. They don't contain billing information and don't have membership dues to pay. They are for all extents and purposes nonentities. The Star Bellied Sneetch was just such a nonentity. Michelle (the cow) has no sense of humor for things like this, and cited it as the final straw.
All is not lost however. I have been in the process of applying to the Norfolk, VA Police Academy. I passed the written and physical portions of the entrance exam, feel strongly about the personality screening, and should be hearing within the next week about a time I can go in and take the Polygraph test. Assuming I don't surprise myself and turn out to be a horrible liar, I would progress to the next (and final) step before admittance to the academy: a panel interview. I'm quite optimistic that things will continue to go well, which is exciting for more than just the fact that I would again be gainfully employed. I have never wanted a job so badly in my life. I think I would do quite well as a police officer, and see it becoming a career.
All that is well and good, but the Academy doesn't start until somewhere between May and July, which means I need temporary income. Any ideas - maybe something I could do from home . . . . I'm getting desperate. Money has been all but nonexistent since I started that stupid window washing company in November '07. Hopefully, things will soon change. I would love to stop ignoring the bill collectors' phone calls and living in fear of having one utility or another shut off.
11.02.2008
5.05.2008
Wise Words in a Sea of Stupidity pt3
“I would rather be tied to the soil as a serf ... than be king of all these dead and destroyed.” ~ Odyssey by Homer
“Plowed ground smells of earthworms and empires.” ~ Justin Isherwood
We've moved. I hate moving. My dad was Navy for most of my childhood and adolescent years. (Isn't it funny that "adolescent" contains the word "scent?" It's because teenagers stink. j/k) We were extremely fortunate compared to the average military family in that we weren't moving across the state, country, or world every couple years. In fact, during my dad's 20 years of service, we only had two major moves: from Virginia Beach, VA to Mundelein, IL (he got stationed in Great Lakes) in 1992, and back here in Dec. '94. While we didn't do many long-distance moves, we did however move around quite a bit locally. I'm pretty sure I've moved somewhere around 15 times in my life. I don't enjoy it anymore. The novelty is gone.
This move is a bit different however. There's my wife, our daughter, and myself to move. We moved from a little apartment to a nice townhouse a good friend of ours owns. (He'll stay a good friend too, in case you're nervous for us. He wrote us a clear contract, so there's no room for the whole he-said-she-said game, and the tension and possible resentment that almost inevitably follows.) Before we moved in, he told my wife and me that we could paint whatever we wanted however we wanted, and that I could till the back half of the back yard to make a garden.
As far as painting goes, my wife has had a blast. She is very creative, and has quite literally transformed the appearance of the house. I'll be posting pictures at a later date.
I meanwhile, have been in my element: gardening. When we first got in here, the back yard looked ok, but it really did need a LOT of help. Here's the abbreviated list of what needed to be done before I could even start thinking about a garden:
While I was out in the yard, whether I was merely pruning a shrub or using heavy machinery to have a place to grow snap peas, I felt truly alive. I did a great deal of thinking while I was working in the garden. I thought about why I love nature and growing things so much. I think part of the reason I enjoy gardening as much as I do is the feeling of being connected with everything in the universe all at once that I experience when I'm covered in soil. When I'm on my knees in the dirt, with freshly-turned earth under my fingernails and its scent in my nose, I can't help but be keenly aware that this is an activity that humans have been doing since the dawn of time. I suppose there's some primitive part of my brain that gets triggered by the stimulus of working the earth, some corner of my being that says: "This is what it's about."
I can't get excited about being in the "rat race." I'm still seeking gainful employ, but every place I've considered has turned my stomach in one way or another. I know I need to work, but whenever I'm in the garden, working the soil, connecting with the Earth itself with nothing separating me from infinity but our atmosphere, I feel alive - full of purpose and meaning. I've yet to find the career that can provide anything close to that sense of fulfillment.
How does one get into farming these days?
“Plowed ground smells of earthworms and empires.” ~ Justin Isherwood
We've moved. I hate moving. My dad was Navy for most of my childhood and adolescent years. (Isn't it funny that "adolescent" contains the word "scent?" It's because teenagers stink. j/k) We were extremely fortunate compared to the average military family in that we weren't moving across the state, country, or world every couple years. In fact, during my dad's 20 years of service, we only had two major moves: from Virginia Beach, VA to Mundelein, IL (he got stationed in Great Lakes) in 1992, and back here in Dec. '94. While we didn't do many long-distance moves, we did however move around quite a bit locally. I'm pretty sure I've moved somewhere around 15 times in my life. I don't enjoy it anymore. The novelty is gone.
This move is a bit different however. There's my wife, our daughter, and myself to move. We moved from a little apartment to a nice townhouse a good friend of ours owns. (He'll stay a good friend too, in case you're nervous for us. He wrote us a clear contract, so there's no room for the whole he-said-she-said game, and the tension and possible resentment that almost inevitably follows.) Before we moved in, he told my wife and me that we could paint whatever we wanted however we wanted, and that I could till the back half of the back yard to make a garden.
As far as painting goes, my wife has had a blast. She is very creative, and has quite literally transformed the appearance of the house. I'll be posting pictures at a later date.
I meanwhile, have been in my element: gardening. When we first got in here, the back yard looked ok, but it really did need a LOT of help. Here's the abbreviated list of what needed to be done before I could even start thinking about a garden:
- Fix flood zone. There was a nice little track that was considerably lower than the rest of the yard, thereby gathering rain water. Since the soil around here is mostly clay, when this area dried out, it cracked - giving it the appearance of a desert floor.
- Remove poorly-planned flower bed (with no flowers - just weeds) and mulch therein.
- Seed and fertilize lawn. This poor grass received so much abuse from the previous owners' dog, it's a wonder there's anything but crabgrass back there.
- Remove stupid-looking miniature white picket fence "landscaping." Um, yeah. The fencing itself is kind of cute, and I'm using it in my new design, but I guess they just didn't have any vision.
- Prune and shape bush in back corner. Beautiful plant, but it was horribly neglected. It kind of just looked like it was trying to escape its awful surroundings. It looks great now though, if I do say so myself.
- Cut down diseased tree. It's a real shame, because I saw pictures of what this tree once looked like: gorgeous deep-fuschia blossoms all over it, and rich green foliage that gave a really pleasant shade to the yard. Unfortunately, 3/4 of the tree was diseased, and 2/3 was already dead.
While I was out in the yard, whether I was merely pruning a shrub or using heavy machinery to have a place to grow snap peas, I felt truly alive. I did a great deal of thinking while I was working in the garden. I thought about why I love nature and growing things so much. I think part of the reason I enjoy gardening as much as I do is the feeling of being connected with everything in the universe all at once that I experience when I'm covered in soil. When I'm on my knees in the dirt, with freshly-turned earth under my fingernails and its scent in my nose, I can't help but be keenly aware that this is an activity that humans have been doing since the dawn of time. I suppose there's some primitive part of my brain that gets triggered by the stimulus of working the earth, some corner of my being that says: "This is what it's about."
I can't get excited about being in the "rat race." I'm still seeking gainful employ, but every place I've considered has turned my stomach in one way or another. I know I need to work, but whenever I'm in the garden, working the soil, connecting with the Earth itself with nothing separating me from infinity but our atmosphere, I feel alive - full of purpose and meaning. I've yet to find the career that can provide anything close to that sense of fulfillment.
How does one get into farming these days?
4.10.2008
Wise Words in a Sea of Stupidity pt2
"There is always enough time in a day to do everything which truly needs to be done."
I've heard numerous people saying things like: "Oh, if only I had more time in the day . . ." or, "I'm so stressed out! There just aren't enough hours in a day!" This simply isn't true.
One of the most common failures that people (myself foremost) exhibit these days is a striking lack of priority. Personally, I often will find myself stressing out at the last minute, because I either didn't do some assigned reading, waited until the day before a bill was due to give it any thought (by the way - it usually takes 3-5 business days for online payments to post.), or I find myself in the midst of a "deadline sprint." I meet the required deadlines for the most part, but I have to stop and ask myself: "I know there's enough time to get this stuff done without stressing out; why do I put myself through this?"
If you find yourself "pressed for time," I'd recommend keeping a log for a week, writing down EVERYTHING you do. How long to you take to eat/smoke/poop/watch cartoons? After the week is up, take a look at your list. I've found this to be a remarkable way of determining the time-wasters in my schedule, and then eliminate them. (Or at least save them for after I've taken care of the important stuff.)
I'm not preaching. This isn't something I've mastered. It's just advice I've been given, found useful, and am now passing on.
I've heard numerous people saying things like: "Oh, if only I had more time in the day . . ." or, "I'm so stressed out! There just aren't enough hours in a day!" This simply isn't true.
One of the most common failures that people (myself foremost) exhibit these days is a striking lack of priority. Personally, I often will find myself stressing out at the last minute, because I either didn't do some assigned reading, waited until the day before a bill was due to give it any thought (by the way - it usually takes 3-5 business days for online payments to post.), or I find myself in the midst of a "deadline sprint." I meet the required deadlines for the most part, but I have to stop and ask myself: "I know there's enough time to get this stuff done without stressing out; why do I put myself through this?"
If you find yourself "pressed for time," I'd recommend keeping a log for a week, writing down EVERYTHING you do. How long to you take to eat/smoke/poop/watch cartoons? After the week is up, take a look at your list. I've found this to be a remarkable way of determining the time-wasters in my schedule, and then eliminate them. (Or at least save them for after I've taken care of the important stuff.)
I'm not preaching. This isn't something I've mastered. It's just advice I've been given, found useful, and am now passing on.
4.07.2008
The Wheel Wheels as the Wheel Wills
I acknowledge the fact that the title of this post blaringly declares me to be a nerd, but if you caught the reference, you can't talk. You nerd.
I've decided to undertake a bit of a project on this blog o' mine. I'm beginning a mini-series of posts that will each be derived from some scrap of wisdom I've gleaned along the road that is my life. Here's the lead-in/first post:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WISE WORDS IN A SEA OF STUPIDITY pt 1
"Listen to good advice - regardless of the source" - anon.
I don't agree with everyone's points of view. That much should be obvious to anyone who has read my older posts. There is however, this principle I try to live by: If someone - ANYONE gives you a piece of sound advice, take it. It is the height of foolishness and arrogance to ignore a sign that says, "Hey, Mack, there's a cliff ahead. You might want to stop before you go careening to your death."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This one's shorter than I plan for the rest to be, but it more or less sets the stage for the other tidbits I'll have for you. Feel free to comment with your favorite quotes/nuggets of shining brilliance.
I've decided to undertake a bit of a project on this blog o' mine. I'm beginning a mini-series of posts that will each be derived from some scrap of wisdom I've gleaned along the road that is my life. Here's the lead-in/first post:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WISE WORDS IN A SEA OF STUPIDITY pt 1
"Listen to good advice - regardless of the source" - anon.
I don't agree with everyone's points of view. That much should be obvious to anyone who has read my older posts. There is however, this principle I try to live by: If someone - ANYONE gives you a piece of sound advice, take it. It is the height of foolishness and arrogance to ignore a sign that says, "Hey, Mack, there's a cliff ahead. You might want to stop before you go careening to your death."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This one's shorter than I plan for the rest to be, but it more or less sets the stage for the other tidbits I'll have for you. Feel free to comment with your favorite quotes/nuggets of shining brilliance.
3.10.2008
Life: It Comes at You Fast. How Are Your Reflexes?
WOW! It's been over a month since I last posted. Oh well. There's little point in me writing a ten-screen post, trying to catch you up on what's happened lately.
That having been said, here's the nutshell version:
-----The best laid plans of mice and men . . .
I don't really want to go into details, because things may change in days to come. Some big plans were being made by my wife and me. I've seen the wrench being jammed into the gears, heard the squeal of twisting metal as the machine that just before ran so smoothly, and smelled my plans smoldering. I'm not yet certain if they caught flame and were burnt to cinders, but they will definitely need some reconditioning before they can once more be put to use. "This is air traffic control to flight NYF. You are not, repeat: NOT cleared for takeoff. Hold position on runway and stand by. Over." "NYF to control: copy that. damnit."
-----Old Yeller got sick, boy.
My "fledgling business." You remember it, right? I had to put her down. My business partner is moving to Hawaii to work with his dad. Three reasons that's a good thing for him: (1) It's freakin' HAWAII!!!! (2) his dad is getting older, and this may be the last chance Jeff has to work with him - something he's always wanted to do, (3) Jeff will be making about four times as much as he is here. A struggling window washing business in Hampton Roads, VA can't really compete.
-----I got two dimes, but I'm afraid if I rub 'em together, they'll disappear like on TV
I'm freakin broke. Having shot my business in the head, I resorted to getting a job at a local independently-owned coffee shop. I'm not making shit for money. I applied this morning for a job cleaning carpets. I was surprised to learn that I can make a TON of money doing this. I start training tomorrow. I'll probably have to leave the coffee shop, which is sad, but I'll be making about 3.5 times as much cleaning carpets vs. making lattes. Again, no competition.
-----The pen is mightier . . . if you have the balls to use one
I'm writing again. I think there may be something to the whole "starving artist" concept. It seems that the world's quirks and excentricities stand out in sharper relief, allowing me inspiration at every turn of my head. Very exciting. I'm working on three books, as well as some poetry that will probably never see the light of day, but poetry's better in the dark anyway.
That's the nutshell. The point: I'm back.
That having been said, here's the nutshell version:
-----The best laid plans of mice and men . . .
I don't really want to go into details, because things may change in days to come. Some big plans were being made by my wife and me. I've seen the wrench being jammed into the gears, heard the squeal of twisting metal as the machine that just before ran so smoothly, and smelled my plans smoldering. I'm not yet certain if they caught flame and were burnt to cinders, but they will definitely need some reconditioning before they can once more be put to use. "This is air traffic control to flight NYF. You are not, repeat: NOT cleared for takeoff. Hold position on runway and stand by. Over." "NYF to control: copy that. damnit."
-----Old Yeller got sick, boy.
My "fledgling business." You remember it, right? I had to put her down. My business partner is moving to Hawaii to work with his dad. Three reasons that's a good thing for him: (1) It's freakin' HAWAII!!!! (2) his dad is getting older, and this may be the last chance Jeff has to work with him - something he's always wanted to do, (3) Jeff will be making about four times as much as he is here. A struggling window washing business in Hampton Roads, VA can't really compete.
-----I got two dimes, but I'm afraid if I rub 'em together, they'll disappear like on TV
I'm freakin broke. Having shot my business in the head, I resorted to getting a job at a local independently-owned coffee shop. I'm not making shit for money. I applied this morning for a job cleaning carpets. I was surprised to learn that I can make a TON of money doing this. I start training tomorrow. I'll probably have to leave the coffee shop, which is sad, but I'll be making about 3.5 times as much cleaning carpets vs. making lattes. Again, no competition.
-----The pen is mightier . . . if you have the balls to use one
I'm writing again. I think there may be something to the whole "starving artist" concept. It seems that the world's quirks and excentricities stand out in sharper relief, allowing me inspiration at every turn of my head. Very exciting. I'm working on three books, as well as some poetry that will probably never see the light of day, but poetry's better in the dark anyway.
That's the nutshell. The point: I'm back.
1.22.2008
Homesick?
I watched the movie Once tonight. I HIGHLY recommend it. (As long as you understand it's Irish, and being Irish, they use "the 'F-WORD'" a great deal.) The film is based in Ireland - Dublin to be specific. I was in Dublin on October 31-November 2, 2006. Watching this movie brought back so many memories and emotions, and also really made me reflect on US culture vs. European culture.
There's one scene where the female lead has to walk about three blocks away from her flat to get batteries for a CD player. As I watched her walking back, earphones blasting (beautiful) music, wearing sheep slippers, robe, and PJs, I found myself getting nervous for her. I kept tensing up, waiting for some thug to either leap from the shadows or creep up behind her as she walked alone at night. I'm not giving anything important about the movie by saying that she was NOT mugged. When she got back home however, I realized that she had no fear of walking down the street at night. She had no fear of being alone. She had (or at least showed no fear) of her city. Can we claim the same? I am sad to guess that I don't think most Americans in most cities would feel the same sense of peace walking alone at night. I live in suburbia, and I drive to the grocery store about a quarter-mile down the road from me - regardless of the time.
Now, I feel I both ought to and ought not mention the fact that safety is not the sole reasoning Americans have for driving everywhere rather than walking. We're a fat lot of lazy bumps for the most part. There. I said it. Another reason, in all fairness is: especially in suburbia, everything is so spread out, it's impractical to walk most places. Depending on the area, the local grocer's may not even be within a reasonable bike-riding distance. *sigh*
My dear friend Sully and I have often talked about this dichotomy. We've come to agree that the suburban sprawl in conjunction with the appalling lack of sidewalks, is not only contributing to the "obesity epidemic," (PLEASE don't let me get started on that crap) but also contributing to the steep decline in the sense of community in small-town America at large. Again: *sigh*
I titled this entry: "Homesick?" for a reason. Watching the movie tonight, I felt such a strong urge to return to Ireland, I can only describe it as homesickness. While in Cork, my wife and I struck up conversations with perfect strangers, and were quickly treated to an Irish helping (similar to "heapin' helpin'" in the states) of genuine openness, friendliness, genuineness, and hospitality. The hospitality was most memorable from this list, I think. We were in a pub. The guy with whom we were talking didn't own the pub, but the fact was: we were on his island, and as his guests, he would take pains to see that we were looked after. The best part: he wasn't the exception to the rule. We experienced similar hospitality in Dublin by a group of three friends in another pub. As far as they were concerned, as long as we were in their city, we were friends. (Yes, this included exchanged rounds of Guinness.)
I bring all this up with a complaint about the lack of city pride, ownership, and community responsibility in mind, but my complaining won't change anything. On such a deep level, I ache to live in a place where perfect strangers are assumed friends. I yearn for a sense of pride in my town that influences me to make sure that out-of-towners are taken care of. I so DESPERATELY desire to live in a place where I can breathe the air without resentment.
-------------
Wow, I just opened another can of worms. I resent my city. Is that bad? If I'm a horrid person for that, I'm sorry, but that's how I feel. I won't go into it (I actually just deleted two paragraphs of me whining), but I would love suggestions.
On that note, feel free to distribute this address to any who you might think would enjoy it. I'm not looking for readers; I'm looking for kindreds.
1.17.2008
Final rant, then I'm going to sleep
AND YOU KNOW WHAT, DANGIT?! I'M NOT CHANGING BECAUSE SOME JERK-OFF MADE ME FEEL BAD FOR A DAY OR TWO!!!! I AM NOT "MITTYESQUE," I LIKE MY FROG AVATAR, AND I LIKE BEING THE PHILOSOPHIC BARD!!!!!!
Changing how I present myself based on outside influence would simply be proving him right.
This is me, world. You don't like it? Up yours.
Changing how I present myself based on outside influence would simply be proving him right.
This is me, world. You don't like it? Up yours.
Peoples is peoples, Froggy.
So I got all pissed off. I changed my display name, I deleted a bunch of comments I'd left on other peoples' blogs, etc. Why would I do such an emotionally-charged, uncharacteristically me thing?
I've pretty much always held to the mantra: "I don't give a flying f--- what anybody thinks about me! I'm happy with me, so if the rest of the world doesn't like it, they can all get bent!" My steadfastness in this (as well as nonviolence) was shaken recently.
To make a long, sordid, and truth be told: boring-as-hell story short, I took a side in a blog fued. I've since learned that this is something no one should ever do unless they are completely ready to die for their side. It got ugly, and one of the jack-offs on the other side decided I was a good personal target. (Honestly, I think it was because I seemed to be the only one on my particular side that was expressing myself clearly enough to BE a target.) So, he shifted his stance, cocked his arm back, and started firing steamy, smelly, sticky excrement at me - instead of his declared enemy: the girl whose blog it was in the first place.
I can take insults. You can tell me I'm ugly, stupid, fat, a horrible dancer (this is a given), or WHATEVER really, but based on what I've written to date, you can probably imagine that I feel the sting when someone says I'm fake. Especially about how I express myself.
--------------FOR THE RECORD---------------------
I can take constructive criticism. Telling me I try to write with more intelligence than I actually possess is fine, but don't tell me I'm not to use certain words based on my geographic location.
That's what he did.
I use the old form of the word "shit" sometimes. "Shit" is one of my favorite words and rarely do I hear it without at least smiling (seriously, ask my wife), but sometimes, I say "shite" for a change of pace or to lighten my inference. I also use the words:
Rubbish
Bollocks
Bugger
. . . . the list goes on!
I like words that aren't typically American because I view the typical American as a blunderer and (to put it kindly) not all that adept at the very language they insist everyone else lean.
I don't believe I'm being fake for attempting to broaden my vocabulary. There are just some WANKERS out there who don't appreciate it. Well, bollocks to them, yeah?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news,
My business may have just turned a corner! I made several sales calls yesterday, made some fantastic contacts, and hopefully got my foot in several doors - quite literally. I may begin working with real estate stagers to get some residential work! I'm really excited about it, but it's not really interesting enough to blog about, so MOVING ON!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I watched "Juno" tonight. I really liked this film. There were some parts I felt a tad awkward watching, but on the whole, I enjoyed it. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally get around to watching "Hot Fuzz."
1.15.2008
The World is Full of Assholes
I changed my display name, you may have noticed. It's a story I don't really feel like going in to right now. Let's leave it at: There are people in this world that make me question my level of belief in passive-aggression.
I need chocolate.
I need chocolate.
1.14.2008
Place Holder
I feel like I haven't posted in actual post in a long while. This isn't one. This is just to say that there's one coming. I'm working on an idea: The Key to Human Nature Revealed in a Bag of Nuts.
Sounds good, huh? STAY TUNED!
Sounds good, huh? STAY TUNED!
1.12.2008
Laughing my butt off at 2am
So this is a short post. It actually only exists because I just picked myself up off the floor. The following quote not only made me laugh harder than I have in days, but also irrefutably proves that I am a HUGE NERD!!!!!!!!
From majorgeeks.com:
"There are 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don't."
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*sniff* ok . . . I'm better now. Goodnight.
From majorgeeks.com:
"There are 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don't."
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*sniff* ok . . . I'm better now. Goodnight.
1.08.2008
Segmented
I've realized something today: when I look back on my life, thinking about various fond (and sometimes not so fond) memories, it doesn't flow. When I reflect on my life, it's segmented.
There are pieces of my childhood for instance, that I don't remember. Granted, kids aren't interested for the most part, in keeping strict mental records of the passing summer days. They are more concerned with cramming as much fun in as possible before the street lights come on and whether the ice cream truck has come yet or not. Nevertheless, most people that I've talked to about their childhoods can give a rough account. Some count by the school years, others by what house they lived in. I really only have four major breaks: (1) before/after I started homeschooling, (2) before/after my family moved to Illinois, (3) before/after I met my wife, and (4) before/after the birth of my daughter.
Since I'm only 26, I suppose it could be worse, but I find it more than a little disconcerting that I can't remember more of my childhood. I am fortunate however, to be able to say that the memories I do have are quite good, and they make for great bases for short stories. (That, by the way, was where I started with one of my book ideas. More on that at a later date.)
There are pieces of my childhood for instance, that I don't remember. Granted, kids aren't interested for the most part, in keeping strict mental records of the passing summer days. They are more concerned with cramming as much fun in as possible before the street lights come on and whether the ice cream truck has come yet or not. Nevertheless, most people that I've talked to about their childhoods can give a rough account. Some count by the school years, others by what house they lived in. I really only have four major breaks: (1) before/after I started homeschooling, (2) before/after my family moved to Illinois, (3) before/after I met my wife, and (4) before/after the birth of my daughter.
Since I'm only 26, I suppose it could be worse, but I find it more than a little disconcerting that I can't remember more of my childhood. I am fortunate however, to be able to say that the memories I do have are quite good, and they make for great bases for short stories. (That, by the way, was where I started with one of my book ideas. More on that at a later date.)
1.07.2008
WTF
Human beings are among the most volatile, variable, and fickle things (for lack of a better word) on this planet. Earlier this morning, I posted a blog in which I detailed some passions and dreams I have. I wrote with a dreamy, almost ethereal sense of hope for the future.
I should back up...
I own a small business that is taking its dear sweet time to get to the point where I can actually pay bills. My finances are far from secure right now. When I sit down to sort out the budget, I can feel the weight on my back getting into a comfortable (for it anyway) position - settling in for a nice long visit.
Money is one of my least favorite necessities in this life. I loathe the fact that our very culture would come to a grinding halt without it. I despise the fact that I can't exist in this country without a certain amount of the damnable green stuff. I hate that people - myself included to a point, are consumed with the gathering and hording of little slips of paper with pictures of dead men on them and the myriad of ways in which they can exchange these "presidential flashcards" for items to make their over-priced loft apartment a bit more like the one in the IKEA catalog.
I somehow don't think my aversion to money would be quite so acute if I had more of it.
All of that to say: I don't have much money right now. If fact, I'm starting to see more and more red in the balance book with each passing week.
My full-time job right now is to get my business going. Finding work isn't a paying gig. Business is picking up, but slowly. (I'm rambling. Here comes the point.) I pick up side work to attempt to keep the bill collectors at bay. One side gig I do is running sound systems for various events with a friend of mine. I thought I had a three-day job coming up this week, but recently found out it wasn't going to happen. This right on the heels of having another hope crushed.
Two days ago, I decided that I was going to join the local police department. I was really starting to get excited about the various opportunities it would offer. I found out today that I am not eligible due to the disqualifying fact that I have gotten a rather . . . serious speeding ticket within the last 5 years.
What now? I'll make $25 tomorrow unless I can find some more immediate money. $20 on Friday. Woo hoo! $45 effing dollars for a week's work!
I'm so ungrateful for the work I do have. I know the truth I need to hear. It's poking me in the back of my mind, but I keep telling it to go screw itself; I'd rather sit in my own self-pity.
Maybe I should self-publish. There's something else that doesn't pay immediately.
I'm really sorry this post is so freaking depressing, but it's my blog, so I'll write whatever is in my head. :)
I should back up...
I own a small business that is taking its dear sweet time to get to the point where I can actually pay bills. My finances are far from secure right now. When I sit down to sort out the budget, I can feel the weight on my back getting into a comfortable (for it anyway) position - settling in for a nice long visit.
Money is one of my least favorite necessities in this life. I loathe the fact that our very culture would come to a grinding halt without it. I despise the fact that I can't exist in this country without a certain amount of the damnable green stuff. I hate that people - myself included to a point, are consumed with the gathering and hording of little slips of paper with pictures of dead men on them and the myriad of ways in which they can exchange these "presidential flashcards" for items to make their over-priced loft apartment a bit more like the one in the IKEA catalog.
I somehow don't think my aversion to money would be quite so acute if I had more of it.
All of that to say: I don't have much money right now. If fact, I'm starting to see more and more red in the balance book with each passing week.
My full-time job right now is to get my business going. Finding work isn't a paying gig. Business is picking up, but slowly. (I'm rambling. Here comes the point.) I pick up side work to attempt to keep the bill collectors at bay. One side gig I do is running sound systems for various events with a friend of mine. I thought I had a three-day job coming up this week, but recently found out it wasn't going to happen. This right on the heels of having another hope crushed.
Two days ago, I decided that I was going to join the local police department. I was really starting to get excited about the various opportunities it would offer. I found out today that I am not eligible due to the disqualifying fact that I have gotten a rather . . . serious speeding ticket within the last 5 years.
What now? I'll make $25 tomorrow unless I can find some more immediate money. $20 on Friday. Woo hoo! $45 effing dollars for a week's work!
I'm so ungrateful for the work I do have. I know the truth I need to hear. It's poking me in the back of my mind, but I keep telling it to go screw itself; I'd rather sit in my own self-pity.
Maybe I should self-publish. There's something else that doesn't pay immediately.
I'm really sorry this post is so freaking depressing, but it's my blog, so I'll write whatever is in my head. :)
Art in its many forms
I'm an aspiring artist. The problem is: I can't figure out which media I prefer. This one is pencil/paper/digital, but I've also done photography, watercolor, and oils. Then there's writing - my true love.
I would love to someday have a job that enables me to write whatever the heck I want and get money for it. (Yeah, that'd be sweet, right?) The biggest hurdle I now face is: how to get there.
I saw a brief segment on TV yesterday, where a well-spoken, well-educated, and very inspiring lady mentioned writing. She said, "If you want to be a writer, self-publish. Self-publish your first book and hustle. Get your book in as many places as you can, sell as many copies as you can, and once you've sold a number of copies that you're comfortable with, take your book to a publisher and say, 'ON MY OWN, I've sold this many copies. Give me a chance.'"
This was inspiring for me, since I am currently working on three different books.
Suggestions? I'm listening.
1.05.2008
1.04.2008
vid test
So, this is my friend Brian about six years ago. We'd gone to the grocery store for some frozen pizzas and found this mask lying in the produce section. And so was born: Demon Skull Man. We even made a song about him that we performed in the parking lot later that night. Ah, memories.
-------------------------------------
No really, I was just trying out the video posting capabilities of Blogspot to see if I wanted to start a video podcast. Looks like it works.
Don't look now, but I think you just stepped in your own bullshit.
People are strange, aren't they?
Ok, here's the preface: it's 1:15 a-FREAKIN-m, and I'm sugared and caffeinated so bad I was shaking. I actually just finished a peanut butter sandwich to try to balance out my guts. I don't like shaking. At any rate, it's late, I can't sleep, I'm wired, so YOU get to hear about it! Here we go:
People are strange. The answer to the question was: "yes." I used to work for an automotive cosmetic reconditioning company (I painted effed-up bumpers so they looked good enough for the used car lots to sell for way more than the car was really worth) that we shall call "Bob's Bumpers." I worked with several other guys in this company, and most of them - being the good little conformists they are, were enraptured by the company. These automatons saw Bob's Bumpers as being the best thing since the invention of the bumper itself. There were, of course, those of us who have a slightly more aware (my dad would say cynical) view of the world and things around us. We understood that working for Bob's Bumpers was a good opportunity for a time, and a great way to maybe make some killer money. The problem is: you can't spray paint for 20 years. One guy, we'll call him Ferdinand, got to the point where he just stopped trying. He would take naps in his truck on the lot, half-ass the majority of his work, antagonize management at Bob's Bumpers, and generally do everything that would get a person fired from most companies. In the end, Ferdinand did get fired. I eventually quit as well. Another guy that went through the training class with Ferdinand and me sounds like he may be nearing the end of his rope as well. Although good ol' Ferdy and I handled ourselves differently when it came to our work and how we left the company (he left with a double single-finger-salute, I with a genial letter of resignation wishing them the best success in the future), we do have something in common: after we left, we felt liberated.
I ran into Ferdinand today at a local coffee shop. (Not Starbucks - DOWN WITH CORPORATE GIANTS!) He's playing drums full time in a metal band now, and feels so much more alive than he has in years. He said, "I make about a quarter what I did at 'Bob's Bumpers,' but I'm about a hundred times happier." I feel the same way. When I left my old job, it was to start my own business. It's going REALLY slowly. In fact, the reason I went into the coffee shop in the first place was to pick up an application (they're not currently hiring). Working for myself though, I feel so much lighter than I did when I had managers barking at me every day. It didn't help that the people I dealt with all day every day were used car salespeople. *shudder*
So what's my basis for saying people are strange? (Do I need one? I thought it'd be obvious by now.) In this case, I find it an interesting note that it was only after I'd left my job that I realized how oppressed I'd felt. I won't go back. Hard accounting says I should, but I got a C- in my accounting class, so whatever.
---------------------- (Nice divider, thanks for the idea, Marian)
In other news, you may or may not have seen that I used to have another post between this and my first. Yes. I did. I wrote it on New Year's Day at 2am, and was a bit drunk. I deleted it because I want the content of that post to be well thought-out, not just vomited onto my blog. Ok, that's gross, but you know what I meant.
----------------------
Yesterday, I was sitting at my computer when a phrase popped unbidden to my mind, and I burst out laughing. It's a good thing my wife wasn't home, or she'd have questioned my sanity . . . again.
The phrase: "Cheese it, boys! It's da fuzz!"
----------------------
Now for some culture:
You should go here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/LadyTige.shtml
It's a short story called "The Lady or the Tiger?" I hadn't read it since high school, but it's an enjoyable and quick read. I think I might post links to short stories every so often. Let me know if you think I should.
----------------------
This is my little girl. Isn't she cute? This is kind of a goofy picture. Other than the green stuff (I think that was broccoli at some point), she looks kind of cross-eyed. Oh well, she's still super cute.
Ok, here's the preface: it's 1:15 a-FREAKIN-m, and I'm sugared and caffeinated so bad I was shaking. I actually just finished a peanut butter sandwich to try to balance out my guts. I don't like shaking. At any rate, it's late, I can't sleep, I'm wired, so YOU get to hear about it! Here we go:
People are strange. The answer to the question was: "yes." I used to work for an automotive cosmetic reconditioning company (I painted effed-up bumpers so they looked good enough for the used car lots to sell for way more than the car was really worth) that we shall call "Bob's Bumpers." I worked with several other guys in this company, and most of them - being the good little conformists they are, were enraptured by the company. These automatons saw Bob's Bumpers as being the best thing since the invention of the bumper itself. There were, of course, those of us who have a slightly more aware (my dad would say cynical) view of the world and things around us. We understood that working for Bob's Bumpers was a good opportunity for a time, and a great way to maybe make some killer money. The problem is: you can't spray paint for 20 years. One guy, we'll call him Ferdinand, got to the point where he just stopped trying. He would take naps in his truck on the lot, half-ass the majority of his work, antagonize management at Bob's Bumpers, and generally do everything that would get a person fired from most companies. In the end, Ferdinand did get fired. I eventually quit as well. Another guy that went through the training class with Ferdinand and me sounds like he may be nearing the end of his rope as well. Although good ol' Ferdy and I handled ourselves differently when it came to our work and how we left the company (he left with a double single-finger-salute, I with a genial letter of resignation wishing them the best success in the future), we do have something in common: after we left, we felt liberated.
I ran into Ferdinand today at a local coffee shop. (Not Starbucks - DOWN WITH CORPORATE GIANTS!) He's playing drums full time in a metal band now, and feels so much more alive than he has in years. He said, "I make about a quarter what I did at 'Bob's Bumpers,' but I'm about a hundred times happier." I feel the same way. When I left my old job, it was to start my own business. It's going REALLY slowly. In fact, the reason I went into the coffee shop in the first place was to pick up an application (they're not currently hiring). Working for myself though, I feel so much lighter than I did when I had managers barking at me every day. It didn't help that the people I dealt with all day every day were used car salespeople. *shudder*
So what's my basis for saying people are strange? (Do I need one? I thought it'd be obvious by now.) In this case, I find it an interesting note that it was only after I'd left my job that I realized how oppressed I'd felt. I won't go back. Hard accounting says I should, but I got a C- in my accounting class, so whatever.
---------------------- (Nice divider, thanks for the idea, Marian)
In other news, you may or may not have seen that I used to have another post between this and my first. Yes. I did. I wrote it on New Year's Day at 2am, and was a bit drunk. I deleted it because I want the content of that post to be well thought-out, not just vomited onto my blog. Ok, that's gross, but you know what I meant.
----------------------
Yesterday, I was sitting at my computer when a phrase popped unbidden to my mind, and I burst out laughing. It's a good thing my wife wasn't home, or she'd have questioned my sanity . . . again.
The phrase: "Cheese it, boys! It's da fuzz!"
----------------------
Now for some culture:
You should go here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/LadyTige.shtml
It's a short story called "The Lady or the Tiger?" I hadn't read it since high school, but it's an enjoyable and quick read. I think I might post links to short stories every so often. Let me know if you think I should.
----------------------
This is my little girl. Isn't she cute? This is kind of a goofy picture. Other than the green stuff (I think that was broccoli at some point), she looks kind of cross-eyed. Oh well, she's still super cute.
12.30.2007
Mixed Signals
I have always been an observer. I watch people. I love to watch people interact with other people. It shows who they really are in many ways. To get a good 3-D image of somebody, one must really see them in more than one kind of situation, setting, group of people, etc.
Take, for instance: my parents. (Disclaimer: I love my parents, and nothing I say here is written in an attempt to besmirch their reputations or convey that they are less than great parents. They are human and therefore imperfect.) My parents brought me up as best they knew how. A lot of what has made me who I am today is due to their choices in rearing me. I was brought up in a Christian home with parents that loved each other and God very much. As I grew older and into a better people-watcher, I was able to see increasingly how they acted in various scenarios. Nothing extreme - just small adaptations of the normal to better fit the situation.
In my teen years, this really f---ed me up. I learn best when I can watch someone do something, so I learned well how to "adapt" who I was to give people what they wanted. In high school, all of my friends' parents thought I was this great Christian kid who rarely if ever did anything that would get me in trouble. In other words: they figured I'd be a great influence on their children. My friends probably would have been pissed at me for allowing their parents to get this airy (and horribly inaccurate) view about who I was, but it meant they could do things and go places they wouldn't otherwise be allowed to do/go. After all, the good kid would be there to make sure things didn't get out of hand.
As I've grown, I've learned to hate the idea of wearing masks to please other people. Being able to read someone at a glance and gauge what they would find most appealing is a very handy skill - particularly in the business world, but wearing a mask to completely hide who I am is a repulsive thought to me, and the idea of changing who I am just to give someone a certain impression of who I am is so vile, it makes my stomach turn to think of it.
Today, I went to my parents house. My aunt (Dad's sister) came down for the weekend to visit and to celebrate the birth of my daughter, Christmas, and New Years all in one go. It has also been about two and-a-half years since we've seen her. Here's the snag: she's not a Christian. What she does believe isn't important to my story, as I have seen the change I will soon describe in them around other non-Christians.
The tree was left up, despite the small mound of needles that is rapidly growing underneath it. All the decorations were left just so. Extra finger food had been purchased to ensure we'd still be Christmasy for the visit. So far, so good. These considerations would be taken for any guest in my mother's house. Vacuum the floor - check; dust the knick-knacks - check; clip the dog's nails - screw it. The house was ready.
Lunch was Chinese food. I ate too much, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but I started noticing withing five minutes of being in my parents' home that they were different. Slightly, but just different enough to annoy me. They had turned up the "Jesus juice." Why? As the evening progressed, I refine the image that had been coming into slow focus as the hours passed. Although I am positive they weren't meaning to, they had put on an air of uncomfortable condescension toward my aunt. AGAIN - I AM SURE THIS WAS UNINTENTIONAL, AND BROUGHT ON MY DISCOMFORT, but nonetheless I picked up on it.
I had to run out to the pharmacy after getting my wife and daughter home, and this gave me some time to think about the night's particulars. I got to thinking about how Jesus would have acted. In the gospels, there are several instances of Jesus eating meals with people that would have been considered by His followers as "unsavory characters." He pissed a lot of people off by eating with people most "good" people would have gone out of their way to avoid. I thought: "How sad is it that so many modern Christians can't bring themselves to befriend the 'unsavory' of today."
I have had the good fortune to have met many people who not only aren't Christians, but have completely opposing beliefs or lifestyles. I have had dear friends that were homosexual, Buddhist, Islamic, Wiccan, Atheistic, etc. and have loved each of them as dearly as I have loved my Christian friends. Sadly, a great many of the Christians I know get nervous and awkward when people that fall into any of these or myriad other beliefs so much as come up in conversation.
I am a Christian. I am very proud of my beliefs and hold them resolutely. I would love nothing more than for my non-Christian friends and family to convert, but I also know this: I CAN'T CONVERT THEM. The Bible - the very book on which my religion/beliefs are based states VERY clearly that Conversion is an act of divine intervention. What I (and every Christian) am called to do is to be examples of Christ's love. I am not supposed to walk around saying, "Hey everyone! I have all my shit together, so you should be like me! Everything you know is wrong, so you should just accept that everything that I know is right!" I somehow think however, that without doing so in so many words, this is what a staggering number of Christians do every day. I am not at all surprised the non-Christian world thinks of Christians as primarily hypocritical, shallow, and haughty, condescending prigs that don't genuinely care about anyone outside of their clique.
A final note: I mentioned earlier that my parents are not perfect people. I would be remiss if I failed to mention that I too am riddled with flaws. But the freeing thing for me is knowing that it's our flaws that make us human. We're all trying to fix our flaws, don't get me wrong, but if we were all perfect, there would be far less creativity and curiosity in the world, I think.
Take, for instance: my parents. (Disclaimer: I love my parents, and nothing I say here is written in an attempt to besmirch their reputations or convey that they are less than great parents. They are human and therefore imperfect.) My parents brought me up as best they knew how. A lot of what has made me who I am today is due to their choices in rearing me. I was brought up in a Christian home with parents that loved each other and God very much. As I grew older and into a better people-watcher, I was able to see increasingly how they acted in various scenarios. Nothing extreme - just small adaptations of the normal to better fit the situation.
In my teen years, this really f---ed me up. I learn best when I can watch someone do something, so I learned well how to "adapt" who I was to give people what they wanted. In high school, all of my friends' parents thought I was this great Christian kid who rarely if ever did anything that would get me in trouble. In other words: they figured I'd be a great influence on their children. My friends probably would have been pissed at me for allowing their parents to get this airy (and horribly inaccurate) view about who I was, but it meant they could do things and go places they wouldn't otherwise be allowed to do/go. After all, the good kid would be there to make sure things didn't get out of hand.
As I've grown, I've learned to hate the idea of wearing masks to please other people. Being able to read someone at a glance and gauge what they would find most appealing is a very handy skill - particularly in the business world, but wearing a mask to completely hide who I am is a repulsive thought to me, and the idea of changing who I am just to give someone a certain impression of who I am is so vile, it makes my stomach turn to think of it.
Today, I went to my parents house. My aunt (Dad's sister) came down for the weekend to visit and to celebrate the birth of my daughter, Christmas, and New Years all in one go. It has also been about two and-a-half years since we've seen her. Here's the snag: she's not a Christian. What she does believe isn't important to my story, as I have seen the change I will soon describe in them around other non-Christians.
The tree was left up, despite the small mound of needles that is rapidly growing underneath it. All the decorations were left just so. Extra finger food had been purchased to ensure we'd still be Christmasy for the visit. So far, so good. These considerations would be taken for any guest in my mother's house. Vacuum the floor - check; dust the knick-knacks - check; clip the dog's nails - screw it. The house was ready.
Lunch was Chinese food. I ate too much, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but I started noticing withing five minutes of being in my parents' home that they were different. Slightly, but just different enough to annoy me. They had turned up the "Jesus juice." Why? As the evening progressed, I refine the image that had been coming into slow focus as the hours passed. Although I am positive they weren't meaning to, they had put on an air of uncomfortable condescension toward my aunt. AGAIN - I AM SURE THIS WAS UNINTENTIONAL, AND BROUGHT ON MY DISCOMFORT, but nonetheless I picked up on it.
I had to run out to the pharmacy after getting my wife and daughter home, and this gave me some time to think about the night's particulars. I got to thinking about how Jesus would have acted. In the gospels, there are several instances of Jesus eating meals with people that would have been considered by His followers as "unsavory characters." He pissed a lot of people off by eating with people most "good" people would have gone out of their way to avoid. I thought: "How sad is it that so many modern Christians can't bring themselves to befriend the 'unsavory' of today."
I have had the good fortune to have met many people who not only aren't Christians, but have completely opposing beliefs or lifestyles. I have had dear friends that were homosexual, Buddhist, Islamic, Wiccan, Atheistic, etc. and have loved each of them as dearly as I have loved my Christian friends. Sadly, a great many of the Christians I know get nervous and awkward when people that fall into any of these or myriad other beliefs so much as come up in conversation.
I am a Christian. I am very proud of my beliefs and hold them resolutely. I would love nothing more than for my non-Christian friends and family to convert, but I also know this: I CAN'T CONVERT THEM. The Bible - the very book on which my religion/beliefs are based states VERY clearly that Conversion is an act of divine intervention. What I (and every Christian) am called to do is to be examples of Christ's love. I am not supposed to walk around saying, "Hey everyone! I have all my shit together, so you should be like me! Everything you know is wrong, so you should just accept that everything that I know is right!" I somehow think however, that without doing so in so many words, this is what a staggering number of Christians do every day. I am not at all surprised the non-Christian world thinks of Christians as primarily hypocritical, shallow, and haughty, condescending prigs that don't genuinely care about anyone outside of their clique.
A final note: I mentioned earlier that my parents are not perfect people. I would be remiss if I failed to mention that I too am riddled with flaws. But the freeing thing for me is knowing that it's our flaws that make us human. We're all trying to fix our flaws, don't get me wrong, but if we were all perfect, there would be far less creativity and curiosity in the world, I think.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
