There's a space between ordering the pale ale and sitting on the ground next to the car while that angry lady across the street yelled at me that isn't even a memory. I can't justify it any way at all, though my brain can't wrap around this quandary, and I keep telling myself that I didn't have that much to drink.
I don't remember paying my tab. I don't remember leaving the bar. I don't remember walking two blocks to the parking garage, and I don't remember any of the drive.
I remember that woman yelling at me about her kids going to school this way and that she'd already called the cops. I remember looking at my car and thinking that it was facing the wrong direction. I remember the telephone pole, though at the time I couldn't see that I'd hit it hard enough to break it. As my arresting officer said, "You cut it right off!"
I remember as the realization of what I'd done tried to crash down on me. I remember crying.
I remember the cop trying to get me to do the field sobriety test and that I honestly couldn't. Between being drunk and crying I couldn't do any of the things he was going to ask of me. I've done those things at least two other times and passed. I couldn't this time.
And regardless of how absolutely not even a little bit that it matters I didn't have that much to drink. And that's not a problem because I didn't have that much to drink. The problem is what does "that much" mean?
One of my "not resolutions" was to drink less. Wanna know how much I drank Sunday night? According to the slip I got when I clocked out from work Sunday I left there at about 3:15. I was at the bar with a bloody mary by 3:30. I drank that somewhat slowly and then had a beer. I finished that and ordered another beer and paid my tab at the same time. According to the receipt I paid out at about 5:00. I was probably done with that beer and two blocks away at another bar by 6:00. According to that receipt I paid out and left by 8:00. I was being processed at the Sheriff's department and sent to a cell sometime between 11:00 and midnight.
I can't tell you how much I had to drink at the second bar. I drank a beer that I ordered and at least two parts of a beer that the bartender gave me. He's a friend, and the beers he gave me were overpours, some of it run off from filling a growler. I remember ordering a second beer, and that's the last thing I remember before that lady yelling at me. My receipt doesn't reflect what I drank, and once you black out from drinking you don't know what you did unless someone tells you.
I do get that "a lot" of alcohol varies from one person to the next. I have a fairly high tolerance because I drink a lot. It's slowly starting to seem less like a badge of honor.
How much is a lot to drink? For me it's somewhere past a six pack. I can really put away cheap beer if I start early enough. Add to that the fact that my recent history sees me drinking cheap beer (and by cheap I mean PBR. I still have some kinda standard-ish) and at least a six pack a night. And that's just an average of what I'm likely to drink in an average day.
I feel like there's so much more to say. I feel like I should moralize and preach, condemn the beastly drink. I feel like I should loathe it so that I swear off the evil beverage, but I know I won't be doing that. The fact is that it's not beer's fault. It's not the fault of anyone person or thing other than me.
This feels like it's all part of some bigger conversation about drugs and the nature of addiction, but it's not a conversation for here and now. I stand by all I've ever said about these subjects, but I feel like I'm going to have to start being more honest with myself about my own drinking. I can say all day that I'm going to drink less, but until I really look at what I'm doing and where I am I'm not going to make any progress.
That's not going to happen tonight. I am drinking beer as I write this. The couple I have will hopefully ease the pain in my ribs that I have to assume is courtesy of the seat belt, and they will also help calm my nerves after the hell that is jail even if only for a couple of days.
The only other thing I can say is I'm sorry.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Friday, January 07, 2011
is they or aint they
Chic-fil-A, home of one of my favorite chicken sandwiches, is owned by people who happen to be Christian. They are also closed on Sunday. The restaurant I work at is owned by an older couple who have their own belief system that they've not shared with me. I have no system of religious belief, and I don't believe in a host of other things. I'll freely admit to wishing that I had a unicorn for a best friend, but that's neither here nor there. Also, we used to be closed on Sunday until the owner decided we could do some bidness adding brunch to our schedule.
fwiw, I hate working brunch. It's the very bane of restaurant life. Most people hate it. May you always go to good brunch places and never suffer the indignity of a pre-broken yolk on you benedict.
Anyway, somewhere there's a conference involving a couple of churches and Christian couples learning how to be married in the proper Christian way. Of course that proper Christian way involves someone's interpretation of someone's interpretation of bronze age myths, and it filters through other filters on the way to the conference which lasts a day and a half or something.
I imagine Christian couple sleeping in cots in the gymnasium, holding hands across the empty space. Being gay I'd probably have found some nook in which to trap my partner and commit sinful acts, but that's just me. We wouldn't be welcome anyway, so that's really beside the point.
Chic-fil-A, in addition to being a slight pain in the ass to type, may or may not donate money to random organizations. I don't know. I haven't looked. Some intrepid blogger may well do it for me. I am sure that they sometimes possibly donate food to groups for events that might also involve some amount of people who don't like gay people.
The Chic-fil-A sandwich is not something I'm willing to boycott. Their waffle fries may not be as good as McDonalds regular ass fries, but they are the perfect side dish to the sandwich.
Chic-fil-A is sort of a reward for not killing anyone at the mall. I sorta tend to live and work on the square. It's a nice public space in the heart of downtown. There are a variety of buskers through out the day. There's the homeless guy selling our town's new street paper. Right now there are the last remnants of the ice rink, and in a couple of days there will nothing left of that but the increasingly smaller piles of ice. Sometimes you'll find someone passing a football with a friend American style, though only the employees of the Mexican restaurant across from where I work ever seem to pass a football international style. At almost any time of the day or night you're likely to see someone walking their dog, and sometimes it's a dog you know and can say hi to.
The mall is made up. It's a "public" space entirely devoted to commerce. It's full of mall people, and while I don't necessarily not like them, I don't necessarily like them at the mall. Maybe it's a turf issue. Maybe it's that they're all so seemingly alike. Maybe it's me and not them. Either way the mall can sometimes stress me out a little bit, and sometimes there's only one antidote for that stress.
Chic-fil-A's sweet tea isn't too bad at all, for what it's worth, but it really is their namesake chicken sandwich. It's a decent sized breast half, deep fried, served on what was once a toasted bun with a couple of pickle slices in the middle. I eat around the last pickle bite personally.
It's served in a small bag, white paper with a foil inside, and if you rip that little bag down the seam on the underside and then rip it open along the crease at the bottom you have room to lay down your waffle fries and create your little piles of ketchup and mayonnaise. I put them next to each other so I can mix them in the middle and still have either one by itself as well. On the sandwich I put mayonnaise and hot sauce.
And while I enjoy that fast food paradise, the mall melts away, disappears around me and ceases to exist. All my worries are gone, and I can see heaven in the distance.
Okay, not really. I'm still being catty in my head about all the mall dorks, but at least for a while my mouth is full and mostly free of words. I can sink into the goodness.
p.s. the whole point of this post is thanks to the fine people at towleroad.com. I really do love the blog. The link HERE is just the latest in a story that is ongoing. My own comment that is this blog post is in answer to comments that I've read here as well as other blogs. It's easy to sit back and laugh, so I do.
fwiw, I hate working brunch. It's the very bane of restaurant life. Most people hate it. May you always go to good brunch places and never suffer the indignity of a pre-broken yolk on you benedict.
Anyway, somewhere there's a conference involving a couple of churches and Christian couples learning how to be married in the proper Christian way. Of course that proper Christian way involves someone's interpretation of someone's interpretation of bronze age myths, and it filters through other filters on the way to the conference which lasts a day and a half or something.
I imagine Christian couple sleeping in cots in the gymnasium, holding hands across the empty space. Being gay I'd probably have found some nook in which to trap my partner and commit sinful acts, but that's just me. We wouldn't be welcome anyway, so that's really beside the point.
Chic-fil-A, in addition to being a slight pain in the ass to type, may or may not donate money to random organizations. I don't know. I haven't looked. Some intrepid blogger may well do it for me. I am sure that they sometimes possibly donate food to groups for events that might also involve some amount of people who don't like gay people.
The Chic-fil-A sandwich is not something I'm willing to boycott. Their waffle fries may not be as good as McDonalds regular ass fries, but they are the perfect side dish to the sandwich.
Chic-fil-A is sort of a reward for not killing anyone at the mall. I sorta tend to live and work on the square. It's a nice public space in the heart of downtown. There are a variety of buskers through out the day. There's the homeless guy selling our town's new street paper. Right now there are the last remnants of the ice rink, and in a couple of days there will nothing left of that but the increasingly smaller piles of ice. Sometimes you'll find someone passing a football with a friend American style, though only the employees of the Mexican restaurant across from where I work ever seem to pass a football international style. At almost any time of the day or night you're likely to see someone walking their dog, and sometimes it's a dog you know and can say hi to.
The mall is made up. It's a "public" space entirely devoted to commerce. It's full of mall people, and while I don't necessarily not like them, I don't necessarily like them at the mall. Maybe it's a turf issue. Maybe it's that they're all so seemingly alike. Maybe it's me and not them. Either way the mall can sometimes stress me out a little bit, and sometimes there's only one antidote for that stress.
Chic-fil-A's sweet tea isn't too bad at all, for what it's worth, but it really is their namesake chicken sandwich. It's a decent sized breast half, deep fried, served on what was once a toasted bun with a couple of pickle slices in the middle. I eat around the last pickle bite personally.
It's served in a small bag, white paper with a foil inside, and if you rip that little bag down the seam on the underside and then rip it open along the crease at the bottom you have room to lay down your waffle fries and create your little piles of ketchup and mayonnaise. I put them next to each other so I can mix them in the middle and still have either one by itself as well. On the sandwich I put mayonnaise and hot sauce.
And while I enjoy that fast food paradise, the mall melts away, disappears around me and ceases to exist. All my worries are gone, and I can see heaven in the distance.
Okay, not really. I'm still being catty in my head about all the mall dorks, but at least for a while my mouth is full and mostly free of words. I can sink into the goodness.
p.s. the whole point of this post is thanks to the fine people at towleroad.com. I really do love the blog. The link HERE is just the latest in a story that is ongoing. My own comment that is this blog post is in answer to comments that I've read here as well as other blogs. It's easy to sit back and laugh, so I do.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
again with
The blog This is Fag City has only been in my reader for a short time. I forget where I found him originally, which doesn't really matter, but I always like knowing these things. Or maybe I don't really care until I realize I can't remember.
And like I said, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is my bummer house. It's a little woo for me, but I love the quote near the end of the post Fantasy Castle. He is discussing mental attitudes and says, Trying not to make myself a bummer house cuz I do not want to live in a bummer house. I want to live in a Fantasy Castle.
It ties in perfectly with my not resolutions, because this idea fits nicely at the core of my goal. I'm not in a good place because the universe has always been out to get me, so I've always lived with that in mind. But if the universe isn't really out to get me, and if it's okay to maybe imagine I might could live in my own fantasy castle, then maybe I can start to do something about it. And maybe I'll just make enough of a fantasy castle out of where I am to get me started
I know, kinda woo, and it kinda grosses me out that I'm talking like that. It seems so trite, but there again it ties right into my thing that isn't resolutions, because it's new. Plus, fantasy castle! Fuck yeah!
p.s. trying to edit and reread that first paragraph is giving me a headache, so with all apologies I've opted to leave it alone for now. Just ignore it as best you can.
And like I said, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is my bummer house. It's a little woo for me, but I love the quote near the end of the post Fantasy Castle. He is discussing mental attitudes and says, Trying not to make myself a bummer house cuz I do not want to live in a bummer house. I want to live in a Fantasy Castle.
It ties in perfectly with my not resolutions, because this idea fits nicely at the core of my goal. I'm not in a good place because the universe has always been out to get me, so I've always lived with that in mind. But if the universe isn't really out to get me, and if it's okay to maybe imagine I might could live in my own fantasy castle, then maybe I can start to do something about it. And maybe I'll just make enough of a fantasy castle out of where I am to get me started
I know, kinda woo, and it kinda grosses me out that I'm talking like that. It seems so trite, but there again it ties right into my thing that isn't resolutions, because it's new. Plus, fantasy castle! Fuck yeah!
p.s. trying to edit and reread that first paragraph is giving me a headache, so with all apologies I've opted to leave it alone for now. Just ignore it as best you can.
Monday, December 27, 2010
resolute these nuts
I've never made new year's resolutions. I don't really believe in them. They always seem like they were made up in a moment of clarity that happens to be surrounded by a lot of getting and then being way too drunk because you were at a NYE party, and it's what you're supposed to do.
At the same time I want my life to be different, and a lot of this wanting is coming to a bit of a head right about now. I've been thinking and thinking, and I think I've come up with some ideas.
The only solution that I have is to give myself this arbitrary date at which point I want to begin putting my bad behavior to an end. And it's not that I'm so bad of a person or that my behavior is so bad, but it's not even a little bit helpful, and I want my life to be different.
What I've come up with, in my head, is this idea of new. I've done things the old way for a long time, and I'm still here, broke and alone and unhappy. The old ways aren't working, so I need to try some new ways.
I'm not sure the shape this will take, but I'm setting a deadline, and after that I really have to figure out what changes are going to get me to a point. I need now to figure that point out. I need now to set some goals. I've got twinnyleven to figure my ass out, and then I've got twinnytwelve to make a point of it.
How will I start? Putting the boys in school is a big start, both for them and for me. I'm going to worry more about their education, and I need to be involved in their school/schooling. Another step that should be easy and maybe even fun is to begin to put more concern into both my diet as well as the boys'. We don't eat very well, and I could easily solve that problem. Beginning work in those areas will help me to want to work harder to better myself.
How happy am I in the world of food as I've known it? What would I rather do? I've been in food service seemingly as long as I can remember. It's what I do. It's how I earn my dough.
How can I find a way to make my life better in solely monetary terms? I hate to think of it that way. There's a stink of "selling out" that punk me finds repulsive, but punk me barely pays the bills and seldom on time.
I need to remember throughout the year that "I'm too old for this shit." And I need to devote my efforts to better things, better places, better meals, better friends. And it has to begin with me. I have to take that first step and then the second and on and on.
Repeating past mistakes will never yield new successes.
At the same time I want my life to be different, and a lot of this wanting is coming to a bit of a head right about now. I've been thinking and thinking, and I think I've come up with some ideas.
The only solution that I have is to give myself this arbitrary date at which point I want to begin putting my bad behavior to an end. And it's not that I'm so bad of a person or that my behavior is so bad, but it's not even a little bit helpful, and I want my life to be different.
What I've come up with, in my head, is this idea of new. I've done things the old way for a long time, and I'm still here, broke and alone and unhappy. The old ways aren't working, so I need to try some new ways.
I'm not sure the shape this will take, but I'm setting a deadline, and after that I really have to figure out what changes are going to get me to a point. I need now to figure that point out. I need now to set some goals. I've got twinnyleven to figure my ass out, and then I've got twinnytwelve to make a point of it.
How will I start? Putting the boys in school is a big start, both for them and for me. I'm going to worry more about their education, and I need to be involved in their school/schooling. Another step that should be easy and maybe even fun is to begin to put more concern into both my diet as well as the boys'. We don't eat very well, and I could easily solve that problem. Beginning work in those areas will help me to want to work harder to better myself.
How happy am I in the world of food as I've known it? What would I rather do? I've been in food service seemingly as long as I can remember. It's what I do. It's how I earn my dough.
How can I find a way to make my life better in solely monetary terms? I hate to think of it that way. There's a stink of "selling out" that punk me finds repulsive, but punk me barely pays the bills and seldom on time.
I need to remember throughout the year that "I'm too old for this shit." And I need to devote my efforts to better things, better places, better meals, better friends. And it has to begin with me. I have to take that first step and then the second and on and on.
Repeating past mistakes will never yield new successes.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
what christmas means to me
First I stole the title from a Stevie Wonder song of the same name. Listen HERE.
This being the first Christmas season that I've celebrated with some distance between me and Momma it's been a much easier time for me.
I'm sure that sounds mean, but really it's not. She celebrates much differently than I do, and it's difficult for me to just be throughout as she sees what seems to be me not getting into the whole thing. That's truly a shit rendering of the portrait, but it's close enough.
I'm happy to roll through Christmas. I'm happy to peruse the wish lists the boys craft so perfectly and sometimes leave leaned just so against the computer screen where they're still not sure I saw it.
I'm happy to not get them the things on their list, but I'm quite happy to get them things they will love nonetheless. Both boys will absolutely love The Simpsons Hit and Run I got them for the PS2 their uncle gave me a few weeks ago. And it's not the exact Lego thing they might have asked for, but they'll be happy.
And that's where Momma steps in. She's already got them the lesser huge Lego thing they wanted and plans to get them the other huge Lego thing that turned into THE toy this year and would be available for a buck and a half at the store if it weren't gone to ebay and up to an even five hundred. She's not planning to pay that much for it. Her idea is to give them a picture of what they'll soon be getting. I kinda want to talk her out of it. I think she does too much, but I love that she loves it so much. It's how she does Christmas.
Tomorrow it's off to the local super awesome used book store where I'll satisfy that family tradition of the pile of books under the tree. That's my favorite of our traditions, and I'm looking forward to what I'll find. The best part? Momma gave me her store credit she earned by taking in a pile of stuff we'd collected over the years. Really it's our store credit. She just did the work of actually boxing it up and offering it to them.
Christmas for me is an entirely secular celebration. I get what it means and signifies to others. Momma and I shopped together today and left the boys at Great Grandmother's house. At some point between then and picking them up she told them that Christmas is Jesus' birthday.
The Boy told me about the Jesus birthday thing, and that led to a short conversation about the number of celebrations that happen to occur at this time of year because of the variety of belief systems that exist which then led to my pointing out that many people celebrate similar holidays, different holidays or even the same holiday for a different reason. Later we watched part of a show about Buddha, he told me he believes in the god that's called god and that he thinks Christmas Eve is Santa's birthday.
I celebrate the fact that people really might one day be capable of the things they claim when they are thinking Christmas. I love the ideals we echo and hear echoed back by Charlie Brown and some woebegone sitcom dad-as-Santa right after he fails his family yet again, but gosh they love him anyway.
I've let so much of my anti Christmas cynicism go over the years. I built up this anti Christmas-as-religious-holiday hatred for the whole of the holiday seasonbecause that's all I'd ever known it as and wasn't then able to separate the Christian beliefs from the holiday as a thing unto itself. My faithlessness prevailed to the point that I went to the other extreme and wanted to reject this whole end of the year thing. The kids have been a big part of me pulling back from the edge.
And now this year has been nice. I don't have Momma's endearing if incessant barrage of cheeriness. I also don't have a tree. I do miss the lights and the smell. I miss those keepsake ornaments that are special because of their forced rarity. Momma wants me to spend Christmas eve at her house so I'll be there for the usual Christmas morning thing. I can do this, and it will be good, though I'll bitch about sleeping arrangements. The boys will want to tear into Christmas while I'll want to slink into a cup of coffee, but that's just another tradition.
Next year may well be different, and we'll look back from there and then look forward. Another truth? I've been using this holiday as the end of year celebration it's becoming to me. I've been taking an honest look at some aspects of areas, and I'm finding some things I don't like, some paths I need to work my way off of, some edges I need to be done peering over, some cliches I've worn to nubs and need to dispose of.
I want to build up a nice supply of desire-to-do-better that I can use to help power me over the course of what I'm going to call Twinnyleven. I'm sure I'm not the only one. And this time next year, as it's all been sucked out of me, I'll be somewhere not unlike this (in a good way) refilling my tanks.
btw, if you're in my neck of the woods Christmas day let me know. Momma and I are working yet another tradition where we do our family thing and then start cooking for friends and other family that want to come by and make a time of it. You're welcome to bring kids and booze.
p.s. just read a bad review of the other PS2 game I got them, but for five bucks I aint about to complain.
This being the first Christmas season that I've celebrated with some distance between me and Momma it's been a much easier time for me.
I'm sure that sounds mean, but really it's not. She celebrates much differently than I do, and it's difficult for me to just be throughout as she sees what seems to be me not getting into the whole thing. That's truly a shit rendering of the portrait, but it's close enough.
I'm happy to roll through Christmas. I'm happy to peruse the wish lists the boys craft so perfectly and sometimes leave leaned just so against the computer screen where they're still not sure I saw it.
I'm happy to not get them the things on their list, but I'm quite happy to get them things they will love nonetheless. Both boys will absolutely love The Simpsons Hit and Run I got them for the PS2 their uncle gave me a few weeks ago. And it's not the exact Lego thing they might have asked for, but they'll be happy.
And that's where Momma steps in. She's already got them the lesser huge Lego thing they wanted and plans to get them the other huge Lego thing that turned into THE toy this year and would be available for a buck and a half at the store if it weren't gone to ebay and up to an even five hundred. She's not planning to pay that much for it. Her idea is to give them a picture of what they'll soon be getting. I kinda want to talk her out of it. I think she does too much, but I love that she loves it so much. It's how she does Christmas.
Tomorrow it's off to the local super awesome used book store where I'll satisfy that family tradition of the pile of books under the tree. That's my favorite of our traditions, and I'm looking forward to what I'll find. The best part? Momma gave me her store credit she earned by taking in a pile of stuff we'd collected over the years. Really it's our store credit. She just did the work of actually boxing it up and offering it to them.
Christmas for me is an entirely secular celebration. I get what it means and signifies to others. Momma and I shopped together today and left the boys at Great Grandmother's house. At some point between then and picking them up she told them that Christmas is Jesus' birthday.
The Boy told me about the Jesus birthday thing, and that led to a short conversation about the number of celebrations that happen to occur at this time of year because of the variety of belief systems that exist which then led to my pointing out that many people celebrate similar holidays, different holidays or even the same holiday for a different reason. Later we watched part of a show about Buddha, he told me he believes in the god that's called god and that he thinks Christmas Eve is Santa's birthday.
I celebrate the fact that people really might one day be capable of the things they claim when they are thinking Christmas. I love the ideals we echo and hear echoed back by Charlie Brown and some woebegone sitcom dad-as-Santa right after he fails his family yet again, but gosh they love him anyway.
I've let so much of my anti Christmas cynicism go over the years. I built up this anti Christmas-as-religious-holiday hatred for the whole of the holiday seasonbecause that's all I'd ever known it as and wasn't then able to separate the Christian beliefs from the holiday as a thing unto itself. My faithlessness prevailed to the point that I went to the other extreme and wanted to reject this whole end of the year thing. The kids have been a big part of me pulling back from the edge.
And now this year has been nice. I don't have Momma's endearing if incessant barrage of cheeriness. I also don't have a tree. I do miss the lights and the smell. I miss those keepsake ornaments that are special because of their forced rarity. Momma wants me to spend Christmas eve at her house so I'll be there for the usual Christmas morning thing. I can do this, and it will be good, though I'll bitch about sleeping arrangements. The boys will want to tear into Christmas while I'll want to slink into a cup of coffee, but that's just another tradition.
Next year may well be different, and we'll look back from there and then look forward. Another truth? I've been using this holiday as the end of year celebration it's becoming to me. I've been taking an honest look at some aspects of areas, and I'm finding some things I don't like, some paths I need to work my way off of, some edges I need to be done peering over, some cliches I've worn to nubs and need to dispose of.
I want to build up a nice supply of desire-to-do-better that I can use to help power me over the course of what I'm going to call Twinnyleven. I'm sure I'm not the only one. And this time next year, as it's all been sucked out of me, I'll be somewhere not unlike this (in a good way) refilling my tanks.
btw, if you're in my neck of the woods Christmas day let me know. Momma and I are working yet another tradition where we do our family thing and then start cooking for friends and other family that want to come by and make a time of it. You're welcome to bring kids and booze.
p.s. just read a bad review of the other PS2 game I got them, but for five bucks I aint about to complain.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
no, seriously
For full context go HERE and watch the video of Alex Nicholson (homosexual) who was booted from the military because of being homosexual and DADT versus Peter Sprigg, professional sayer of lies about homosexuals. It's some CNN show where the host doesn't take sides but instead introduces some sort of information and follows with a question. Hat tip for this nugget to Towleroad.
Peter Sprigg says the most outrageous things about homosexuals, and Alex Nicholson answers his questions with reasoned responses. They aren't asked the same questions, and it's arugable that the CNN guy chose questions for Peter Sprigg to point out the folly of his ways, but then he mostly sits back and lets the loony go.
When I first watched the clip I found myself getting irritated as Peter Sprigg was allowed to talk uncontested. Thinking about it now I wonder if that wasn't part of the plan from the beginning. The only way to fight these people is to let the world know exactly what it is they are suggesting that America do to its sons and daughters.
Also when first watching the clip I found myself doing this thing that I sometimes do that sometimes annoys the people around me. I correct people's language. I don't just do it about homosexual sometimes. But I do because I do think it's helpful overall to worry about our words. I had a discussion recently with a coworker in which he mentioned that he'd stopped using gay as a pejorative because of me calling him on it. I know other people who at least don't do it around me anymore, and I hope they've stopped doing so in general.
There needs to be that voice, saying things like, "Is the knife really gay or is it that you need to sharpen it so that it works right? I don't think knives have the ability to be gay or not gay." fwiw, I work in a kitchen, so knives are a huge part of my day.
When I hear "same sex marriage" I want to just loudly enough say, "marriage equality." When Peter Sprigg tries to say "sexual assault, molestation," I just want to ask for proof and for stats for both same gender and opposite gender sexual assaults. When I hear "preference" I say "orientation." Sometimes it's almost involuntary, but I'm also kind of an ass apparently.
And whenever Peter Sprigg opens his lying mouth at a camera that is in the on position there needs to be the counter point. There needs to be someone else on camera saying to him, "No, seriously. How does the presence of out homos make it more likely that you will lose a leg in combat?" at which point I'd follow up with, "and does my presence here today next to you increase the odds that you will lose at leg during this interview?" and that would possibly end my career as the voice.
And you know, it's not that I really want to control people's language. What I really want is for us all to think about our words. Peter Sprigg flat out lies. He makes words do bad things, and he never really comes out and says what he means. He hits around the whole more than a suck up playing golf with the boss. fwiw, the "w" in "whole" is accidental. I mean to put "hole" but then I liked the way it sorta worked. Let's pretend I did it on purpose.
p.s., homosexuals on CNN should never say, "That's a good question," when in fact it really isn't that good a question.
Peter Sprigg says the most outrageous things about homosexuals, and Alex Nicholson answers his questions with reasoned responses. They aren't asked the same questions, and it's arugable that the CNN guy chose questions for Peter Sprigg to point out the folly of his ways, but then he mostly sits back and lets the loony go.
When I first watched the clip I found myself getting irritated as Peter Sprigg was allowed to talk uncontested. Thinking about it now I wonder if that wasn't part of the plan from the beginning. The only way to fight these people is to let the world know exactly what it is they are suggesting that America do to its sons and daughters.
Also when first watching the clip I found myself doing this thing that I sometimes do that sometimes annoys the people around me. I correct people's language. I don't just do it about homosexual sometimes. But I do because I do think it's helpful overall to worry about our words. I had a discussion recently with a coworker in which he mentioned that he'd stopped using gay as a pejorative because of me calling him on it. I know other people who at least don't do it around me anymore, and I hope they've stopped doing so in general.
There needs to be that voice, saying things like, "Is the knife really gay or is it that you need to sharpen it so that it works right? I don't think knives have the ability to be gay or not gay." fwiw, I work in a kitchen, so knives are a huge part of my day.
When I hear "same sex marriage" I want to just loudly enough say, "marriage equality." When Peter Sprigg tries to say "sexual assault, molestation," I just want to ask for proof and for stats for both same gender and opposite gender sexual assaults. When I hear "preference" I say "orientation." Sometimes it's almost involuntary, but I'm also kind of an ass apparently.
And whenever Peter Sprigg opens his lying mouth at a camera that is in the on position there needs to be the counter point. There needs to be someone else on camera saying to him, "No, seriously. How does the presence of out homos make it more likely that you will lose a leg in combat?" at which point I'd follow up with, "and does my presence here today next to you increase the odds that you will lose at leg during this interview?" and that would possibly end my career as the voice.
And you know, it's not that I really want to control people's language. What I really want is for us all to think about our words. Peter Sprigg flat out lies. He makes words do bad things, and he never really comes out and says what he means. He hits around the whole more than a suck up playing golf with the boss. fwiw, the "w" in "whole" is accidental. I mean to put "hole" but then I liked the way it sorta worked. Let's pretend I did it on purpose.
p.s., homosexuals on CNN should never say, "That's a good question," when in fact it really isn't that good a question.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
or is it cuz my glass is half empty
I'm still not convinced about DADT repeal. I know it's essentially happened, but there's the whole other part where it doesn't really take affect until the military has thought about it a little bit more and figured out how to go about it.
It really shouldn't take more than to rewrite some passages in whatever written guides/codes/manuals they use to make their rules clear to the people in the military. The rules aren't changing at all as far as members of our military should be concerned. The only difference that anyone should really notice is that more gay people are able to be out and honest about themselves, and that's just good for everyone.
I can't imagine that should take too long to figure out, and then you actually train people. I don't know if it would be a sensitivity training class or a video. I suppose it would more likely be a DVD these days, but still.
Really, all it should take is for everyone to sit down and reread the rules rewritten to include reality as concerns sexual orientation and individual gender recognition. The rules aren't changing, they're just recognizing everyone now.
And I know how a Republican can spin some shit, and I fully expect enough of them to band together and try to make this study/implementation process take two years while their brothers and sisters in the party continue to bombard Obama with obstinacy and rhetoric. I should hope that the American people finally begin to recognize the shenanigans on both sides and push us in the direction of a third party that isn't spoiled by the big time guvment jobs.
I know it's a done deal, and I'm not concerned for the actual repeal of DADT as much as I am the hurt that could be done to too many people if this thing continues to drag on. What you have to understand is we're gay, and we're not going back in the closet, and we're going to keep being out and open so that we can one day close the useless and finally empty closet because no one is going into it anymore.
It really shouldn't take more than to rewrite some passages in whatever written guides/codes/manuals they use to make their rules clear to the people in the military. The rules aren't changing at all as far as members of our military should be concerned. The only difference that anyone should really notice is that more gay people are able to be out and honest about themselves, and that's just good for everyone.
I can't imagine that should take too long to figure out, and then you actually train people. I don't know if it would be a sensitivity training class or a video. I suppose it would more likely be a DVD these days, but still.
Really, all it should take is for everyone to sit down and reread the rules rewritten to include reality as concerns sexual orientation and individual gender recognition. The rules aren't changing, they're just recognizing everyone now.
And I know how a Republican can spin some shit, and I fully expect enough of them to band together and try to make this study/implementation process take two years while their brothers and sisters in the party continue to bombard Obama with obstinacy and rhetoric. I should hope that the American people finally begin to recognize the shenanigans on both sides and push us in the direction of a third party that isn't spoiled by the big time guvment jobs.
I know it's a done deal, and I'm not concerned for the actual repeal of DADT as much as I am the hurt that could be done to too many people if this thing continues to drag on. What you have to understand is we're gay, and we're not going back in the closet, and we're going to keep being out and open so that we can one day close the useless and finally empty closet because no one is going into it anymore.
Monday, December 13, 2010
what links are for
Now for a semi homeschooling post. From Towleroad we get the link to dlisted, and from there we go to the actual interview at the Telegraph. The story is about a young girl whose parents are actors in movies. Her father's initial rise to fame was as a rapper.
Towleroad tells us that her, "parents would rather put their ten year old child to work rather than give her an education." fwiw Towleroad, minus point for redundant rather.
dlisted asks, "who needs math anyway?"
And the Telegraph is the source for all this. The first two sources listed here quoted from the story, but they picked little nuggets of what the young girl said and inflated them with their own issues.
If you didn't follow the links just yet I'll give you the story. Will and Jada Smith have kids, and those kids may be embarking on their own careers as stars of things. Their daughter Willow has acted and done voices and now has a song about giving herself neck problems because she's head banging to pop music that she creates.
I really don't feel like disecting it all, so I'll try to summarize. In the Telegraph article/interview Willow mentions that her peers are ahead of her in math and that she often misses classes and tutoring sessions due to being on set or whatever it is ten year olds in her situation go to to perform/work. Someone read the interview and assumed negligence and ignorance, and they blogged it where someone else read and assumed ignorance and negligence and they added malfeasance.
I did read the "anti" stories first, and of course I disagreed. I believe that this family and this child are fully capable of achieving learning in a variety of situations. And as I read the Telegraph article I noticed that she seems like a really bright young lady. She seems to speak with candor and understanding and seems like a smart kid, and I think that's more important than "education" or book learnin' as we say down here in the south. If you aren't forced into one educational model you can take what you need from all the sources around you, find what you need when you need it.
I feel that this just proves the idea that we need variety in our education models. More than that though we need for people to break out of the idea that it's school or nothing, because schools need to be a part of the model that I think works best which is that whole variety thing, but we need more than just typical brick and mortar schools.
I really didn't mean to write two posts back to back dealing with education, but they did both feed off each other. I read the stories about Miss Smith and got irritated, but then there is no finer place than the internet to find some douche referring to a ten year old with the sort of bile you can only find here. And who doesn't love when people damn children based on the perceived sins of the parents?
I wouldn't recommend it, but if you don't know about the whipping about of hair and the too adorable Willow Smith you can go HERE. fwiw, the video is from Ellen. You do get a fairly shitty video with the color all kinds of busted, but the option is her Vevo and having to watch that damn cotton ad.
Towleroad tells us that her, "parents would rather put their ten year old child to work rather than give her an education." fwiw Towleroad, minus point for redundant rather.
dlisted asks, "who needs math anyway?"
And the Telegraph is the source for all this. The first two sources listed here quoted from the story, but they picked little nuggets of what the young girl said and inflated them with their own issues.
If you didn't follow the links just yet I'll give you the story. Will and Jada Smith have kids, and those kids may be embarking on their own careers as stars of things. Their daughter Willow has acted and done voices and now has a song about giving herself neck problems because she's head banging to pop music that she creates.
I really don't feel like disecting it all, so I'll try to summarize. In the Telegraph article/interview Willow mentions that her peers are ahead of her in math and that she often misses classes and tutoring sessions due to being on set or whatever it is ten year olds in her situation go to to perform/work. Someone read the interview and assumed negligence and ignorance, and they blogged it where someone else read and assumed ignorance and negligence and they added malfeasance.
I did read the "anti" stories first, and of course I disagreed. I believe that this family and this child are fully capable of achieving learning in a variety of situations. And as I read the Telegraph article I noticed that she seems like a really bright young lady. She seems to speak with candor and understanding and seems like a smart kid, and I think that's more important than "education" or book learnin' as we say down here in the south. If you aren't forced into one educational model you can take what you need from all the sources around you, find what you need when you need it.
I feel that this just proves the idea that we need variety in our education models. More than that though we need for people to break out of the idea that it's school or nothing, because schools need to be a part of the model that I think works best which is that whole variety thing, but we need more than just typical brick and mortar schools.
I really didn't mean to write two posts back to back dealing with education, but they did both feed off each other. I read the stories about Miss Smith and got irritated, but then there is no finer place than the internet to find some douche referring to a ten year old with the sort of bile you can only find here. And who doesn't love when people damn children based on the perceived sins of the parents?
I wouldn't recommend it, but if you don't know about the whipping about of hair and the too adorable Willow Smith you can go HERE. fwiw, the video is from Ellen. You do get a fairly shitty video with the color all kinds of busted, but the option is her Vevo and having to watch that damn cotton ad.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
hs to ps
My family will soon join the normal world, as, after this winter break, when the public school kids return to school, Big Brother and The Boy will be joining them.
Momma and I have had to face the we haven't been doing the job right recently, oddly enough for the last couple of years. We haven't really focused our attention with all we've been up to, if you know what I mean. We discussed over the summer putting them in to start the year, and in retrospect we probably should have, but I argued for one more chance. I really believe in the idea of homeschooling, but I also argue more than anything for a variety of options when we think about educational models.
A huge part of my desire to continue homeschooling, I have to admit, is that I've allowed homeschooler to define my identity to such an extent. I can kinda invoke the closet again here, though I hope that I'm not just continuing to blame the closet. But part of my whole thing here is to try to understand the power of the closet even if this isn't really the blog post for it.
Having said that, I keep losing my identities and keep not figuring out how to get/form new ones. Having said that, I keep finding that it sorta happens sometimes when you're not looking. It's like that whole homeschooler thing. I don't really think that I'm losing the identity or becoming not a homeschooler, I'm becoming more, maybe?
We've visited both their schools, and while The Boy seems excited, Big Brother is his usual calm and somewhat impassive self. The Boy's school is on the route we drive daily to get to most places we go, and Big Brother's is on a common route to some place we don't go as often, but we have used their field as a practice field a few times over the years during soccer seasons. They've been pointing out their schools as we've been driving past.
And while we think of school for them I kinda think maybe I could think about school for me. I think I can't imagine what I would study, and this time it wouldn't be about getting a career like last time. I'd have to only study things I enjoyed learning, or it wouldn't be worth it. And fwiw, look for a post soon that might be a clue.
I'm excited for them. I've kept them too close to the rut I'm in for too long, and if I were honest I've been worried for their sake. I put my own fears onto them and worry that it'll all be too much, the lines, the crowds, the noise.
It's a part of a journey inside the journey I suppose, and it's time for it to happen. I'll tame my distrust of the man, and I might even try to get involved. I'm sure the schools can find something I can do. I could always be a lunch lady.
Momma and I have had to face the we haven't been doing the job right recently, oddly enough for the last couple of years. We haven't really focused our attention with all we've been up to, if you know what I mean. We discussed over the summer putting them in to start the year, and in retrospect we probably should have, but I argued for one more chance. I really believe in the idea of homeschooling, but I also argue more than anything for a variety of options when we think about educational models.
A huge part of my desire to continue homeschooling, I have to admit, is that I've allowed homeschooler to define my identity to such an extent. I can kinda invoke the closet again here, though I hope that I'm not just continuing to blame the closet. But part of my whole thing here is to try to understand the power of the closet even if this isn't really the blog post for it.
Having said that, I keep losing my identities and keep not figuring out how to get/form new ones. Having said that, I keep finding that it sorta happens sometimes when you're not looking. It's like that whole homeschooler thing. I don't really think that I'm losing the identity or becoming not a homeschooler, I'm becoming more, maybe?
We've visited both their schools, and while The Boy seems excited, Big Brother is his usual calm and somewhat impassive self. The Boy's school is on the route we drive daily to get to most places we go, and Big Brother's is on a common route to some place we don't go as often, but we have used their field as a practice field a few times over the years during soccer seasons. They've been pointing out their schools as we've been driving past.
And while we think of school for them I kinda think maybe I could think about school for me. I think I can't imagine what I would study, and this time it wouldn't be about getting a career like last time. I'd have to only study things I enjoyed learning, or it wouldn't be worth it. And fwiw, look for a post soon that might be a clue.
I'm excited for them. I've kept them too close to the rut I'm in for too long, and if I were honest I've been worried for their sake. I put my own fears onto them and worry that it'll all be too much, the lines, the crowds, the noise.
It's a part of a journey inside the journey I suppose, and it's time for it to happen. I'll tame my distrust of the man, and I might even try to get involved. I'm sure the schools can find something I can do. I could always be a lunch lady.
Friday, December 10, 2010
now where were we?
This post is alternately title, Bruce Springsteen's voice kinda makes me wanna take my clothes off.
The local college rock station has been playing a really cool song lately, one I hear and think to myself, Is that Bruce Springsteen?
I used to like him, and I think I do again. I should rephrase that, but rather I'll explain. After breaking away from the fundamentalism with the help of a friend I found myself in a place I didn't then recognize, but I was trying to earn some sort of something with this new friend, or maybe I was trying to find a way to fit in. I gave up a lot of what I'd been into in order to be the punk I thought I was supposed to be, and I'd just gotten through giving up a lot in terms of beliefs and related whatnot.
So I started not liking things I perceived were perceived as being uncool by my new friend/s. I wasn't then trying to find myself as much as I should have been, but that doesn't really matter. I gave up a lot of music, some of which has remained gave up.
Bruce Springsteen may be back, and here's why.
This song is just loads of awesome. I'd been hearing the song every now and again. I usually listen to the local college radio station at work, but the KM hates hip hop, and the local college radio station sprinkles it in liberally during the day. I personally love the station even when I hate the song they're currently playing, but I digress.
Of course hearing Springsteen makes me think of older Springsteen. Yes, that first song is older, but because it's new to me it's essentially new. It's probably at least newish to you as well, so get off me.
I remember the song that should have been a bit of a warning, but I didn't see it then. Listening now and remembering then, if I'd had even a slight clue about myself as a person this song really could have been yet another early clue about my actuality, aka that whole gay thing. It was then one of my favorites, but listening to that voice now I think I just didn't realize then that I wanted him singing it to me rather than me projecting those ideas outward. Or perhaps my young mind just hadn't discovered the same sex just yet.
And here that one is. fwiw, I include this particular video version because of the randomly gay picture that essentially is the video.
The local college rock station has been playing a really cool song lately, one I hear and think to myself, Is that Bruce Springsteen?
I used to like him, and I think I do again. I should rephrase that, but rather I'll explain. After breaking away from the fundamentalism with the help of a friend I found myself in a place I didn't then recognize, but I was trying to earn some sort of something with this new friend, or maybe I was trying to find a way to fit in. I gave up a lot of what I'd been into in order to be the punk I thought I was supposed to be, and I'd just gotten through giving up a lot in terms of beliefs and related whatnot.
So I started not liking things I perceived were perceived as being uncool by my new friend/s. I wasn't then trying to find myself as much as I should have been, but that doesn't really matter. I gave up a lot of music, some of which has remained gave up.
Bruce Springsteen may be back, and here's why.
This song is just loads of awesome. I'd been hearing the song every now and again. I usually listen to the local college radio station at work, but the KM hates hip hop, and the local college radio station sprinkles it in liberally during the day. I personally love the station even when I hate the song they're currently playing, but I digress.
Of course hearing Springsteen makes me think of older Springsteen. Yes, that first song is older, but because it's new to me it's essentially new. It's probably at least newish to you as well, so get off me.
I remember the song that should have been a bit of a warning, but I didn't see it then. Listening now and remembering then, if I'd had even a slight clue about myself as a person this song really could have been yet another early clue about my actuality, aka that whole gay thing. It was then one of my favorites, but listening to that voice now I think I just didn't realize then that I wanted him singing it to me rather than me projecting those ideas outward. Or perhaps my young mind just hadn't discovered the same sex just yet.
And here that one is. fwiw, I include this particular video version because of the randomly gay picture that essentially is the video.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
it's so like the thing I'm not referencing more than now
On the middle finger of my right hand is the end of a blister. Sometime tomorrow it's likely to become the shiny spot of new skin that was fairly recently under the blister.
I've made hollandaise sauce before, but I haven't made it often, and when I did before I just stood and beat while someone else told me what I was supposed to be doing. It just never happened to become my job, and because I likely heard often enough how hard it was to make I never bothered to try.
But finally I've made it once or twice, and I've realized that it really isn't that hard, and I've now gone on the internets and googled and read about it here and there. I've checked Escoffier, and when I have time on my day off this week I'll check Julia and James.
It is time consuming, and I suppose if you don't know how to lift your bowl off the heat once in a while, or if you can't tell when something becomes a different color and consistency, well, sure it's scaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrry!
BOO!
No really, it's tiresome at it's worst. I didn't even notice the blister till after work. I forgot that I needed to head home sooner than later and sat down at the bar for a quick gin and tonic. I didn't know I was sitting down for a gin and tonic till I sat down and was reminded that we run decent liquor specials for brunch, so I opted in.
I did soon go home, but that isn't really a story other than the part about going home. I needed to and was reminded via a text, so I then did.
It was while I was enjoying the gin and tonic that I saw the blister and was stuck on it for a moment. I had to think how I'd gotten it. I knew it wasn't a burn. It was big enough to remember if it had been a burn. And as I thought I remembered the hollandaise and the whisk. While beating the yolks find that I switch back and forth between gripping the handle fully with my hand and holding it more like writing with a pencil. It's what the hand does I suppose. The holding it like a pencil part gave me a blister on the second finger of my right hand.
Actually, this isn't really much of a story either.
Finally, to end this not really much of a story on a whole other but still hollandaise related note. Nearly anything is better dipped in hollandaise. Roasted potatoes are of course lovely. The fatty end of a strip of bacon is marvelous. Perhaps the most decadent of all and surely one of the most delightful is the simple potato chip. But these are only ideas. There's a world of food waiting to be dipped into hollandaise, for hollandaise is the new ranch . . . up to a point.
p.s. ranch is still awesome
p.p.s ranch and hollandaise are probably equally awesome
p.p.p.s maybe I should make up my own super awesome ranch recipe
p.p.p.p.s. damn, now I want some wings
I've made hollandaise sauce before, but I haven't made it often, and when I did before I just stood and beat while someone else told me what I was supposed to be doing. It just never happened to become my job, and because I likely heard often enough how hard it was to make I never bothered to try.
But finally I've made it once or twice, and I've realized that it really isn't that hard, and I've now gone on the internets and googled and read about it here and there. I've checked Escoffier, and when I have time on my day off this week I'll check Julia and James.
It is time consuming, and I suppose if you don't know how to lift your bowl off the heat once in a while, or if you can't tell when something becomes a different color and consistency, well, sure it's scaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrry!
BOO!
No really, it's tiresome at it's worst. I didn't even notice the blister till after work. I forgot that I needed to head home sooner than later and sat down at the bar for a quick gin and tonic. I didn't know I was sitting down for a gin and tonic till I sat down and was reminded that we run decent liquor specials for brunch, so I opted in.
I did soon go home, but that isn't really a story other than the part about going home. I needed to and was reminded via a text, so I then did.
It was while I was enjoying the gin and tonic that I saw the blister and was stuck on it for a moment. I had to think how I'd gotten it. I knew it wasn't a burn. It was big enough to remember if it had been a burn. And as I thought I remembered the hollandaise and the whisk. While beating the yolks find that I switch back and forth between gripping the handle fully with my hand and holding it more like writing with a pencil. It's what the hand does I suppose. The holding it like a pencil part gave me a blister on the second finger of my right hand.
Actually, this isn't really much of a story either.
Finally, to end this not really much of a story on a whole other but still hollandaise related note. Nearly anything is better dipped in hollandaise. Roasted potatoes are of course lovely. The fatty end of a strip of bacon is marvelous. Perhaps the most decadent of all and surely one of the most delightful is the simple potato chip. But these are only ideas. There's a world of food waiting to be dipped into hollandaise, for hollandaise is the new ranch . . . up to a point.
p.s. ranch is still awesome
p.p.s ranch and hollandaise are probably equally awesome
p.p.p.s maybe I should make up my own super awesome ranch recipe
p.p.p.p.s. damn, now I want some wings
Thursday, November 04, 2010
circles, always damn circles
How do you go about doing everything differently? How do you look deep into yourself and accept finally that you are more often than not the reason you are not making any progress anywhere at all?
How do you decide what is an excuse and what is a reasonable concern?
How do you stop being that scared and confused little boy that you've always been in spite of all the shit you talked then and still talk now?
Sometimes I feel like I'm missing something. Maybe it's a clue as to how to move to the next part, or maybe it's a part I need to figure out how to fix or replace.
I want to do all of the above, but it feels like every time I step outside I get hit by something, so I've begun to go outside a lot less, and being a nervous recluse doesn't seem to help me do much of anything.
There's more, something about bursting out, being reborn as a phoenix or something, but I just stared into space and nearly dozed off a moment ago, and I really do need to get to bed. I've got a world of making sense of my world to do.
How do you decide what is an excuse and what is a reasonable concern?
How do you stop being that scared and confused little boy that you've always been in spite of all the shit you talked then and still talk now?
Sometimes I feel like I'm missing something. Maybe it's a clue as to how to move to the next part, or maybe it's a part I need to figure out how to fix or replace.
I want to do all of the above, but it feels like every time I step outside I get hit by something, so I've begun to go outside a lot less, and being a nervous recluse doesn't seem to help me do much of anything.
There's more, something about bursting out, being reborn as a phoenix or something, but I just stared into space and nearly dozed off a moment ago, and I really do need to get to bed. I've got a world of making sense of my world to do.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
a story
We were in the gym waiting for the school building to open, and in walked one of my "friends." He was closer in age to my next younger brother, and if any of us were friends it was them. We were within the years considered middle school probably.
The typical schooling segments always throw me off as we only had elementary and high school, the first downstairs in the school building and the latter upstairs in the school building. In elementary you stayed in the same classroom throughout the day with the one teacher while highschool was the normal lockers and walking to classes. Both elementary and high school did share the same paddling room, though the high school teachers shared a different paddle than the elementary. Kindergarten was in the basement of the church building, and the paddling room there was in a room that was unused during the day. The principal and coaches had the option of paddling in their respective offices.
Anyway, this kid walked in, and he was wearing some new jeans that were probably quite fashionable, and on the flap over the fly, in very bold white on the denim background was a word. I have to assume it was the brand for these fresh and/or fly new jeans, but it struck me as odd that they chose to make this statement and that this particular kid chose and was allowed by his parents to make this statement.
And my too slow to think before I speak self asked what was written on his penis. Even now I still can't think what I did that was so wrong. Apparently it was just awful. I think he cried. I had to apologize and probably had detention for multiple days.
The typical schooling segments always throw me off as we only had elementary and high school, the first downstairs in the school building and the latter upstairs in the school building. In elementary you stayed in the same classroom throughout the day with the one teacher while highschool was the normal lockers and walking to classes. Both elementary and high school did share the same paddling room, though the high school teachers shared a different paddle than the elementary. Kindergarten was in the basement of the church building, and the paddling room there was in a room that was unused during the day. The principal and coaches had the option of paddling in their respective offices.
Anyway, this kid walked in, and he was wearing some new jeans that were probably quite fashionable, and on the flap over the fly, in very bold white on the denim background was a word. I have to assume it was the brand for these fresh and/or fly new jeans, but it struck me as odd that they chose to make this statement and that this particular kid chose and was allowed by his parents to make this statement.
And my too slow to think before I speak self asked what was written on his penis. Even now I still can't think what I did that was so wrong. Apparently it was just awful. I think he cried. I had to apologize and probably had detention for multiple days.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
yellow pen
Do you ever reach a point where you realize that you may in fact be doing absolutely, everything wrong? Do you wonder what things you should stop doing and which you should start doing the opposite of how you've always done them?
Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.
And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything. I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share.
But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance. I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.
Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.
And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything. I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share.
But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance. I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
garbled message
The third comment to a blog post I just read suggests that the people in my state are illiterate. The post discusses a town being told that their school has to stop broadcasting Christian prayers and the fact that the townspeople are not happy or at least one woman.
It's a trainwreck already, and then the dude in the comments suggests that whole thing about us Tennesseeans, and I don't know whether to comment and then post or ignore the comment section and just post. There was a time I would have commented, would, in fact, have barged in with all my guns blazing.
But anymore I just can't bring myself to do it, so I backspace a bunch and clicked back over here so I could just talk shit at my own place.
But even before dude-bro posted his jab I'd nearly thought about posting because of a single line at the very end of the post.
Okay, the post is at Friendly Atheist and also discusses something about a monument and a Christian flag. I don't really remember, because it's that last line that I think needs to be addressed to be able to understand this whole thing that many Christians do.
Those of us who are nonbelievers see just how pervasive religion is even in so "enlightened" an age as our twenty first century. Those of us who both nonbelieve and live in a smallish and possibly southern place see it all too well. Don't get me started on the gay thing cuz omg ya'll.
And the last line of the post, that juicy tidbit that keeps on giving:
It's part of a playing the victim meme that seems to have grown stronger lately, or perhaps it's just being used more often. Christians who insist their religious views keep the rest of us from progressing as humans will always hate it when they lose because they put so very much into the fight for their moral superiority. And because they are morally right according to their own faith they must necessarily be right for everyone because theirs is the one true faith.
And really, you just can't force people to step outside of their belief system and look at it from a different p.o.v. Atheists have already done that for the most part, or many, if not most, of us would still be locked in a similar faith based way of life. Too many questions can make you waver in your steadfastness.
So we have to keep reminding people that forcing others to even passively participate in your faith rituals is not okay. It's wrong to force your religion and the trappings of your faith system onto others.
You do still have freedom of speech and religion, but I also deserve freedom from your religion.
It's a trainwreck already, and then the dude in the comments suggests that whole thing about us Tennesseeans, and I don't know whether to comment and then post or ignore the comment section and just post. There was a time I would have commented, would, in fact, have barged in with all my guns blazing.
But anymore I just can't bring myself to do it, so I backspace a bunch and clicked back over here so I could just talk shit at my own place.
But even before dude-bro posted his jab I'd nearly thought about posting because of a single line at the very end of the post.
Okay, the post is at Friendly Atheist and also discusses something about a monument and a Christian flag. I don't really remember, because it's that last line that I think needs to be addressed to be able to understand this whole thing that many Christians do.
Those of us who are nonbelievers see just how pervasive religion is even in so "enlightened" an age as our twenty first century. Those of us who both nonbelieve and live in a smallish and possibly southern place see it all too well. Don't get me started on the gay thing cuz omg ya'll.
And the last line of the post, that juicy tidbit that keeps on giving:
This is a kind of Christian extremism — assuming that government neutrality on religion is somehow anti-Christian.There is of course the whole for-us-or-against-us thing, which is mentioned in the comments, but this whole mentality actually comes from the biblicaly based idea that Christians are supposed to suffer, and one of the best ways to suffer, as mentioned in the book of John, is to be despised and hated as people of faith. Often they tell themselves that this is because none of us want to hear what we must know is the truth, ants and grasshoppers and long lost sons returning home.
It's part of a playing the victim meme that seems to have grown stronger lately, or perhaps it's just being used more often. Christians who insist their religious views keep the rest of us from progressing as humans will always hate it when they lose because they put so very much into the fight for their moral superiority. And because they are morally right according to their own faith they must necessarily be right for everyone because theirs is the one true faith.
And really, you just can't force people to step outside of their belief system and look at it from a different p.o.v. Atheists have already done that for the most part, or many, if not most, of us would still be locked in a similar faith based way of life. Too many questions can make you waver in your steadfastness.
So we have to keep reminding people that forcing others to even passively participate in your faith rituals is not okay. It's wrong to force your religion and the trappings of your faith system onto others.
You do still have freedom of speech and religion, but I also deserve freedom from your religion.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The moon has risen to that point between the trees where it's perfectly visible as I stand out on the porch smoking. It's a cool night, but it's not really the night that's cool. The cool is on the breezes that are blowing, that occasionally kick up to nearly a light wind, nearly rustling my hair as I turn my back to it. And the moon staring down at me looks cold, so bright white and silver. And it wears such a halo on such a clear night.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
come out wherever you are!
You're most likely familiar enough with Facebook, but what you may not be aware of is Fabulis. It's sort of a Fb for gay men. So far it's not a hook up site, and that's nice. It's still in it's early stages, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it or how I feel I fit in there, but over all it seems like a potentially delightful resource.
All of that is to explain the fabulis questions which are questions you can post to other members and that other members might post to you. They're sometimes interesting and thought provoking, and sometimes they're just nonsense which is as it should be. One I got today, and I imagine all members got today, from one of the founders, was this, followed by my answer:
Q: Today, October 11, 2010 is National Coming Out Day in the U.S. (It's also celebrated on the 12th in the UK). We'd like to know, what does OUT mean to you?
When I think of being out I can't help but think of it in levels of outness based on the situation you are in at the moment.
My family knows, but we don't talk a lot, and they're very Baptist for the most part, but it's a really big southern family, and there's a lot we don't talk about. Plus they live in a different state, though close enough to visit sometimes.
At work and in my social life I'm completely out. I see no reason not to be. I don't have a problem being gay, and I don't have a problem if some people with opposite sex attractions choose to live that lifestyle. It's not for me, and I want to make sure that straight people know that I'm gay so that if they have a problem we assert from the beginning that it's going to have to remain their problem. I don't really have room in my life for it.
Each spring and fall for the past few years I've coached my oldest son's soccer team. I coached both of my boys till we realized soccer wasn't for the youngest. I'm not out even a little bit there. When we started this whole soccer thing my oldest was five, and for all intents and purposes we were a fairly normal family, mom and dad with two young sons. I was even a stay at home dad at that point while my wife followed her career.
I'd love to feel like I could be out at soccer, but I'm not sure how they'd take it. While our social life involves that part of our town that's the hipper and closer to town part, soccer takes us north to the more socially conservative part of our town.
Also, it doesn't come up. I kind of want to say it doesn't matter, but I lied for so long in the closet that I just feel dishonest sometimes. And it kind of feels like the closet all over again.
Really, coming out is a never ending process. People tend to assume you're not gay and don't really even think about the fact that they've already made a judgment about you. It isn't necessarily a big deal except that you are consciously making judgments because you are gay. And I know in my case that I'm always looking for an ally or, better yet, a fellow homo.
I want to think that there will be a day when being out isn't a big deal, that we'll one day be accepted as normal people, that it won't even be a curiosity that we are also gay. But I can't help but think there will always be some sort of coming out process.
All of that is to explain the fabulis questions which are questions you can post to other members and that other members might post to you. They're sometimes interesting and thought provoking, and sometimes they're just nonsense which is as it should be. One I got today, and I imagine all members got today, from one of the founders, was this, followed by my answer:
Q: Today, October 11, 2010 is National Coming Out Day in the U.S. (It's also celebrated on the 12th in the UK). We'd like to know, what does OUT mean to you?
When I think of being out I can't help but think of it in levels of outness based on the situation you are in at the moment.
My family knows, but we don't talk a lot, and they're very Baptist for the most part, but it's a really big southern family, and there's a lot we don't talk about. Plus they live in a different state, though close enough to visit sometimes.
At work and in my social life I'm completely out. I see no reason not to be. I don't have a problem being gay, and I don't have a problem if some people with opposite sex attractions choose to live that lifestyle. It's not for me, and I want to make sure that straight people know that I'm gay so that if they have a problem we assert from the beginning that it's going to have to remain their problem. I don't really have room in my life for it.
Each spring and fall for the past few years I've coached my oldest son's soccer team. I coached both of my boys till we realized soccer wasn't for the youngest. I'm not out even a little bit there. When we started this whole soccer thing my oldest was five, and for all intents and purposes we were a fairly normal family, mom and dad with two young sons. I was even a stay at home dad at that point while my wife followed her career.
I'd love to feel like I could be out at soccer, but I'm not sure how they'd take it. While our social life involves that part of our town that's the hipper and closer to town part, soccer takes us north to the more socially conservative part of our town.
Also, it doesn't come up. I kind of want to say it doesn't matter, but I lied for so long in the closet that I just feel dishonest sometimes. And it kind of feels like the closet all over again.
Really, coming out is a never ending process. People tend to assume you're not gay and don't really even think about the fact that they've already made a judgment about you. It isn't necessarily a big deal except that you are consciously making judgments because you are gay. And I know in my case that I'm always looking for an ally or, better yet, a fellow homo.
I want to think that there will be a day when being out isn't a big deal, that we'll one day be accepted as normal people, that it won't even be a curiosity that we are also gay. But I can't help but think there will always be some sort of coming out process.
Monday, October 11, 2010
totally could if
I don't really hate straight people. I don't know what you may have heard, but it's not hate. Sure, I think you're all a bunch of filthy, craven animals, but I don't hate you.
Okay, sometimes I do get a little irritated with you. You have no idea how it looks to watch you do your little courtship dances and fumble around and act like idiots.
I could have your girl in seconds flat by telling her all the things I wish someone would tell me, and I can understand her in a sense that you may never figure out. But as pretty as she is she has those same icky, squiggly bits that all girls have, and she's probably not too many places removed from the big sister I never had once we get a couple of beers in us.
Honestly I'm just in a place. I'm in the hole where I see a lifetime of loneliness, unwanted and unnoticed in the sea of much younger and ache free fodder.
I wish I had a dollar for every time the phrase, "I'm not really looking for a relationship," was spoken at the local gay bars. I'd open my own gay bar with that kind of money, and I'd fill that lonely pit of despair I call my heart with all the pretty boys wanting free and/or discounted drinks.
I'd need a good bit more than a dollar for every time that line has been directed at me to open that same gay bar, but I'd probably ruin it by trying to do something. And it's not like I haven't been hit on, just so you know, and often without the desire for more than an evening's encounter.
Which is not to say I always do.
And I really am just in a place. I'm seeing all the horses of some sort of mini apocalypse bearing down on me, and I may not be able to outrun them this time. They seem bigger this time, like the draft horses of the apocalypse freed of their yokes and heavy burdens. And we can further mix metaphors into a stew of a rut of unsightly proportions.
I looked into a mirror that reflects my life and see that all along I've been doing almost everything completely wrong, and I'm going to have change almost entirely if I'm going to insist on wearing that one particular piece. And that one piece sort of makes the whole outfit, so I really do kind of need that particular one.
And just so you know, I didn't really mean that part about your girl. I'm just kinda in a place, and I spoke without really thinking.
Okay, sometimes I do get a little irritated with you. You have no idea how it looks to watch you do your little courtship dances and fumble around and act like idiots.
I could have your girl in seconds flat by telling her all the things I wish someone would tell me, and I can understand her in a sense that you may never figure out. But as pretty as she is she has those same icky, squiggly bits that all girls have, and she's probably not too many places removed from the big sister I never had once we get a couple of beers in us.
Honestly I'm just in a place. I'm in the hole where I see a lifetime of loneliness, unwanted and unnoticed in the sea of much younger and ache free fodder.
I wish I had a dollar for every time the phrase, "I'm not really looking for a relationship," was spoken at the local gay bars. I'd open my own gay bar with that kind of money, and I'd fill that lonely pit of despair I call my heart with all the pretty boys wanting free and/or discounted drinks.
I'd need a good bit more than a dollar for every time that line has been directed at me to open that same gay bar, but I'd probably ruin it by trying to do something. And it's not like I haven't been hit on, just so you know, and often without the desire for more than an evening's encounter.
Which is not to say I always do.
And I really am just in a place. I'm seeing all the horses of some sort of mini apocalypse bearing down on me, and I may not be able to outrun them this time. They seem bigger this time, like the draft horses of the apocalypse freed of their yokes and heavy burdens. And we can further mix metaphors into a stew of a rut of unsightly proportions.
I looked into a mirror that reflects my life and see that all along I've been doing almost everything completely wrong, and I'm going to have change almost entirely if I'm going to insist on wearing that one particular piece. And that one piece sort of makes the whole outfit, so I really do kind of need that particular one.
And just so you know, I didn't really mean that part about your girl. I'm just kinda in a place, and I spoke without really thinking.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
accepting the fact of who exactly you won against
The pizzas are in the oven, and the kids are putting together Big Brother's newest Star Wars Lego toys. Soon enough we'll turn on a movie that should get all the kids to relax enough to fall asleep so that I can then go to bed.
Not so long ago, however, we were at Laser Quest, and in the two games we played before and after the cake and present opening I came in second and then first.
I have to admit that by win I mean I took my own amount of experience and age and ruthlessness into a maze filled with a few friends and kids of friends and a bunch of rowdy kids I do not at all know. I kept my back to the wall and kept my eyes moving for those red lights.
I shot withering barrages of laser blasts into small masses of children, many of whom were not only wearing the lights but also white shirts that glowed beckoning in the blacklights.
I posted up at windows as I heard the squeals of terror approaching in the dark sending red burning death into the group trying to slink past, heads low.
I ran reaching over walls to blast blindly at sounds that may well have been solely products of my over active senses.
Everyone was an enemy unless I needed a friend for a moment. Everyone was a target for my blinding rage.
And I beat them all.
Not so long ago, however, we were at Laser Quest, and in the two games we played before and after the cake and present opening I came in second and then first.
I have to admit that by win I mean I took my own amount of experience and age and ruthlessness into a maze filled with a few friends and kids of friends and a bunch of rowdy kids I do not at all know. I kept my back to the wall and kept my eyes moving for those red lights.
I shot withering barrages of laser blasts into small masses of children, many of whom were not only wearing the lights but also white shirts that glowed beckoning in the blacklights.
I posted up at windows as I heard the squeals of terror approaching in the dark sending red burning death into the group trying to slink past, heads low.
I ran reaching over walls to blast blindly at sounds that may well have been solely products of my over active senses.
Everyone was an enemy unless I needed a friend for a moment. Everyone was a target for my blinding rage.
And I beat them all.
hardship
Today's soccer game was the absolute epitome of a rough game, but it was also a game we could have won.
I haven't really discussed soccer in a while, and part of that is just the general writing malaise, but part of it is the injustice of this season. I've had a roster of ten at an age level at which they play eleven on a side. My team has played a person down each game this season, and last week saw us playing two down.
I'm not going to write a post bitching about the unfairness of it all. I don't know how the kids on the team feel about it, though they have to see the unfairness. The thing is they don't seem affected by it. They go out every week and give everything they have. They take it and turn around and keep trying. Even on the roughest day playing against a team with seven subs they didn't stop. Even when one of my girls told me she just couldn't run anymore she turned around and kept going.
Today was especially rough. We once again had nine players show, and the opposing team was nice enough to play only ten, so it was a little even. It was still an all boys team versus my coed, and while I feel like that can't help but be a factor you wouldn't think it has any bearing when you see my two girls play. Also, I don't want to suggest that my female players are any less capable than their male teammates or any of the boys they've played against this season.
I should mention here that I'm not the overly comptetive coach that some coaches are. I do want to win, and I do want my team to win, but more than that I want them to learn the game and to fall in love with the game, to have fun. If they've given everything they have to give then I'm satisfied, and I'm proud.
I also make a point throughout the season starting with the very first practice to let them know my priorities regarding injuries. My list of things I need them to know are true is that it is just a game, that they are always more important than the game and that their safety and health are more important than the game.
One of the girls entered the game with a minor hamstring issue. I kept an eye on her and whenever I was able I asked her how she was doing. She's tough and spent too much of the game fighting for the ball often against two opponents at once. Another of my players also pulled his hamstring slightly while playing defense, then in the second half after being moved to goal keeper he stopped a shot that bent his hand too far back but didn't do any damage beyond hurting.
And then a defensive player went down and didn't get up. As the players on the field took a knee I jogged across to check on him. He stayed down for a few more moments and actually apologized for, "letting you down." I could almost cry sitting here now thinking about it. Of course I immediately let him know that he in no way let me down.
He insisted that he could play as he got to his feet and took a tentative couple of steps. He was wobbling and unable to put any weight on the knee but insisted he could play. If I'd let him he would have tried and would have made the injury worse, so I had to tell him no. Even then he tried to walk off the field by himself until he finally realized that he did need my shoulder just then.
My team got back into the game and, if anything, began to play even harder. We'd entered the final quarter when I lost another player.
It was my girl with the hamstring pull, and this time I ran onto the field. I knew immediately it was gonna be bad, and as I reached her I saw she was crying. She'd hit the ground and was covered in grass. The referee and I knelt next to her and took her hands. We helped her to calm down and start breathing normally while her mom also arrived to help.
The game was over. I couldn't ask any more of these guys at this point. We were down enough goals that we couldn't come back, and this was just the last straw.
We have a week off for fall break. I think we could all really use the time off. I told them that practice is sorta optional because of fall break but that I'd be there even if we only screw around and have fun rather than actually practice. But then that's one of the beauties of soccer that even when you're just messing around you're somewhat practicing.
We might have lost on goals, but I and all the parents won by watching the heart and determination we saw in our kids. I hope that my team got the win of having persevered in spite of the blows they took, that they learn to keep fighting no matter what. And I want every single one that is eligible back on my team next season.
I haven't really discussed soccer in a while, and part of that is just the general writing malaise, but part of it is the injustice of this season. I've had a roster of ten at an age level at which they play eleven on a side. My team has played a person down each game this season, and last week saw us playing two down.
I'm not going to write a post bitching about the unfairness of it all. I don't know how the kids on the team feel about it, though they have to see the unfairness. The thing is they don't seem affected by it. They go out every week and give everything they have. They take it and turn around and keep trying. Even on the roughest day playing against a team with seven subs they didn't stop. Even when one of my girls told me she just couldn't run anymore she turned around and kept going.
Today was especially rough. We once again had nine players show, and the opposing team was nice enough to play only ten, so it was a little even. It was still an all boys team versus my coed, and while I feel like that can't help but be a factor you wouldn't think it has any bearing when you see my two girls play. Also, I don't want to suggest that my female players are any less capable than their male teammates or any of the boys they've played against this season.
I should mention here that I'm not the overly comptetive coach that some coaches are. I do want to win, and I do want my team to win, but more than that I want them to learn the game and to fall in love with the game, to have fun. If they've given everything they have to give then I'm satisfied, and I'm proud.
I also make a point throughout the season starting with the very first practice to let them know my priorities regarding injuries. My list of things I need them to know are true is that it is just a game, that they are always more important than the game and that their safety and health are more important than the game.
One of the girls entered the game with a minor hamstring issue. I kept an eye on her and whenever I was able I asked her how she was doing. She's tough and spent too much of the game fighting for the ball often against two opponents at once. Another of my players also pulled his hamstring slightly while playing defense, then in the second half after being moved to goal keeper he stopped a shot that bent his hand too far back but didn't do any damage beyond hurting.
And then a defensive player went down and didn't get up. As the players on the field took a knee I jogged across to check on him. He stayed down for a few more moments and actually apologized for, "letting you down." I could almost cry sitting here now thinking about it. Of course I immediately let him know that he in no way let me down.
He insisted that he could play as he got to his feet and took a tentative couple of steps. He was wobbling and unable to put any weight on the knee but insisted he could play. If I'd let him he would have tried and would have made the injury worse, so I had to tell him no. Even then he tried to walk off the field by himself until he finally realized that he did need my shoulder just then.
My team got back into the game and, if anything, began to play even harder. We'd entered the final quarter when I lost another player.
It was my girl with the hamstring pull, and this time I ran onto the field. I knew immediately it was gonna be bad, and as I reached her I saw she was crying. She'd hit the ground and was covered in grass. The referee and I knelt next to her and took her hands. We helped her to calm down and start breathing normally while her mom also arrived to help.
The game was over. I couldn't ask any more of these guys at this point. We were down enough goals that we couldn't come back, and this was just the last straw.
We have a week off for fall break. I think we could all really use the time off. I told them that practice is sorta optional because of fall break but that I'd be there even if we only screw around and have fun rather than actually practice. But then that's one of the beauties of soccer that even when you're just messing around you're somewhat practicing.
We might have lost on goals, but I and all the parents won by watching the heart and determination we saw in our kids. I hope that my team got the win of having persevered in spite of the blows they took, that they learn to keep fighting no matter what. And I want every single one that is eligible back on my team next season.
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