I'm falling in love, and it's with a bike.
My Saturday work schedule is usually eleven or twelve to whenever, whenever usually falling sometime around ten. Somewhere in there, roughly in the middle, is usually an hour long break. It's usually enough time to eat and walk the few blocks to the tobacco store.
This past Saturday my break was nearly two hours and involved a walk to the bike shop that is slightly farther away. I've been needing to start looking around, beginning my quest to hopefully find that bike that is the perfect balance of actually useful to me along with quality and economy.
I've assumed I was going to spend some time making this decision. I've never really owned a good bike. The bikes I had when I was a kid were fine. They weren't the fancy ones I drooled over in the BMX magazines, but they took a beating and came back for more. The bike I have in the garage as well as the one I rode for a short time over the summer both were purchased originally at that horrid bastion of American made crap, Wal Mart.
I explained to the sole visible occupant of the shop that I was replacing a totaled car with a bike and emphasized cheap and used as being key issues. He pointed out a bike hanging above us, upside down that he seemed happy enough to pull down for my inspection.
My decision may have been a bit rash, but I've proven myself right by having researched the bike after the fact. I did take a test drive. The guy at the shop asked for and i.d. and explained just how far I could actually take the bike for a test, but I didn't have quite the time.
Perhaps if I'd declined the test ride I might have held out and not purchased this bike. Certainly as I pedaled around the first corner I was taken aback. The handlebars are shorter than I'm used to, and the bike felt unsteady as I dealt with this thing I hadn't considered. I overlooked the handlebars as I tested the shifters and pedaled easily and then furiously. I found a good gear for the terrain and slope and found some speed.
Other than a few turns around the square after work earlier today I haven't really ridden this bike for fun yet. I've recognized that the short handlebars help make the steering more responsive. Actually I read it on a forum last night, but then riding today I found it to be true. And riding today involved to work.
I put about five miles on the bike within twenty four hours of ownership. I've also already pulled both wheels off to get it into a car trunk and reassembled it on the kitchen floor. I've flipped it upside down so that The Boy could see as the derailleur worked while I changed gears.
It's sitting in the kitchen right now, waiting next to the door. I can feel it wanting to go outside and ride, and I can feel it trying to will it's desires onto me. I have to go to bed so I can get up and be responsible tomorrow, but I'm already thinking about when I have a day to myself and what I'll do.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
i didn't even have to use my ak
The weather has turned back to cold. Perhaps we're getting our little bit of the big storm. The forecast I looked at has us having a good chance of snow and rain by the weekend but with temperatures higher than freezing. Maybe it'll just be a pretty snow.
Today was sunny for the most part. I opted to stay awake after Momma came to get the boys for school and hadn't really planned my day when the phone rang.
It was work asking if I'd come in to replace a sick coworker who was there but needed to not be and would come and pick me up. Being inside working meant that I didn't see a lot of the sun, but the nicest part of the day might have been my walk to the bus station after work.
I tried to chase the sun as much as possible but kept finding myself in the shadows of buildings until the last and longest stretch. That final stretch involves two long blocks headed east which put the sun at my back.
One of those little things I crave during the winter is that sunny day with the sun at your back creating that little circle of warmth. It helps, I think, that I wear a black leather jacket that seems to soak up the energy.
A little tense from the cold I turned that block and was a short way down when I felt that little spot growing on my back as the sun shone down on me. I relaxed a little bit and might have even walked a little taller. I certainly didn't slow down my pace. I was cutting my timing a little close and didn't want to miss my bus again.
I had no need to worry. I arrived on the platform with time to spare, though not much at all. I met the driver as he came from the driver holding pen and boarded the bus right behind him.
I'm glad to have picked up the hours at work and will be glad to see them on my check. My favorite coworker was there, and she and I nearly always have a great time in the kitchen. I got a needed dose of sunlight and blew some of my last little bit of money till I get paid Friday on pizza because Papa John's delivers and I can pay online with my debit card. If I'd had a bike I could have easily taken the #22 bus to the grocery store and biked home from there, but alas that has yet to transpire and is not germane to this conversation. Homework help was provided, pizza was eaten, Scribblenauts was played, and chapter five of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe was read.
title of post taken from
Today was sunny for the most part. I opted to stay awake after Momma came to get the boys for school and hadn't really planned my day when the phone rang.
It was work asking if I'd come in to replace a sick coworker who was there but needed to not be and would come and pick me up. Being inside working meant that I didn't see a lot of the sun, but the nicest part of the day might have been my walk to the bus station after work.
I tried to chase the sun as much as possible but kept finding myself in the shadows of buildings until the last and longest stretch. That final stretch involves two long blocks headed east which put the sun at my back.
One of those little things I crave during the winter is that sunny day with the sun at your back creating that little circle of warmth. It helps, I think, that I wear a black leather jacket that seems to soak up the energy.
A little tense from the cold I turned that block and was a short way down when I felt that little spot growing on my back as the sun shone down on me. I relaxed a little bit and might have even walked a little taller. I certainly didn't slow down my pace. I was cutting my timing a little close and didn't want to miss my bus again.
I had no need to worry. I arrived on the platform with time to spare, though not much at all. I met the driver as he came from the driver holding pen and boarded the bus right behind him.
I'm glad to have picked up the hours at work and will be glad to see them on my check. My favorite coworker was there, and she and I nearly always have a great time in the kitchen. I got a needed dose of sunlight and blew some of my last little bit of money till I get paid Friday on pizza because Papa John's delivers and I can pay online with my debit card. If I'd had a bike I could have easily taken the #22 bus to the grocery store and biked home from there, but alas that has yet to transpire and is not germane to this conversation. Homework help was provided, pizza was eaten, Scribblenauts was played, and chapter five of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe was read.
title of post taken from
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
figuring it out
The idea of homework has always been part of the deciding factor in homeschooling the kids. I just don't believe in homework. Very few jobs really require you to do work outside of doing your work. Sure, there are some times when you might spend some personal time taking care of some business, but when do we, as adults, really have homework?
So to think that schools can't, in the time they have, do the job we expect of them maybe suggests we should assume something is wrong. But now that I'm seeing some homework and helping, I'm actually developing a different appreciation, though I'm only going so far with this. I'm not really changing my mind.
By the time I got home The Boy had already finished his math homework, and he's doing well it seems. He needs very little help except with understanding sometimes what's being asked. The homework I helped with tonight involved eight sentences which were missing their verb. The verb was place at the end of the sentence, apart and hugged only by ( ) but needed to be translated to past tense and inserted into the blank space.
Out of eight sentences offered there were only four verbs, so each was repeated. We worked through the first four, and he once again impressed me with his reading. He's taking his time with it, but he's actually doing it even though it takes a lot of reminders of what things sound like. Of course we're also learning American English, and it feels that sometimes you almost need to work in our own Southern dialect. How many times can you tell a kid that this time that letter sounds different from nearly every other time that you see it, and it actually sounds just like a letter that exists, which begs the question why it's spelled this way instead of another, and I'm not even stopping homework to discuss how many non English words seem to exist in American English, which is still only some amount of the issue, none of which is even the point.
After completing the first four sentences we agreed to take a break. I settled back expecting a few minutes of playing followed be requesting food which would then be followed by a reminder from me that we needed to finish. Less than five minutes passed before The Boy was back telling me he was done with his break.
He sat down and took a few seconds to look at his work paper before making the realization. He looked at the four remaining improperly tensed verbs and realized that he didn't even need to do anymore reading. He explained completely what he was doing, that the words repeated and he could just write them in without needing to read the sentences, and I couldn't argue with him.
It's true that reading the sentences would have been reading practice, and I even pointed out that it would be good to read them anyway. I tried to entice him with the idea of being able to work on reading and to get better at reading. I told of reading for pleasure, and he agreed that he'd like to be able to read better and to read whenever he wanted to.
I couldn't argue with his better way. And I'm willing to go with the idea that he's learning not to work any harder than the worksheet. He did the assignment, and he saved himself some time so that he could get on the computer quicker.
And honestly, he's really doing great with reading. He isn't fighting it, a concern I once had, though he's not at the point where it's easy enough to do so much. He'll get there, and in unschooling fashion I'm going to step aside if he figures out how to beat the system once in a while.
And I'm glad I just remembered to look up Turkish Delight. The White Witch enticed Edmund with it, and we've read about it the last three nights that the boys were here. The Boy keeps asking what it is, but the only answer I have is that I think it's a confection. Then he asks, What's a confection? and I have to tell him it's kinda like candy or a sweet treat or something, that I'm not really sure, but I'll look it up.
so . . .
So to think that schools can't, in the time they have, do the job we expect of them maybe suggests we should assume something is wrong. But now that I'm seeing some homework and helping, I'm actually developing a different appreciation, though I'm only going so far with this. I'm not really changing my mind.
By the time I got home The Boy had already finished his math homework, and he's doing well it seems. He needs very little help except with understanding sometimes what's being asked. The homework I helped with tonight involved eight sentences which were missing their verb. The verb was place at the end of the sentence, apart and hugged only by ( ) but needed to be translated to past tense and inserted into the blank space.
Out of eight sentences offered there were only four verbs, so each was repeated. We worked through the first four, and he once again impressed me with his reading. He's taking his time with it, but he's actually doing it even though it takes a lot of reminders of what things sound like. Of course we're also learning American English, and it feels that sometimes you almost need to work in our own Southern dialect. How many times can you tell a kid that this time that letter sounds different from nearly every other time that you see it, and it actually sounds just like a letter that exists, which begs the question why it's spelled this way instead of another, and I'm not even stopping homework to discuss how many non English words seem to exist in American English, which is still only some amount of the issue, none of which is even the point.
After completing the first four sentences we agreed to take a break. I settled back expecting a few minutes of playing followed be requesting food which would then be followed by a reminder from me that we needed to finish. Less than five minutes passed before The Boy was back telling me he was done with his break.
He sat down and took a few seconds to look at his work paper before making the realization. He looked at the four remaining improperly tensed verbs and realized that he didn't even need to do anymore reading. He explained completely what he was doing, that the words repeated and he could just write them in without needing to read the sentences, and I couldn't argue with him.
It's true that reading the sentences would have been reading practice, and I even pointed out that it would be good to read them anyway. I tried to entice him with the idea of being able to work on reading and to get better at reading. I told of reading for pleasure, and he agreed that he'd like to be able to read better and to read whenever he wanted to.
I couldn't argue with his better way. And I'm willing to go with the idea that he's learning not to work any harder than the worksheet. He did the assignment, and he saved himself some time so that he could get on the computer quicker.
And honestly, he's really doing great with reading. He isn't fighting it, a concern I once had, though he's not at the point where it's easy enough to do so much. He'll get there, and in unschooling fashion I'm going to step aside if he figures out how to beat the system once in a while.
And I'm glad I just remembered to look up Turkish Delight. The White Witch enticed Edmund with it, and we've read about it the last three nights that the boys were here. The Boy keeps asking what it is, but the only answer I have is that I think it's a confection. Then he asks, What's a confection? and I have to tell him it's kinda like candy or a sweet treat or something, that I'm not really sure, but I'll look it up.
so . . .
Thursday, January 27, 2011
liberal locust that I am
Let's get all the perfunctory out of the way, so I can bitch about the dumbass. A friend on the book of faces posted this Salon story about a mother who defrauded the government out of millions of dollars and punched a clown AND a kitten. She also tripped kids in glasses and made puppies feel really bad about themselves.
The piece was written by Elon James White who also has his own blog, This Week in Blackness, which I've added to my reader because he's awesome apparently. FWIW, he's also kinda cute, but the smarts is why I want to read more of him.
Actually, the mother in question apparently told the local school board that her kids lived with their grandfather. She did this so that her kids could go to a better school, described in the article that spawned the piece as a "rich white school."
If I have regular readers then they likely know that my kids have started attending school after having been homeschooled for all their life up till this year. The Boy, from Momma's house, is zoned for the school he attends, though for middle school both boys are zoned for the school Big Brother attends. We could probably have given either address for the kids as their primary domicile as they stay at whichever house makes the most sense based on the day, Momma's and my work schedules, and any number of other possible reasons that may come up based on any number of things that we may or may not foresee. They're zoned for a different elementary school from the house I'm currently in, but I don't know anything about that school. They can see their potential high school from Momma's back porch. I don't really know anything about it other than it's much more racially diverse than the rich white school, and yes, we have at least one of those. There's a fair variety of schools around this town, and there's really no point in arguing the fact that the whiter the student population is the nicer the school seems to be.
Most of the comments to the story at Salon seem to suggest my own feelings, that this mother did what any number of other people do or would do. She did break a law, but what she wanted to accomplish by breaking the law was to get the best education for her children. And the reasoning behind her act should be considered in whatever legal issues arise from this act.
The bigger point, and the bigger problem, has little to do with this one family. The real problem is that within any one city there can be such a variety of schools so that one could actually know, based on ethnic makeup, which school was likely to be a better school, to have better and newer equipment, to have more options for the students. It's sickening that this happens, but it does.
And while I considered posting my own rant about this story I hadn't made up my mind till I got to the comment HERE, by someone calling himself something that he isn't. I'm not a regular reader or commenter at Salon, so I can't know how well this guy is known. But something I notice in blog comments is how open people are. If you hide behind the veil of an anonymous and nebulous username then you can get by with being the world's biggest douche and a half.
Let me just give you a snippet of the insanity so that you don't have to actually visit the comment.
-liberals (the locusts that they are) destroy poor neighborhoods by building welfare offices and abortion clinics
-that boogeyman, “racism” that we are always told is everywhere all the time except that we never ever ever ever fucking see it
-Liberals are disgusting baby killing race exploitive pieces of shit
Seriously, he says all those things.
Let's look at it one at a time.
How many "welfare offices" does your town/city have? I know of one here. Momma and I, once upon a time, received what were essentially food stamps. And we went to the same place as everyone else, sat in the same shitty waiting room, and were just as happy as most people when we were doing better and no longer qualified for the help. I could easily qualify now if I'd swallow my pride. Also, abortion clinics? Really? I know where two are, and I know some people who've had abortions. I don't like that they felt they had to, but that's not especially my place. I'm glad they could do so safely. I know of two places that will perform abortions, and both of them are nearer campus than in our city's poorer neighborhoods.
That boogeyman racism is alive and well, or at least more well than many of us would like. But that doesn't mean we all see it all the time. That doesn't mean that we all see it when it happens, and it doesn't mean we recognize it when we see it happening. I can see things I think are racist, but I can't suddenly be black and see life through the lens that growing up black would give me. I can be gay and see homophobia, but at the same time I'm still a white male that can pretend he's not gay. Yes, that comes with it's own baggage, but I wouldn't dare compare being black to being gay or being gay to being black. Black people who are not gay can't see through my lens any more than I theirs.
Finally, I've never killed a baby, and I don't think I've ever exploited race. I killed a snake once, and I've killed my share of mosquitoes, and some of the bugs I've squished might have been babies, but I'm not stopping to look. I want to not understand what he means by "race exploitive" because ignorance is supposedly bliss, but I have to accept that this is proof that racism is alive and well. I may have mentioned that. It gets back to that lens thing. I don't get to decide what is or isn't racist to black people. I can disagree all I want, but my balls aren't really that big.
My point with this post isn't about this one commenter. I live in the south, and I think I have a slightly better handle on racism than some white people. I do think being gay gives me at least a little peak into, but as mentioned above, I don't think there's a way to compare racism and homophobia, and I don't want to say either is worse or less worse.
I hate reading comments like this because it just makes my brain hurt. It makes my heart hurt. It makes a bad place in my day. It's too good to be satire, and it's too likely that this guy believes what he says. He really, honestly thinks what he is saying is true. He doesn't see a problem with black schools and white schools, or he just doesn't see that this problem exists. If he does see it then he just doesn't care that racism is alive and well and that he's perpetuating it.
If you happen on an alligator that wants to eat you, hiding your face in your hands won't make it go away.
The piece was written by Elon James White who also has his own blog, This Week in Blackness, which I've added to my reader because he's awesome apparently. FWIW, he's also kinda cute, but the smarts is why I want to read more of him.
Actually, the mother in question apparently told the local school board that her kids lived with their grandfather. She did this so that her kids could go to a better school, described in the article that spawned the piece as a "rich white school."
If I have regular readers then they likely know that my kids have started attending school after having been homeschooled for all their life up till this year. The Boy, from Momma's house, is zoned for the school he attends, though for middle school both boys are zoned for the school Big Brother attends. We could probably have given either address for the kids as their primary domicile as they stay at whichever house makes the most sense based on the day, Momma's and my work schedules, and any number of other possible reasons that may come up based on any number of things that we may or may not foresee. They're zoned for a different elementary school from the house I'm currently in, but I don't know anything about that school. They can see their potential high school from Momma's back porch. I don't really know anything about it other than it's much more racially diverse than the rich white school, and yes, we have at least one of those. There's a fair variety of schools around this town, and there's really no point in arguing the fact that the whiter the student population is the nicer the school seems to be.
Most of the comments to the story at Salon seem to suggest my own feelings, that this mother did what any number of other people do or would do. She did break a law, but what she wanted to accomplish by breaking the law was to get the best education for her children. And the reasoning behind her act should be considered in whatever legal issues arise from this act.
The bigger point, and the bigger problem, has little to do with this one family. The real problem is that within any one city there can be such a variety of schools so that one could actually know, based on ethnic makeup, which school was likely to be a better school, to have better and newer equipment, to have more options for the students. It's sickening that this happens, but it does.
And while I considered posting my own rant about this story I hadn't made up my mind till I got to the comment HERE, by someone calling himself something that he isn't. I'm not a regular reader or commenter at Salon, so I can't know how well this guy is known. But something I notice in blog comments is how open people are. If you hide behind the veil of an anonymous and nebulous username then you can get by with being the world's biggest douche and a half.
Let me just give you a snippet of the insanity so that you don't have to actually visit the comment.
-liberals (the locusts that they are) destroy poor neighborhoods by building welfare offices and abortion clinics
-that boogeyman, “racism” that we are always told is everywhere all the time except that we never ever ever ever fucking see it
-Liberals are disgusting baby killing race exploitive pieces of shit
Seriously, he says all those things.
Let's look at it one at a time.
How many "welfare offices" does your town/city have? I know of one here. Momma and I, once upon a time, received what were essentially food stamps. And we went to the same place as everyone else, sat in the same shitty waiting room, and were just as happy as most people when we were doing better and no longer qualified for the help. I could easily qualify now if I'd swallow my pride. Also, abortion clinics? Really? I know where two are, and I know some people who've had abortions. I don't like that they felt they had to, but that's not especially my place. I'm glad they could do so safely. I know of two places that will perform abortions, and both of them are nearer campus than in our city's poorer neighborhoods.
That boogeyman racism is alive and well, or at least more well than many of us would like. But that doesn't mean we all see it all the time. That doesn't mean that we all see it when it happens, and it doesn't mean we recognize it when we see it happening. I can see things I think are racist, but I can't suddenly be black and see life through the lens that growing up black would give me. I can be gay and see homophobia, but at the same time I'm still a white male that can pretend he's not gay. Yes, that comes with it's own baggage, but I wouldn't dare compare being black to being gay or being gay to being black. Black people who are not gay can't see through my lens any more than I theirs.
Finally, I've never killed a baby, and I don't think I've ever exploited race. I killed a snake once, and I've killed my share of mosquitoes, and some of the bugs I've squished might have been babies, but I'm not stopping to look. I want to not understand what he means by "race exploitive" because ignorance is supposedly bliss, but I have to accept that this is proof that racism is alive and well. I may have mentioned that. It gets back to that lens thing. I don't get to decide what is or isn't racist to black people. I can disagree all I want, but my balls aren't really that big.
My point with this post isn't about this one commenter. I live in the south, and I think I have a slightly better handle on racism than some white people. I do think being gay gives me at least a little peak into, but as mentioned above, I don't think there's a way to compare racism and homophobia, and I don't want to say either is worse or less worse.
I hate reading comments like this because it just makes my brain hurt. It makes my heart hurt. It makes a bad place in my day. It's too good to be satire, and it's too likely that this guy believes what he says. He really, honestly thinks what he is saying is true. He doesn't see a problem with black schools and white schools, or he just doesn't see that this problem exists. If he does see it then he just doesn't care that racism is alive and well and that he's perpetuating it.
If you happen on an alligator that wants to eat you, hiding your face in your hands won't make it go away.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
duckface
If we're Facebook friends you may already have seen this, but this syndrome is so out of control that I feel this song needs to be shared as widely as possible.
I'd like to think none of my friends do the duckface in their pictures on social networking sites, but sadly I know that I've seen it on people who should be smart enough not to.
Watch the video and stop making the duckface.
I'd like to think none of my friends do the duckface in their pictures on social networking sites, but sadly I know that I've seen it on people who should be smart enough not to.
Watch the video and stop making the duckface.
struggle this
Anti gay activists in Iowa want to take away the marriage equality that the state's supreme court gave us and aren't stopping there. They want to make sure that there is no chance that relationships between gay couples are recognized on a civic level. This means that they aren't happy just to take back marriage equality, but they want also to make sure we can't even look forward to civil unions.
They know that there will be gay people rallying in support of our cause, our cause being the desire to maintain equal rights, and to show that they are driven by love the anti gay activists are planning on giving away bags of cookies. That's right. They're going to show us love by trading their cookies for our equality.
I've actually seen this story a couple of times, and I've been outraged by the sizable balls on display when christianist tell us how much they love us but don't want us to be equal in the eyes of the law. The Friendly Atheist posted about this today, and I was finally compelled to say something myself.
What's especially galling is the wording so often used by the anti gay activists. They can't just admit that we are people, people who also happen to be gay. So, like usual, they play with words to put us in a light that they feel makes them look better, makes them look like their cause is not a despicable and nasty jab. What they want, in their words is to show love "to people who are struggling with homosexuality."
Here's the thing. I once struggled with homosexuality. I call it being in the closet. I knew I was gay, but I pretended I was just bi and that being in a heterosexual marriage and having a family was going to make me hetero enough so that being my true gay self didn't need to happen.
I was unhappy and miserable for the most part. I struggled to be okay with my decision. I tried to be strong and maintain my family, though what I never realized is that tearing myself up inside was as unhealthy for me as for those around me.
I struggled with homosexuality until I finally accepted that I am gay. Now I've embraced that I'm gay. I'm happy and proud to let myself be who I always should have been. I no longer struggle with homosexuality.
Of course there are still struggles. Sometimes it feels that life is a series of struggling from one struggle to another. But when it comes to my sexual orientation I don't struggle with it anymore. I admitted the truth to myself.
They know that there will be gay people rallying in support of our cause, our cause being the desire to maintain equal rights, and to show that they are driven by love the anti gay activists are planning on giving away bags of cookies. That's right. They're going to show us love by trading their cookies for our equality.
I've actually seen this story a couple of times, and I've been outraged by the sizable balls on display when christianist tell us how much they love us but don't want us to be equal in the eyes of the law. The Friendly Atheist posted about this today, and I was finally compelled to say something myself.
What's especially galling is the wording so often used by the anti gay activists. They can't just admit that we are people, people who also happen to be gay. So, like usual, they play with words to put us in a light that they feel makes them look better, makes them look like their cause is not a despicable and nasty jab. What they want, in their words is to show love "to people who are struggling with homosexuality."
Here's the thing. I once struggled with homosexuality. I call it being in the closet. I knew I was gay, but I pretended I was just bi and that being in a heterosexual marriage and having a family was going to make me hetero enough so that being my true gay self didn't need to happen.
I was unhappy and miserable for the most part. I struggled to be okay with my decision. I tried to be strong and maintain my family, though what I never realized is that tearing myself up inside was as unhealthy for me as for those around me.
I struggled with homosexuality until I finally accepted that I am gay. Now I've embraced that I'm gay. I'm happy and proud to let myself be who I always should have been. I no longer struggle with homosexuality.
Of course there are still struggles. Sometimes it feels that life is a series of struggling from one struggle to another. But when it comes to my sexual orientation I don't struggle with it anymore. I admitted the truth to myself.
Monday, January 24, 2011
yeah, that's right
I missed my bus today and had to walk about two and a half miles to reach the next available but that would make me not late for work. Google mapping the way I walked suggests a trip time of forty six minutes, but I think I did it quicker.
Actually if I hadn't slowed down walking on my street I wouldn't have missed my bus, but I saw what I assumed was my bus and assumed, based on where I know the bus goes and how long it takes to go there and come back on its way back downtown that I had plenty of time. I don't know what bus I saw, but it wasn't mine.
Rushing up the street, as always unsure of exactly when the bus will arrive, I saw the apparition bus and slowed my pace. I even smiled to myself at how well I was doing. And I have been doing well. In just over a week I've now missed the bus once, and that's required me getting up at least an hour earlier than usual.
I suppose not having a car helps. I can't reasonably go anywhere other than work or home unless I know for a fact that I have a ride, or it's going to mean me getting to the bus on time coming and going. My bus doesn't run nearly as late as I used to, so neither do I.
Perhaps it's a good thing. I can't say I like it, but I can admit to being home and ready for bed nearing midnight. I can also admit that this is becoming a bit of a habit.
I don't really like it. I'm a boring person who wastes time when by myself. I suppose it's what I do all the time, but I'm actually noticing me do it. Having to stare that in its ugly face is kind of a downer.
Actually if I hadn't slowed down walking on my street I wouldn't have missed my bus, but I saw what I assumed was my bus and assumed, based on where I know the bus goes and how long it takes to go there and come back on its way back downtown that I had plenty of time. I don't know what bus I saw, but it wasn't mine.
Rushing up the street, as always unsure of exactly when the bus will arrive, I saw the apparition bus and slowed my pace. I even smiled to myself at how well I was doing. And I have been doing well. In just over a week I've now missed the bus once, and that's required me getting up at least an hour earlier than usual.
I suppose not having a car helps. I can't reasonably go anywhere other than work or home unless I know for a fact that I have a ride, or it's going to mean me getting to the bus on time coming and going. My bus doesn't run nearly as late as I used to, so neither do I.
Perhaps it's a good thing. I can't say I like it, but I can admit to being home and ready for bed nearing midnight. I can also admit that this is becoming a bit of a habit.
I don't really like it. I'm a boring person who wastes time when by myself. I suppose it's what I do all the time, but I'm actually noticing me do it. Having to stare that in its ugly face is kind of a downer.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
fwiw
It being twinnyleven I used the Facebook instead of actual talking or writing a letter or whatever people used to do. I sent a message to this guy that I'm afraid to like.
Maybe the problem with talking to him or saying anything is the writer that lives inside me and wants to edit everything before the recipient receives the message.
I hate talking to people sometimes because I can't edit. I suppose that I don't misspell words when I'm talking, but that's small consolation.
In the end I think I'm happy with what I wrote. Now I get to enter that period of waiting, hoping that he sees things similarly to how I see them. I get to hope that he likes me and that I haven't frightened him off. He takes my phone calls, so that's good, but I just don't trust myself.
I really do manage to fuck things up more than you might realize. I'm probably ruining something right now even though all I'm doing is typing words and trying to manage to convey thoughts. It's kinda how I roll.
And now all I can do is wait.
Maybe the problem with talking to him or saying anything is the writer that lives inside me and wants to edit everything before the recipient receives the message.
I hate talking to people sometimes because I can't edit. I suppose that I don't misspell words when I'm talking, but that's small consolation.
In the end I think I'm happy with what I wrote. Now I get to enter that period of waiting, hoping that he sees things similarly to how I see them. I get to hope that he likes me and that I haven't frightened him off. He takes my phone calls, so that's good, but I just don't trust myself.
I really do manage to fuck things up more than you might realize. I'm probably ruining something right now even though all I'm doing is typing words and trying to manage to convey thoughts. It's kinda how I roll.
And now all I can do is wait.
not trying equals not doing
I feel like I'm setting myself up for a big let down again.
There's this guy, and he's nice and sweet and hot, and I kinda like him. I kinda like him because I'm not letting myself get too far into this thing, but I also can't help feeling stuff and thinking things.
He lives just far enough away so that the car thing is an issue, and that's compounded by him having his own car problems right now. It's a situation, and it probably sounds worse than it is, or maybe I'm making it sound less worse than it is.
The last time I liked a guy it kinda blew up in my face when he incredulously and vocally realized that I really did like him that way and really did want a boyfriend. It was kind of a moment, and it wasn't fun.
There's another guy who just wants to have fun. I've been there once, and I'm not entirely against the idea, but it just isn't where I want to be in life. It isn't the kind of person I want to be. But what I want and what I feel like I can have are so often completely at odds with each other.
And neither of these situations need to be where I am in life. The one that I'm actually worried about could be part of where I want to be, but it shouldn't be the key component. That's so much easier to say than it is to act on, which raises a whole other bunch of list of whatever.
I feel like I've covered this, but it's probably something I've written about but never published. There are probably a few drunken rants in my drafts file, rambling rants that need never see the light of pixelated day.
So what to do? It's late enough tonight that I'll probably just dig up some obscure Les Paul and Mary Ford on the Youtube, because that seems to be what I'm doing right now. I'll wade through all that's built up in Google reader, all the blogs that are just sitting there, patiently waiting for me.
It isn't going to help me figure anything out, and it will more likely just keep my mind occupied enough that I don't have to think too deeply about anything. It's the internets and like a drug that way. Maybe if I actually had some drugs I could forget about everything the right way, but for now I'll just think about the cute and sweet boy, and I'll begin to compose Facebook messages to him where I bare my soul. And then I'll click on "cancel" instead of "send."
It's easier that way. And I can drag out the enjoyment of possibility longer before I say something and fuck the whole thing up.
There's this guy, and he's nice and sweet and hot, and I kinda like him. I kinda like him because I'm not letting myself get too far into this thing, but I also can't help feeling stuff and thinking things.
He lives just far enough away so that the car thing is an issue, and that's compounded by him having his own car problems right now. It's a situation, and it probably sounds worse than it is, or maybe I'm making it sound less worse than it is.
The last time I liked a guy it kinda blew up in my face when he incredulously and vocally realized that I really did like him that way and really did want a boyfriend. It was kind of a moment, and it wasn't fun.
There's another guy who just wants to have fun. I've been there once, and I'm not entirely against the idea, but it just isn't where I want to be in life. It isn't the kind of person I want to be. But what I want and what I feel like I can have are so often completely at odds with each other.
And neither of these situations need to be where I am in life. The one that I'm actually worried about could be part of where I want to be, but it shouldn't be the key component. That's so much easier to say than it is to act on, which raises a whole other bunch of list of whatever.
I feel like I've covered this, but it's probably something I've written about but never published. There are probably a few drunken rants in my drafts file, rambling rants that need never see the light of pixelated day.
So what to do? It's late enough tonight that I'll probably just dig up some obscure Les Paul and Mary Ford on the Youtube, because that seems to be what I'm doing right now. I'll wade through all that's built up in Google reader, all the blogs that are just sitting there, patiently waiting for me.
It isn't going to help me figure anything out, and it will more likely just keep my mind occupied enough that I don't have to think too deeply about anything. It's the internets and like a drug that way. Maybe if I actually had some drugs I could forget about everything the right way, but for now I'll just think about the cute and sweet boy, and I'll begin to compose Facebook messages to him where I bare my soul. And then I'll click on "cancel" instead of "send."
It's easier that way. And I can drag out the enjoyment of possibility longer before I say something and fuck the whole thing up.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
how was your day?
My day started as they have been lately, alarm going off while it's still dark outside. After forcing my eyes to remain open long enough to consider myself actually awake I started the ritual that is waking the boys up. Big Brother usually wakes quickly, while The Boy, in yet another instance of being just like me, does not.
I made sure they were putting on clean clothes and got The Boy to finally change his socks then helped them get bowls of cereal lined up. I made them sandwiches and peeled and cut kiwis for their lunches, and I made sure they both had milk money.
Momma arrived as the boys were finishing getting ready for school and whisked them away. I had time for a bowl of cereal before I went to stand up the street and wait for the bus. Sadly I had no coffee in the house, so my day didn't start as well as it could have.
The bus station/transfer point has a lunch counter at which I paid $1.09 for a horrible cup of of coffee delivered by a guy who was so cheerful that I wanted to drag him across the counter and beat him with the airpot.
The municipal court/police station is an uphill walk of two long blocks from the bus station, and I was early enough to relax at the station while waiting till I needed to start my walk in order to get there early.
I'm glad I was there early, because in a random moment of making sense I checked my paperwork to see if I'd missed anything about my court appearance. I'm somewhat familiar with the court house that I went to as it's where I've been at least twice in the past ten years, once to pay a speeding ticket and once to pay one hundred dollars for committing the crime of not knowing I needed my registration in the car. To make that one worse I realized sometime later that the registration was in fact in the car.
Upon looking at my paperwork I realized I was at the wrong court. For my offense I did not need to go to municipal court. I needed to be over ten blocks away at general sessions court which is in the city/county building. I began the quick walk, glad that I'd arrived early, and called the phone number listed on my paper.
The lady that answered was nice enough even though she insisted that I was already an hour late. Her records indicated I needed to be there at nine, and she wouldn't accept that my records said ten. It didn't matter either way.
I did actually make it to court on time. The judge was finishing up his discussion of rights and the nature of the offense that most of us were there for and then began to call the roll.
My court date was actually an arraignment, so within about an hour I had my actual court date and was free to go. From there I walked another five blocks to my place of employment to mark the calendar we use to request days off so that I could be sure to have my court date free. A coworker was also there with his eight month old, so I got to hold a tiny baby. I then proceeded to tickle his toes and that spot on the back of all baby's necks that makes them shiver. It's so much fun.
I then walked to where Momma works, another couple of blocks, so that I could let her know about my court business. Another three blocks took me to a coffee shop so that I could eat a scone and enjoy a cup of good coffee.
Another three blocks saw me at the bus stop so that I could ride to the grocery store. From the grocery store I walked another two blocks to catch the bus that would have taken me home. I rolled a cigarette and checked the schedule only to find myself wishing I'd been there ten minutes earlier and debating how long I felt like standing and waiting. I opted to walk. The next bus wasn't due for about forty minutes.
Home was another two mile walk, and by the time I finally reached here I almost wished I'd waited. You'd think with all the standing and moving I do as a cook a little walking would be easy, but my legs, from the knees down, are some achy bastards.
I'm home, have some chicken stock simmering on the stove. I'll use it a bit later to boil some rice into which I'll mix some leftover chicken and whatever else sounds like it'll be good. I'll also hope The Boy eats some, otherwise he'll be a hungry little monkey.
And that was the first half of my day. I've since dozed for a few minutes in front of the television and checked Facebook. Momma is stopping at the co-op for me and bringing me coffee when she brings the boys later, and as soon as I see her car in the driveway I'll get water on. The French press is already clean.
Right now I'm hungry and tired. I really hope the boys don't have any/much homework. I don't feel like dealing with it tonight, though so far we haven't had any problems. The Boy is behind where his class mates are, so we're working with him to catch up. He's a smart kid, and when we work on combating the frustration he easily understands the math. The reading/writing may take a bit more patience, but it's good for me to learn some of that.
I made sure they were putting on clean clothes and got The Boy to finally change his socks then helped them get bowls of cereal lined up. I made them sandwiches and peeled and cut kiwis for their lunches, and I made sure they both had milk money.
Momma arrived as the boys were finishing getting ready for school and whisked them away. I had time for a bowl of cereal before I went to stand up the street and wait for the bus. Sadly I had no coffee in the house, so my day didn't start as well as it could have.
The bus station/transfer point has a lunch counter at which I paid $1.09 for a horrible cup of of coffee delivered by a guy who was so cheerful that I wanted to drag him across the counter and beat him with the airpot.
The municipal court/police station is an uphill walk of two long blocks from the bus station, and I was early enough to relax at the station while waiting till I needed to start my walk in order to get there early.
I'm glad I was there early, because in a random moment of making sense I checked my paperwork to see if I'd missed anything about my court appearance. I'm somewhat familiar with the court house that I went to as it's where I've been at least twice in the past ten years, once to pay a speeding ticket and once to pay one hundred dollars for committing the crime of not knowing I needed my registration in the car. To make that one worse I realized sometime later that the registration was in fact in the car.
Upon looking at my paperwork I realized I was at the wrong court. For my offense I did not need to go to municipal court. I needed to be over ten blocks away at general sessions court which is in the city/county building. I began the quick walk, glad that I'd arrived early, and called the phone number listed on my paper.
The lady that answered was nice enough even though she insisted that I was already an hour late. Her records indicated I needed to be there at nine, and she wouldn't accept that my records said ten. It didn't matter either way.
I did actually make it to court on time. The judge was finishing up his discussion of rights and the nature of the offense that most of us were there for and then began to call the roll.
My court date was actually an arraignment, so within about an hour I had my actual court date and was free to go. From there I walked another five blocks to my place of employment to mark the calendar we use to request days off so that I could be sure to have my court date free. A coworker was also there with his eight month old, so I got to hold a tiny baby. I then proceeded to tickle his toes and that spot on the back of all baby's necks that makes them shiver. It's so much fun.
I then walked to where Momma works, another couple of blocks, so that I could let her know about my court business. Another three blocks took me to a coffee shop so that I could eat a scone and enjoy a cup of good coffee.
Another three blocks saw me at the bus stop so that I could ride to the grocery store. From the grocery store I walked another two blocks to catch the bus that would have taken me home. I rolled a cigarette and checked the schedule only to find myself wishing I'd been there ten minutes earlier and debating how long I felt like standing and waiting. I opted to walk. The next bus wasn't due for about forty minutes.
Home was another two mile walk, and by the time I finally reached here I almost wished I'd waited. You'd think with all the standing and moving I do as a cook a little walking would be easy, but my legs, from the knees down, are some achy bastards.
I'm home, have some chicken stock simmering on the stove. I'll use it a bit later to boil some rice into which I'll mix some leftover chicken and whatever else sounds like it'll be good. I'll also hope The Boy eats some, otherwise he'll be a hungry little monkey.
And that was the first half of my day. I've since dozed for a few minutes in front of the television and checked Facebook. Momma is stopping at the co-op for me and bringing me coffee when she brings the boys later, and as soon as I see her car in the driveway I'll get water on. The French press is already clean.
Right now I'm hungry and tired. I really hope the boys don't have any/much homework. I don't feel like dealing with it tonight, though so far we haven't had any problems. The Boy is behind where his class mates are, so we're working with him to catch up. He's a smart kid, and when we work on combating the frustration he easily understands the math. The reading/writing may take a bit more patience, but it's good for me to learn some of that.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
taint ticklers
People have noticed lately that I haven't shaved in a while, though I have to wonder if they're noticing or just commenting. Very rarely has anyone had reason to comment on my facial hair, and the main reason is that I really don't grow it in a noticeable manner.
When I say I don't grow it I'm not suggesting that I shave daily in order to maintain my appearance. No, what I mean is that, whether or not I like it, my face doesn't produce hair in the manner typical for a man my age. I shaved just over a week ago, and I've just now reached a point where my face looks as if I'm attempting to produce a hair style upon it.
I know when I last shaved because it was in preparation for a visit from a cute friend. I won't go into that right now, though there could easily be a post out of where my head is lately. I then didn't shower again till Momma helped me purchase my freedom, and I was able to shed the layer of jail and the stink of bologna.
I just didn't feel like shaving then. And usually I don't. I suppose that I'm lucky in that regard. I do kinda hate shaving, and I don't really feel like I want facial hair, and I certainly have no need at all to shave daily to maintain a clean look, but there's also the part of me that just doesn't like not having that thing that men do. It's totally not available to me.
Long sideburns? Handlebar mustache? Satanesque Van Dyke with pointy beard? I can achieve none of these classic styles. Fourteen year old boy who shouldn't need to shave yet but kinda needs to? Yes, I can totally pull that one off. I'm doing so right now.
And I don't even like the facial hair on me. Okay, I'll tell you now that I don't like my own. It feels unpleasant for the most part. However, a bit of beard brushing against my neck? Let's just not even go there. That's not what this post is about, and my viewers may include mixed company.
Every so often I ignore my need to shave, and it does almost look as if I'm deliberately attempting something, and on even rarer occasions I consider for a brief passing moment just not shaving. I almost begin to pretend that if I don't shave a real mustache will grow while I'm asleep. That's where I am now.
I feel like I know better, and I'm sure I'll look like the kind of guy that has a van for very bad reasons if I were to actually have a mustache of my own, but I still wanna see, just once. Just one time in my life time I want to actually have this thing that so many take for granted.
When I say I don't grow it I'm not suggesting that I shave daily in order to maintain my appearance. No, what I mean is that, whether or not I like it, my face doesn't produce hair in the manner typical for a man my age. I shaved just over a week ago, and I've just now reached a point where my face looks as if I'm attempting to produce a hair style upon it.
I know when I last shaved because it was in preparation for a visit from a cute friend. I won't go into that right now, though there could easily be a post out of where my head is lately. I then didn't shower again till Momma helped me purchase my freedom, and I was able to shed the layer of jail and the stink of bologna.
I just didn't feel like shaving then. And usually I don't. I suppose that I'm lucky in that regard. I do kinda hate shaving, and I don't really feel like I want facial hair, and I certainly have no need at all to shave daily to maintain a clean look, but there's also the part of me that just doesn't like not having that thing that men do. It's totally not available to me.
Long sideburns? Handlebar mustache? Satanesque Van Dyke with pointy beard? I can achieve none of these classic styles. Fourteen year old boy who shouldn't need to shave yet but kinda needs to? Yes, I can totally pull that one off. I'm doing so right now.
And I don't even like the facial hair on me. Okay, I'll tell you now that I don't like my own. It feels unpleasant for the most part. However, a bit of beard brushing against my neck? Let's just not even go there. That's not what this post is about, and my viewers may include mixed company.
Every so often I ignore my need to shave, and it does almost look as if I'm deliberately attempting something, and on even rarer occasions I consider for a brief passing moment just not shaving. I almost begin to pretend that if I don't shave a real mustache will grow while I'm asleep. That's where I am now.
I feel like I know better, and I'm sure I'll look like the kind of guy that has a van for very bad reasons if I were to actually have a mustache of my own, but I still wanna see, just once. Just one time in my life time I want to actually have this thing that so many take for granted.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
mouth full of gravel and glass
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.
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.
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.
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