Once more, I'm going to start writing a post with no idea exactly where I'm going with this. Chris posted a link to PZ's blog at Science Blogs titled Demand Higher Standards for Homeschooling. What actually follows is his thoughts upon reading a piece about Patrick Henry College. PCH, from what I've read about it, is a college begun in order to cater to a certain segment of the homeschooling population, one of my arch enemies, the fundamentalist. Once more, we as homeschoolers are described in full by a small segment of our population.
What I understand as the meat of the argument is that some homeschoolers teach their children young earth, creationist beliefs instead of the provable truth of science. It's assumed, it seems, that these parents, ever distrustful of all science, must certainly not only not teach it but also have no ability to teach it.
What really struck we were the comments. As Chris mentioned there and at his own blog, something that jumped out at me early on is the similarity between many of the commenters and those fundamentalist they so love to heap scorn on. So many people are so tightly clinging to their own inherent rightness in belief in the one true god be it the judeo christian boogey man or the pure provability of science.
One can neither prove nor disprove that there is a god. One can argue anecdotal evidence and faith, but beyond that, religion is not any in way provable. Science relies solely on proof and must be provable. Science revolves around the evidence we can gather and the variables we can introduce in order to measure outcomes. But often in science, a theory is proven for any number of reasons to be incorrect, and true science has to accept when this happens. Religion has no proof and is in fact based entirely on faith. No amount of faith can make a science experiment produce a desired outcome, and the results of the experiment must be accepted.
According to many of the atheists commenting on Mr. Myers' blog concerning this, teaching children anything that isn't true is actual, real abuse, and one commenter went so far as to compare this to sexual abuse. Another commenter directed us to Auschwitz to show us what happens when kids are taught the religion of their parents. They stand by this not because they are able to prove what they say but because they are right. That's all the proof offered that I can see, because they are right, and because they say so.
The problem here, and it's the same problem in every single anti homeschooling thing I've ever read, is that the people suggesting fixes for what they perceive as wrong with homeschooling generally have no real interest in or knowledge about the subject. All the arguments that arise are answered by homeschoolers, so the argument changes just a little to something we didn't answer, or perhaps it's something we answered, and they've decided they just don't accept our answer. Again, the argument turns into the antagonist proclaiming that what we've said is wrong because they are right and disagree with us. So we as homeschoolers answer the argument only to rebutted again. We are never agreed with, and when we do successfully counter someone, they won't generally admit it, but they will in fact change their argument starting the process all over again.
Especially worrisome was the tone, in many of the comments, that children are little more than wards of the state that people produce to add to the structure of society. People are seen as having few real rights when it comes to raising our children and in fact it's suggested that society has more rights to our children than we do. If we argue against that we are assumed to view our children as property over whom we hold all power. Those so secure in their personal rightness would argue that the state/society, has a right to teach our kids their view of the truth regardless of our wishes as parents. The state, they argue, even has the right to take your children and force them to attend school and be indoctrinated with what they see as the truth.
Reason and thought don't seem to account for much when people argue to be right instead of being willing to rethink their position. This doesn't seem like a very stable place for science to stand. Science needs to be able to move and sway with what is and isn't, to be both provable and disprovable. Being right has no place in science, but learning the truth, working hard to find out what can be proven and rigorously testing, that is science, and it is homeschooling.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
more kid's words
Only half of us were home tonight, me and The Boy, and I was enjoyingish a bowl of ramen noodles while he had leftover peddi (spaghetti). With my hurty jaw, it was almost the right thing, though I'm not sure how much chewing of noodles occured as opposed to just mashing them lightly before they slipped down the gullet.
After scanning the channels on the television, I settled on the newest Blue Collar comedy show and listened to Jeff Foxworthy giving his fashion rules. One of his rules had something to do with tattoos, though I forget now exactly what he said. Tip to other bloggers, sometimes you should write the shit down so you don't forget if you won't be posting right away. More likely that's a tip for me, but it's out there now.
Regardless of the exactness, Foxworthy said something to the effect of not everyone should have a tattoo. The Boy replied immediately to say, "Everyone should have tattoos you idiot," speaking of course to Mr. Foxworthy. I'm sure I don't know who teaches my kids to use words like idiot, but I'm glad he didn't call him worse, like a douche bag or asshole.
After scanning the channels on the television, I settled on the newest Blue Collar comedy show and listened to Jeff Foxworthy giving his fashion rules. One of his rules had something to do with tattoos, though I forget now exactly what he said. Tip to other bloggers, sometimes you should write the shit down so you don't forget if you won't be posting right away. More likely that's a tip for me, but it's out there now.
Regardless of the exactness, Foxworthy said something to the effect of not everyone should have a tattoo. The Boy replied immediately to say, "Everyone should have tattoos you idiot," speaking of course to Mr. Foxworthy. I'm sure I don't know who teaches my kids to use words like idiot, but I'm glad he didn't call him worse, like a douche bag or asshole.
wanted bacon, got a banana
Momma was nice enough to let me sleep in this morning, though when I say nice enough, the niceness was probably being nice to herself in not dealing with me as she attempted to awake me. She was also nice enough to be cooking a real breakfast, pancakes, eggs and bacon.
I ate everything including most of the bacon, but I left my last piece. I didn't want too much digestion going on as it was very close to time for my soccer game. I intended to eat it after returning home from the game, and I was rather looking forward to it. The Boy ended up getting it, but not because I didn't want it.
I did want that bacon, and I attempted to eat it. The one bite I got was excruciating.
You may not think this is a soccer story, but all good things end up being about soccer in the end. My team played pretty well today. Our front line is still passing well, and we out shot the other team by a very wide margin. Their one goal came off a muddle in the box which is how we've given up most of our goals this season. We've won our third game in a row, no thanks to a referee that just didn't seem to like us much. The game was mostly clean, but there were really just too many little calls that either didn't go our way or were missed entirely.
One call that didn't go our way was against me. An opponent and I were charging for a loose ball and were pretty dead even. I pulled out the defensive ace, the slide tackle, and launched myself feet first into the ball. It was a clean play if a little rough. We got to the ball at the same time, but my tackle took the other guy down. He came down right on top of me with a little elbow in the side of my jaw.
I've felt the jaw, pushed it and pulled it, wiggled it, opened and closed it. It doesn't hurt in its normal resting position. It doesn't hurt very much to open or close. Where it does hurt is closing it with any force, force such as it would take to eat a piece of bacon.
The bacon went to The Boy, and I got to eat a banana. Sure, my body needs the potassium more than it needs that lovely, smoky fat and meat and saltiness, but dammit, I wanted the bacon. My options for food as the night progresses seem limited at this moment to ramen noodles. They take slightly more chewing than the banana and somewhat less than the spaghetti that is my other reasonable option. I've also considered peanut butter and jelly, but I don't know that there is enough peanut butter for that, and I've got a feeling there may be some peanut butter graham crackers in The Boy's future. He's already decided against going to derby practice, opting instead to stay home with me and watch a movie, and he's refused all the leftovers in the house.
I don't know what is wrong with my jaw, aside from having a grown man land elbow first on it. I do know that it don't feel too pretty, and I'm dreading the later evening when I'm even hungrier and have already had the ramen.
I ate everything including most of the bacon, but I left my last piece. I didn't want too much digestion going on as it was very close to time for my soccer game. I intended to eat it after returning home from the game, and I was rather looking forward to it. The Boy ended up getting it, but not because I didn't want it.
I did want that bacon, and I attempted to eat it. The one bite I got was excruciating.
You may not think this is a soccer story, but all good things end up being about soccer in the end. My team played pretty well today. Our front line is still passing well, and we out shot the other team by a very wide margin. Their one goal came off a muddle in the box which is how we've given up most of our goals this season. We've won our third game in a row, no thanks to a referee that just didn't seem to like us much. The game was mostly clean, but there were really just too many little calls that either didn't go our way or were missed entirely.
One call that didn't go our way was against me. An opponent and I were charging for a loose ball and were pretty dead even. I pulled out the defensive ace, the slide tackle, and launched myself feet first into the ball. It was a clean play if a little rough. We got to the ball at the same time, but my tackle took the other guy down. He came down right on top of me with a little elbow in the side of my jaw.
I've felt the jaw, pushed it and pulled it, wiggled it, opened and closed it. It doesn't hurt in its normal resting position. It doesn't hurt very much to open or close. Where it does hurt is closing it with any force, force such as it would take to eat a piece of bacon.
The bacon went to The Boy, and I got to eat a banana. Sure, my body needs the potassium more than it needs that lovely, smoky fat and meat and saltiness, but dammit, I wanted the bacon. My options for food as the night progresses seem limited at this moment to ramen noodles. They take slightly more chewing than the banana and somewhat less than the spaghetti that is my other reasonable option. I've also considered peanut butter and jelly, but I don't know that there is enough peanut butter for that, and I've got a feeling there may be some peanut butter graham crackers in The Boy's future. He's already decided against going to derby practice, opting instead to stay home with me and watch a movie, and he's refused all the leftovers in the house.
I don't know what is wrong with my jaw, aside from having a grown man land elbow first on it. I do know that it don't feel too pretty, and I'm dreading the later evening when I'm even hungrier and have already had the ramen.
screwdriver booty
Does that title make sense to you? Does the thought of screwdriver booty give you pause? Do you want to know the story behind screwdriver booty? File this under can't make this shit up. Seriously, click HERE.
Motherfucking screwdriver-butt, monkey-spanking crazy ass shit!
Motherfucking screwdriver-butt, monkey-spanking crazy ass shit!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
ooooooooh evil cartoons
Yeah, cartoons are evil, but those cartoons you're thinking about are not the ones I'm thinking about. I spent way too much time today looking through 228 comics about the holocaust. These are the cartoons called for in the wake of the mohamed cartoons in the Danish newspaper.
We all remember the story, the Danish newspaper that ran comics featuring the islamic holy man mohammed. The comics incited the crazy part of the muslim world to freak out for a few days and throw bombs. Apparently, to prove a point, the muslims then called for retaliatory comics regarding their disbelief in the holocaust.
What struck me most throughout my reading was the mindlessness being hurled back and forth. Conspiracy theories were the norm in addition to the racism and hatred. The hatred seemed driven by a combination of religion and racism.
I really don't know what to think about the middle east. I know some amount of the tension is oil driven, but the oil isn't helping that many people there, and I wonder sometimes why anyone would stay. It seems insane to me who has picked up and moved a few times over the years. I suppose that's one of the beauties of not being born in that area.
I might be able to tell you a thing or two about living in the southern US, but I know so little about Iraq, Iran, Palestine, Egypt or any of the other countries crammed into that tiny, arid zone. I was once fairly oppinionated about the area with my baptist past teaching me its own judeo-christian view, and I have to make an effort not to let that continue to color my thoughts on the area now.
A perfect example of this inability to understand is the Iraq civil war. We in the US are certainly somewhat to blame for the crisis, but what is it that makes neighbors turn guns on each other based on doctrinal differences within the same religion?
We can try the issue raised in the comics. What makes Israel and Palestine get stuck in this endless loop of violence? Is it all oil? British and now American imperialism? Superstitious fucking nitwits? Is there really a zionist plot? What kind of people put bombs on kids?
It seems sometimes as if a certain part of the muslim world is stuck in a whole other time period from the rest of the world. One thing that stands out to me. Over the years, I can think of any number of US military incursions, and for the most part, we seem to go in and do whatever the guvment tells us they do, and then we get out. What international news I can remember over my short time on the earth has always involved the middle east and jews and muslims regardless of whether the other stories were Kosovo or the Philipines or Nicaragua. Who the hell even remembers Imelda Marcos anymore?
I'm done writing with I don't know, otherwise this post will turn into an anti-religion rant. I try not to hate it, to try to let people have their things, but it gets hard when diverging dogmas seem so often to result in killing and more killing. I just don't get it.
Hat tip to Orac at Science Blogs
Go here if you really want to sit through a bunch of racist cartoons that don't even have the decency to be funny.
We all remember the story, the Danish newspaper that ran comics featuring the islamic holy man mohammed. The comics incited the crazy part of the muslim world to freak out for a few days and throw bombs. Apparently, to prove a point, the muslims then called for retaliatory comics regarding their disbelief in the holocaust.
What struck me most throughout my reading was the mindlessness being hurled back and forth. Conspiracy theories were the norm in addition to the racism and hatred. The hatred seemed driven by a combination of religion and racism.
I really don't know what to think about the middle east. I know some amount of the tension is oil driven, but the oil isn't helping that many people there, and I wonder sometimes why anyone would stay. It seems insane to me who has picked up and moved a few times over the years. I suppose that's one of the beauties of not being born in that area.
I might be able to tell you a thing or two about living in the southern US, but I know so little about Iraq, Iran, Palestine, Egypt or any of the other countries crammed into that tiny, arid zone. I was once fairly oppinionated about the area with my baptist past teaching me its own judeo-christian view, and I have to make an effort not to let that continue to color my thoughts on the area now.
A perfect example of this inability to understand is the Iraq civil war. We in the US are certainly somewhat to blame for the crisis, but what is it that makes neighbors turn guns on each other based on doctrinal differences within the same religion?
We can try the issue raised in the comics. What makes Israel and Palestine get stuck in this endless loop of violence? Is it all oil? British and now American imperialism? Superstitious fucking nitwits? Is there really a zionist plot? What kind of people put bombs on kids?
It seems sometimes as if a certain part of the muslim world is stuck in a whole other time period from the rest of the world. One thing that stands out to me. Over the years, I can think of any number of US military incursions, and for the most part, we seem to go in and do whatever the guvment tells us they do, and then we get out. What international news I can remember over my short time on the earth has always involved the middle east and jews and muslims regardless of whether the other stories were Kosovo or the Philipines or Nicaragua. Who the hell even remembers Imelda Marcos anymore?
I'm done writing with I don't know, otherwise this post will turn into an anti-religion rant. I try not to hate it, to try to let people have their things, but it gets hard when diverging dogmas seem so often to result in killing and more killing. I just don't get it.
Hat tip to Orac at Science Blogs
Go here if you really want to sit through a bunch of racist cartoons that don't even have the decency to be funny.
Friday, November 03, 2006
two wins in a row
Many years ago, somewhere between 1986 and 1988, I played my first soccer. I attended a fairly small christian school and played football my eighth grade year which was the year all the football size people either graduated or left to attend a different school, so the next year we could not reasonably pretend that we were going to have a football team. So we were given soccer.
I was never a really big football fan, though I do watch at least a little of the yearly squaring off of the Vols and the Bulldogs. I always hope that Georgia wins, and I'm usually given that joy by the final buzzer. And there is a little someone inside of me that gets a little feeling when I hear Larry Munson's voice, sort of an aural time machine.
The small christian school grew much smaller the year I'd have been a senior, though I was on the soccer team each year till then. That isn't any sort of brag of course as even the two seventh graders that we lapped while running laps around the field made the team. These were kids that would never have made the team in a public school, and good little christians that we were, we were still total dicks to these poor kids.
So then came the years in which I didn't play any soccer. When the small christian school ceased half its operations I was "homeschooled" and no longer was able to play. The quotes above are not scare quotes because my own adventures as a homeschool kid were not what you'd call real overly homeschooley and as such are a whole other post. That was my twelfth grade year.
After a few years of all sorts of trouble I ended up in North Carolina for a few years. I met Momma in what certainly wasn't love at first sight for either of us, but this is one more instance of different post, different day. The point here is that I ended up getting her pregnant which prompted our move to Tennessee. The pregnancy produced Big Brother.
Another few years passed before Big Brother was old enough for soccer. We'd decided to homeschool and had never really considered sports. Neither Momma or I were really sports fans at this point. I still had fond memories of those days playing soccer, and I'd even carried a pair of cleats between different moves, never using them but hoping one day to find a game. I didn't really look, but in my defense, I was pretty busy doing drugs before the whole baby thing.
Those cleats were nowhere to be found when I finally did get that chance at a game. I think it was Big Brother's first season playing AYSO, possibly his second. I didn't coach his first season, but I soon realized that, not only did AYSO need volunteers, but I was not going to stay off the field. It just so happened that another coach needed some players to fill out his team that played in an adult league. He was wandering across the soccer complex and happened to randomly introduce himself and invite me to play.
That began my adult soccer years. The cleats I have now are a lot like my old high school cleats, the cheap kind of Adidas that have that annoying little bit of extra toe. They fit all right, and I do hate the living shit out of them, and they work well enough. I could stand to stop smoking and start exercising, but I figure playing soccer once or twice a week is good enough to cover both those.
This story started out being about winning two weeks in a row. Being on a decent team isn't something I'm used to. Maybe I've been on decent teams that weren't as well coached as they could have been, but that's probably just adult sour grapes about a certain high school basketball coach. It's nice having won these games.
Now that I've finally reached my point, I find that I've written as much about soccer as I care to for one night. We have a game coming up with a team we played earlier in the season. They were recently beaten by one of the teams we beat, though I remember them winning our earlier match. We'll see Sunday how that turns out.
I was never a really big football fan, though I do watch at least a little of the yearly squaring off of the Vols and the Bulldogs. I always hope that Georgia wins, and I'm usually given that joy by the final buzzer. And there is a little someone inside of me that gets a little feeling when I hear Larry Munson's voice, sort of an aural time machine.
The small christian school grew much smaller the year I'd have been a senior, though I was on the soccer team each year till then. That isn't any sort of brag of course as even the two seventh graders that we lapped while running laps around the field made the team. These were kids that would never have made the team in a public school, and good little christians that we were, we were still total dicks to these poor kids.
So then came the years in which I didn't play any soccer. When the small christian school ceased half its operations I was "homeschooled" and no longer was able to play. The quotes above are not scare quotes because my own adventures as a homeschool kid were not what you'd call real overly homeschooley and as such are a whole other post. That was my twelfth grade year.
After a few years of all sorts of trouble I ended up in North Carolina for a few years. I met Momma in what certainly wasn't love at first sight for either of us, but this is one more instance of different post, different day. The point here is that I ended up getting her pregnant which prompted our move to Tennessee. The pregnancy produced Big Brother.
Another few years passed before Big Brother was old enough for soccer. We'd decided to homeschool and had never really considered sports. Neither Momma or I were really sports fans at this point. I still had fond memories of those days playing soccer, and I'd even carried a pair of cleats between different moves, never using them but hoping one day to find a game. I didn't really look, but in my defense, I was pretty busy doing drugs before the whole baby thing.
Those cleats were nowhere to be found when I finally did get that chance at a game. I think it was Big Brother's first season playing AYSO, possibly his second. I didn't coach his first season, but I soon realized that, not only did AYSO need volunteers, but I was not going to stay off the field. It just so happened that another coach needed some players to fill out his team that played in an adult league. He was wandering across the soccer complex and happened to randomly introduce himself and invite me to play.
That began my adult soccer years. The cleats I have now are a lot like my old high school cleats, the cheap kind of Adidas that have that annoying little bit of extra toe. They fit all right, and I do hate the living shit out of them, and they work well enough. I could stand to stop smoking and start exercising, but I figure playing soccer once or twice a week is good enough to cover both those.
This story started out being about winning two weeks in a row. Being on a decent team isn't something I'm used to. Maybe I've been on decent teams that weren't as well coached as they could have been, but that's probably just adult sour grapes about a certain high school basketball coach. It's nice having won these games.
Now that I've finally reached my point, I find that I've written as much about soccer as I care to for one night. We have a game coming up with a team we played earlier in the season. They were recently beaten by one of the teams we beat, though I remember them winning our earlier match. We'll see Sunday how that turns out.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
'nother quickie
From the classifieds in the most recent edition of our local alternative newsweekly comes this proof that we should all proofread and run spell check. The ad is for a finance company seeking a secretary/assistant. Among the requirements is "basic offive skills." I want to blame the finance company as I tend to like those employees of the newspaper that I've met, but . . .
another silly quote
Even I laughed at myself when I built this alien cross genetic DNA analyzer, but I guess I showed me.
-Proffesor Hubert Farnsworth, Futurama
-Proffesor Hubert Farnsworth, Futurama
thinking about thinking
I've sucked at posting lately, and I fully intend to remedy that. I have a whole pile of ideas that I've planned on thinking about writing about. I've also gone a few days without posting before the last couple of days in which I've been a bit more diligent.
Sunday night saw a very exciting derby match. I also played soccer that day, and I'm happy to say that we've won two games in a row. Big Brother's season should have been over this past Saturday, but we have a final make up game this week. As much as I love coaching his teams, I'm always happy when the season is over. I've gotten sucked into the reality cooking show on Bravo, having almost completely ignored it in the past. I actually got into the end of the last season based on the characters/chefs.
Right now I'm sort of watching Ultimate Fighter 4. The Boy is in pajamas and has just asked for cake, which he'll probably get, though my original plan was to have him in bed by now while we read some Winnie the Pooh. After that is probably some co-op Lego Star Wars with Big Brother while I wait long enough to be sure that The Boy is asleep and then run Big Brother off to bed. Momma is at work and is closing tonight, though the restaurant closes at midnight tonight meaning that this isn't a really late night.
There's a rundown of possible topics for me. That doesn't even delve into the mindless drivel I call political discourse. Okay, I don't really call it that, because even in my mind I know better than giving myself that kind of credit. I can come up with other stuff too, entirely new topics that I've yet to cover. So until then . . .
Sunday night saw a very exciting derby match. I also played soccer that day, and I'm happy to say that we've won two games in a row. Big Brother's season should have been over this past Saturday, but we have a final make up game this week. As much as I love coaching his teams, I'm always happy when the season is over. I've gotten sucked into the reality cooking show on Bravo, having almost completely ignored it in the past. I actually got into the end of the last season based on the characters/chefs.
Right now I'm sort of watching Ultimate Fighter 4. The Boy is in pajamas and has just asked for cake, which he'll probably get, though my original plan was to have him in bed by now while we read some Winnie the Pooh. After that is probably some co-op Lego Star Wars with Big Brother while I wait long enough to be sure that The Boy is asleep and then run Big Brother off to bed. Momma is at work and is closing tonight, though the restaurant closes at midnight tonight meaning that this isn't a really late night.
There's a rundown of possible topics for me. That doesn't even delve into the mindless drivel I call political discourse. Okay, I don't really call it that, because even in my mind I know better than giving myself that kind of credit. I can come up with other stuff too, entirely new topics that I've yet to cover. So until then . . .
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
new toy perhaps?
So, because someone (all the cool kids?) else did it, and because they said it was cool, and because I'm a sucker for cool, I have hopefully done everything correctly in setting up MyBlogLog. This is a fancy new thing that somehow or other makes the blogging/commenting world that much brighter and friendlier. I won't even attempt to explain what it is, and I'm not even sure I've got the code right. If you don't see it on the page, then I've fucked something up. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, that's fine, because I don't either. The Zero Boss does, and he posted about it as you'll learn if you click his name up there. I'll mention again that I'm not sure I've done everything right, so maybe I'm talking about things not to be. Or perhaps I'll just break my brain tomorrow night figuring it out. I've dedicated enough time to it tonight.
death by gay equality
Okay, perhaps I've argued for equality on occasion, like letting gay people have the same rights as the not gay people. And up to a point, I'm certainly happy to oblige the gays of the world. But I've had to point out to people the nightmare scenario of gay marriage one too many times. I fear that, due to Ed Brayton preaching the gay equality message, I must once again break open a package of truth, though I promise to leave the buttery spread of morality off this time.
Will gay marriage allow gay families the same rights afforded those with differently gendered parents? Will marriage equality allow aging gay couples the same rights as the not gays when one of the gays is hospitalized for some reason? Yes, they would be able to visit, such a simple act, taken for granted by the hetero couples. Will marriage equality make adoption by gay couples easier and thereby enhance the quality of life for some children who may otherwise live out their lives between foster homes? It is entirely possible that this may indeed happen. Those are only a few scenarios in which equality would work to make some lives better.
The arguments we generally hear against equality for gay people are generally mindless religious based meanness and spite. The closest we get to arguments are not good arguments and are often lies instead. So why do politicians fight so hard against something they know is destined? Why not be the good guy and help equality legislation get through? Title IX means that we now have a good national soccer team, so maybe gay equality will be good in a similar vein.
I've said it before, and I fear that I must continue to proclaim the news about gay marriage. It may be good for families and for society and for gay people to grant them the same equality that they should have had all this time, but that ignores the chilling truth of gay marriage.
When gay marriage is legalized finally, our world will immediately face its doom. Earthquakes will ravage the entire surface of the earth as the nazi tyrannosaurs break free from their underground cages. As they break through and out of their nests, their laser eyes will develop fully. Nazi tyrannosaur with laser eyes will then stalk the earth killing all who dare appear. We will all, gay and not gay, atheist and superstitious alike, be nothing more than food for the hungry laser eyes and gullets.
So, sure, we could start treating gay people as equal partners in humanity, kind of like we should have been doing all along with the gay people, the differently hued people and the non-penis havers, but when you've got an ass full of nazi tyrannosaur laser eye, don't come fucking crying to me because I told you so.
Will gay marriage allow gay families the same rights afforded those with differently gendered parents? Will marriage equality allow aging gay couples the same rights as the not gays when one of the gays is hospitalized for some reason? Yes, they would be able to visit, such a simple act, taken for granted by the hetero couples. Will marriage equality make adoption by gay couples easier and thereby enhance the quality of life for some children who may otherwise live out their lives between foster homes? It is entirely possible that this may indeed happen. Those are only a few scenarios in which equality would work to make some lives better.
The arguments we generally hear against equality for gay people are generally mindless religious based meanness and spite. The closest we get to arguments are not good arguments and are often lies instead. So why do politicians fight so hard against something they know is destined? Why not be the good guy and help equality legislation get through? Title IX means that we now have a good national soccer team, so maybe gay equality will be good in a similar vein.
I've said it before, and I fear that I must continue to proclaim the news about gay marriage. It may be good for families and for society and for gay people to grant them the same equality that they should have had all this time, but that ignores the chilling truth of gay marriage.
When gay marriage is legalized finally, our world will immediately face its doom. Earthquakes will ravage the entire surface of the earth as the nazi tyrannosaurs break free from their underground cages. As they break through and out of their nests, their laser eyes will develop fully. Nazi tyrannosaur with laser eyes will then stalk the earth killing all who dare appear. We will all, gay and not gay, atheist and superstitious alike, be nothing more than food for the hungry laser eyes and gullets.
So, sure, we could start treating gay people as equal partners in humanity, kind of like we should have been doing all along with the gay people, the differently hued people and the non-penis havers, but when you've got an ass full of nazi tyrannosaur laser eye, don't come fucking crying to me because I told you so.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
These are of course the boys, and they are of course wearing their Halloween costumes. The Boy is a darling little cat. He was especially cute telling people "trick or treat" and "thank you" with a quick "meow."Big Brother is the grim reaper. He looked like the reaper in person, but this picture gives him a bit of the Emperor Palpatine showing us the happy side of the dark side.
Hallowe'en etiquette
This isn't a new irritant for me. It is certainly a seasonal irritation manifest each year on Halloween night when all the darling ghouls and monsters roam the streets in search of candy. I know that in some cases, the kids might get a little crazy, perhaps making a run on the jumbo size package of toilet paper for use in decorating a favored teacher's house. My rant has nothing to do with those generally expected hauntings, those kids acting out as the character they've chosen to dress up as, the over indulgence in sugar for the night and into the next week. No, my ire is aimed at a particular type of parent.
Part of trick or treating, in my humble opinion, is the walk. Trick or treating, whether in your own neighborhood or in a more candy conscious neighborhood, is an active affair. I won't deride those people who choose to trick or treat outside of their close streets. The street we live on is fairly empty and involves quite a walk to the nearest candy giving homes as there aren't a lot of young kids or even young parents. I also don't include our more rural friends for whom a nice walk door to door is nearly impossible.
In my opinion, it is not acceptable to drive your children door to door to trick or treat.
I'd love to think that this is not something that happens across the country. I'd love to believe that only a few people down here in the south really think it's okay to drive house to house to trick or treat. I wonder perhaps if these asses are just trying to hit more neighborhoods so that they can get more candy that they then freeze in order to avoid buying candy throughout the year. Perhaps they really are just asses that not only don't care to spend the time with their kids but also think they're ability to purchase the gas is justification for using more than their share.
A major bonus of trick or treating is the walk. Halloween is a great evening to spend time with your children and neighbors. The walk is always fun, meandering up one side of the block with the kids, admiring those costumes on all the neighborhood kids, enjoying those homes where the residents put a little extra into their decorations.
We visited with a friend tonight who was at one time our next door neighbor. We don't see her nearly enough, and she loves Halloween as much as (if not more than) we do. There were lots of families out walking the street, some large groups trailing children and strollers in their wake. The street was pleasantly crowded with happy kids collecting their sugary due. However, the street was also filled with cars roving slowly, stopping at the houses with the light on to disgorge themselves of their young content. The parents sat in the car waiting while the kids ran to the door.
Along the same lines was a particular mother I saw tonight. She was also doing the drive-by trick or treat, but she was doing so with a very young child attached to her hip. Attached to her opposite ear was her phone. The child was not old enough to need much candy, and I must admit that no child really needs candy regardless of age, but that's not the point. I don't care that she was trick or treating with the young child, but how much can it be for the child when not only is the child not old enough to understand, but the mother talks on the phone while carrying her child around? How rude is it to the candy givers that this mom couldn't bother to talk to them any more than it took to get her candy? This mom is a side rant, but she's indicative to me of the attitude I see in the drive-by trick or treat.
Finally I'll mention the safety issue. Driving a car on a dark street on that one night when you can most assuredly expect children to be out is just not a great idea. The potential for accidents when mixing night time, cars and children is not something that should ever be overlooked. The fact that you will willingly avoid that tiny bit of exercise is distressing, especially considering that you are out to accept a bag full of sugar and empty calories.
So, turn the car off, drag your ass out of it, and enjoy the holiday. Save a little gas, maybe save a life. Enjoy your children and all of childhood on this great holiday when we know the dead walk the earth. The dead are coming straight for those of us that drive-by trick or treat, so take warning.
Update: my kids are eight and three, below that age at which they are too cool mor Momma and me. As Audrey pointed out in the comments, while she did drive, she let the kids walk the street without Mom for this reason. This is allowable, assuming that your kids are in fact cool. Most kids are not cool, but I'm not jumping into the ps vs. hs rant right now, and that tends to color my attitudes toward childhood coolness. An eight year old in name brand clothes and a swagger? Not cool.
Also, teens pretending to be costumed by wearing a Scream mask or angel wings atop their regular clothing are not in fact costumed, though the Scream mask along with requisite robe is a costume. Teens in general should not be trick or treating, but then one has to sometimes allow for spontaneous desire to relive childhood provided the teens (or even adult in rare instances) do in fact don a true costume.
Part of trick or treating, in my humble opinion, is the walk. Trick or treating, whether in your own neighborhood or in a more candy conscious neighborhood, is an active affair. I won't deride those people who choose to trick or treat outside of their close streets. The street we live on is fairly empty and involves quite a walk to the nearest candy giving homes as there aren't a lot of young kids or even young parents. I also don't include our more rural friends for whom a nice walk door to door is nearly impossible.
In my opinion, it is not acceptable to drive your children door to door to trick or treat.
I'd love to think that this is not something that happens across the country. I'd love to believe that only a few people down here in the south really think it's okay to drive house to house to trick or treat. I wonder perhaps if these asses are just trying to hit more neighborhoods so that they can get more candy that they then freeze in order to avoid buying candy throughout the year. Perhaps they really are just asses that not only don't care to spend the time with their kids but also think they're ability to purchase the gas is justification for using more than their share.
A major bonus of trick or treating is the walk. Halloween is a great evening to spend time with your children and neighbors. The walk is always fun, meandering up one side of the block with the kids, admiring those costumes on all the neighborhood kids, enjoying those homes where the residents put a little extra into their decorations.
We visited with a friend tonight who was at one time our next door neighbor. We don't see her nearly enough, and she loves Halloween as much as (if not more than) we do. There were lots of families out walking the street, some large groups trailing children and strollers in their wake. The street was pleasantly crowded with happy kids collecting their sugary due. However, the street was also filled with cars roving slowly, stopping at the houses with the light on to disgorge themselves of their young content. The parents sat in the car waiting while the kids ran to the door.
Along the same lines was a particular mother I saw tonight. She was also doing the drive-by trick or treat, but she was doing so with a very young child attached to her hip. Attached to her opposite ear was her phone. The child was not old enough to need much candy, and I must admit that no child really needs candy regardless of age, but that's not the point. I don't care that she was trick or treating with the young child, but how much can it be for the child when not only is the child not old enough to understand, but the mother talks on the phone while carrying her child around? How rude is it to the candy givers that this mom couldn't bother to talk to them any more than it took to get her candy? This mom is a side rant, but she's indicative to me of the attitude I see in the drive-by trick or treat.
Finally I'll mention the safety issue. Driving a car on a dark street on that one night when you can most assuredly expect children to be out is just not a great idea. The potential for accidents when mixing night time, cars and children is not something that should ever be overlooked. The fact that you will willingly avoid that tiny bit of exercise is distressing, especially considering that you are out to accept a bag full of sugar and empty calories.
So, turn the car off, drag your ass out of it, and enjoy the holiday. Save a little gas, maybe save a life. Enjoy your children and all of childhood on this great holiday when we know the dead walk the earth. The dead are coming straight for those of us that drive-by trick or treat, so take warning.
Update: my kids are eight and three, below that age at which they are too cool mor Momma and me. As Audrey pointed out in the comments, while she did drive, she let the kids walk the street without Mom for this reason. This is allowable, assuming that your kids are in fact cool. Most kids are not cool, but I'm not jumping into the ps vs. hs rant right now, and that tends to color my attitudes toward childhood coolness. An eight year old in name brand clothes and a swagger? Not cool.
Also, teens pretending to be costumed by wearing a Scream mask or angel wings atop their regular clothing are not in fact costumed, though the Scream mask along with requisite robe is a costume. Teens in general should not be trick or treating, but then one has to sometimes allow for spontaneous desire to relive childhood provided the teens (or even adult in rare instances) do in fact don a true costume.
Friday, October 27, 2006
love boat . . .
. . . la-la-la love boat, or something. I've never been a fan of the show, though I will fess up that I've seen an episode or two. I'm thinking back and guessing it was those trips to Grandma's house as a child. It's not a show my family would have watched at home, but I could imagine it was one of Grandma's stories.
So what the hell does a stupid t.v. show have to do with anything? Thanks to Chris for tipping me off that my marriage is doomed to failure, the actual news coming from good ol' Scott.
So, according to Scott, my marriage is a love boat marriage that won't last once the loving stops. Our family is not grounded in the teachings of an interstellar entity, nor are we tied to a church "family" that can ground us. Hell, without believing in god, we are moral degenerate sinners just interested in the flesh and fornication and probably boobies.
So, you're stuck in a love boat marriage that is based on some fairly sound qualities. Yet you suddenly realize that you're damned because your marriage is founded somewhat on love. You know that love has no place in marriage, yet you aren't sure what you're missing. Let's ask Scott.
I must say that, based solely on his own words, that Scott sounds like a real dream, as he mentions explicitly that he often hurts and offends his wife. My wife and I often disagree on things, and we sometimes have complications that arise due to misunderstanding each other, but I really can't say that we often hurt or offend each other. I also don't try to make her subservient to me. That would sink this love boat marriage almost as quick as one of us trying to bring the Jesus. Jesus and dominating the partner are really bad for marriage in my opinion.
So what have we learned? A strong marriage is taped together with god. A strong marriage doesn't involve trust or communication, just lots of god, heaped on with the big spoon. Add the gravy of patriarchal leadership and salt and pepper of matriarchal submission, and you've got yourself a marriage that will last the ages. Love, trust, equality? Those are for suckers!
So what the hell does a stupid t.v. show have to do with anything? Thanks to Chris for tipping me off that my marriage is doomed to failure, the actual news coming from good ol' Scott.
So, according to Scott, my marriage is a love boat marriage that won't last once the loving stops. Our family is not grounded in the teachings of an interstellar entity, nor are we tied to a church "family" that can ground us. Hell, without believing in god, we are moral degenerate sinners just interested in the flesh and fornication and probably boobies.
So, you're stuck in a love boat marriage that is based on some fairly sound qualities. Yet you suddenly realize that you're damned because your marriage is founded somewhat on love. You know that love has no place in marriage, yet you aren't sure what you're missing. Let's ask Scott.
A strong family finds its purpose in God. (Ephesians 3:14.)Wow, just follow these simple rules. But god doesn't exist, the gospel is a collection of barely related myths and legends, and I absolutely detest both church and the kind of people you find there. Now what?
A strong family finds its hope in the Gospel. (1 Corinthians 15:3-4.)
A strong family finds its home in the local church. (1 Corinthians 12:18.)
I must say that, based solely on his own words, that Scott sounds like a real dream, as he mentions explicitly that he often hurts and offends his wife. My wife and I often disagree on things, and we sometimes have complications that arise due to misunderstanding each other, but I really can't say that we often hurt or offend each other. I also don't try to make her subservient to me. That would sink this love boat marriage almost as quick as one of us trying to bring the Jesus. Jesus and dominating the partner are really bad for marriage in my opinion.
So what have we learned? A strong marriage is taped together with god. A strong marriage doesn't involve trust or communication, just lots of god, heaped on with the big spoon. Add the gravy of patriarchal leadership and salt and pepper of matriarchal submission, and you've got yourself a marriage that will last the ages. Love, trust, equality? Those are for suckers!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
marriage, the gays are good for all of us
As much as the recent ruling in New Jersey concerning gay marriage seems like a promising little candle in the dark, I'm afraid of what the ruling may reap in other elections around the country. We live in sadly backward times that seem like the worst of our history is coming back to haunt us all too often. How will NJ affect my own state that is sadly a little less liberal than some. Both our Senatorial candidates are against gay equality.
But for now, I want to look at this ruling as possibly being a good thing. Beyond what it can hopefully do for gay equality, what it can do for us all is possibly more hopeful. We can't force churches and religions to accept certain standards of morality and acceptance, so what we have to do in regards to religion is to take marriage away from them. They are corrupting the idea as much as (if not more than) anyone else.
My wife and I are atheists. We were married in a Methodist church by her grandmother's minister at that church. This wasn't a man we met for any longer than it took to get the "counseling" and then get married. He was a nice enough guy for what it's worth, and we certainly mean no harm to his belief system, but the whole point of it for us was the legal aspect. We were newly pregnant and rearranging out life to prepare for this event.
As an aside, pulling out is not birth control. This is a statement I make quite often to the people around me, many of whom may not know this fact. I make it as the chance arises because I feel it needs to be known. Birth control is easy to come by and functions quite well for the most part. Pulling out is not effective as a birth control option. Tell one person this news this week, preferably someone young.
Now, back to the marryin' that was the point in the first place.
We were married in a christian ceremony for the benefit of our families. We both come from extremely different backgrounds. She was raised Methodist, while I was raised Baptist. Neither of us cared at all about the actual ceremony other than that it was a nice thing to have, and given more choice in the matter, we would very likely have held a wedding of our own design. I can only imagine how that would have turned out, but with pending baby to think of, we couldn't really party that hearty anyway.
So, I'm committed to remain married by having sworn to a god that I don't believe in, or as I see it, my wife and I, in addition to having created children together, have agreed to a certain relationship with each other. We signed some legal documents at the City Hall at the Mall office where we also get our driver's licenses renewed and can pay city taxes. Momma took my last name, so we had to visit the federal building to get her name changed on her social security card.
So, I've told you a little about my wedding. That in no way tells you anything about my marriage. There's this certain relationship I have with my wife that I don't share with anyone else. It has nothing to do with legal or church business. The church part of this relationship began and ended at the ceremony, and Momma was pregnant and wore white. She was pregnant enough that those of us who knew were sure it showed a little. Her grandmother wasn't happy when she heard sometime later, but what can you do? She was happy enough at the ceremony.
All this begs the question, what the hell does the religious aspect of marriage have to do with shit? And why don't they just leave gay people alone already? Why do christians still give a shit that, if I wanted, I could go 69 on a dude all night and still get up in the morning and do my job and love America? And maybe I have a really sweet job, and that dude and I have a very deep and committed relationship, and we also have a child. Perhaps my employer would like to provide insurance for my family like he does for Johnson's family in the next cubicle over. Johnson, a deacon and choir director, married a girl and they have kids too, meaning that they also have sex. Johnson and I both love our respective spouses very deeply and want to provide for them and our children as best we can. But Johnson isn't doing a dude in the pooper, so his family is valid, while mine is not? Because that's what it comes down to. That's the only difference. If you found that Johnson's wife liked a little anal once in a while, would you condemn them?
But for now, I want to look at this ruling as possibly being a good thing. Beyond what it can hopefully do for gay equality, what it can do for us all is possibly more hopeful. We can't force churches and religions to accept certain standards of morality and acceptance, so what we have to do in regards to religion is to take marriage away from them. They are corrupting the idea as much as (if not more than) anyone else.
My wife and I are atheists. We were married in a Methodist church by her grandmother's minister at that church. This wasn't a man we met for any longer than it took to get the "counseling" and then get married. He was a nice enough guy for what it's worth, and we certainly mean no harm to his belief system, but the whole point of it for us was the legal aspect. We were newly pregnant and rearranging out life to prepare for this event.
As an aside, pulling out is not birth control. This is a statement I make quite often to the people around me, many of whom may not know this fact. I make it as the chance arises because I feel it needs to be known. Birth control is easy to come by and functions quite well for the most part. Pulling out is not effective as a birth control option. Tell one person this news this week, preferably someone young.
Now, back to the marryin' that was the point in the first place.
We were married in a christian ceremony for the benefit of our families. We both come from extremely different backgrounds. She was raised Methodist, while I was raised Baptist. Neither of us cared at all about the actual ceremony other than that it was a nice thing to have, and given more choice in the matter, we would very likely have held a wedding of our own design. I can only imagine how that would have turned out, but with pending baby to think of, we couldn't really party that hearty anyway.
So, I'm committed to remain married by having sworn to a god that I don't believe in, or as I see it, my wife and I, in addition to having created children together, have agreed to a certain relationship with each other. We signed some legal documents at the City Hall at the Mall office where we also get our driver's licenses renewed and can pay city taxes. Momma took my last name, so we had to visit the federal building to get her name changed on her social security card.
So, I've told you a little about my wedding. That in no way tells you anything about my marriage. There's this certain relationship I have with my wife that I don't share with anyone else. It has nothing to do with legal or church business. The church part of this relationship began and ended at the ceremony, and Momma was pregnant and wore white. She was pregnant enough that those of us who knew were sure it showed a little. Her grandmother wasn't happy when she heard sometime later, but what can you do? She was happy enough at the ceremony.
All this begs the question, what the hell does the religious aspect of marriage have to do with shit? And why don't they just leave gay people alone already? Why do christians still give a shit that, if I wanted, I could go 69 on a dude all night and still get up in the morning and do my job and love America? And maybe I have a really sweet job, and that dude and I have a very deep and committed relationship, and we also have a child. Perhaps my employer would like to provide insurance for my family like he does for Johnson's family in the next cubicle over. Johnson, a deacon and choir director, married a girl and they have kids too, meaning that they also have sex. Johnson and I both love our respective spouses very deeply and want to provide for them and our children as best we can. But Johnson isn't doing a dude in the pooper, so his family is valid, while mine is not? Because that's what it comes down to. That's the only difference. If you found that Johnson's wife liked a little anal once in a while, would you condemn them?
Monday, October 23, 2006
on both metal and holiday (xmas) music
Yes, I will in one single post discuss my feelings on both metal music and those timeless songs we all know as Christmas music.
First I will freely admit to a near loathing of most Christmas/holiday music. In some instances, the overt religiousness of the songs is just wearing thin over time. In other instances it's just that the songs mostly suck long and hard. As with any genre/style of music, I will happily acknowledge those rare songs that actually do not suck.
My feelings about heavy metal are not quite as strong. I can easily avoid hearing metal for the most part, and if the singer isn't doing that stupid growly thing, I can nearly enjoy it when I can't avoid hearing it. As mentioned above, there are of course those bands, Black Sabbath before Ozzy left, that made amazing music. What I've heard lately calling itself metal does seem mostly to suck, but that's not where I'm going with this.
This post is all thanks to Chris and his posting of the link to Twisted Sister at Myspace. They've got four Christmas songs up that are worth a listen if you don't think Satan will come out of the metal and rape your soul. Growing up Baptist enough will do that sort of thing to you and make you think some fairly crazy shit.
Momma and I, mostly through Momma's efforts, have amassed a small collection of Christmas music that we can both enjoy. She's had a similar aversion to Christmas music, though hers seems more stylistic in that she's as tired as I am of the same old songs being trotted out each year. Christmas music gets mighty pervasive, a situation I dread anew each year. But I know that we have our stash, and when it gets too much, and I actually feel like hearing Christmas music, I can retreat to the safety of that stash.
Certainly this discussion begs the question, as an atheist, what am I actually celebrating at Christmas? I don't believe the baby-saviour-king story, and I don't especially care for winter itself, so religiously and solsticely, it's a pretty pointless holiday for me. I'm not even going to pretend I think world peace is attainable given the human track record for not settling problems sensibly, so that whole plea-for-peace aspect of Christmas is mostly annoying because no one ever really means it in the end. In the end, I think Christmas causes just as much despair as joy.
But I find that regardless of my true nature, I almost somehow every year seem to enjoy Christmas, debt be damned, and I tend to blame it on the kids. Metal? I don't entirely not like it, but I also don't really like it. In the end, Christmas and metal in general just don't seem made for me.
I considered briefly adding a link that would indicate the sort of warping discourse I was given considering the evils of metal in my youth. Many people remember metal from the '80's as part of their personal history. I remember metal as a slide show in a dark church auditorium, and I was then scared of those two kids I knew that actually listened to metal. Once I got into googling the different ways of phrasing that would get what I was looking for, I decided that I would neither relive nor offer to others that particular slice of my history. Google it yourself.
First I will freely admit to a near loathing of most Christmas/holiday music. In some instances, the overt religiousness of the songs is just wearing thin over time. In other instances it's just that the songs mostly suck long and hard. As with any genre/style of music, I will happily acknowledge those rare songs that actually do not suck.
My feelings about heavy metal are not quite as strong. I can easily avoid hearing metal for the most part, and if the singer isn't doing that stupid growly thing, I can nearly enjoy it when I can't avoid hearing it. As mentioned above, there are of course those bands, Black Sabbath before Ozzy left, that made amazing music. What I've heard lately calling itself metal does seem mostly to suck, but that's not where I'm going with this.
This post is all thanks to Chris and his posting of the link to Twisted Sister at Myspace. They've got four Christmas songs up that are worth a listen if you don't think Satan will come out of the metal and rape your soul. Growing up Baptist enough will do that sort of thing to you and make you think some fairly crazy shit.
Momma and I, mostly through Momma's efforts, have amassed a small collection of Christmas music that we can both enjoy. She's had a similar aversion to Christmas music, though hers seems more stylistic in that she's as tired as I am of the same old songs being trotted out each year. Christmas music gets mighty pervasive, a situation I dread anew each year. But I know that we have our stash, and when it gets too much, and I actually feel like hearing Christmas music, I can retreat to the safety of that stash.
Certainly this discussion begs the question, as an atheist, what am I actually celebrating at Christmas? I don't believe the baby-saviour-king story, and I don't especially care for winter itself, so religiously and solsticely, it's a pretty pointless holiday for me. I'm not even going to pretend I think world peace is attainable given the human track record for not settling problems sensibly, so that whole plea-for-peace aspect of Christmas is mostly annoying because no one ever really means it in the end. In the end, I think Christmas causes just as much despair as joy.
But I find that regardless of my true nature, I almost somehow every year seem to enjoy Christmas, debt be damned, and I tend to blame it on the kids. Metal? I don't entirely not like it, but I also don't really like it. In the end, Christmas and metal in general just don't seem made for me.
I considered briefly adding a link that would indicate the sort of warping discourse I was given considering the evils of metal in my youth. Many people remember metal from the '80's as part of their personal history. I remember metal as a slide show in a dark church auditorium, and I was then scared of those two kids I knew that actually listened to metal. Once I got into googling the different ways of phrasing that would get what I was looking for, I decided that I would neither relive nor offer to others that particular slice of my history. Google it yourself.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
this test says I'm not the problem
I'm pretty cool with this, especially considering I don't feel like the sharpest cog in the something or other. It's one of those days where I have all of the six pack, but the little plastic thing that keeps the cans together is missing. I'm a wee bit hung over and damning the whiskey. But at least my stupid is little.
Monday, October 16, 2006
idiotic grocer bagging
I've mentioned at least once before what has become a constant source of irritation in my life. Of course, I've mentioned many constant sources of irritation, but the jackassery that is grocery bagging at the local store just astounds me.
This is the list of items I purchased at the store: one six-pack Highland Brewing Company Oatmeal Porter, one package extra firm tofu, one package Asian style bean sprouts, one bunch green onions, one zucchini, one package shittake mushrooms, one bag of dog food and one jug of automatic dishwashing detergent. There were also two packs of cigarettes, but those don't really matter in the bagging process. The cashier is as likely to hand them directly to me as she is to send them down the conveyor belt to the once retired bagger stealing his grandson's job because his guvment checks aint quite cutting it these days.
They always bag the beer, and I refuse to use the bag when the beer comes in a convenient carrying case, has a built in handle at the top, weighs several pounds and has corners at the bottom just waiting to rip through those bags and lose me my beer. Sometimes they double bag it, but they never don't bag it if I tell/ask them not to, so these times are extra wasteful.
The zucchini, green onions and bean sprouts were in one bag, and as I put them away after arriving home, I noticed that my mushrooms weren't there. I worried at first that I'd left them at the store, and I thought about it for a moment, making sure that I had indeed purchased mushrooms. I've not gotten mushrooms plenty of times as the more exotic mushrooms often don't sell quickly in this part of town. They sometimes get a little old, and I passed over some oyster mushrooms recently when I saw the funk exuding onto the inside of the package.
My mushrooms and tofu, both of which could easily have been in with the produce, were in the same bag as the dish detergent. Why? I really don't know, but perhaps Grampaw Baggem counts out the items and loads the bags by number of items as opposed to a much more intelligent system whereby produce and chemical agents don't inhabit the same bag. All the produce and the tofu combined weigh less than the detergent, which would also be a sensible concept to keep in mind when bagging.
So that's my rant du jour, assuming I don't swing back by with some more pissoffedness. Damn, I just went and made up another Harold Ford Jr. word. I'm now going to the garage to create an aura of ensmokedness with a cigarette.
And in case anyone cares or was wondering, a stir fry. The mushrooms, zuchini, green onions and tofu, but probably not the bean sprouts. I don't know what I'll do with them.
This is the list of items I purchased at the store: one six-pack Highland Brewing Company Oatmeal Porter, one package extra firm tofu, one package Asian style bean sprouts, one bunch green onions, one zucchini, one package shittake mushrooms, one bag of dog food and one jug of automatic dishwashing detergent. There were also two packs of cigarettes, but those don't really matter in the bagging process. The cashier is as likely to hand them directly to me as she is to send them down the conveyor belt to the once retired bagger stealing his grandson's job because his guvment checks aint quite cutting it these days.
They always bag the beer, and I refuse to use the bag when the beer comes in a convenient carrying case, has a built in handle at the top, weighs several pounds and has corners at the bottom just waiting to rip through those bags and lose me my beer. Sometimes they double bag it, but they never don't bag it if I tell/ask them not to, so these times are extra wasteful.
The zucchini, green onions and bean sprouts were in one bag, and as I put them away after arriving home, I noticed that my mushrooms weren't there. I worried at first that I'd left them at the store, and I thought about it for a moment, making sure that I had indeed purchased mushrooms. I've not gotten mushrooms plenty of times as the more exotic mushrooms often don't sell quickly in this part of town. They sometimes get a little old, and I passed over some oyster mushrooms recently when I saw the funk exuding onto the inside of the package.
My mushrooms and tofu, both of which could easily have been in with the produce, were in the same bag as the dish detergent. Why? I really don't know, but perhaps Grampaw Baggem counts out the items and loads the bags by number of items as opposed to a much more intelligent system whereby produce and chemical agents don't inhabit the same bag. All the produce and the tofu combined weigh less than the detergent, which would also be a sensible concept to keep in mind when bagging.
So that's my rant du jour, assuming I don't swing back by with some more pissoffedness. Damn, I just went and made up another Harold Ford Jr. word. I'm now going to the garage to create an aura of ensmokedness with a cigarette.
And in case anyone cares or was wondering, a stir fry. The mushrooms, zuchini, green onions and tofu, but probably not the bean sprouts. I don't know what I'll do with them.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
jobs held in my town since early 1998
I grew up in Atlanta and moved to Charlotte, NC less than a year after achieving the legal drinking age. There I became a restaurant person, however that happens. Do we choose that job for ourselves, those of us that become lifers, or does that job choose us? I tend to believe that it's more a combination of factors for most of us that we find that this is where we belong. One has to understand the very nature of being a restaurant person to get this, and to the rest of you, I say make up a god and thank him or her that you found something else to do. We are certainly happy that you found something else to do.
And now we are on to the real meat of this post. We learned in early 1998 that Momma was pregnant. She wasn't Momma then as there were no boys then. Big Brother of course was in production, and we had no idea about The Boy. We had no family in Charlotte and felt that, with a baby on the way, some family would be nice to have close. Our choices therefore were Atlanta or Knoxville.
I won't name names here as I list the number of restaurants I've worked at. And for all the places I've worked, it's not nearly as bad as it sounds, considering the actual average turnover rates in the industry is about 300%. There are in every restaurant some small percentage of people who've put in some years at the same place whether it's a gaudy chain store like TGI Fridays or a really cool local place like the Tomato Head. I know I said I wouldn't name names, but these are not places I have worked just yet. I never rule out a restaurant that I haven't pissed off as a potential employer, and I never know when I might end up at one of these places, so I won't say anymore about either.
The first place I worked in Knoxville was a brewpub that wanted to grow into a local chain. As it turned out, the original location in a different part of the state was the only one that lasted as far as I know. I worked here about a year. I climbed the ranks and proved my worth, and I thought that I was in line for a decent promotion. I cared about the place and worked hard. I put in the hours when I could, but I also had a pregnant wife at home. Big Brother was born while I was employed here.
I watched two kitchen managers leave before I achieved any standing as an authority figure, and then I watched the next in line get fired. The next person the company gave the job to had no idea what he was doing. I was constantly fixing problems that he created. One day I'd had enough and yelled at him most of the day. In retrospect it was a real asshole move, but I'd really had enough. The general manager met me the next day. She was getting the kitchen ready, was even wearing chef's whites as if she expected to be in the kitchen all day. Our entire conversation:
her "I didn't expect you to come in today."
me "I don't know why I did."
and I left.
Some time while employed here I delivered pizzas for a while. At some point between the time Momma quit working to have a baby and the time that she could go back to work we ran short of money. Delivering pizzas is easy money, and most pizza places need drivers all the time making it an easy job to get. It's not bad money assuming you are used to not having a hell of a lot of money in the first place and really need the money.
Next came my first downtown job. This was a turning moment in our life in this town. Prior to this we weren't really downtown folks. We hadn't really had a lot of time to explore the town and find our places. The brewpub I first worked at was in a shopping center somewhere to the west of The Strip. The next job was in the Old City which is part of downtown, and since then, I've stuck downtown.
This new place is still there and doing well though under new ownership. The new ownership and I just didn't get along which is why I got fired. The previous owners owned the place for mos of the three years I worked there. They also owned two other stores, though their small chains involved a different state for each store. Their specialty is really good pizza and top quality beer. It's a great place if you ever get a chance, though the guy that now owns the one here is kind of a tool in my opinion. The pizza place is the only one of his places I'll bother to go, and I don't even eat there anymore.
I made pizzas for three years. I still love the concept of the place as I saw it at the time. The emphasis was on the place as opposed to maximizing the amount of money the place can suck in. I really do understand the incentive of profit, but if you create a great place, you can make enough money. Why push it just for the buck? And that's probably why I got fired in the end. I hated what the new owners were about, and I still have a sense of loss. I was doing pretty well for myself at that place, and I was happy to help it along as much as I could. I understood, I think, what the original owners had in mind. This store was the farthest from the home and the hardest to run, so they decided to sell it.
From there I went down the street to a really cool little steakhouse. I actually only bother to go now for brunch. I do want one day to go in and order a particular steak that I made way too many times not to have eaten one myself. The same place mostly unchanged is still where I left it with many of the same staff members. The owner owns a couple of other local places, and I worked at two of his locations during the period I worked for him.
This owner is a decent guy. He's the only restaurant owner that I've personally had the pleasure of working with in the actual kitchen. He still gets in the kitchen and sticks his fingers in the mashed potatoes. He still gets in the kitchen and cuts the beef loin into steaks. He never came across as a kitchen guy to me, but he seems to know what tastes good, and he makes sure sometimes that he gets it right, liquid margarine and all. He's also the kind of guy that you pray wears overalls to that Friday night shift because they hide his ass crack.
As I began working at the steakhouse, I held a week long job at a different restaurant, a short lived second job. Momma wasn't working having gone and had another baby, and the steakhouse job wasn't quite giving me the hours I needed at first. I had to wait until someone got fired or quit so that I could start working more.
The week long employment was at an absolute shit hole in the center of downtown. It's a place to get drunk in, and the food isn't the kind that anyone even bothers to try with. I've heard it described and have described it as Shoney's with a bar. It sucked so much that at the end of the first week, as Momma was dropping me off at work, I actually asked her if she didn't mind if I didn't go back. It was nice that within a couple of days I began getting the hours I needed with the steakhouse owner, because I wasn't going back.
I quit the steakhouse to take a chance. It was going to be the cool new thing. A local couple had opened the new bar that was the place to be. Based on what I thought this place was going to become I jumped ship at the steakhouse and went to work making sandwiches. This job lasted almost exactly a year before I couldn't take the owners' antics anymore. They still own a building that is half finished. The second floor is used to store the supplies that could be used to fix the second floor and a box of umbrellas that people have left.
That job was great fun and stuff, but I soon realized that I needed to get the hell out. I was really unhappy with how I felt that I'd been treated. With the completion of work on the second floor, I had expected that a larger kitchen and some real fun would begin, if they had ever finished the second floor. It took me that whole year to realize that the owners had no intention of every finishing the second floor. In fact, the position that I held as their single cook no longer exists. I wasn't the only cook they ever had there, but soon after I left they completely discontinued the lunch service that I had provided. I still miss what could have been.
From here I went to work at the other brewpub. This location has been a brewpub since we've lived here. It's now the fourth brewpub that it's been since we lived here and the fifth if you count before we moved here. It's a decent place now, and I really hope that it stays there for a while. The brewer is certainly the best commercial brewer in town, though I have no idea how many home brewers there are, so I can't say that he's the best brewer, but he does make good beer, and I'm always happy to enjoy his beer.
The food menu at this place is hard to describe. It's not bad in a sense, though they seem to go out of their way to make things as easy as possible. Almost the entire menu is comprised of prepackaged items that they try to make taste good by adding loads of butter and salt and cheese, and sadly, it works up to a point. It's not especially good, but it's not bad to have with a pile of beers. The beer really deserves better though.
Momma had been making sushi for a while when she got the chance to take a step up at her restaurant. To get the promotion she would need to put in more hours and have some amount of flexibility. To achieve that, the owner was willing to pay her enough so that I didn't have to work, so I left the brewpub and became a stay at home dad. I'm still a restaurant person. I don't doubt that I'll be cooking again at some point.
That's how I've averaged a job a year. It's not really as ugly as it seems. One entire year at the same restaurant is actually a long time. I made pizzas downtown for three years. I was management there even beyond the confines of the kitchen. I sometimes miss the cesspool that is the restaurant industry, but that's okay. I'll be back. These years at home are only recharging my batteries for when I come back and own this whole fucking town!
And now we are on to the real meat of this post. We learned in early 1998 that Momma was pregnant. She wasn't Momma then as there were no boys then. Big Brother of course was in production, and we had no idea about The Boy. We had no family in Charlotte and felt that, with a baby on the way, some family would be nice to have close. Our choices therefore were Atlanta or Knoxville.
I won't name names here as I list the number of restaurants I've worked at. And for all the places I've worked, it's not nearly as bad as it sounds, considering the actual average turnover rates in the industry is about 300%. There are in every restaurant some small percentage of people who've put in some years at the same place whether it's a gaudy chain store like TGI Fridays or a really cool local place like the Tomato Head. I know I said I wouldn't name names, but these are not places I have worked just yet. I never rule out a restaurant that I haven't pissed off as a potential employer, and I never know when I might end up at one of these places, so I won't say anymore about either.
The first place I worked in Knoxville was a brewpub that wanted to grow into a local chain. As it turned out, the original location in a different part of the state was the only one that lasted as far as I know. I worked here about a year. I climbed the ranks and proved my worth, and I thought that I was in line for a decent promotion. I cared about the place and worked hard. I put in the hours when I could, but I also had a pregnant wife at home. Big Brother was born while I was employed here.
I watched two kitchen managers leave before I achieved any standing as an authority figure, and then I watched the next in line get fired. The next person the company gave the job to had no idea what he was doing. I was constantly fixing problems that he created. One day I'd had enough and yelled at him most of the day. In retrospect it was a real asshole move, but I'd really had enough. The general manager met me the next day. She was getting the kitchen ready, was even wearing chef's whites as if she expected to be in the kitchen all day. Our entire conversation:
her "I didn't expect you to come in today."
me "I don't know why I did."
and I left.
Some time while employed here I delivered pizzas for a while. At some point between the time Momma quit working to have a baby and the time that she could go back to work we ran short of money. Delivering pizzas is easy money, and most pizza places need drivers all the time making it an easy job to get. It's not bad money assuming you are used to not having a hell of a lot of money in the first place and really need the money.
Next came my first downtown job. This was a turning moment in our life in this town. Prior to this we weren't really downtown folks. We hadn't really had a lot of time to explore the town and find our places. The brewpub I first worked at was in a shopping center somewhere to the west of The Strip. The next job was in the Old City which is part of downtown, and since then, I've stuck downtown.
This new place is still there and doing well though under new ownership. The new ownership and I just didn't get along which is why I got fired. The previous owners owned the place for mos of the three years I worked there. They also owned two other stores, though their small chains involved a different state for each store. Their specialty is really good pizza and top quality beer. It's a great place if you ever get a chance, though the guy that now owns the one here is kind of a tool in my opinion. The pizza place is the only one of his places I'll bother to go, and I don't even eat there anymore.
I made pizzas for three years. I still love the concept of the place as I saw it at the time. The emphasis was on the place as opposed to maximizing the amount of money the place can suck in. I really do understand the incentive of profit, but if you create a great place, you can make enough money. Why push it just for the buck? And that's probably why I got fired in the end. I hated what the new owners were about, and I still have a sense of loss. I was doing pretty well for myself at that place, and I was happy to help it along as much as I could. I understood, I think, what the original owners had in mind. This store was the farthest from the home and the hardest to run, so they decided to sell it.
From there I went down the street to a really cool little steakhouse. I actually only bother to go now for brunch. I do want one day to go in and order a particular steak that I made way too many times not to have eaten one myself. The same place mostly unchanged is still where I left it with many of the same staff members. The owner owns a couple of other local places, and I worked at two of his locations during the period I worked for him.
This owner is a decent guy. He's the only restaurant owner that I've personally had the pleasure of working with in the actual kitchen. He still gets in the kitchen and sticks his fingers in the mashed potatoes. He still gets in the kitchen and cuts the beef loin into steaks. He never came across as a kitchen guy to me, but he seems to know what tastes good, and he makes sure sometimes that he gets it right, liquid margarine and all. He's also the kind of guy that you pray wears overalls to that Friday night shift because they hide his ass crack.
As I began working at the steakhouse, I held a week long job at a different restaurant, a short lived second job. Momma wasn't working having gone and had another baby, and the steakhouse job wasn't quite giving me the hours I needed at first. I had to wait until someone got fired or quit so that I could start working more.
The week long employment was at an absolute shit hole in the center of downtown. It's a place to get drunk in, and the food isn't the kind that anyone even bothers to try with. I've heard it described and have described it as Shoney's with a bar. It sucked so much that at the end of the first week, as Momma was dropping me off at work, I actually asked her if she didn't mind if I didn't go back. It was nice that within a couple of days I began getting the hours I needed with the steakhouse owner, because I wasn't going back.
I quit the steakhouse to take a chance. It was going to be the cool new thing. A local couple had opened the new bar that was the place to be. Based on what I thought this place was going to become I jumped ship at the steakhouse and went to work making sandwiches. This job lasted almost exactly a year before I couldn't take the owners' antics anymore. They still own a building that is half finished. The second floor is used to store the supplies that could be used to fix the second floor and a box of umbrellas that people have left.
That job was great fun and stuff, but I soon realized that I needed to get the hell out. I was really unhappy with how I felt that I'd been treated. With the completion of work on the second floor, I had expected that a larger kitchen and some real fun would begin, if they had ever finished the second floor. It took me that whole year to realize that the owners had no intention of every finishing the second floor. In fact, the position that I held as their single cook no longer exists. I wasn't the only cook they ever had there, but soon after I left they completely discontinued the lunch service that I had provided. I still miss what could have been.
From here I went to work at the other brewpub. This location has been a brewpub since we've lived here. It's now the fourth brewpub that it's been since we lived here and the fifth if you count before we moved here. It's a decent place now, and I really hope that it stays there for a while. The brewer is certainly the best commercial brewer in town, though I have no idea how many home brewers there are, so I can't say that he's the best brewer, but he does make good beer, and I'm always happy to enjoy his beer.
The food menu at this place is hard to describe. It's not bad in a sense, though they seem to go out of their way to make things as easy as possible. Almost the entire menu is comprised of prepackaged items that they try to make taste good by adding loads of butter and salt and cheese, and sadly, it works up to a point. It's not especially good, but it's not bad to have with a pile of beers. The beer really deserves better though.
Momma had been making sushi for a while when she got the chance to take a step up at her restaurant. To get the promotion she would need to put in more hours and have some amount of flexibility. To achieve that, the owner was willing to pay her enough so that I didn't have to work, so I left the brewpub and became a stay at home dad. I'm still a restaurant person. I don't doubt that I'll be cooking again at some point.
That's how I've averaged a job a year. It's not really as ugly as it seems. One entire year at the same restaurant is actually a long time. I made pizzas downtown for three years. I was management there even beyond the confines of the kitchen. I sometimes miss the cesspool that is the restaurant industry, but that's okay. I'll be back. These years at home are only recharging my batteries for when I come back and own this whole fucking town!
yep, late Saturday night
This isn't Momma's usual late night at work. That's generally Friday, but this week, because the head chef went and had his anniversary, he thought he should hang out with his wife. Regardless, it is her late night, the boys are in bed and asleep, and I finally turned the tv.
Speaking of soccer, I may not be playing tomorrow as our game is at six. It's the latest I can remember ever having a game, and between me and Momma, I'm the one that gets to find a ride as it falls within the same time as derby practice. Momma can watch the boys at her practice, and if I'm on the field, I can't really watch the boys at all. I also haven't decided if I'd be willing to miss this one game and just attend derby practice instead. I've been considering some personal involvement in the next match, and my attendance at the practices between now and then would be necessary for me to do what I'm doing. If I play, I have to make some phone calls tomorrow and get a ride, and that's tempting, but I really need to spend some time at derby practice and do some name learning among other things if I'm to be involved.
Big Brother also had no game today as this weekend falls on some side of a fall break for the school kids, and some people save up their travelling for now. I never know when these sorts of holidays show up for the school kids. It's always fall break from school for us, unless it's some other season break.
It was a beautiful weekend for the Brewer's Jam, but this is also the first year that I haven't attended. The date snuck up on us two years in a row, though last year we got the word about it from a friend who had moved to a different state but was coming back for the event. This year I heard about it through the mentions on the local NPR. By the time Momma and I realized we couldn't attend, it was too late to figure out how we could. I could have gone for a short time today, and I would have had fun, but it just didn't seem right somehow. We could have all gone as a family, and we would have had a great time. Without the family though it just wouldn't have been the same. There's always next year.
The Brewer's Jam is an annual event, a lovely and huge celebration. For less than you'd spend on a night out you get to roam around with music, usually good, and beer from a metric shit ton of micro breweries. It's always a great time. We always run into lots of people we've known over the years. The restaurant business breeds odd relationships between people due to the turnover. We've lived here eight years and I've worked at . . .thinking of how many places I've worked. As a matter of fact, I'm finishing this post right now and starting a new one based on where I've worked in just eight years. I'm kind of astounded at the number.
I just realized that I had to have missed at least two Brewer's Jams as it's two years older than my existence in this town. That's what I get for linking to shit.
And that's my weekend in the boring condensed version. Be happy you don't get the long version. So much longer and so much more boring.
Speaking of soccer, I may not be playing tomorrow as our game is at six. It's the latest I can remember ever having a game, and between me and Momma, I'm the one that gets to find a ride as it falls within the same time as derby practice. Momma can watch the boys at her practice, and if I'm on the field, I can't really watch the boys at all. I also haven't decided if I'd be willing to miss this one game and just attend derby practice instead. I've been considering some personal involvement in the next match, and my attendance at the practices between now and then would be necessary for me to do what I'm doing. If I play, I have to make some phone calls tomorrow and get a ride, and that's tempting, but I really need to spend some time at derby practice and do some name learning among other things if I'm to be involved.
Big Brother also had no game today as this weekend falls on some side of a fall break for the school kids, and some people save up their travelling for now. I never know when these sorts of holidays show up for the school kids. It's always fall break from school for us, unless it's some other season break.
It was a beautiful weekend for the Brewer's Jam, but this is also the first year that I haven't attended. The date snuck up on us two years in a row, though last year we got the word about it from a friend who had moved to a different state but was coming back for the event. This year I heard about it through the mentions on the local NPR. By the time Momma and I realized we couldn't attend, it was too late to figure out how we could. I could have gone for a short time today, and I would have had fun, but it just didn't seem right somehow. We could have all gone as a family, and we would have had a great time. Without the family though it just wouldn't have been the same. There's always next year.
The Brewer's Jam is an annual event, a lovely and huge celebration. For less than you'd spend on a night out you get to roam around with music, usually good, and beer from a metric shit ton of micro breweries. It's always a great time. We always run into lots of people we've known over the years. The restaurant business breeds odd relationships between people due to the turnover. We've lived here eight years and I've worked at . . .thinking of how many places I've worked. As a matter of fact, I'm finishing this post right now and starting a new one based on where I've worked in just eight years. I'm kind of astounded at the number.
I just realized that I had to have missed at least two Brewer's Jams as it's two years older than my existence in this town. That's what I get for linking to shit.
And that's my weekend in the boring condensed version. Be happy you don't get the long version. So much longer and so much more boring.
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