BLOG: February 2005

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2005/02/28

Scars

This is a short story I wrote a while back. It's kinda short for a short story, but kinda long for a blog. If you like reading fiction, enjoy. If not, please ignore.


The sun hung in the sky like a life-threatening blood clot, menacing and deep red. The warm waters of the Mediterranean rolled out beneath it in complementing shades of orange and yellow. In the distance the last remaining evidence of land was slowly retreating behind the horizon. The only sound was that of the waves slapping lazily against the wooden skiff.

Fernando was tired. He had been on the water all day and the work and the sun had beaten him, if only for a while. The clouds above him were a light gray. They scattered and diffused what was left of the evening light. He looked to the east and frowned. A bank of dark clouds had suddenly appeared. With them came the promise of a great storm.

He suddenly grew anxious even though his experience taught him there was no need. He set himself to tasks that seemed important and yet were not truly necessary. He rechecked knots that had held for weeks.

He had never faced a true storm before. Once, near Naples, the wind had picked up and rocked his skiff back and forth like a toy boat, but he had not been scared. On another occasion he had made landfall just before a major storm hit. He remembers sitting on a rocky cliff and watching the power of the ocean. He had been glad not to be in it. Today he would have no choice.

Even though it was not wise, his thoughts wandered and fell on the memory of his father, Manuel. His childhood had been filled with his father’s tales of sailing and adventure. Storms that he had battled for days at a time with no sleep and little hope. Marlins he had struggled with until the ropes cut like knives, the pain compounded by the salty sea.

But above all, Fernando remembered the scars and on his father’s hands. Scars that served as silent witnesses to the trials he had endured. As his father told his stories the fire they used to keep warm cast shadows that seemed to deepen them, make them greater.

Fernando broke free of his thoughts and looked east again. The storm had grown noticeably larger. Seemingly pregnant with rain, it shifted closer and closer. Lightning struck in the distance in small sparks that belied the storm’s strength. Thunder could be heard, magnified by the waves. And yet it was not its size or girth or power that made it great- it was the awesome sense of inevitability that this thing would come. He quickly set himself back to work lashing nets and bracing the vessel.

He wanted nothing more than to encounter this storm. The outcome would be interesting, but it did not truly concern him. He sensed without exactly knowing that was critical was the meeting, the age-old conflict. Everything else was detail. He glanced down at his smooth hands and back at the approaching storm. He would be ready.

His skiff was fifteen-feet long. He had purchased it from a friend who had inherited a better one from his father. It was old and the wood had been bleached sea-gray, but its maker had done his job well.

A boat of Fernando’s size is an anomaly on the open sea- just big enough for one man to have trouble steering but just small enough to cause concern in a storm. In the chaos of wind and water that is a storm, time spent running to untangle a misplaced rope can easily spell death. He looked up- he would have to hurry now.

The storm was practically upon him. The wind had picked up, and the waves heralded the approach of things to come. At last his work is finished.

As a last thought, he sits and lashes his right arm to the boat. The boat was not only his source of income, but also his refuge. He had been twelve when he first saw a man go overboard in a storm. A sudden gust had lifted him as he was lowering the sail and threw him into the raging sea. The men had called and threw ropes, but to no avail. They found him floating facedown the next day. The fish had already started their grisly work.

He has done all he can. Now there is nothing but his thoughts and the waiting. He cannot help but hear the booming thunder and taste the salt in the whipping wind. It will not be long now.

And then the impossible happens. The storm turns. He watches in disbelief as the massive behemoth shifts and begins to pass to his left. A few sprinkles throw themselves harmlessly against the skiff. Light waves cause the boat to rise and fall rhythmically as the storm passes. He watches the storm for a very long time.

Finally his head falls into his tired hands. He weeps quietly before cursing the passing storm under his breath.

The Worst Intersection I've Ever Seen

On my way to tutor, I always encounter what I consider to be the most ill-planned intersection ever. It is so congested that I easily spend half of my commute inching forward, watching the light change green for five seconds before turning red once again. I occupy the time in between by reading the ubiquitous fluorescent signs that decorate the pawn shops. I don't think I would feel comfortable living some place where the gun market was so glutted.

I counted once- I spent sixteen minutes at the light before I was able to get through. Sixteen minutes. In my prime, I could have easily ran the rest of the way to work in that time.

The problem is that there are two roads merging into one, instead of a typical intersection. The second road gets a lot more volume, so the light stays green for eons and eons while everyone on the rinky-dink road listens to music or eagerly plans their demise.

I've found one way around the hideous beast, but it's not entirely satisfactory. When I arrive early enough, I attempt to find another route around it. But by looking at all the traffic that passes through, it appears to be a bottle neck.

One of these days I swear I'm gonna put the car in park and grab some hash browns from the nearby Waffle House.

I can't wait to move back to Mississippi- where traffic means there's a tractor holding everybody up.

I miss being nowhere. Everywhere is terribly overrated.

Meta-Blog

I think I've found a way to schedule in three posts a day: I'll post once in the morning, once during my planning period, and once when I get home, right before I collapse in the bed.

On another note, this should be the eighth day of 200+ page impressions. Thanks again, everyone.

Also, since the site has reached almost 1250 posts during its first month of existence, rudimentary extrapolation skills tell me that it should reach at least 15,000 hits in a year's time, barring an unfortunate collapse in support.

With any luck, I'll make about $24 dollars in ad revenue this year, if current projections hold.

I'm so not reporting it on my taxes.

Up To My Elbows In Work

This is my schedule Monday through Wednesday:

7:30-4:00 Teaching

5:00- 8:00 Tutor

I'm going to attempt to sustain my current volume of posts, but it's going to be difficult. Thankfully, it eases up a bit toward the end of the week and I have (most) of the weekend off.

So for those of you who visit regularly, don't give up hope- rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

In thirteen weeks all of this stops and I can sleep for a few months before law school.

2005/02/27

Razor Commercial and the Worst Gum Ever Made

While watching the AFL on NBC (I'm a loser), I heard a razor commercial on TV. Usually I tune these out but for some reason I found myself listening. The announcer mentioned the razor and said that their products had the "most advanced blades" ever.

Huh?

How exactly does one improve on a sharpened piece of metal? There must be a point to how sharp one piece of metal can be, right? And we're not splitting atoms here, Gillette, we're shaving yesterday's stubble. I really don't think I need samurai-quality steel.

I can understand the idea that more blades will do a better job, but really- improving the actual blade itself? I sat listening to the commercial, hoping that they would clue me in on the process, which I was sure involved a shaman and someone's soul. But instead, they just cued the cheesy music and disappeared.

Damn you, Gillette- now I must purchase said razor and divine its secrets.

On another note, NEVER try Eclipse Cherry flavored gum. It tastes like cough syrup and hell rolled into one tiny package. I would rather bite off my tongue and swallow the blood than eat another one of those tiny, harmless looking treats. Whoever's making them ought to be stopped.

I've got pitchforks and torches in the barn.

Who's with me?

Curtains

Last night my wife and I spent the evening in downtown Atlanta watching a theatre improv group at Dad's Garage. My wife loves theatre and I actually taught a few drama classes once so we enjoyed it immensely. Tickets were $15 each and I counted about 200 people in the audience, so they aren't doing too bad.

On this night they performed something called TheatreSports, where two groups of three challenged each other to ridiculous contests and a judge gave out a score ranging from 1 to 5, the latter being the best.

She was also in charge of something called the "scum box" which was handed out if a player on stage did something obscene. If they received the scum box three times, they had to leave the stage immediately. Two of them eventually left, but it was toward the end of the performance, so I think they had it planned.

It's strange that now that I know I'll be leaving Atlanta, I'm interested in learning more about it. Also, since I'm working more, I think I want to make my free time more full and interesting.

2005/02/26

$800 Cleavage

My wife and I are good friends with a couple that live a few houses down. Yesterday the wife found out that her husband had filed divorce papers. He told her while she was driving down the road that she would receive them in a few days. He paid $800 for the privilege.

He told her that he didn't love her and that he had just been pretending for the last few months.

She was devestated- she said it came out of the blue, and from what me and my wife have seen, we believe her. I guess you never really know some people, despite your best efforts.

Treasure what you have people, and don't take it for granted.

I'm going into law, but I'm pretty sure I'd rather defend guilty people than be a divorce lawyer. No matter the pay, I couldn't live with myself.

Rosie the Riveter destroyed us from the inside.

According to my history classes, WWII is when women, in large part, joined the American work force. The story goes that when factory workers, mailmen, and the like went off the war that women picked up the slack. God bless 'em- I'm glad they did.

Here's the problem- they never stopped working. Once the emergency had passed, they continued to earn money.

This created the society we now have:

1. Since most middle and lower class families are two-income, the cost of living has rose to meet this surplus supply. Housing manufacturers, for example, can now put two incomes into their equations when setting a price, which practically negates the benefit of each spouse working a job. One hundred years ago, the husband worked to death and the family scraped by; now, it's the same, only both spouses work to death.

Are we really better off?

Note: Upper-class families, who can easily afford for one parent to be home, tend to have children that do well in school. People assume it's because they have resources, but it's generally because a parent was home during the first few years and built a stable foundation on which to build. Even though my family was a blue-collar one, I succeeded because my mom stayed home- and my sister taught me everything she knew.

2. Children are left at home without a parent present. To be honest, I don't care if the mother or father works, as long as one of them stay home. If my wife made enough money once we started having children, I would gladly stay home and run the house.

Somewhere our society has brainwashed men and women into believing that the greatest thing they can do on this earth for their children is go to work and make money. This is, in fact nonsense. The best thing you can do for children is to pay attention to them and be there when they need you. Children don't (or at least, shouldn't) care whether or not they have an Xbox or a shoebox- what should matter is how you spend time with them. They will remember you spending a few hours making a camera with them out of a shoebox far more than one of their many Xbox playing sessions with their buddies.

Note: In the 1800's, most people still farmed and lived off the land. In a perfect world, this would be the ideal set-up; both father and mother remain at home to raise the child. But let's take it one day at a time, shall we? We can only move so fast.

Note2: Discuss this with your future spouse BEFORE getting married. My wife and I both agreed that we wanted her to stay home after the children were born. She's working right now to help out, but we both realize the importance of at least one of us staying home. She doesn't see it as a sacrifice, but as taking on a nobler, grander task.

Whereas I might earn a paycheck, she will guide and shape our children's lives.

In short, unless both parents have to work to provide NECESSITIES, one parent should stay home. The big house and two-car garage just isn't worth it. Stay home with your kids- as a teacher, I see what happens if you don't.

2005/02/25

Swingsets and Sadness

First let me say that I hope this story isn't true. In any case, I feel compelled to share it with you in the hopes that if it happened, you can at least stop it from happening in your community.

From what I've heard, there's an elementary school in my district that has become so test-obsessed that they decided to forgo recess. Yes, my friends, the time honored tradition of our youth is no more. Somewhere a perfectly good playground sits unused.

Apparently the teachers decided one year that the students had done well enough on the tests so they let them play outside during the last few days of school.

None of them knew how to swing.

I repeat- none of them knew how to swing. They just stared in disbelief at the monstrosity of pipe with industrial chains. In my saddened imagination I even imagine one kid sitting in the seat and crying, but I can't swear that happened.

I'm looking into the veracity of these reports, but the two people who have told me this story I hold in high regard, so I have no reason to doubt what I've told you here. If that changes, I'll let you know.

One of the many waterfalls at Cloudland Canyon State Park in north Georgia. It's a beautiful place, but my dog wouldn't walk on the metal stairs. Posted by Hello

Grist Mill at Berry College in Rome, Georgia. The deer on campus are so tame it's not unusual to see ten or more together in a field. Posted by Hello

2005/02/24

I Have Tinea Versicolor

Do you know what that is? 'Cause I sure didn't until the dermatologist told me. He took one look at my shoulders and said "Yep, it's tinea versicolor. I'd know it anywhere." He said the last part as if the thing had killed his parents, so I was sorta scared.

Turns out, tinea versicolor is a harmless, non-contagious skin condition that occurs when naturally present bacteria in the skin go haywire and start producing like high schoolers on prom night. It doesn't itch and is only visible as little red circles when you sweat a lot or have very pale skin, which I don't. So I very rarely see them.

What's odd is doctors have yet to figure out why the bacteria go haywire in some people but not others. Worse yet, there's no cure for tinea versicolor. Zinc helps (the doctor told me to use Selsun Blue) but he conceded that it would only help, not eliminate the problem.

Note: I don't want anyone to think that I look like the guy who starred in that weird movie with Cher, cause I don't. Mercifully, tinea versicolor spares the face and seems to like the shoulders and upper chest. Most of the time it's invisible but if I'm outside for a long time in the heat it flares up. As far as skin conditions go, I ended up pretty lucky.

I hear leprosy isn't exactly a picnic.

7-Layer Burrito

After working tonight, I swung by Taco Bell and placed the following order:

Nachos Belgrande (for the wife)
2 7-layer burritos
1 Grilled Stuft Chicken Burrito

Simple enough, right? As I waited in the dining area for my order (#290 for those who care) I was accosted by a guy from Ohio who starting rambling on about New Hampshire. How do I meet these people? Do I have a sign on my back that says, "Nutjobs, talk for free?" According to the guy, the winters up north aren't as cold as they used to be- and the summers are becoming so warm that he had to buy an air conditioner.

Finally, I've discovered what people talk about when they're ready to die.

I wanted to tell him that it was a Taco Bell and maybe he should focus on the taco at hand but instead I nodded politely and made my way to the door. I didn't have my food yet, but I figured it would be an okay ruse. Once there, I noticed that the strip on the door that's supposed to tell the cashier the height of a potential or recent thief was about six inches too high. I know this because I barely made it to the five foot six inches mark and I'm at least six feet tall.

I pondered this awhile. Six inches off. How drunk or inept does one have to be to tape a strip such as this that far off? The sole purpose of the strip is now lost. Secondly, how sad is it that no one has thought to fix it?

Well, after pondering that little chestnut, I picked up my order. I thanked the man and then wandered out to my car. Along the way, I realized that I was short a 7-layer burrito. I turned back to go inside and saw the guy who had made my order standing outside with his shirt untucked, smoking a cigarette. I walked back inside and informed the lady that my order was short a burrito.

The guy from Ohio is staring me down pretty intensely right now. I feel his eyes boring into my scalp.

The lady looks at my bag and says, "You sure are. And I charged you for two." Then she looks over at Mr. Untucked, who walks in the back and makes me another. But not before giving me the LOOK.

You know, the look that says, "I-know-you-just-didn't-make-me-stop-smoking-to-fix-you-a-burrito." He throws one together while I'm not looking and them slaps it into my waiting hand.

At this point I realize that there's NO way in hell I'm eating that burrito.

Yo don't quiero that much, amigo.

This Business of Getting Older

I remember the first time I woke up and my knees were stiff. I was in college. I climbed out of bed and felt the creak and just sat and stared at my knees as if I didn't recognize who they belonged to. At the same time, something within me whispered that it was no emergency, only the gentle passing of time. Twenty-one year old knees start to show some wear, after all. Long gone are the halcyon days when one could play and fall from prodigious heights and suffer no ill effects. We are no longer children.

Likewise, there was a time when I could eat anything and plenty of it- burritos, hamburgers- you name it, I could eat it. I even use to drink pickle juice, believe it or not. But as I grew older, my digestive track caught up with me and let me know that my stomach was not made of iron. So now, much to my dismay, I have to think about what I'm eating- and I actually listen to the Maalox commercials when they come on.

But it's not all bad. I feel more mature and a whole lot wiser than I did when I was young. I seem to accept responsibility a lot better and working a lot doesn't bother me as much as it once did.

The bitter kid in me pouts and says that it's just the child in me dying, but I think it's something more. My whole life I've learned to hold on to your childlike innocence as long as you can, but I think there's another side to the argument I've missed:

Maybe turning older need not be tragic or the very symbol of decay; maybe in our aging we become something far more glorious than we once were, if we put in the requisite effort and time.

I refuse to simply crumble into nothingness.

2005/02/23

Scribble-Scrabble

I love Scrabble.

I play it online, I play the computer, I play anyone who's willing to throw down a few tiles. I'm officially addicted. I have been for about half a year. I bought the official dictionary, the official scrabble word list book, and even a book entitled Word Freaks, which goes "behind-the-scenes" of Scrabble competition.

In other words, I'm a gigantic nerd. Or geek, if you prefer.

It's gotten to the point where I'll listen to people talk in order to see how many seven-letter words they say. If you remember the rules, you get an extra 50 points for playing a seven-letter word, or "bingo" as they are called among afficionados.

My favorite bingos right now are: tsunami, disdain, and fellows.

Like I said, I'm a geek.

My favorite play of all time was when I began by playing the word "twit". The computer responded by playing "piano".
I played "twitters" to triple (on the second play) and scored 48 points.
It looked like this:


... ... P I A N O
T W I T T E R S

As you might suspect, pi, it, at, ne, and or are all acceptable Scrabble words.

I'll leave it at that, but suffice it to say that I could bore everyone to tears discussing the greatest board game (chess is, in my opinion, the only true competitor) of all time.

1000 hits

I can't believe that in less that a month my website will have reached over 1000 hits. That should equate to roughly 13,000- 14,000 hits in one year.

That number is totally mind-boggling to me. I can't imagine creating something that is viewed that many times in a year. Once, I made a website (using HTML, believe it or not) for a computer science class in college. I think it received about 38 hits, total. So I'm pretty excited about this little venture.

I wish there was something I could do for the 1000th visitor, but I don't know how. If you are observant enough to notice, however, please comment so everyone will know that you were the one that helped me reach the milestone.

Thanks.

Charles Washington and Travel Plans

I met a guy a few days ago named Charles who reminded me of a best friend I had from elementary school named Charles Washington. I think he even came to my house a few times, but I'm not sure.

I might do a search and see if I can't locate him. He probably still lives in Mississippi.

Speaking of Mississippi, I've made a tentative list of places I want to visit upon my return. This list might be helpful for the three or four people a year who choose to visit the state. The places include:

1. Bayou Pierre and Grindstone Bluffs on the Natchez Trace- this is a nice creek with a huge sand beach tucked away from everything. There's even a cow pasture nearby on a bluff. Very idyllic setting.

2. Rodney- this "ghost" town is one of the spookiest places I've ever been. There's a cemetery high on a hill behind what's left of a church. For the historians out there, there's even an old Union cannonball in the facade of the church.

3. Clark Creek Nature Area- this place, stashed away in the lower southwest corner of the state, offers up some of the most rugged terrain anywhere in the South (short of the Appalachians, of course). There are about twenty waterfalls to find and explore.

4. Natchez-under-the-Hill: Once home to robbers and pirates, this place is now a great reawakening of Southern culture- a mix of history and progress beautifully packaged.

So, that's the list. Hopefully I'll be able to visit all of them this summer. I'll keep everyone posted.

It's good to have goals.

By the way, if any of you want to comment with out of the way places in your home state, feel free- I hate going by the guide books you find in the bookstores. I'd rather find the places few people know about.

2005/02/22

Possums on the Back Deck (Or How I Learned to Play the Odds)

In addition to the work we do with the Humane Society, my wife and I also feed a few stray cats on the back deck. What we didn't realize when we started is how our back deck would become a full-service buffet for every possum and raccoon in the area. At one point I counted two cats, a possum, and five raccoons on the deck at the same time. They even eat together, if there's enough food.

Up until a few months ago, the possums and raccoons would take off the second we opened up the door, only to return a few minutes after we returned inside. Lately, however, they've grown bolder. They'll just hide in the shadows with the cats until we put the food down and leave. I swear one day a possum is going to walk right up while I'm outside and start eating. Not that I would stick around to watch, mind you- they only play "possum" if they feel they are losing a fight- their needlelike teeth can do quite a bit of damage if they feel threatened. Also, many raccoon (and some possum) carry rabies, so you probably wouldn't want to let one of them chew on your finger.

If you're ever bitten by a squirrel, though, don't worry. Squirrels RARELY carry rabies, since they're too small to sustain an attack by an animal that carries the virus. I learned this the hard way when a squirrel I rescued from traffic bit me on the finger. I felt his teeth hit the bone on both sides as I swung him to and fro wildly in a desperate attempt to free my unfortunate digit. When I talked to the doctor, he said, "There's a 99% chance the squirrel doesn't have rabies. So we're not going to give you the treatment."

Way to go, science.

Back in the present, the possums have taken to living on our back deck in a few shelters I made for the stray cats. I almost feel pity for the burglar that stumbles across that surprise in the middle of the night.

Retro Blog #1

Before I discovered the world of online blogging (thanks again newy!) I kept a journal of my thoughts on pretty much a daily basis. Since the blog, this has stopped. So I'm going to enter the old journal entries onto the blog in an effort to archive them. That way ten years from now they'll still be around.

11/30/04 5:40 P.M.

I'm back at the picnic table- an unearthly gloom hangs around me as the light slowly dies. There are no birds this time, only the slow and steady hum of crickets. It is brisk out but I am bundled up in a scarf and hat, so I barely notice it.

Another stray, this time an old black-and-white with a predilection for psychotic behavior greets me. He, too, is a large tom, so large that he shakes the picnic table when he brushes against my feet. I say "psychotic" because he has the incredible ability to switch from amicable to vicious for no apparent reason. So I pet him with a light hand and a constant eye, for I do not trust him.

He has bitten me in the past, two deep puncture wounds that I stared at in fascination before the red blood swelled from my flesh.

If he is discouraged or apologetic, he does not show it. Even now, he throws his full weight against me as I write, exposing his large white stomach to me. He wants to play. But he is wild, and even in jest he might give me a scratch that would require stitches so I don't chance it.

It is darker now. Only eleven minutes have passed and yet so much has changed. It seems like I've been out here much longer. Time appears to be Nature's slave, at least for the moment.

It is amazing the detail my eyes can still see. Everything still appears, only itself in a darker image, as if someone had played with the brightness. It is thrilling to watch the world grow dark around me. 5:56; 5:58; I'm quite sure that no one from the townhomes would see me unless I chanced to move. Suddenly I hear what appears to be church bells to my left. They are beautiful.

Snapshot

Here is a list of the things on my computer desk staring back at me as I type:

1. An "Oust" air freshener than ran out of fragrance a LONG time ago. (If you don't know, these are the nifty battery-operated guys that turn on and off regularly so your room smells like a fruit stand- worked pretty well while it lasted.)

2. A stapler that I never use because I have paper clips in the drawer, and I consider paper clips to be much more professional.

3. A pack of printable mailing labels for all of the law school applications I sent out- I hate my handwriting.

4. A memory card reader so I can transfer photos to the computer.

5. A pathetic pack of Walgreens "Premium" Photo Paper that doesn't work very well- typing paper is far better. The ink pools on the paper and never dries.

6. A half chewed up photo album filled, ironically, with pictures of dogs.

7. A burned out 40 watt light bulb.

8. A cat toy that looks slightly demonic with its yellow plastic ball and wild troll-like hair.

9. Assorted framed wedding pictures.

10. A black belt that I had to turn around and tape to my waist because I couldn't find my brown belt in time for work.

11. An envelope sorter that's mournfully empty.

12. A cheap Wal-Mart print that say "Parapluie-Revel" and has three people holding umbrellas in the rain. It's yellow.

13. A Kodak DX4530 (my technological pride and joy).

14. A $30 printer- which might help explain the pathetic pictures.

2005/02/21

Tutor

Today I began training to work at Sylvan. Unbeknownst to me, however, three teachers called in sick, so after I signed my papers I was thrown into the thick of things and asked to tutor. I think I did okay, for not knowing much about the process. I had to learn syllabic structure and dipthongs in five minutes, but I managed.

It's amazing how much more rewarding it is to work with a student one-on-one. They actually want to learn. You get to see their improvement and help them when they get frustrated. It's impossible to do this effectively when you have 30 students in one class. At Sylvan, the most I'll have is three at a time, which I can definitely handle.

In site-related news, my blog saw a large spike in page impressions today. Either people have been talking about my posts or the minor controversy I caused on www.lawschooldiscussion.org stirred up some publicity. Regardless, I made a total of sixty cents today. Looks like the 7-layer burrito at Taco Bell will soon be more than just an elusive dream.

Yo quiero.

Yet Another Sign of the Impending Apocalypse...

There's a show on the WB called "Dance:360" that attempts to bridge the gap between the courtroom dramas of early afternoon and the well... courtroom dramas of late afternoon. (It is the WB, after all. Their show selection does not exactly inspire moments of glory.)

Usually the show features 18-24 year olds. Two gentlemen (who I assume are somehow famous) pick six of them out, quickly interview them one by one, and then watch them dance. Here's how it goes:

Famous Guy: Where you from, girl?

Dancer: My name is Alyssa and I'm from I-OW-WA!!!

Famous Guy: I-OW-WA!!!! in the house! Let's hear it, people.

At this point, a group of people that would be hard pressed to find Iowa on a map go nuts for the Hawkeye State. Then the music goes on and the person dances in the middle while everyone cheers.

This is fine- I watched it one time for shock value and then changed the channel. If people want to dance, God bless 'em- it's their right. But I don't want to watch it.

Today as I was changing the channel (my wife was watching the Larry Elder show and it had ended) I was reintroduced to the show. Yep, it was the same show.

Only with kids.

This is the definition of ridiculous. One of the contestants seemed hell-bent on proving that "white girls can dance", which sent the crowd into an uproar. That's why I dance- to destroy negative cultural stereotypes. One boy appeared to suffer from an epileptic fit upon hearing the music- once it ended, he returned to a quiet kid who stood in the corner.

The saddest thing about all of this is that there are actually parents who drove and flew their children in from all over the country to be on a cable TV show in an effort to make them famous and live vicariously through them. These are the same parents that will criticize the children when they get home for missing a step or losing the competition.

When I grew up, I watched game shows, which at least reinforced the idea that it might one day pay to know something no one else does. These kids, on the other hand, learn that it's more valuable to move their bodies to a rhythm. Which is all great and good, but I'm curious to see how it will translate to the job market and the real world.

Lazy Days

I have this week off, so I'm resisting the temptation to sleep until 1:00 everyday. Sleeping late makes the break go by so fast. You wake up, watch some Judge Hatchett, and before you know it Seinfeld's on TBS. It's all downhill from there.

I have to drive up to Jonesboro, Georgia for my Sylvan job later today. For those of you who know nothing about the Atlanta area, Jonesboro is not a place you want to find yourself after dark. Keep driving south to Morrow, Stockbridge, or McDonough. When I mentioned the "ghettoization" of Jonesboro to a student, he said, "Nah, They just tryin' to be like Dekalb [county]... they ain't there yet."

This led me to images of Jonesboro's gangsters sitting around a table discussing ways to increase the danger of their neighborhoods.

Gangster 1: Guys, we're falling behind. Recent studies show that Dekalb County is much more dangerous. Just last week a lady walked down the street here and she wasn't raped and stabbed! We have to get on the ball.

Gangster 2: Calm down- these things take time. You can't destroy all of the goodness in people over night. You know that. Dekalb was not destroyed in a day, after all.

Gangster 1: I know- it's just so frustrating to watch them crumble so completely even though our town still manages to hold on to some vestige of civility.

Gangster 3: Let's just all agree to do our best to make this the worst place possible. I know- let's go hold up a combination liquor/check cashing place- that'll make us all feel better.

(They all shake hands and leave.)

Ridiculous.

2005/02/20

More Than Five

This is a poem I wrote a while ago and sent to an online poetry contest on a whim. A few weeks later I received a letter saying what a "great poem" it is and how they'd be happy to publish it and sell me an anthology for only 39.95. I hate these people. They suck and feed on the creative juices of writers desperate to have their voices heard. They could care less if my poem is excellent and they would lie to my face if it wasn't, as long as I sent them a check. I'd rather people read it for free.

"More Than Five"

I walk on a gray street
Peering between the slats of a rough-hewn fence.
I see a brighter world
Bathed in light.
It is as I thought it would be
When I was young-
Always dangling in my brain
Dancing when the music died
Seducing me to wistful sleep.
It is too forgotten- cast aside
Yet still it strives
Content to be alone.

I see a shape-
The figures (or things that would be figures
If I would but believe)
Beckon me to join them.
To climb, to dig, or simply break through-
But my vision is limited and the crowd
Lifting me up,
Carries me along.

Later that night, as I lay in bed,
I know that with a deep and sullen aching
That I would trade everything in my life
For a moment
When all my senses blazed.

Sick Experiment

I think I'm coming down with the flu. My head feels like it's been wrapped in a wet towel and my legs feel like I've run a marathon. Luckily, I still have an appetite. I think I can suffer through anything as long as I'm not nauseous. I hate that.

I think it would be interesting if scientists performed experiments on animals to see if they slept more on Sunday. It wouldn't be hard to do, just a lot of data collection.

Here's why- I swear that my pets sleep more on Sunday. Of course, it's a possibility that I'm biased to believe that they do (and that when I'm not around on work days they sleep just as much) but I don't know. At any rate, I'd like to see how science weighs in on the issue.

But IF you're a Christian, this would be a logical belief to have. Perhaps God has wired the circadian rhythms of living things to shut down a little more on Sunday, but I don't know. Another explanation is that our culture reaffirms the rest on Sunday rule through the five-day work week and such. Of course, that doesn't explain the animals, but that's why I suggested the experiment.

Anecdotal evidence is helpful too. So, for the next week, observe your pets a little more closely and see if you think they rest more on Sunday. You might be surprised- or I might just be crazy.

Brownie Update

Good news! Brownie received about $60 in contributions this Saturday at Petsmart. So we should be able to take her to Marietta and get her heartworm treatment. I'll post as soon as it happens.

Some stranger wrote a $25 check on her behalf. I want to be that person.

2005/02/19

Tribute to a Fallen Officer

I'll be the first to admit that I tune out the evening news. It's nothing more than a murder here, a child abuse there. It's too much to handle, too much to absorb. It's easier by far to change the channel and watch something less depressing.

So it's not surprising that I knew about the local officer's death but that it didn't affect me- and that (to my undying shame) I can't remember his name or age.

But today, as I was driving to the vet to pick up some prescription cat food, I passed the funeral at the church. At that point names and numbers became meaningless. The safe distance created by a news broadcast dissipated before my eyes and I was left face to face with a tragedy.

I made it to fifty before I lost count of the police cars and motorcycles present. Officers were everywhere, offering their condolences and, I assume, reflecting on their own lives. They probably did not speak it, but their mere presence screamed the simple sentiment that there are few things more precious than a comrade's life. They had canceled weekend fishing trips and golf matches without blinking an eye- like a train, death is able to remind us of how small we really are. In the end, all we can do is hope to be like the fallen officer- dying in the midst of a great effort done out of charity and a sense of duty I can't quite comprehend.

Let the record show that for two hours on a cool Saturday afternoon that there was no budget, no time clocks to punch, no suspects to track down- only honor, sacrifice, and glory distilled onto a patch of ground covered in carved stone.

Not Fair



Well, we discovered why someone abandoned Brownie; she has heartworms. Luckily there is now a treatment and she has an excellent shot at making a full recovery. I'll let you know how it turns out. Posted by Hello

Runnin' on Fumes

Money is pretty tight right now, since I haven't started receiving checks from Sylvan yet and my wife hasn't found another job. We knew it was going to be difficult when she quit her nanny job, but she had to work twelve hours a day (with an hour drive on either end), so it was the best decision. I didn't want her to work until June (when we are leaving) and have her lose her mind. Regardless, she seems much happier now, so I'm happy.

Right now, my life is very much like an airplane headed toward a mountain. Luckily I have a parachute (law school scholarship) so it really doesn't matter what happens to the plane. I can build a better one once I land. But for the next three or four months I'm stuck in a whistling cabin, watching the altimeter slowly sink. The tank is low and what's left is leaking out, because I don't care. I'm trying to teach the students with all the enthusiasm I have left but I've really stopped caring what the administration thinks, because it really doesn't matter. It's incredibly difficult to fire someone from public education unless they do something particulary heinous.

So my goal is to wait until the last possible moment and jump out to safety as my rickety education plane explodes in a spectacular fireball. Then I can make camp and prepare to climb the mountain of law school- and hopefully find the Promised Land beyond.

The trick is knowing when to jump.

2005/02/18

First Casualty of a Long and Bloody War

I deleted my first post today. It was the one posted yesterday that had the noble intentions of being an email that was ready to send to visitors' friends. I kept second-guessing it every time I saw it on the screen. It seemed a little too cheap and tawdry. In other words, I wasn't "cool with that" after all.

I made thirty cents yesterday with Google's Adsense program. For those of you keeping score at home, that's a grand total of $1.53 I've made in the past 19 days. Roughly eight cents a day, I believe.

What's strange is that some ads appear to be worth more per click than others. One day, for example, I'll get five clicks but only make about ten cents. Yesterday I received one click and made thirty cents. I suppose it has something to do with the price of the product being peddled. (That was for those of you who enjoy alliteration, by the way.)

This has me thinking that maybe I should pepper my writing with high-end products, in the hopes that someone like Porsche or BMW start advertising on my site. Then maybe I'd make $5.00 a click.

But that probably won't work. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go by Nordstrom's before talking to DeBeers about getting a diamond ring designed. My Rolls Royce is in the shop, so I guess I'll just have to use my private Boeing jet.

Cheerio.

Promises, promises...

I'm only posting this because I promised myself that I would make at least one entry a day to keep people interested. Tomorrow I'll post something more substantial.

I stole a neighbor's chair today and drug it around the town taking pictures of various people sitting in it- an old man at Wal-mart, two guys of questionable sexuality at a tattoo parlor, and two ladies at Waffle House. Then I drank a Red Bull and called it a night.

Whoop-de-doo.

2005/02/17

Sixty-One Days to Sweet Blessed Freedom...

I think I've found a satisfactory way to defeat first period. For fifty-eight minutes each day, I become a different person. The real me retreats deep inside myself and waits until the bell rings to come out. In this way I maintain my sanity and am able to teach the rest of the day with a semblance of enthusiasm.

Second period is definitely my best class. Today they were working on interpretive essays and I was wandering around helping individual students with the assignment. I discussed possible interpretations of "The Feather Pillow" by Horacio Quiroga with a few students at one point early in class. (For those interested in modern Gothic literature, this is a good starting point- the story is only about two pages long and has quite the shocking ending. But don't say I didn't warn you- you need Acrobat for it to open.

www.horrormasters.com/Text/a0568.pdf

I brought up the idea of misogyny in the text and the students argued over who would get to use it in their paper. Here's a hint- you know you should teach at least for a year when you get excited about the prospect of two students arguing over who will get to use the interpretation of misogyny in a text. It's sad, but true. (I'm not a big fan of misogyny, but as far as critical interpretations go, it's a heavy hitter.)

The funny moment of the day came when one of the two students asked in front of the class if "I could help with the mahogany assignment". The other student, without missing a beat, replied "You're doing an assignment on wood?"

So I think that my goal for the next sixty-one days will be to try and make the good moments stand out and the bad moments fade away. Come to think of it, maybe I should try that my entire life.

I've been thinking a lot about the phrase "Time flies when you're having fun". If that is true, then people have two choices in life- a short life they enjoy or a long life they wish was over.

I think I'll pick the former.

Mental Wanderings

How much better would the day have been if I had spent it like this? Sigh.

The road passes by in a blur. I remind myself to relax and slowly ease off the gas, and the trees slow down and allow my eyes to catch up. It's easy in a car to forget how much nature surrounds you. The windows incubate and anesthetize by allowing only one of the five senses to experience the grand panorama that marches on either side.

On a bike it is different. One becomes a part of that which he observes- consciousness itself is released in small strands that reach and cling outward. This is rare, but it happens. On a late spring day in south Georgia I rumbled down a red dirt road and the yellow pollen struck me wildly in the face in little clouds; birds sang in the drifting wind and the humid heat enveloped me. Hackneyed as it sounds, I knew everything and nothing all at once.

A car, however, merely teases. Like a young girl holding her father's hand at the county fair, one is allowed glimpses of life but forbidden to wander free and alone.

So I pull the care over. In the absence of the engine's motor, the world takes on a new perspective. Things once unheard now blare and trumpet their arrival on the scene. Somewhere in the nearby woods a tiny bird causes a racket by crashing through a pile of leaves. Crickets, growing braver by the moment, begin their nightly song. The sun has not yet set, but for thousands of years crickets have hastened it to its descent; this night is no different. For all they know, they are the reason the sun falls down.

For all we know, they could be right.

I leave the car there, tilted awkwardly on the shoulder, and head in the direction of the woods. After a short time the first leaves glance and kiss my shoulders as I slowly disappear into the foliage.

I do not turn around.

2005/02/16

"Lodged"

The rain to the wind said,
"You push and I'll pelt."
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged -- though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.


- Robert Frost


When I first read this poem, I was struck by the power of the final line- the way Frost sets you up and then sucker punches you in the emotional gut is just amazing. I am always thrilled to find poems that seem to pluck truth out of the air- poems that seem so pure that you'd swear they existed even before the poet jotted them down.

At any rate, I too can empathize with the flowers. I have sixty-two days left until sweet blessed freedom, and every day seems to get longer. Luckily I have next week off to recuperate and breathe; but in my heart I know it will only be a brief respite before the twelve-week carnage that is to follow. Here's hoping I am only "lodged" and not destroyed.

Hyperlink Madness and Broken Tiles

Apparently I didn't read the Google Adsense fine print carefully enough- or not at all. Oh well.

I went searching back through my archived entries hoping against hope for a new comment when I noticed the first hyperlink. It was for the phrase "toilet paper", oddly enough. I clicked on it (as I am wont to do) and found myself at a website selling pallet-sized packages of the stuff.

In school news, someone has been breaking the ceiling tiles in my classroom. I noticed that the first one was broken on Friday, but chalked it up to rats (which supposedly run free in the school) or water damage. Then, yesterday, I walked in to find one in four pieces on the ground.

In another McGyver moment, I "fixed" the first one by using typing paper to create a trompe l'oiel. (For a really creeply website that showcases several trompe l'oiels, hit the link below. I'm sure that the town that built the bridge is nice and all, but I think I'd drive through fairly quickly and avoid eye contact.) It worked fairly well and I'm hoping to fix the other one tomorrow. It's larger so it will present more of a problem.

http://bridge.skyline.net/features/features.html

Why fix them, you might ask, when they're so easy to replace?

Good question. The administration seems to have no idea if they have any such replacement tiles (the building is only four years old) or where they would be if they did have them. A simple request to ask the janitor only brings about hushed stares and sibilant whispers, so that's no help. You see, our lead janitor is crazy.

As in one-day-they're-gonna-find-him-sleeping-with-a-rotten-pumpkin crazy.

(Note: My mother was at one time a custodian, as she preferred to be called, so don't think that I'm looking down on the occupation; this one janitor just happens to be crazy. But that's another entry for another time.)

2005/02/15

Would you like fries with that?

I was successful in my quest to gain part-time employment- as a tutor. Now I will work after school three hours a week to help middle school children learn how to read. Sadly, I think it will be much more rewarding to see their faces light up, because they are still at an age where they can be positively influenced. The students I teach, on the other hand, are often too far gone. So hopefully, I'll be able to help a few children and make a little bit of money as well. We'll see.

For those of you that are interested, page impressions on this site skyrocketed last week (on one day I received 347, I think) but now they're on more of a consistent, albeit lower, pattern. I think I get about 50-75 impressions a day. And since I've become less obsessive-compulsive over my creation, I check it less- maybe only three or four times a day. So that means there is a small group of people that are nice enough to check my blog everyday.

Thank you.

Really, I mean it.

I really love Nature. Posted by Hello

I love Nature. Posted by Hello

2005/02/14

Running Dialogue

This blog is not merely an effort to aggrandize my standing in the universe. I also want it to be a place for civilized discussion and the exchanging of ideas. In that vein, I will respond to selected comments I find on the blog. Feel free to comment in return- even if you did not make the original comment.

Comment #1

Anonymous said...
Do you eat meat? If not, my congratulations, at least, on your consistency. If so, I think you're being somewhat hypocritical.

I happen to believe animals have no more rights than plants, but I also believe that my children will one day find my speciesism as repugnant as I now find my parents' latent racism.


I'm not a vegetarian. That said, I think there's a profound difference between killing an animal for food and killing an animal for torture and pleasure. If I lived in a society where eating cats and dogs were customary, I honestly believe I would not have a problem with that. It's all about the culture. I know I said "anyone who hurts animals", so I apologize for being vague. It appears my implied point was not as implied as I hoped it was, if that makes any sense.

Unfortunately, I disagree strongly with your second point. Could you elucidate a little? Do you mean that picking flowers is tantamount to ripping the heads off of kittens? Or do you think that both plants and animals should be protected? I don't want to put words in your mouth, so please help me understand your position. Thanks.

Comment #2

Anonymous said...
I have noticed you mentioned Budha in this post and in a previous post even before mentioning Jesus-I just wanted to remind you that the apostle Paul is a turtle-he said he had learned the secret of
"being content in every situation",
Of course "content" is different than "happy"..............


This is truly a great point. Thanks for reminding me. Although immersed in the Scriptures at an early age, it would probably do me well to take a refresher course. I think I'm arriving at the point where I believe every major religion believes roughly the same thing, only the paths to achieving the end result are different. Whether or not that makes much of a theological difference, however, is a totally different question. In any case, thank you for reminding me that Christianity, if properly applied, shares many of the aspects of Buddhism. I need readers like you to keep me on my toes.

Comment #3

Anonymous said...
"I'm also from LSD. I read your posts daily. I too am a disgruntled teacher tossing it all away after 14 years to pursue a law career. I have about 13 more days in my countdown than you."


You are a MUCH braver person than me. I've only spent three years in education, so it's not difficult to walk away from peanuts. In all seriousness, however, it takes a lot of courage to abandon that much stability for a dream. I hope you make it to the end of the year with your sanity. Keep us all up to date on your progress. Good luck with law school.

A Valentine to My Love

When I enter the store my heart grows sick
At the sight of fluorescent lighting
And men milling around in little herds
In front of cards and flowers with
Questions in their eyes.

A woman stocking fake hearts and real sweets
Approaches, asking "May I help you?"
I just nod my head and smile, moving on.
What is left is not much: a candle (no holder),
A few willowed flowers and chalky chocolate
That will undoubtably go on sale tomorrow.

Fully disgusted, I slip aside to the next aisle
And see the reason people still hold out hope.
They are old, he in his flannel coat and
she sitting in a motorized cart. His back
is visibly stiff as he reaches over to place
a roll of toilet paper in the basket.
As I walk by, neither one speaks. I make a
small note of the plastic tubes in her nose
And continue on, head down, hands shoved
Deep in pockets.

2005/02/13

Trees

A child will tell you in no uncertain terms
That tree bark is brown and smooth.
They speak in earnest truth.
But trees are also grey and white and fleshy pink.
I have seen countless trees
With countless scars.
I have seen trees split and wounded-
Only to grow again.

Anyone will vouch for the fact that
Trees grows straight and tall-
And truth, at least in part,
Resides with them.
But trees also grow in gnarled knots
That wondrously writhe.
I have seen a tree bigger than I
Twist and curl on its belly
Before lunging for the sky.

A carpenter will tell you
That trees are used for doors
And tables and books and such-
And he is not wholly wrong.
But they are also
Strong and silent guardians-
Our closest link to a
Primitive past.

2005/02/12

Stray

My wife and I volunteer for the local Humane Society. Our organization has a no-kill policy regarding their animals; they are only put down if they are suffering and cannot be saved or if they are a danger to humans and other animals.

I only mention this because I found another stray a few days ago. We've named her Brownie. She's a boxer bull mix, we think, but I've never been too good at guessing breeds. She was so hungry she ate half a box of Wheat Thins when I found her.

Every animal we own was rescued from one situation or another. Our first dog, Sassy, we discovered with a litter of puppies next to a busy street. She was so tired when we found her that she had stopped taking care of the puppies. Many of them were playing in the ditch, inches away from traffic. When I scooped them up and placed them in the car, she whined and looked anxious. Then, when I tried to grab her, she snapped at me a little, which is understandable. We've had her for over a year, and she's the most submissive and friendly dog you'll ever meet. Which only reminds me of how scared she was when I first grabbed her. Since the puppies were young and cute, we found homes for them quite easily, but she's old and somewhat less attractive, so she stayed with us.

I once climbed in a drainage pipe to rescue a cat named Pumpkin. It was Thanksgiving Break, so the water (even in Mississippi) was a bit frosty. She ran in anyway. I can't imagine how scared a cat has to be to decide that running into freezing water is better than being caught. After I caught her, she purred and purred. I think she had just about given up.

I like animals a lot more than humans. They don't complain, they always love you, and they're always thankful. More importantly, they have mastered the art of existing in a space and wanting nothing else. This is the same skill that Buddhist monks spend lifetimes to learn- the same task that can be accomplished by a turtle.

By the same vein, I despise people who abandon or hurt animals. Some of my students joke about killing cats. I cannot imagine how demented a person would have to be to find such talk amusing. Even today I met a guy who said (after I told him that I had found a cat a home today) that "I can get rid of all of them in about 30 minutes, if you want."

Bastard.

As a society, we have no excuse for domesticating an animal (the wolf), making it totally dependent on man, and then turning our backs on it. If we didn't want to take care of them, we should have left them alone in the first place. I imagine I've rescued and fostered 30 animal in the past year alone- all because someone decided to drop their pet off on the side of the road.

Sorry- soapbox speech done. I just needed to vent.

Things Fall Apart

Over the last several weeks, several things in my life have either broken or failed to do their job. First, there was the cable modem, which is now resting peacefully in my closet. Then there was the back driver's side tire on the Saturn, which decided to breathe its last on a rainy Wednesday morning.

On Thursday the cable went out- on the TV. Which means, other than the dial-up connection I cling to and the use of electricity, I was practically thrust into the Middle Ages.

I called on Monday and asked that they drop my service down to the lowest tier, which includes 22 channels for 11.00 dollars a month. I was paying roughly 80.00 a months for 150 channels I never had time to watch. I figure I can eat at Taco Bell a few more times with the extra money I'm saving.

Well, on Thursday night I came home looking forward to another rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond when the beautiful big screen TV that came with the house responded with a bright blue screen reminiscent of a Ray Bradbury short story. In the middle was one word:

Searching...

And then nothing. After a while the TV turned itself off (that, in and of itself, is scary enough) and I was left in silence. My three dogs stared at me, bewildered and confused. I knew the feeling.

So I called Charter. Twice. Then again on Friday. Then twice on Saturday. Finally someone came out and repaired the problem. This time, however, they gave me too many channels. A lady called and asked if everything was fixed and I told her about the problem. She said they would fix it, as well as "Thank you for your honesty." I think she was genuinely shocked that someone would actually be truthful about the situation.

Sometimes I wished I lived in a world where honesty was expected and being deceitful was a spectacle in and of itself.

2005/02/11

Wasted Time

For the three of you who read my blog and are not related to me, visit the site below- it's a blog created by my sister. Her insanity is of a slightly different blend from my own, so you could very well find something interesting. It's still in its relative infancy, buy hey, so is this one.

http://justaddbacon.blogspot.com

Also for those who like to waste time (a favorite pursuit of mine)- I've included a list of links below, as well as a synopsis of their content. Enjoy- and feel free to post comments directing me to random websites.

http://televisionwithoutpity.com This website provides summaries of both popular and cult TV shows such as The Apprentice, Smallville, and Enterprise. A must have for those unfortunate enough to exist without a Tivo.

http://uncoolcentral.com Randomness personified in the guise of a guy who deems certain things "uncool".


http://www.ambientdesign.com/artrage.html
This is easily the most impressive free art program I've run across- when you paint with the program, the colors mix on the canvas, clump, and change depending on whether or not you wash the brush. You really have to try it to see what I mean... I must have wasted a good six hours drawing pictures last week.


That's about all I have for tonight. I'm off to celebrate, but don't worry- the Golden Era of this blog has yet to pass. This I promise.

2005/02/10

Ice Cold

I wish I could write something meaningful or inspiring today but I'm just too drained. This has been a weird and long week, and I'm ready for it to be over.

In order to make a little extra money, I've arranged an interview next Tuesday. Hopefully it'll work out.

One of my students walked into a closed door today. I heard a bump, looked up, and saw him rubbing his lip and wincing.

"What happened?" I say, inwardly hoping against hope that he wasn't going to say what he said.

"I ran into the door- I thought it was open."

At that moment a tiny sliver of my soul climbed out of my mouth and scurried down the hall, never to be seen again. I have it on good faith that it didn't hit the door by accident as it left.

Lastly, I read an article today in the textbook called "The Man in the Water". It's about an unidentified airplane victim who continually handed the lifeline to other passengers, even as he froze to death and slid beneath the waves. I've forgotten the author- not a good sign- but he did an impressive job of capturing the man's sacrifice. In fact, I found myself having that funny balloon feeling in the chest that makes you dreadfully uncomfortable but lets you know how truly human you are. It was nice.

My students, of course, didn't see the point. They just wanted to know if the questions at the end would be graded. When I tell them that there are more important things than grades, they stare at me in disbelief.

They just don't get it. They don't understand that there are things bigger than the self- that the universe doesn't revolve around them.

My Google ads are trying to sell people plum trees. I find that quite humorous.

2005/02/09

The Side of a Cereal Box

The grand sum of experience is marked not by those rare moments that stand out in great relief. Such points reach too high and burn too bright to cast a true reflection. Instead, life is found in the twilight spaces far removed from the glorious light. In other words, life is a constellation composed of the invisible and forgettable happenings that occur between the stars.

When I proposed to my wife, we created a point. Our vows at the church a few months later created another. Don't get me wrong- I'll always remember those moments, but for me the space between is what gave both occasions so much meaning.

To summarize the entire engagement- to reduce it into two quick flashes of time- does the grand parade of life that occured in the middle a great disservice.

Life for me was far sweeter when she ran to tell her mother the news with quick steps and hushed excitement. Life for me was fuller when we spent time selecting rehearsal dinner menus and finding a place to hold the reception. And life was far grander the nights we spent driving on the Natchez Trace, discussing the possibilities of a life spent together.

In the landscape of life, there are far more fields than mountains. I'll enjoy the view from the top, but I'll do my living down below.

Deflated

I changed a flat tire in the rain today. I'm not terribly old, but it seems to me that modern jacks are harder to use than their earlier counterparts. I remember a time when all you had to do was place the jack under the car, place the iron in the slot, and simply move it up and down as the car rose.

Now (for unknown reasons) you have to insert the jack into the hole, turn it over, twist it, and then turn it over again. Doesn't sound too difficult until you try it in the rain and your knees start to hurt because you've been squatting for such a long period of time.

The only thing I can come up with is that car makers are trying to save space in the trunk and make their jack designs as compact as possible. That's great and all, but I really wouldn't mind if the engineers made a jack that's twice as big but worked twice as well. I seriously doubt I'm going to be loading my groceries and utter the words, "Man, I really wish they hadn't made such a big jack... where am I going to put the eighteenth ten-pound can of baked beans?"

On the bright side, I was able to miss the greater part of first period- as a result, my day has been much more enjoyable than usual. In other words, I'd rather change a tire in the rain than come to work. How sad is that?



2005/02/08

Idyllic Eden

 Posted by Hello


You gotta love the old-school park benches... I guess monks don't care to keep up with the latest fads.

(Almost Official) Acceptance

I found out today that I have been accepted to my first choice of law schools. The assistant dean of admissions contacted me by phone and told me that action had been taken on my application Monday- and that I had been accepted. This decision will allow me to move home, stop teaching, and focus on a new career.

Needless to say, I'm excited.

I should receive the official letter in a few days, so until then I won't be able to celebrate completely, but it's nice to know that it's on the way.

Before this, things moved like concrete. Now things have jumped to light speed- I find myself making plans to rent a moving van to fill with various odds and ends. I've moved a few times, and I've learned from experience to do it in stages.

Wish

Thirteen plum trees line the back fence of my parent's house. The trunks themselves fall on my grandfather's property, but a great deal of of the fruit falls in their yard.

In spring (if the last frost decides to show mercy), the once bare trees explode in blossom. Bees return to their yard en masse. I am allergic to their stings but still enthralled by their presence, so as a child I learned the delicate dance of good and evil, sin and absolution. A bee would range out, surveying the branches, and I would back up in unison, lingering out until it returned to the bud.

Around the time the sun grows unbearably hot, the small green plums turn from yellow to gold to red. A pungent smell of fertility and life hangs in the air that clogs the nostrils and threatens to make one gloriously ill. Many of the plums fall in the soft uncut grass of summer, and a quick run of the lawnmower never fails to expose hundreds of them below.

In their sad decay they turn ungodly purple on the branch. Eat one accidentally- or on a dare- and the sour tast of sun-fermented wine fills the mouth.

Three months of the year the thirteen plum trees sit unclothed and alone, their old-lady branches sitting stark and spartan against the unforgiving grey sky.

I wish to return to those trees, to rest my back against the sagging fence and feel their shade on my face.

I wish.

2005/02/07

A Grand Experiment

My site has almost received 300 hits, and it's still less than a week old. However, I'm fairly sure that half of those hits have come from me while editing and uploading the page.

That still leaves 150 or so unexplained visits.

I'd like for you, the unknown visitor, to record your presence so I have a rough idea of how many view my page on a daily basis. To be honest, I'd rather have ten people bookmark it and read it everyday than one hundred visitors who happen to stumble across it by accident and never return.

So do me a favor- if you visit (almost) everyday, leave a comment below. I'd like to know I'm not writing all of this for nothing. Thanks.

The Beauty of Napoleon Dynamite

I watched this DVD a few weeks ago. As far as entertainment value goes, it kinda sneaks up on you like a fog- you don't realize how much you really enjoyed it until it seeps under your skin a few days later and won't let go.

The reason I think I enjoyed it so much is because it contained so much verisimilitude. Many adults I've talked with hate it, and their main critique, in varying words, is that it's "pointless".

I agree. It is pointless.

But that's the whole point. As an effort to capture the life of an Idahoan student in the throes of high school, it succeeded. For many people, life is pointless.

Running for high school president will easily be the most exciting venture that some people ever undertake. Sad, but true. At least Napoleon Dynamite was able to celebrate life's little victories instead of bemoaning the large ones that never occur.

In real life, there are rarely explosions and car chases to move on the parade of earthly existence. Instead, our lives are filled with feeding pets, finding love, helping friends, and doing things we enjoy.

If we're lucky.

I for one, was glad to see a movie that wasn't afraid to cover the sticky topic of the mundane- and succeed wonderfully in showing us that the everyday can easily translate to the spectacular, if we'll only let it.

Sixty-Nine Days Until Sweet Blessed Freedom

345 class periods. 13.8 weeks. But you get the idea.

Some days the only thing that sustains me is knowing that I have 30 sick days at my disposal. I don't think I'll use them, but having them in my possession helps a great deal. If need be, I could take six weeks off- or sixty half-days.

There's a big part of me that wants to go out of this thing with dignity, however. I don't want to leave on a low note if I can help it; I'd rather leave with the administration and students thinking that the school had lost a great teacher.

As an educator, my biggest weakness is classroom management. As a general rule, I hate conflict and will avoid it at all costs. I'm not sure why, it's just always been a part of my personality. At the grocery store, for example, I'll purposely turn down an aisle if I see that me and another cart will both reach the checkout line at the same time. Then I'll peruse the pastas (or whatever it may be) until the coast is clear and my spot in the line in open.

Although gracious and humble, this approach doesn't really work too well in public education. And yet I can't bring myself to be mean and tell the students what to do. It's just not in me. I'm not exactly Buddha or Jesus or Martin Luther King Jr., but I do try to reach their ideals. They weren't exactly the controlling type. In short, the same quality that makes me a good person makes me a horrible educator.

Let me repeat that, for I think it bears repeating.

The same quality that makes me a good person makes me a horrible educator.

2005/02/06

What Really Matters...

Don't get me wrong- I like football. But in the grander scheme of things, does it really matter? As a society, we spend millions buying tickets and things that have an "NFL" logo; however, there are far more important things that should occupy our time and resources.

I've always believed as much, but watching the Pre-Game show tonight only reaffirmed my conviction. On the field Michael Douglas introduced "The Greatest Generation". These included the Tuskegee Airmen, the 101st Airborne Division, and the Navy Waves, among others. My weak words would do nothing to advance the courage and fortitude these fine men and women displayed in World War II, but suffice it to say I believe them all to be better people than I could ever hope to be. To finish it off, the combined talents of the military came together to perform the National Anthem.

Let me offer a suggestion- if you did not feel something in your chest at the end, when the trumpets reached their crescendo- you have no soul.

My point, which I've attempted to reach in a roundabout way, is this- in the final analysis, what occured before the game tonight is unequivocally more important than who wins or loses or throws the most touchdowns. Grown men running around a field chasing a brown ball makes for good entertainment, but that's all it is.

Just a few questions, and I'll step off my soapbox. I promise.

Can you imagine a society where the celebration of a nation is the main event and football is merely the precursor? Where people gathered in the thousands and sat around TVs to catch a glimpse of soldiers who died for our freedom?

Can you imagine a society where high school students wanted to grow up to be like George Washington or the soldier who died down the street, instead of Terrell Owens and Tom Brady?

Sadly, I cannot.

Last time I checked, Philly was up 7-0, for those of you who care.

Say Cheese...

Like everyone else on the planet, I'm an amateur photographer. Thanks to the advent of digital technology, what once required copious amounts of technical precision can now be accomplished through the touch of a button. This is a good thing, because I don't see myself lugging around a ten pound camera and tripod to take a picture of a butterfly.

Below I've posted a picture, but I need to add a caveat first.

I don't intend for this blog to become a devotional or a weak attempt to convert people to religion. I photograph objects for their pure aesthetic value; I promise there is no underlying motive to propagate an ideological viewpoint.

The picture below is of Mary and Jesus. It is a statue on the grounds of a convent in Conyers, Georgia. Regardless of what you believe concerning Christianity, it is hard not to admit that the grounds are breathtaking. I hope you enjoy.
 Posted by Hello

2005/02/05

Eighty-Four Cents

That's how much money I've made through Google's Adsense program. Not bad for doing absolutely nothing for two days. I'm pretty sure I could buy a Krystal with that, or at least a soft taco from Taco Bell. But I need a Mr. Pibb to wash it down. I submit that one cannot truly enjoy fast food fare without a caffeinated or carbonated beverage. So I beg of you, click.

Click until it hurts.

Being a teacher on the weekends is equal part pleasure and pain. During Friday night and Saturday, your spirits are sent soaring at the prospect of freedom from students that feel compelled to say your name at least thirty times an hour in order to feel good about themselves. Then comes Sunday.

On Sunday, you begin to realize that you're almost out of time. You start staring at the clock in a sad and weak effort to will the minutes into slowing. It never works. By the time "The Simpsons" are on, all is almost lost. With every inane laugh caused by the show, you fully realize that it very well could be your last moment of excitement for the weekend. So you savor the moment even as it ends, until finally you realize it's time to make the long trek up the staircase to your waiting bed.

Your dreams are always filled with lesson plans and sign-in sheets and angry parents.

Always.





Dialin' Up the Dream, Baby

My home is officially reconnected to the information superhighway. I'm driving a 1978 Ford Pinto with no muffler, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

That's right, my friends- I'm connecting through a phone line. Afterwards I think I'm gonna listen to a few records on the phonograph and grab a pie from the icebox. Yessiree.

All jesting aside, it's really not that terribly slow. I only really use the internet to troll discussion boards, check my email, and update this blog. I'm sure if I tried to download all of Casablanca I might encounter a problem, but other than that, it's fine.

Speaking of updating the blog- I changed the settings so anyone could post a comment. Luckily, someone I told about the site suggested the change after their attempt to comment was rebuffed.

2005/02/04

Four-Square

Since I don't have an internet connection at home, this might be my last post until Monday. We'll see. At any rate, don't assume I've given up on this blog (or been kidnapped) if you don't see a new post over the next few days.

Today, since my students are learning about Modernist literature, I had them play the children's game four-square. Why? Well, I took it from the Frost line "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." We discussed how the Modernist writers believed that America was becoming a cesspool of filth and corruption, and how they wished to return to a childlike innocence. (The poem I posted a few days ago by Jeffers also reiterates this theme.) Thus, I thought it would be neat if they "returned" to their childhood, if only for a few minutes.

It's sad, but high schoolers for the most part have lost all of their innocence. During the game, there were those who sat hunched over like busy accountants crunching numbers. It was heartbreaking. They're 17, and they already act just like their parents.

I had to watch a classroom today during fifth period. About halfway through class I leaned back in my chair and placed my feet on the wall. Every student in class turned to me with eyes wide. I was justifiably freaked out so I asked one of them what the big deal was. A girl in the corner piped up, "We're not allowed to touch the wall. We get in trouble."

God help us. God help us all.





2005/02/03

Farewell Not So Faithful Friend...

I was in the midst of writing a post last night when my modem died. I think I might have overloaded it with my amateur electrician skills.

You see, I own a cat who likes to eat things that are best left uneaten. Like AC Adapter cords, for instance. I don't know why an animal would constantly chew through a live wire unless they enjoyed pain. Thus I was not surprised when I come home and found that the cord has been chewed completely through.

When this happens, I just fall back on my McGuyver training. I find a pair of scissors, strip back the plastic and expose the bright copper wires beneath. Then I twist them together and I have a working modem once again.

Apparently, this little trick only works a number of times before the modem decides it's had enough. Either that or my ISP sends a suicide command to the modem after a predetermined amount of time so I'll have to buy another one.

What's ironic is that I can post to my website from work but not actually view it. So I'll be flying blind for a while. I won't be able to read your comments- not that I have any- so don't think that I'm being terribly antisocial.

2005/02/02

I'd cut off a limb to write this well...

Shine, Perishing Republic

While this America settles in the mold of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire,
And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens,


I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots to make earth.
Out of the mother; and through the spring exultances, ripeness and decadence; and home to the mother.


You making haste, haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly
A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic.


But for my children, I would have them keep their distance from the thickening center; corruption
Never has been compulsory, when the cities lie at the monster's feet there are left the mountains.


And boys, be in nothing so moderate as in love of man, a clever servant, insufferable master.
There is the trap that catches noblest spirits, that caught-they say-God, when he walked on earth.


Robinson Jeffers

2005/02/01

Mocking the Mock

Day 74:

Today I spent two hours administering a mock science graduation test.

I'll explore the "mock" portion first, then the subject matter.

To begin, every student in the school knows that this is a "mock" test. Administrators blather on the intercom "Mock this" and "Mock that" fourteen times a day. You'd think we were in a London air raid from WWII. Of course, to students "mock" means "This will never count for anything so I might as well Christmas Tree it and think about Quake 45 instead." I can't say as I blame them. I don't like doing things that don't matter either. If I were them, I would probably put some butter on my test and eat it. I would do fine on the real thing, because my parents taught me to try my best- if my actions have real consequences. If I'm playing Duck Hunt on Nintendo, I'm not going to kick myself if I miss a duck here or there, or even fall asleep with Cheetos on my lap for half an hour.

Because the ducks aren't real.

Now, for the subject matter.

It's not exactly a secret that I'm an English teacher.

Why would an English teacher proctor a Science test, you might ask?

Welcome to public education, folks. I couldn't make this stuff up.

In my classes, I try to foster a willingness in my students to question their surroundings- in other words, not accept the status quo. So it amused me to no end when one of my students came to the same exact realization I had earlier. He was taking his test when he stopped, put down his pencil, and looked up. He asked me, "Why are you giving this test? You're an English teacher. Shouldn't the science teachers be in charge of this?"

Success.

Burgeoning Beast

I've updated the site a bit...
Google approved me for their AdSense program so I added a button to the right. I think if you click on it I make a penny or something. I also added a counter at the bottom- as of right now I'm certain most of the visits have come from me. Someone told me that they made this website their IE homepage... I've never been so scared in my life.

What's your favorite color?

I like a cornflower in the morning,
When the fields still hold the night.
I like cat's-eye black for a run-down barn
Full of dust and agile mice

I like gold with flecks of silver
For the godly garish sun
And salmon in the sky
When the day is almost done.



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