I walked out of my Program Evaluation class this evening -- wherein we have learned to evaluate programs, as stunning as that is -- and had to stop mid-walk when I realized the following: I will never walk back into a classroom for this master's program again (unless I somehow bomb my finals which isn't likely because I will not stop until I feel confident that they are sufficiently aced). I took a moment and wanted to feel more -- like skipping or jumping up and down or drinking many shots of some nasty well-brand liquor until a friend finally coaxes me out the door with an embarrassed smile to the other patrons who have been quietly wishing my loud, obnoxious self horrible rashes and other nasties because I just wouldn't shut up about how I'm almost finished with my master's degree and how it was such a long time coming, etc. and blah, blah...
But I didn't feel any of that. Instead, I just felt kinda tired and a little scared.
Tragic moment of self-awareness = realizing you're lame for not being more proud of your accomplishments. Maybe I'll realize one day that everything I went through to get here was worth it. But I don't feel it yet. Help me people...my sense of entitlement in squashing my enthusiasm...
Addendum: and then this morning I remembered that my parents surprised me Friday and came up to see me dance. And I felt better again. Small gestures make all the difference. It's funny how many people don't know that...
I try and fail so much you think I'd be used to it by now. But I'm not...
Little Lola's pretty sad today and is likely to be for some time to come. For a writer, my communication skills are pretty tragic -- I'm so bad in fact that I somehow manage to convince people I don't care when I really do, that I'm useless when I'm really not and that I enjoy being treated like a doormat when, dammit, I really, really, for truly, don't.
I also can stand up for myself and unfortunately people generally don't expect me to and so are horrified when I do -- to disastrous results usually. Or maybe it's not that they don't expect me to as much as when I do I am sort of a force to be reckoned with. I have a lot of my mother in me -- it takes us a while to get angry but when you do you may just see the devil in our eyes. Seriously, not joking about that. My mother has actually thrown me a look that suggested that she regretted the day I was conceived, would just as soon have me off the planet, and was currently trying to figure out the best way to accomplish that end without getting caught (sorry mom but you know it's true).
So, in order to quell the rage impulse I have, I cry a lot, usually out of pure frustration -- I'm crying because the alternative is really bad. This leads to people thinking I'm overly sensitive and/or weak. Which leads to the aforementioned doormat thing.
I'm so screwed.
Right now the rage impulse is in full swing because I've recently had to break my heart a little in order to do the right thing and am hunting for work, a process that guarantees rejection after rejection until, finally, after months of trying, acceptance. I know this is coming and I'm anxious about it. The situation has been ramped up here recently as well but I won't go into all that. Suffice to say that sometimes you can never do enough.
But dancing helps. And I'll be doing a lot of that this weekend. It makes me feel like I can do something properly and with a little bit of grace, and that I can't hurt or offend anyone by just trying to move beautifully through space.
Which means that we all must search our feelings and turn from the Dark Side. If it were a Clash of the Titans Friday we would all have to find and fulfill our destinies, which is harder. So good for us.
I love all the names for these little guys. The lady's all like "wooden leg goats, fainting goats, roll over goats, goats-a-go-go..." for like five minutes! Alright, like 6 or 7 seconds but still. It made me laugh. (many thanks to you again Mr. Zimmer)
Social Networking is a dangerous, potentially delicious game
Blast it! Justin, if I actually set up a Facebook account it's your fault since you refuse to communicate like a normal human being by using email and so you force me to discuss your baseball prowess via Stalkerbook. It just feels weird to me...I'll think about it...
Addendum: I've done a little research and have found out the following: 1. the guy who started Facebook stole the code and the idea from people who had hired him -- sans contract -- to basically finish their Facebook-like project for them. Which means that this douche has made a killing. 2. According to a dude I work with, one of Facebook's biggest contributers is a very high-level official with the CIA which of course means Facebook is Big Brother (I can't corroborate this fact...ahem...), but is still less scary than the capitalists disguised as "caring liberals" who run Google. 3. Poking around Facebook makes me uncomfortable and I'm not sure why. I think because the whole friend collecting phenomenon, and the associated giving a crap about popularity, reminds me of "how many people signed your yearbook?" and "which sorority are you rushing?," both of which were distasteful for me at the time and are even more distasteful to me now when I'm supposed to have more meaningful things to worry about.
But then another work mate mentioned that all the internet applications we use every day are conveniently stored in one place and isn't that useful, which then led to a discussion about how we're volunteering all this information for easy access to our lives and aren't we just making it frighteningly simple to see ourselves as one gelatinous clump rather than as individuals (but all done under the auspices of individuality) and isn't that kind of scary and evil...and on, and on.
In the end, I'm sure I'll cave but I'm going to rebel as long as possible before drinking that koolaid...
There's so much space I can cut me a piece with some fine wine
I have very little time but I just wanted to give a shout out to a friend of mine. I recently found out that his disappearance was due to the fact that he made a brave decision to, as he put it, "step out on a limb" and train police officers in Iraq. What kind of person does this? An awesome one.
So, to you missing friend, I dedicate the song I listen to every year at this time to remind me of the hopeful, lazy Southern summertime just around the corner that will be waiting for you when you get back. It was introduced to me when I was about 16 at my friend Barry's lake house where I spent almost an entire summer with the High School cohort. My dear friend Matt made me lay back, close my eyes and listen to the "poetry" in this song. Then he cranked it. You should do the same...
My DC friend has season tickets so I can go another time to the new stadium, built smack dab in the middle of my grandfather's childhood neighborhood (which I've never visited), and which interests me from a family-connection perspective almost more than from a "wow, cool new stadium!" perspective. I'll get there because my DC friend is encouraging and has given me an open invitation. Dude, you rock.
So, in an effort to ward off feeling disappointed, I've decided to revisit some music that my childhood friend Little Sara and I used to listen to when her older brother got The Who's singles album Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy. Talking to Juje the other day, I was informed that my mother found this particular album title obscene (she had Tipper Gore beat by at least a decade) and apparently took a black magic marker to Juje's Who's Next album to cover up the unseemly urine stains on the strange concrete obelisk. She has a better sense of humor now. I think she was, early on, taking the parenting thing too seriously. By the time my little brother and I were born, 12 and 10 years later respectively, we could have filmed our own heavy metal rock video in the front yard and Mom would have just instructed us to keep it down because she was trying to take a nap.
In any event, Juje and I were talking about the genius of Keith Moon and his almost inhuman ability to keep time -- and, who are we kidding, create time -- on the drums, so I'm posting a song that I think showcases that ability. It really is remarkable. And it puts me in a better mood.
Also, sometimes I miss reviewing music... But only sometimes.
There was an article recently in the Wall Street Journal written by John F. Cogan and R. Glenn Hubbard. Cogan is a senior fellow at the Hoover Institution and Hubbard is the dean of Columbia Business School. Here's what they had to say. Although Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama believe that tax increases are needed in order to restore a balanced budget and finance entitlement programs, "these claims fail budget arithmetic and economics. Worse, they raise serious questions about the nation's broad fiscal policies and its commitment to economic growth."
We currently stand on the edge of a very large tax increase if Congress fails to continue the Bush tax cuts. If these tax cuts expire, the personal income tax burden will be driven up by 25% ... that will be its highest point relative to GDP in history. It will be the largest increase in personal taxes since WWII, and it would be twice as large as Lyndon Johnson's attempt to fight the war of poverty and finance the war in Vietnam. And it would be more than twice the combined personal income tax increases under George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton
So Hillary and Obama and other Democrats will tell you that these tax cuts on the evil rich must expire in order to balance the budget and finance the retirement and health-care promises made to the baby-boom generation. "But a tax increase is neither wise nor necessary," according to the authors. The economic damage caused by tax increases will prevent promised revenues from being realized ... and higher revenues will encourage Congress to continue its wasteful spending. In other words, even if the Congress has more money to balance the budget, it won't do it because it is so caught up in pork-barrel spending.
A big screaming amen to that.
So if we let things continue at the current rate, the federal budget deficit will increase this year because of the economic slowdown. But ... and here's the big "but" that many Democrats don't understand ... "as the economy enters a recovery phase, raising taxes would choke off the recovery. The right policy, for both the economy and the budget, would be to make current tax rates permanent well before the scheduled increase. Giving investors greater certainty that current tax rates will be maintained will spur investment and aid the economic recovery, as it did in 2003. Federal budget balance will be achieved once the economy is again operating on all its cylinders."
I fell in love at the Post Office today. As I was filling out my certified mail receipt (my mortgage company must be monitored...), I noticed an elderly gentlemen ambling toward the line and I waited for him to go ahead of me because A. he had a pronounced limp and B. my momma taught me well. I guess the fact that I didn't push him over to step in front of him impressed him so he began to talk:
Post Office Man: "Do they sell money orders?" Me: "I think so. Post Office usually does..." POM: "I'm sending a letter to my friend in prison and I want to send him a little money." Me: "......" POM: "He's been in a few years and I can't remember what he did but he's working hard to get out and I think he's really changed. He's working a little now during the day." Me: "Oh, like on work release?" POM: "Yeah, work release." Me: "Wow. Imagine that. The prison system actually rehabilitated someone." POM: "Yep. That's what they're supposed to do but it doesn't happen very often." Me: "So I hear." POM: "You a native Athenian?" Me: "Nope. Atlanta. Finishing up a degree and then heading back to Atlanta." POM: "What will you do?" Me: "Well, I was a reporter and I'm good at that so I'd really like to get back to something like that but there's a policy analyst position that I'm actually going to interview for so we'll see." POM: "Reporter? I didn't realize I was talking to a celebrity." Me: "BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! [Ed note: ask any reporter why this is hilarious...] POM: "What?! If you worked for the paper you're a local celebrity." Me: "It was several years ago now and it doesn't pay enough for employees to be classified that way." POM: "Naw, you might get too conceited then." Me: "Hee hee, yeah, that's probably true...Are you from Athens?" POM: "Thomaston. I went to school here and played football here. Me: "At UGA?" POM: "Yep. '46 to '48." Me: "I didn't realize I was talking to a celebrity." POM: "Naw, naw...I was only 5th string. But we did go to a few bowl games..."
We separated then to conduct our individual business and I looked over one last time to watch him write a little note to his incarcerated friend. I looked the '46-'48 Bulldogs up when I got back to work. They won two conference titles.
Um okay. Here's my issue with Father Pfleger: while I totally understand backing up your friends -- I have friends that say crazy shit all the time and I do tend to back them up because shared experiences sometimes trump wacky theories because theories change as people mature and grow -- jumping around in the pulpit of a Catholic church is really strange. Priests are generally sober and sedate servants of God -- they are in fact intended to be interchangeable within a parish -- and so having a super charismatic personality preaching Elmer Gantry-like from the altar is really odd. (By the way, my Dad was fond of calling Mike Huckabee Elmer Gantry which I thought was just hilarious...). It reminds me of the scene at the end of The Quiet Man where the priest in the Irish town instructs his parish, to help the local Protestant pastor make a good impression on his boss, to cheer for the Reverend Playfair "like you was all Protestants." I'm joking of course -- I often felt great envy for the spirited sermons of some Protestant churches that I never really experienced growing up Catholic. However, and I can't be sure, but it just feels like old Father Pfleger is really just in this for the attention which is incredibly counter to Christian teaching -- um, the sin of pride anyone? And that's really, really offensive to me. The separation of church and state works both ways man. I don't need no politickin' in my pulpit. And yes, I understand how loaded that is coming from a Catholic because of the power of Rome but some of us can dream...
In any event, one key element of backing your friends with crazy theories is acknowledging that their theories are crazy and it's not the theory you support but rather that you believe that this person is in the midst of learning (as we all are) and your hope is that they do. It is true, however, that people "damning" things in church and spitting vitriol against Jews is pretty much in line with the flavor of people like Westboro Baptist Church who have the same "anti" message only they seem to concentrate on homosexuality and it splits radically from what I know of the Great Unifier (God). It's all hateful and divisive and anyone who's been in a room where this kind of "we hate" rhetoric gets thrown around knows how quickly things can escalate (just look at the post on Mexico declaring war on the emo kids). I would even go so far as to say this kind of thinking is the cause of pretty much every non-righteous war the world has ever seen. Notice I think some things are righteously battled over. I just draw the line at self-righteousness. And I know it when I see it. And Father Pfleger might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says "I have all the answers!" Dude, really, neither you, Farrakhan nor Rev. Wright do so please, do us a favor, and just be humble for half a second. You may find that that is where some of those answers you think you have actually lie.
And I digress. Happy Friday.
Addendum -- Zimmer and I, while discussing his overthrow of a small, South American country came that to the conclusion that he disregards Diablo Blanco as his official dictator title in favor of El Bombastico. Which reminded me of a song. So here's your Friday musica.
I'm not sure if this is funny or not -- alright, it's hilarious. Lord Somber sent this to me because, as a Gothy kind of guy, he identifies with the angst of the emo. I told Zimmer about it and he said, "And what's [an emo kid] gonna do in retaliation? Update their blog?"
Or write some really bad poetry. Abajo con los cabritos del emo!
Now that I can relax a little after successfully enduring the most intense three hours of my life -- it reminded me of the newsroom when you just have to filter out the sound of 15 other people furiously and nervously typing, sighing, grunting and having panic attacks -- I can get back to surfing the internets for the funny while actively procrastinating at work. Here's a new favorite because I have a deep and abiding love for The Onion ever since it kept me laughing as a tear-off calendar on my desk at the paper ("Area Man's Hair Feathered Like Wings of Majestic Bird"). And also because I have a deep and secret fantasy that this kind of interview might actually occur in the not so distant future and when it does it'll just be tragic. But we can laugh at it now...
I walked out of my Program Evaluation class this evening -- wherein we have learned to evaluate programs, as stunning as that is -- and had to stop mid-walk when I realized the following: I will never walk back into a classroom for this master's program again (unless I somehow bomb my finals which isn't likely because I will not stop until I feel confident that they are sufficiently aced). I took a moment and wanted to feel more -- like skipping or jumping up and down or drinking many shots of some nasty well-brand liquor until a friend finally coaxes me out the door with an embarrassed smile to the other patrons who have been quietly wishing my loud, obnoxious self horrible rashes and other nasties because I just wouldn't shut up about how I'm almost finished with my master's degree and how it was such a long time coming, etc. and blah, blah...
Here's one of the songs for a piece I'm in.
