Our adventure really began and ended with the hotel choice in Nicholasville, Kentucky. Before heading down to Tennessee for work camp, we stopped for a couple days in Kentucky so the kids could take part in Ichthus, which is a Christian music festival put on by Asbury Theological Seminary, which in itself is a part of Asbury University. The festival is held on a farm owned by the organization in the middle of the amazing green hills of Kentucky. There are livestock grazing on three sides and natural amphitheater shape to the area directly surrounding the main stage.
Aside from the total reliance on portable facilities, it is as comfortable and beautiful place to see a concert outdoors as any. The "Porta Kleen" toilet company apparently skirts any laws regarding truth in advertising by intentionally misspelling "kleen", since actual cleanliness was nowhere to be found. This is a brilliant ploy that has been used for years by advertisers. We really need to stop falling for it.
The last thing I will say about Ichthus is this... I hate it. But, we don't go there for me. One of the sacrifices a 36 year old man makes to go on a trip like this is that he must bend his will to the average 14-18 year old girls and boys who are the real important reasons for the trip. We must therefore remind ourselves that we are not on vacation as such and that we are not doing this for ourselves, necessarily. I imagine this is what parenting feels like. I wouldn't know, having chosen to sit that right of passage out.
The reason I don't like the festival is because I don't like the music, I don't like the tents that distribute material that indicates all of humanity is bound for hell, (a parade for which I am apparently the grand marshal based on one or two things I read), and I don't like some of the sanctimony. Yeah, dude... I smell the weed emanating from your tent. You're high and your girlfriend had JBF hair... praise Jesus!
At least the food was good this year. Really, really good. I would go back for the gyros alone. It was impressively good and only modestly overpriced. Kudos to the food vendors.
Let's take I275 back to the topic, shall we? The hotel we stayed in was a Howard Johnson's. Howard hasn't been there in awhile to inspect, I presume. Or perhaps his lifeless body was the source of the foul odor in the west stairwell. I am so glad it didn't have a pool, because I am pretty sure it wouldn't have looked or smelled to good if it did. It's hard to keep a bunch of teenagers out of a pool. God bless them they seem to look right past all the botulism and bird corpses and only see fun.
It was taking a long time to check in, so after a little while, I decided to go in and see how things were going. Our youth leader is sometimes a little too Christian and I have a tendency fulfill the strong arm of the group role. I walked in and almost died at the smell of cigarette smoke. My allergies immediately flared. In fact, I wondered aloud how it is that I ever smoked.
Sami, our leader smiled in a way that let me know everything was fine and I didn't need to pull out the Sergeant Slaughter routine. I smiled back indicating I would be the judge of that.
I heard the tail end of the conversation of Carmen, the manager...
"I can give you another room, but the lock stopped working and you have to lock it from the inside when you leave. You can leave the window unlocked though, and get in that way. That's what the last people did."
Sure, let's put our minors in there... the ones that I am indemnified to take care of.
"Gee, Carmen... that's swell, but we'll stick to the rooms with working locks" I said, a little testy.
"I just wish he didn't give out all your rooms earlier... I told him you was coming," she finished with her raspy smoke riddled voice; her laugh pushed out amid the rowels in her lungs.
"What does that mean?", I asked now, looking at Sami whose all-okay smile was starting to seem disingenuous.
"It's all set, Bill, I'll explain when we get to the parking lot," said Sami in her voice that she only uses for me and only then as a warning that she will kill me if I keep pursuing this behavior. She's a good mom, even if she is younger than I am.
Long story short, many of the rooms had fewer beds than they were supposed to, but we got an extra room for free to compensate; and of course there was always the window room without a working lock should the straits become dire.
Fine. We have rules that disallow a chaperone and a student from being alone together for extended lengths, regardless of gender. I was going to say regardless of sex there, but that could have been taken wrong. Since we had an odd amount of male leaders, all the boys were to be in their own rooms and the leaders in our own room. Clearly the system, while all well-intentioned, does not take into account the horror that could be three rooms of unsupervised boys in a very scary HoJo in a strange town in Kentucky.
So, off we trudged to our room. Josh slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. About nine inches. Before the safety bar caught and stopped the door from opening further.
"There must be someone in there," I said now, jumping to the fore and pushing and peering.
After a couple half-baked attempts to fix the situation, I got Carmen who in addition to being the manager, is also a housekeeper.
"Carmen," I said wiggling my way past the maid cart parked in the middle of the hall, "the safety bar in our room is somehow engaged and we can't get in."
"Again?!", came the reply. My first thought was, what the hell do you mean, again? In didn't think it was possible the first time, let along multiple times. It must be like, a trillion to one. She should be playing the lotto, not cleaning rooms.
"Well, I hope there's no one in there!" she said. Me too, thought I, though somehow I managed to catch the word before they issued forth from my face. "I'll go get my doohickey", Carmen finished, a little put out I thought, considering I was the one who drove 8 hours to be in this place right now.
The doohickey turned out to be a don't-hickey since it did nothing. The man next door came out of his room. He was a tattooed shaved-headed guy with almost enough teeth to count on one hand. I thought, great, we have disturbed this man's porno shoot and he will want us to pay for the ruined film.
Instead, he was the hotel maintenance man. He and his family lived there. His wife was the "head housekeeper". Apparently you can't be the manager and the head housekeeper. turns out Carmen and her husband (you guessed it, the Night Manager) live there, too. I wonder what staff meetings are like... "your place or mine?"
Anyway, he had no luck with the doohickey either. Meanwhile, my frayed nerves were beginning to cross and short-circuit.
"I have a van full of tools," I declared, remembering that I drove a van full of tools and it was in the parking lot as we were living through this ordeal, "I am going to get into this room within the next two minutes whether I have to break this door down or not. So, y'all (I was in the south after all), keep playing with your little toy. I am going to get some tools."
I came back with a chisel, a hammer and channel locks. I got permission by waving my hammer in Carmen's face in a vaguely (or not) threatening way. I noticed that Mr. Meth Mouth had exited stage left.
"Do whatcha gotta do," said Carmen.
In less than one second, I was swinging the door open, the offending safety bar lodged in my channel locks. I never even got to use the hammer. Bummer.
And into my room, replete with... one bed. This was starting to feel like a Mexican soap opera, or a bad knock-off of those road trip adventure movies. At least it had a hot tub. We couldn't use it because "The people downstairs be awful upset if you did." No further explanation was requested or offered.
Josh set up his cot, since he was the junior man and Steve and I staked out sides of the bed. It was a king, so sharing wasn't a big deal.
Sure, the comforter was no comfort unless you find stains and cigarette burns of comfort; and for a non-smoking room, it sure did smell like smoke. We figured Mr. Meth Mouth Maintenance Man was chaining in the room next door. It was palpable.
This is the shortest version of the story. There is still the story of the denizens of this ship of the damned as I began to refer to it. There is the story of the girls who awoke to much explosive vomiting outside their window at three a.m. and the old man who claimed to be an author of many books and told each and every person in the place the only joke he apparently knew.
But that is all for another day when I haven't already written for 45 minutes. I have to go... someone needs to pay the bills around here.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Don't Eat the Paint!
Among the many items that took me by surprise this year at work camp was the addition of lead paint training. I should have known this was coming, as I am aware that the federal government has been on the lead paint warpath.
Now, the danger exists primarily for kids under 6 and even then only if the paint chips themselves are ingested directly. There were no kids on our site while we were working and we were working outside, so even any minute amounts of lead dust were pretty much rendered harmless.
We had to watch a terrible video that not only was mostly inaudible, but poorly demonstrated the actual correct techniques for keeping yourself safe. In essence, we wasted 20 minutes watching the mandatory video and 20 more unlearning what we learned. All this in the name of safety.
Furthermore, it cost the organization through which we were working additional thousands of dollars in materials, training, oversight and permitting because of these new requirements. And the protocols would be strictly enforced since there was federal grant money issued to help defray the costs.
Yep, you read it right. The federal government issued a non-profit organization money to cover the costs of additional fees levied on behalf of... wait for it... the federal government! Makes the golden rule a bit harder to follow than the old timey basic "do unto others..." since the government is involved the golden rule is more like; "do unto others that which you have express or implied consent to do based on the tenets herein as listed in part B subsections vii-ivcm..."
"Hello, Christian brother and sister, we want to help fix your home to keep it warm and safe and dry just as Christ taught us to love our neighbor as ourselves... sign here, here, initial here, put a spot of blood or feces here. Oh, him? That's Morrie, our lawyer... he's Jewish but said as long as the check clears he doesn't care."
I could have taught the training in fine fashion in 2 seconds. "Don't Eat The Paint!" This is good, practical information for everyone to follow, whether the paint is lead or not.
One of the students in my crew asked, "If we're not supposed to eat paint chips, why do they call them chips? It makes them sound nummy! They should call them paint flakes... no one eats flakes."
To which I rattled off Corn Flakes, Frosted Flakes, Potato Flakes. She rolled her eyes as if to dismiss me, but I thought she had a good point. So for the rest of the week, we called them "paint don't-eats."
The governing body came by to check our containment work. We had followed all protocols, but I defy you to keep a paint don't-eat from going wherever the hell it wants to go; especially when launched by a scraper at full... um, scrape. My "containment area" was apparently inadequate because some of the paint don't-eats got out. Now, whether the were launched, or whether they escaped I don't know. I hear these things are a real menace. they will kill you just as soon as look at you. I guess we didn't treat them with enough respect.
So, the governing body told us to clean up better. I therefore had 6 high school students on their hands and knees in the brush and overgrown grass around the porch picking up paint don't-eats with their fingers. This is what they gave up a week of Playstation and pool time for. We finally ended up taking a shovel and simply turning the paint don't-eats into the ground.
I wonder if they will begin to grow and take out the whole of the community, or if the myriad slugs and cave crickets will feast on them and morph into a new giant menace that tramples all under foot, at least until Godzilla gets on the scene to save the town.
I would worry about the water supply, but you'll find that in most established (read older) communities pipe the water to your home in... wait for it... lead pipes. I don't recall signing a waiver to drink a cup of water.
As I write this, I am getting hungry and I realize that it is because paint don't-eats sounds a little too much like paint donuts, which sound utterly agreeable. I guess it is back to the drawing board for an appropriate moniker for this menace to society. I am so glad the federal government is on the case for this one... the last thing I want it a lead paint chip sliding slowly down a spider web laughing evilly as it jumps into my gaping maw while I sleep; unaware the danger that threatens me.
Now, the danger exists primarily for kids under 6 and even then only if the paint chips themselves are ingested directly. There were no kids on our site while we were working and we were working outside, so even any minute amounts of lead dust were pretty much rendered harmless.
We had to watch a terrible video that not only was mostly inaudible, but poorly demonstrated the actual correct techniques for keeping yourself safe. In essence, we wasted 20 minutes watching the mandatory video and 20 more unlearning what we learned. All this in the name of safety.
Furthermore, it cost the organization through which we were working additional thousands of dollars in materials, training, oversight and permitting because of these new requirements. And the protocols would be strictly enforced since there was federal grant money issued to help defray the costs.
Yep, you read it right. The federal government issued a non-profit organization money to cover the costs of additional fees levied on behalf of... wait for it... the federal government! Makes the golden rule a bit harder to follow than the old timey basic "do unto others..." since the government is involved the golden rule is more like; "do unto others that which you have express or implied consent to do based on the tenets herein as listed in part B subsections vii-ivcm..."
"Hello, Christian brother and sister, we want to help fix your home to keep it warm and safe and dry just as Christ taught us to love our neighbor as ourselves... sign here, here, initial here, put a spot of blood or feces here. Oh, him? That's Morrie, our lawyer... he's Jewish but said as long as the check clears he doesn't care."
I could have taught the training in fine fashion in 2 seconds. "Don't Eat The Paint!" This is good, practical information for everyone to follow, whether the paint is lead or not.
One of the students in my crew asked, "If we're not supposed to eat paint chips, why do they call them chips? It makes them sound nummy! They should call them paint flakes... no one eats flakes."
To which I rattled off Corn Flakes, Frosted Flakes, Potato Flakes. She rolled her eyes as if to dismiss me, but I thought she had a good point. So for the rest of the week, we called them "paint don't-eats."
The governing body came by to check our containment work. We had followed all protocols, but I defy you to keep a paint don't-eat from going wherever the hell it wants to go; especially when launched by a scraper at full... um, scrape. My "containment area" was apparently inadequate because some of the paint don't-eats got out. Now, whether the were launched, or whether they escaped I don't know. I hear these things are a real menace. they will kill you just as soon as look at you. I guess we didn't treat them with enough respect.
So, the governing body told us to clean up better. I therefore had 6 high school students on their hands and knees in the brush and overgrown grass around the porch picking up paint don't-eats with their fingers. This is what they gave up a week of Playstation and pool time for. We finally ended up taking a shovel and simply turning the paint don't-eats into the ground.
I wonder if they will begin to grow and take out the whole of the community, or if the myriad slugs and cave crickets will feast on them and morph into a new giant menace that tramples all under foot, at least until Godzilla gets on the scene to save the town.
I would worry about the water supply, but you'll find that in most established (read older) communities pipe the water to your home in... wait for it... lead pipes. I don't recall signing a waiver to drink a cup of water.
As I write this, I am getting hungry and I realize that it is because paint don't-eats sounds a little too much like paint donuts, which sound utterly agreeable. I guess it is back to the drawing board for an appropriate moniker for this menace to society. I am so glad the federal government is on the case for this one... the last thing I want it a lead paint chip sliding slowly down a spider web laughing evilly as it jumps into my gaping maw while I sleep; unaware the danger that threatens me.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Whoa*Mart, Fast Food and Sanctimony
Do you get as many of those "People of Wal*Mart" e-mails as I do? These are the ones that you hate laugh at, because it is not nice or proper to be judgmental of others, but you can't help it becuase of the bombast?
Last year for work camp, we went to West Virginia. This year, Tennessee. So in two years, I have been in three Wal*Marts... Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia. Based on what the internet tells me, these visits should have been absolute comic gold at its best.
And yet, reality is not so funny. I don't shop at Wal*Mart because I don't like the general consumer decline of the U.S. and I think large companies have a responsibility to help out the country they are based in. In this case, the profits that Wal*Mart makes, keeps, hides and withholds from its employees all while forcing more manufacturing and jobs to other parts of the world and foresaking quality for the sake of a few cents per unit make it in my book a nearly criminal enterprise. But that is another rant for another time.
We go to Wal*Mart on these trips because the trips are predominately in the south and that is where Wal*Mart is king. I can say with all seriousness that the three stores I have been to in two years in the deep south have been the nicest, cleanest, most well stocked, genteel locations of the retail behemoth I have ever been to. And they were all sadly lacking in people dressed as chickens or women who were way too big for their clothes or the men who wished they were women who were too big for their clothes.
There have been no shoeless hick families, no crying babies, nobody all that different from me at all. In fact, I have seen black and white shopping and talking together. I have been asked if I need help ample times. I even found a John Denver CD for $5.00 last year... the one time in 10 years I actually spent even a dollar at the evil empire, Wal*Mart.
I think I smell a rat with the People of Wal*Mart e-mails. In short, it is sort of like faking a bigfoot photo... you do it for attention. I saw bigfoot once, (for real... it's a great story I'll share sometime), but I have never seen a chicken man or a trans-gender cowgirl in a pink tutu at Wal*Mart.
Oh well, there's always next year.
____________________________________________________________
For the first time in my whole life since I can remember, I did not one time eat at a McDonald's restaurant on my five state trek to work camp and back. I thought this was, until last week, a statistical impossibility.
I did get two cups of coffee from the clown prince of fast food, but never did I eat.
So, good for me, right? Well, maybe not so quick. I did have Burger King twice (both times only chicken tenders), once at Taco Bell, (where I have to remember to ask them not to put half of my order in the bag since I can't seem to remember I can't eat that much anymore) and Wendy's once as a treat for my work crew.
I talked to a student who indicated to me he won't eat at McDonald's becuase he saw Supersize Me and it ruined it for him. I questioned his logic and he admitted that even though he knew discretion and moderation were keys to so much in life, he said it just doesn't taste good to him anymore.
Fair enough, but I wanted to trap him. What of the other fast food giants. Burger King he also eschews, but he is O.k. with Wendy's and Taco Bell... we ate together at Culvers on the first day and he seemed good enough with that to have a burger, fries a drink and a frozen custard... hardly a low calorie health meal.
Why? Because Wendy's markets that they have made improvements to their menu to make it healthier. These marketing techniques include the fresh "sea salt" fries and some alternatives for the kids. But Wendy's still sells the ridiculous yet beguiling "Triple", a 3/4 pound feast of cholesterol, sodium and juicy death on a bun. This also fails to mention BK has apple fries now and a lot of chicken on their menu. Plus, you can readily cut any high fat condiment off because of their "have it your way" mentality. This has escaped the notice of my otherwise observant pupil.
Taco Bell, he reasoned, at least disclosed what was in their food, even if that disclosure admits that the beef is 80% beef and 20% "other". But, McDonald's has not overtly followed suit and so he held a deep (though I believe unfounded) belief that McDonald's did not use much beef at all and that it was mostly soy fillers in the clown's burgers.
So basically, this poor kid has been boondoggled into thinking that McDonald's and Burger King are evil, but that Taco Bell and Wendy's are perfectly fine. Taken empirically, McDonald's has more lower calorie offerings than any of the other makers, but Supersze Me was so affective that they can't seem to get that point across. Marketing departments around the U.S. take note... yes, people are buying the shit you are shoveling.
Last year for work camp, we went to West Virginia. This year, Tennessee. So in two years, I have been in three Wal*Marts... Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia. Based on what the internet tells me, these visits should have been absolute comic gold at its best.
And yet, reality is not so funny. I don't shop at Wal*Mart because I don't like the general consumer decline of the U.S. and I think large companies have a responsibility to help out the country they are based in. In this case, the profits that Wal*Mart makes, keeps, hides and withholds from its employees all while forcing more manufacturing and jobs to other parts of the world and foresaking quality for the sake of a few cents per unit make it in my book a nearly criminal enterprise. But that is another rant for another time.
We go to Wal*Mart on these trips because the trips are predominately in the south and that is where Wal*Mart is king. I can say with all seriousness that the three stores I have been to in two years in the deep south have been the nicest, cleanest, most well stocked, genteel locations of the retail behemoth I have ever been to. And they were all sadly lacking in people dressed as chickens or women who were way too big for their clothes or the men who wished they were women who were too big for their clothes.
There have been no shoeless hick families, no crying babies, nobody all that different from me at all. In fact, I have seen black and white shopping and talking together. I have been asked if I need help ample times. I even found a John Denver CD for $5.00 last year... the one time in 10 years I actually spent even a dollar at the evil empire, Wal*Mart.
I think I smell a rat with the People of Wal*Mart e-mails. In short, it is sort of like faking a bigfoot photo... you do it for attention. I saw bigfoot once, (for real... it's a great story I'll share sometime), but I have never seen a chicken man or a trans-gender cowgirl in a pink tutu at Wal*Mart.
Oh well, there's always next year.
____________________________________________________________
For the first time in my whole life since I can remember, I did not one time eat at a McDonald's restaurant on my five state trek to work camp and back. I thought this was, until last week, a statistical impossibility.
I did get two cups of coffee from the clown prince of fast food, but never did I eat.
So, good for me, right? Well, maybe not so quick. I did have Burger King twice (both times only chicken tenders), once at Taco Bell, (where I have to remember to ask them not to put half of my order in the bag since I can't seem to remember I can't eat that much anymore) and Wendy's once as a treat for my work crew.
I talked to a student who indicated to me he won't eat at McDonald's becuase he saw Supersize Me and it ruined it for him. I questioned his logic and he admitted that even though he knew discretion and moderation were keys to so much in life, he said it just doesn't taste good to him anymore.
Fair enough, but I wanted to trap him. What of the other fast food giants. Burger King he also eschews, but he is O.k. with Wendy's and Taco Bell... we ate together at Culvers on the first day and he seemed good enough with that to have a burger, fries a drink and a frozen custard... hardly a low calorie health meal.
Why? Because Wendy's markets that they have made improvements to their menu to make it healthier. These marketing techniques include the fresh "sea salt" fries and some alternatives for the kids. But Wendy's still sells the ridiculous yet beguiling "Triple", a 3/4 pound feast of cholesterol, sodium and juicy death on a bun. This also fails to mention BK has apple fries now and a lot of chicken on their menu. Plus, you can readily cut any high fat condiment off because of their "have it your way" mentality. This has escaped the notice of my otherwise observant pupil.
Taco Bell, he reasoned, at least disclosed what was in their food, even if that disclosure admits that the beef is 80% beef and 20% "other". But, McDonald's has not overtly followed suit and so he held a deep (though I believe unfounded) belief that McDonald's did not use much beef at all and that it was mostly soy fillers in the clown's burgers.
So basically, this poor kid has been boondoggled into thinking that McDonald's and Burger King are evil, but that Taco Bell and Wendy's are perfectly fine. Taken empirically, McDonald's has more lower calorie offerings than any of the other makers, but Supersze Me was so affective that they can't seem to get that point across. Marketing departments around the U.S. take note... yes, people are buying the shit you are shoveling.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
REACH 2011 Clinton TN
I compose to you, dear reader on a glorious Sunday evening from the serenity of my deck enjoying the company of my cats, an Ashton cigar and some fine Kentucky Bourbon... the kind with the wax sealed bottle and the fine amber color. I want for nothing but perhaps a slightly more comfortable chair and a couth way of dispensing said amber colored therapy from a spigotted container a la the iced tea that sustained me through this last extended week with my youth group at work camp.
These, however are but a trifle for one becomes so accustomed to discomfort on trips like these that even the most banal of our normal daily comforts seem like luxury beyond measure. The comforts of home, however lacking any other day of the year are the very typification of perfection, on this, the first day back from work camp.
No, we didn't leave the country. Yes, we could safely drink the water everywhere we went and I never once saw fowl roaming freely or sharing my berth on a bus or a train. Mother Teresa would likely giggle softly at the notion of that our yearly sojourn is at all uncomfortable. There is food, there is shelter, there is love. All of these in quantities well above the minimum necessary for survival.
Myself and one other adult are the appointed quarter-masters and as such it is our responsibility to get 22 people and their attending articles into two fifteen passenger vans and a minivan. We will load and unload this caravan 6 times in 8 days. It becomes a science.
We split up into work groups that are different from the groups we travel with. This to ensure kids form bonds with other people from other places who have other beliefs. It is a good system. The traveling includes talk of which is the best band, or video game or fast food. It centers around whether school will be fun or hard, whether parents are cool or harsh and who will be holding hands with whom at the end of camp. Heaven and Hell, their existence and makeup were popular topics this year.
We stayed at the Clinton Middle School in Clinton, TN, which according to local lore was the first integrated school in the south... one week before Little Rock. It was subsequently bombed by the local chapter of the KKK whereupon the decision to reverse the integration was made and a separate school was built up the hill, within sight. That school is now a cultural center about the history of race and relations in the area and a poignant reminder of how far we have come. Given the provenance of the place it seemed appropriate enough to house us.
Sure, there were 16 showers for 380 sweaty people and the food, while served with love, sometimes tasted like the box it came in. And after a hard day's work, sitting on a gym floor listening to a poorly performing praise team sing the same 6 songs is kind of... well, it's a bitch. After all, I grew up Catholic where we invented the phrase "sit down and shut up." Out idea of a revival was Lazarus and there were likely not any electric guitars. You can always tell the Catholics and Anglicans during worship service because they may as well be wearing signs that say "I'm uncomfortable right now." This was my fourth camp and it doesn't get easier, but at least there is no talk of hate, damnation and vengence. This is a place where love is always the topic of the day. I can live with that.
Our project house was in our "neighbor's" family since built. The adjacent homes were also kin. It was a good old house, (a classic southern D style bungalow from what I am told), well built and in better condition than any of the other projects I had worked on before.
Heather, the homeowner, was my age or so and we liked the same music that was inappropriate to the job site at a Christian camp. We played it at inappropriate volumes and sang all the inappropriate words. I considered it to be anathema to the worship services... my little give back. The kids rolled their eyes and pretended to be unenthused. We knew it was a ruse.
The projects went well. Here I choose to leave out the details of it all since while they are paramount in my mind, they are not important to the experience. I bonded with one camper who had a past with some difficulty and a bright future matched only by her bright smile. She will be just fine and told me so with a big hug and a nice "care card" at the end.
Care cards are a camp tradition. Warm fuzzies that get turned over to you upon the close of camp. Care cards bring thought, tears, laughter and even surprise. I write a lot of them. I get a lot of them. I think care cards should be de rigeur in all aspects of life. They are wonderful.
I am encouraged by the singing and the laughing and the positive spirit that abounds. Most of all, I am proud of "my" kids, for they were absolutely the class of the camp in all respects.
LF Abbie, RF Lauren, LR Sami, RR The Author cheer on our
victorious volleyball team
Lexie manages to make the author smile inspite a high fever from
a sudden sinus infection.
About one year ago, I began this blog. I began it with a post entitled "An Embarassment of Riches." Again, I stand in awe of the intelligence, open mindedness and love these students have for God, the Earth and all who dwell here. They tell me I bring them joy and lively discussion and warm encouragement, but they just can't know what they give me in return.
The words simply do not exist.
Below are my hasty notes I wrote down in the blur of my return. I leave them below unaltered, for I shall suss these out in the near future:
Howard Johnson's Hell Hotel Ship of the Damned where you have to get into the hotel room with channel locks
The old man, possibly with dimentia who is writing twelve books "conversations with Kentucky..." and his constant Ypsitucky joke...
Dogs fighting
Ichthus and the trillion dollar bill
Clinton TN School
My Work Crew
My Neighbor
My kids
Wal Mart in TN is pretty nice!
I did not once eat at McDonald's... BK and Wendy's and Taco Bell, no comment.
Georgia Peaches
These, however are but a trifle for one becomes so accustomed to discomfort on trips like these that even the most banal of our normal daily comforts seem like luxury beyond measure. The comforts of home, however lacking any other day of the year are the very typification of perfection, on this, the first day back from work camp.
No, we didn't leave the country. Yes, we could safely drink the water everywhere we went and I never once saw fowl roaming freely or sharing my berth on a bus or a train. Mother Teresa would likely giggle softly at the notion of that our yearly sojourn is at all uncomfortable. There is food, there is shelter, there is love. All of these in quantities well above the minimum necessary for survival.
Myself and one other adult are the appointed quarter-masters and as such it is our responsibility to get 22 people and their attending articles into two fifteen passenger vans and a minivan. We will load and unload this caravan 6 times in 8 days. It becomes a science.
We split up into work groups that are different from the groups we travel with. This to ensure kids form bonds with other people from other places who have other beliefs. It is a good system. The traveling includes talk of which is the best band, or video game or fast food. It centers around whether school will be fun or hard, whether parents are cool or harsh and who will be holding hands with whom at the end of camp. Heaven and Hell, their existence and makeup were popular topics this year.
We stayed at the Clinton Middle School in Clinton, TN, which according to local lore was the first integrated school in the south... one week before Little Rock. It was subsequently bombed by the local chapter of the KKK whereupon the decision to reverse the integration was made and a separate school was built up the hill, within sight. That school is now a cultural center about the history of race and relations in the area and a poignant reminder of how far we have come. Given the provenance of the place it seemed appropriate enough to house us.
Sure, there were 16 showers for 380 sweaty people and the food, while served with love, sometimes tasted like the box it came in. And after a hard day's work, sitting on a gym floor listening to a poorly performing praise team sing the same 6 songs is kind of... well, it's a bitch. After all, I grew up Catholic where we invented the phrase "sit down and shut up." Out idea of a revival was Lazarus and there were likely not any electric guitars. You can always tell the Catholics and Anglicans during worship service because they may as well be wearing signs that say "I'm uncomfortable right now." This was my fourth camp and it doesn't get easier, but at least there is no talk of hate, damnation and vengence. This is a place where love is always the topic of the day. I can live with that.
Our project house was in our "neighbor's" family since built. The adjacent homes were also kin. It was a good old house, (a classic southern D style bungalow from what I am told), well built and in better condition than any of the other projects I had worked on before.
Heather, the homeowner, was my age or so and we liked the same music that was inappropriate to the job site at a Christian camp. We played it at inappropriate volumes and sang all the inappropriate words. I considered it to be anathema to the worship services... my little give back. The kids rolled their eyes and pretended to be unenthused. We knew it was a ruse.
The projects went well. Here I choose to leave out the details of it all since while they are paramount in my mind, they are not important to the experience. I bonded with one camper who had a past with some difficulty and a bright future matched only by her bright smile. She will be just fine and told me so with a big hug and a nice "care card" at the end.
Care cards are a camp tradition. Warm fuzzies that get turned over to you upon the close of camp. Care cards bring thought, tears, laughter and even surprise. I write a lot of them. I get a lot of them. I think care cards should be de rigeur in all aspects of life. They are wonderful.
I am encouraged by the singing and the laughing and the positive spirit that abounds. Most of all, I am proud of "my" kids, for they were absolutely the class of the camp in all respects.
LF Abbie, RF Lauren, LR Sami, RR The Author cheer on ourvictorious volleyball team
Lexie manages to make the author smile inspite a high fever froma sudden sinus infection.
About one year ago, I began this blog. I began it with a post entitled "An Embarassment of Riches." Again, I stand in awe of the intelligence, open mindedness and love these students have for God, the Earth and all who dwell here. They tell me I bring them joy and lively discussion and warm encouragement, but they just can't know what they give me in return.
The words simply do not exist.
Below are my hasty notes I wrote down in the blur of my return. I leave them below unaltered, for I shall suss these out in the near future:
Howard Johnson's Hell Hotel Ship of the Damned where you have to get into the hotel room with channel locks
The old man, possibly with dimentia who is writing twelve books "conversations with Kentucky..." and his constant Ypsitucky joke...
Dogs fighting
Ichthus and the trillion dollar bill
Clinton TN School
My Work Crew
My Neighbor
My kids
Wal Mart in TN is pretty nice!
I did not once eat at McDonald's... BK and Wendy's and Taco Bell, no comment.
Georgia Peaches
Monday, June 13, 2011
Am I a Blog Failure?
I feel like I have let you down, dear reader. The pressure to produce engaging, funny, only slightly (as opposed to completely) offensive material has really gotten to me. My internal editor is on guard with a howitzer pointed at every fleeting thought and his trigger finger is itchy.
I am going on my yearly mission trip on Friday and will be back 8 days from then. Perhaps with batteries charged and perspectives changed, I will have something worthy of your time and attention.
Until then (or until the situation changes and I am firing on all cylinders again), adieu mi amores!
I am going on my yearly mission trip on Friday and will be back 8 days from then. Perhaps with batteries charged and perspectives changed, I will have something worthy of your time and attention.
Until then (or until the situation changes and I am firing on all cylinders again), adieu mi amores!
Friday, June 10, 2011
All I Need Is the Air That I Breathe
Is it me or is it that the more words required to describe the stuff that comes out of the cans of air freshener the less it smells like that description? I will go ahead and answer that for you. It is not just me. I don't know what "crisp linen" or "fresh mountain breeze" smells like, but I am pretty sure it doesn't smell like the stuff that gets dispensed from the eponymous aerosol cans that are meant to clear the air.
I say if you have to be so ultra-descriptive with the product, it is likely because it doesn't speak for itself.
And what of the smells that don't exist in nature? "Southern Jasmine Mint Julep" and "Raspberry Wildflower Sunshine" or "Lemon Dew Drop". You know what dew smells like? Worms. Whatever you have in there ain't dew. And sunshine does not smell like anything. To say nothing of wildflowers which smells a lot to me like sneezes.
The practice of putting mostly pleasant smells in a can with the purpose of covering up odious ones is not a smart long-term strategy. Here's why. Lilacs are a flower that whose scent is like a siren song to bees and people alike. People here in Michigan travel to Mackinac Island, where you have to take a ferry to get to, then walk or ride a bike since they don't allow cars all the while dodging horse shit (the chosen commercial conveyance), just to smell the lilacs. It is really something. Maybe this is where the makers of air freshener got the idea to use lilac so heavily in their products. I guess they reasoned that if lilacs can make a place like Mackinac Island, which is literally full of shit, smell good, it must be good enough for your powder room.
Except now, I can't smell a lilac without associating it with a big steaming turd. It's not the lilac's fault... it's SC Johnson and Company's fault. I have been essentially classically conditioned to be repelled by nice smells because they have been co-opted as stink blankets.
Which brings me to an idea. You want America to lose weight since we are so fat and lazy? Sure you do. Start making air freshener that smells like Quarter Pounders and Bacon and Ice Cream and Snickers Bars. The whole world will rush to their asparagus and tofu for want of something to eat that doesn't remind them of excrement.
A product like Lysol shouldn't attempt to smell like anything other than what it is... a bacterial disinfectant. You know what Lysol smell I like? Lysol. The one that comes in the old gold colored can. That stuff will burn your nose hairs off. The only thing it smells like is clean. It isn't pleasant, it isn't unpleasant. It is Lysol and it smells like Lysol.
Even Raid ant and roach killer smells like some frickin' fruity tutti berry crap. This stuff is designed to kill anything you spray it on, yet is smells like a dessert topping. It is dissatisfying knowing I am raining death from above down on a microcosm of God's great earth and all I get is hungry. I don't know how you would synthesize regret, but that would be a good scent for that type of thing... The good news is all those things are dead. The bad news is, you killed them. What if St. Peter is a cockroach. I wonder what they'll spray on you in hell? What will it smell like? Probably strawberry shortcake.
I want to go back to a simpler time when our poisons and biocides and such smelled like death in a can, the way God and polyisobeuterate intended. Not everything in life is pleasant. The smell of last night's dinner the next morning included. Why are we trying to pretend? Shit happens... and it happens to smell bad.
I say if you have to be so ultra-descriptive with the product, it is likely because it doesn't speak for itself.
And what of the smells that don't exist in nature? "Southern Jasmine Mint Julep" and "Raspberry Wildflower Sunshine" or "Lemon Dew Drop". You know what dew smells like? Worms. Whatever you have in there ain't dew. And sunshine does not smell like anything. To say nothing of wildflowers which smells a lot to me like sneezes.
The practice of putting mostly pleasant smells in a can with the purpose of covering up odious ones is not a smart long-term strategy. Here's why. Lilacs are a flower that whose scent is like a siren song to bees and people alike. People here in Michigan travel to Mackinac Island, where you have to take a ferry to get to, then walk or ride a bike since they don't allow cars all the while dodging horse shit (the chosen commercial conveyance), just to smell the lilacs. It is really something. Maybe this is where the makers of air freshener got the idea to use lilac so heavily in their products. I guess they reasoned that if lilacs can make a place like Mackinac Island, which is literally full of shit, smell good, it must be good enough for your powder room.
Except now, I can't smell a lilac without associating it with a big steaming turd. It's not the lilac's fault... it's SC Johnson and Company's fault. I have been essentially classically conditioned to be repelled by nice smells because they have been co-opted as stink blankets.
Which brings me to an idea. You want America to lose weight since we are so fat and lazy? Sure you do. Start making air freshener that smells like Quarter Pounders and Bacon and Ice Cream and Snickers Bars. The whole world will rush to their asparagus and tofu for want of something to eat that doesn't remind them of excrement.
A product like Lysol shouldn't attempt to smell like anything other than what it is... a bacterial disinfectant. You know what Lysol smell I like? Lysol. The one that comes in the old gold colored can. That stuff will burn your nose hairs off. The only thing it smells like is clean. It isn't pleasant, it isn't unpleasant. It is Lysol and it smells like Lysol.
Even Raid ant and roach killer smells like some frickin' fruity tutti berry crap. This stuff is designed to kill anything you spray it on, yet is smells like a dessert topping. It is dissatisfying knowing I am raining death from above down on a microcosm of God's great earth and all I get is hungry. I don't know how you would synthesize regret, but that would be a good scent for that type of thing... The good news is all those things are dead. The bad news is, you killed them. What if St. Peter is a cockroach. I wonder what they'll spray on you in hell? What will it smell like? Probably strawberry shortcake.
I want to go back to a simpler time when our poisons and biocides and such smelled like death in a can, the way God and polyisobeuterate intended. Not everything in life is pleasant. The smell of last night's dinner the next morning included. Why are we trying to pretend? Shit happens... and it happens to smell bad.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing
There is a problem with people with great power and talent. In order to get power, or stature, not only do you have to actively seize it, but you have to first think that you are uniquely qualified and better equipped than everyone else to do whatever it is you are trying to do. And then you have to act that way. There are few famous people who would list being humble as a virtue.
These very traits narrow the group of people who are even willing to pursue political office, or pundancy, or fame or what have you. And that group of people seems to be prone to bad behavior. Or at least to behavior that "the rest of us" couldn't get away with in "real life." What made former IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn think that a hotel maid would submit to his aggressive sexual advances? Because he is rich and powerful and I have no doubt, did this before. Lots of times. He fancies himself as someone who can just do that sort of thing. Imagine for a moment what sort of thought train would make you come to the conclusion that you should strip naked and lay in wait for the maid to come into your room and pounce on her? I can't.
I am sure that Messrs. Schwartzenegger and Weiner don't feel like they are getting away with anything, and I am certain that life feels very real to them right now. But their lives will not be affected to the same extent as if they were Loan Officer and Boy Scout Troop Leader Schwartzenegger or Rabbi Weiner (I don't know if he is Jewish, but it is a sorta Jewish sounding name, so sue me for defamation).
The Governator and the Representative from the fractured state of New York will both certainly lose their wives. Maybe there will even be some wider estrangement from family or children. But their streams of income will not likely dry up. There will be acting jobs whenever Arnie decides to jump back in the pool. Tony will get media deals and consultancies to prop him up while he finds religion, comes to grip with his sexual addiction and narcisstic personality disorder and spins it all into a perfectly marketable redemption all of which will be videotaped and spit back for complete consumption by the hoary mortal masses. Following that is the ubiquitous book deal, the motivational speaking tour and the adoring fans who have a never ending well of adulation to throw at their newly saved hero.
The only thing that is missing in this scenario is a seat next to Oprah for an hour of crying and cleansing visualization, which of course would be capped off with a give-away of some sort. Of course, now She has Her OWN network, so instead of one lamentable hour, maybe we'll get a whole reality series to chronicle the process. Joy.
As an aside, I have read unsubstantiated rumblings that Maria Schriver is being courted heavily by Ms. Winfrey to be the subject of a reality show on the network. I am sure it is only because She feels that it will be helpful to the throngs of women whose ultra rich and powerful husbands have lead a double life between their jobs as a movie actor and a politician. Hopefully Ms. Winfrey is prepared to use her mega-millions to prop this network up, because there aren't a lot of people who can identify with this particular set of circumstance. Of course, I forget about the people who crane their necks to see carnage after and accident- it will get all sorts of ratings, what the hell am I talking about?
But none of this is my point. My point is that these men and women who achieve a certain station are essentially free to do whatever. And we let them get away.
Sure, Lohan did some time and is no stranger to rehab and court ordered community service, but all her bad behavior did not, will not, by any stretch of the imagination ruin her life as she knows it. Her own decision to continue down the path that she has forged will ultimately end her life, but she will be fabulously wealthy to the bitter end.
In my reality, a drunk driving charge would ruin my life. I drive a lot for work, so I couldn't do my job if I lost my license or couldn't get insurance... these are both great possibilities for a drunk driving conviction depending on the circumstances. This presumes I still had a job after I got out of jail, which in and of itself is questionable. But I certainly wouldn't come out the other side of that with the financial fortitude to hire a driver to take me everywhere. I couldn't even get a job as a driver for a well-heeled person. The closest I would be able to get to a car is living in it, or taking a ride in the back of a hearse when it was all over. Perhaps I am being a bit dramatic. Or not ask Mel Gibson. Drunk driving and anti-semitism all in one blow. Didn't he just have a critically acclaimed movie?
And then there is my vocation (which also happens to be an avocation) of working with the youth. With a record, I couldn't do that. Not that I would be a bad person, (or worse than before anyway), but the church and the parents frown on that sort of thing.
All of this is intended to illustrate the consequence of actions. I think about what I do before I do it because of the consequences. For instance, in my 20s, I was far more interested in driving new cars every 18 months than in saving money. I am suffering the consequences of that now. If you removed consequences, my ID driven "I'll do anything once" mentality would take control and who knows what I would do? I guarantee it wouldn't be something I would want my mother to know about or see.
In Finland and Sweden, the driving fines are on a scale commensurate with the income of the person who did the infraction. The largest speeding fine in history was recently levied against a Swede in the amount equivalent to $103,600 American dollars... for going 47 in a 31 zone (keep in mind they're metric, hence the wonky numbers).
I did that yesterday. I haven't driven today, but I may do it today and since I am honest, I will likely do it again tomorrow. If I get popped with a ticket, it will hurt. It will be a couple hundred bucks. I don't have that in my discretionary fund.
But if I were a multi-millionaire a couple hundred bucks is like a meal. No biggie. But $100 Grand? It may not cripple the guy (just like a couple hundy wouldn't cripple me), but he surely knows the value and worth of that kind of money and I venture it will stop him in the future. It is a real consequence to him, (just like a couple hundy is to me).
I am no great fan of Government fines and fees, etc., so I don't advocate this system in any way, but I sure do think it is worth exploring what we can do to actually make some of these prima donas feel a little pain for their bad behavior.
Don't buy the book. Don't go the the speaking engagement. Don't watch the show or even comment on the hype on Twitter. Don't even go to the protest, because in some sick way, that seems to only make them stronger, too. In fact, don't even read this blentry. Well, you're like 7/8 of the way through, so go ahead and finish, but feel free to deny having read it after the fact.)
Ignore these people who think they are more human than human. Don't admire their work. Hit them in the pocket book. Then maybe they will repent of their actions for real and be faced with something the rest of us are faced with every day... We have to act like courteous human beings and be kind and decent to one another, lest we get voted off this island in a very literal way.
Last week on NPR's Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me, Kevin Bacon said he went out in a well crafted disguise a few years ago, just to be able to go in public without being mobbed and followed and hassled. He hated it. "People weren't nice to me", he said earnestly. Kevin Bacon, the actor apparently gets a lot more respect than Kevin Bacon the man. And that is our fault, people. Our fault alone. Mr. Bacon appears to be a class act so draws no ire from me, but maybe he learned a little something from his experiment. Too bad the rest of us can't do the same.
I don't care who you are, vows are vows. A person who can't follow through on their vows is not worth the ground they stand on, whether that ground is Italian marble in a fabulous mansion or cracked concrete under an overpass. Money and power should not be a free pass. Don't go through the motions of being a normal conventional citizen if you just plan on twittering your business and fathering children with a woman other than your wife, or driving your hyper-exotic car into a crowd of people under the influence or laying in wait for the maid to pop the door open.
If you're gonna be an asshole, at least be real about it. People in this backward spiraling Godless country will love you all the more for it, and you can skip the Oprah chair and ride the wave of your celebrity all the way to the next party. I guarantee no one will stand in your way.
These very traits narrow the group of people who are even willing to pursue political office, or pundancy, or fame or what have you. And that group of people seems to be prone to bad behavior. Or at least to behavior that "the rest of us" couldn't get away with in "real life." What made former IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn think that a hotel maid would submit to his aggressive sexual advances? Because he is rich and powerful and I have no doubt, did this before. Lots of times. He fancies himself as someone who can just do that sort of thing. Imagine for a moment what sort of thought train would make you come to the conclusion that you should strip naked and lay in wait for the maid to come into your room and pounce on her? I can't.
I am sure that Messrs. Schwartzenegger and Weiner don't feel like they are getting away with anything, and I am certain that life feels very real to them right now. But their lives will not be affected to the same extent as if they were Loan Officer and Boy Scout Troop Leader Schwartzenegger or Rabbi Weiner (I don't know if he is Jewish, but it is a sorta Jewish sounding name, so sue me for defamation).
The Governator and the Representative from the fractured state of New York will both certainly lose their wives. Maybe there will even be some wider estrangement from family or children. But their streams of income will not likely dry up. There will be acting jobs whenever Arnie decides to jump back in the pool. Tony will get media deals and consultancies to prop him up while he finds religion, comes to grip with his sexual addiction and narcisstic personality disorder and spins it all into a perfectly marketable redemption all of which will be videotaped and spit back for complete consumption by the hoary mortal masses. Following that is the ubiquitous book deal, the motivational speaking tour and the adoring fans who have a never ending well of adulation to throw at their newly saved hero.
The only thing that is missing in this scenario is a seat next to Oprah for an hour of crying and cleansing visualization, which of course would be capped off with a give-away of some sort. Of course, now She has Her OWN network, so instead of one lamentable hour, maybe we'll get a whole reality series to chronicle the process. Joy.
As an aside, I have read unsubstantiated rumblings that Maria Schriver is being courted heavily by Ms. Winfrey to be the subject of a reality show on the network. I am sure it is only because She feels that it will be helpful to the throngs of women whose ultra rich and powerful husbands have lead a double life between their jobs as a movie actor and a politician. Hopefully Ms. Winfrey is prepared to use her mega-millions to prop this network up, because there aren't a lot of people who can identify with this particular set of circumstance. Of course, I forget about the people who crane their necks to see carnage after and accident- it will get all sorts of ratings, what the hell am I talking about?
But none of this is my point. My point is that these men and women who achieve a certain station are essentially free to do whatever. And we let them get away.
Sure, Lohan did some time and is no stranger to rehab and court ordered community service, but all her bad behavior did not, will not, by any stretch of the imagination ruin her life as she knows it. Her own decision to continue down the path that she has forged will ultimately end her life, but she will be fabulously wealthy to the bitter end.
In my reality, a drunk driving charge would ruin my life. I drive a lot for work, so I couldn't do my job if I lost my license or couldn't get insurance... these are both great possibilities for a drunk driving conviction depending on the circumstances. This presumes I still had a job after I got out of jail, which in and of itself is questionable. But I certainly wouldn't come out the other side of that with the financial fortitude to hire a driver to take me everywhere. I couldn't even get a job as a driver for a well-heeled person. The closest I would be able to get to a car is living in it, or taking a ride in the back of a hearse when it was all over. Perhaps I am being a bit dramatic. Or not ask Mel Gibson. Drunk driving and anti-semitism all in one blow. Didn't he just have a critically acclaimed movie?
And then there is my vocation (which also happens to be an avocation) of working with the youth. With a record, I couldn't do that. Not that I would be a bad person, (or worse than before anyway), but the church and the parents frown on that sort of thing.
All of this is intended to illustrate the consequence of actions. I think about what I do before I do it because of the consequences. For instance, in my 20s, I was far more interested in driving new cars every 18 months than in saving money. I am suffering the consequences of that now. If you removed consequences, my ID driven "I'll do anything once" mentality would take control and who knows what I would do? I guarantee it wouldn't be something I would want my mother to know about or see.
In Finland and Sweden, the driving fines are on a scale commensurate with the income of the person who did the infraction. The largest speeding fine in history was recently levied against a Swede in the amount equivalent to $103,600 American dollars... for going 47 in a 31 zone (keep in mind they're metric, hence the wonky numbers).
I did that yesterday. I haven't driven today, but I may do it today and since I am honest, I will likely do it again tomorrow. If I get popped with a ticket, it will hurt. It will be a couple hundred bucks. I don't have that in my discretionary fund.
But if I were a multi-millionaire a couple hundred bucks is like a meal. No biggie. But $100 Grand? It may not cripple the guy (just like a couple hundy wouldn't cripple me), but he surely knows the value and worth of that kind of money and I venture it will stop him in the future. It is a real consequence to him, (just like a couple hundy is to me).
I am no great fan of Government fines and fees, etc., so I don't advocate this system in any way, but I sure do think it is worth exploring what we can do to actually make some of these prima donas feel a little pain for their bad behavior.
Don't buy the book. Don't go the the speaking engagement. Don't watch the show or even comment on the hype on Twitter. Don't even go to the protest, because in some sick way, that seems to only make them stronger, too. In fact, don't even read this blentry. Well, you're like 7/8 of the way through, so go ahead and finish, but feel free to deny having read it after the fact.)
Ignore these people who think they are more human than human. Don't admire their work. Hit them in the pocket book. Then maybe they will repent of their actions for real and be faced with something the rest of us are faced with every day... We have to act like courteous human beings and be kind and decent to one another, lest we get voted off this island in a very literal way.
Last week on NPR's Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me, Kevin Bacon said he went out in a well crafted disguise a few years ago, just to be able to go in public without being mobbed and followed and hassled. He hated it. "People weren't nice to me", he said earnestly. Kevin Bacon, the actor apparently gets a lot more respect than Kevin Bacon the man. And that is our fault, people. Our fault alone. Mr. Bacon appears to be a class act so draws no ire from me, but maybe he learned a little something from his experiment. Too bad the rest of us can't do the same.
I don't care who you are, vows are vows. A person who can't follow through on their vows is not worth the ground they stand on, whether that ground is Italian marble in a fabulous mansion or cracked concrete under an overpass. Money and power should not be a free pass. Don't go through the motions of being a normal conventional citizen if you just plan on twittering your business and fathering children with a woman other than your wife, or driving your hyper-exotic car into a crowd of people under the influence or laying in wait for the maid to pop the door open.
If you're gonna be an asshole, at least be real about it. People in this backward spiraling Godless country will love you all the more for it, and you can skip the Oprah chair and ride the wave of your celebrity all the way to the next party. I guarantee no one will stand in your way.
It's Gonna Be a Scorcher
Weathermen. I think they all must have gone to the same school that taught them the same descriptive words to use in the same ersatz tone of excitement. I can hear the ad now:
"Come to the school of Apocalyptic Divination where we will teach you how to predict the end of the world, not with a Bible or tea leaves or a crystal ball, but with Doppler 6000 Nexrad Future Cast GT Sport technology!
"We'll teach you how to instill panic, runs on the bank and grocery store... we'll show you how to dupe unwitting seniors into almost drinking water out of their bathtubs. We'll teach you everything except how to predict the weather!
"Come to the school of Apocalyptic Divination! Where our motto is 'Go with it, no one expects you to be right, but they sure as hell will believe you.'"
Talk about a bunch of drama queens. Like in the winter when each impending storm is marketed as a killer of unprecedented magnitude, the weathermen (and I imagine the weatherwomen) try to put a deadly spin on the placid heat of summer.
"Stay indoors, we are hearing reports that a lady in Spokane burst into flames without warning picking up her newspaper this morning simply from the sun refracting off one of those cheesy glass ball ornaments she had in her front yard."
They never give you reasonable prudent advice on how to deal with the heat and sun. "Dress appropriately, drink lots of water, pace yourself and find some shade to relax in."
Nope, they are sure you are going to die and they seem pleased to tell you so.
Before turning off the television in minor disgust for want of something good to watch last night, I couldn't help but notice the similarity between the three local networks' weather bumpers. It's as if they were written by the same person and simply performed by a different plastic head.
CBS "It's gonna be a scorcher out there..."
NBS "...A real scorch..."
ABC"...cher, so much so that you may want to stay in..."
FOX"... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
How quickly these people, and I suppose the population at large forget that last month at this time it was 47 degrees and rainy. Nice weather if you are a character in Oliver Twist, but Dickensian London is not my idea of paradise.
We need heat, people. Heat is what makes the warm breezes feel warm. Without heat, those same warm breezes are freezing cold gusts... and they lead to things like snow drifts and clinical depression.
So, quit your bitchin', strip to the bare minimum cotton clothes, glop on the sunblock (if you believe in that stuff), find a tree and sit under it and contemplate why we humans went and screwed up Eden by creating concepts like money and work. And while you are doing that, etch it in your memory, because in 5 short months, it will be just that. A memory.
"Come to the school of Apocalyptic Divination where we will teach you how to predict the end of the world, not with a Bible or tea leaves or a crystal ball, but with Doppler 6000 Nexrad Future Cast GT Sport technology!
"We'll teach you how to instill panic, runs on the bank and grocery store... we'll show you how to dupe unwitting seniors into almost drinking water out of their bathtubs. We'll teach you everything except how to predict the weather!
"Come to the school of Apocalyptic Divination! Where our motto is 'Go with it, no one expects you to be right, but they sure as hell will believe you.'"
Talk about a bunch of drama queens. Like in the winter when each impending storm is marketed as a killer of unprecedented magnitude, the weathermen (and I imagine the weatherwomen) try to put a deadly spin on the placid heat of summer.
"Stay indoors, we are hearing reports that a lady in Spokane burst into flames without warning picking up her newspaper this morning simply from the sun refracting off one of those cheesy glass ball ornaments she had in her front yard."
They never give you reasonable prudent advice on how to deal with the heat and sun. "Dress appropriately, drink lots of water, pace yourself and find some shade to relax in."
Nope, they are sure you are going to die and they seem pleased to tell you so.
Before turning off the television in minor disgust for want of something good to watch last night, I couldn't help but notice the similarity between the three local networks' weather bumpers. It's as if they were written by the same person and simply performed by a different plastic head.
CBS "It's gonna be a scorcher out there..."
NBS "...A real scorch..."
ABC"...cher, so much so that you may want to stay in..."
FOX"... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
How quickly these people, and I suppose the population at large forget that last month at this time it was 47 degrees and rainy. Nice weather if you are a character in Oliver Twist, but Dickensian London is not my idea of paradise.
We need heat, people. Heat is what makes the warm breezes feel warm. Without heat, those same warm breezes are freezing cold gusts... and they lead to things like snow drifts and clinical depression.
So, quit your bitchin', strip to the bare minimum cotton clothes, glop on the sunblock (if you believe in that stuff), find a tree and sit under it and contemplate why we humans went and screwed up Eden by creating concepts like money and work. And while you are doing that, etch it in your memory, because in 5 short months, it will be just that. A memory.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Oh, Monday
Never Did no Squanderin' After All (That's really funny if you get it, Mike Spalisbury and probably no one else)
Wow(!) am I having a time of it today with the concentration thing. Really, I just can't say goodbye to the weekend. I am usually pretty productive on Mondays, but so far aside from some dilly-dallies and fiddle-dee-dos, I have gotten little accomplished.
I feel so badly on these days, like I squandered an amazing opportunity that was bestowed upon me from on-high. Instead of carpe diem it's perdere diem, literally,(according to google as my Latin is, how you say, not so good), Lay Waste to the day.
So what if I don't find some way to redeem my karma for this lackadaisical work ethic from which I am suffering mentally? Is a great cosmic piano going to fall on my head during my afternoon walk? And if there is to be no punishment, than what is it that keeps us honest?
Working from home makes it a little too easy some days to sort of skate on through. I don't do it often, but today is an all skate, baby. REO Speedwagon is promising to keep on lovin' me and there is a long line at the concession stand. I may as well just do a couple more circuits. I think there is a Journey song on deck.
____________________________________________________________
I'm not a fan
There is an initiative in this house right now to cut spending to the bone. See, we need to, for a lot of reasons. It seems as though we have agreed, tacitly to not run the air unless one of our bodies begins to melt or catch fire... or both. As such, we are running window fans (on a scientifically devised intake/exhaust permutation), a stick fan, the furnace fan; and I am presently writing this in the buff in a swimming ppool filled with ice and anti-freeze.
No, I didn't mistype ppool. I can say for sure there is some extra 'p' in it.
____________________________________________________________
Radio Paradise
I have said it hear before, about a year ago if I recall, that Radio Paradise is really good stuff. It is listener supported and so there are some exhortations to donate money, but otherwise commercial free. There are short talk interludes, always the same man who sounds like he is on a really mellow trip courtesy of the fine people at Xanax and Humbolt County's finest- Fresh from the bag and into your bong. Seriously, this guy makes Venus Flytrap's on air persona sound like a spasmodic gym teacher with OCD.
I wish I just recorded the last 45 minute set. Jazzy blues moving through a little electronic fusion jazz (think US3), getting caught in a little Traffic while stopping by Eric Clapton's place, and ending up finally at Bob Marley's house to listen to the incredible rockabilly guitar of Jimmy Thackery.
You aren't going to hear this stuff, mixed this way most other places... and I spend a lot of time jumping to the more esoteric corners of satellite radio. Pandora is good for a self-guided tour through a land of music you already know like the back of your hand. This is a trip through a strange and mysterious world, made friendly by the occasional appearance of people you feel like you've known all your life.
I got to go... Otis Redding and I are getting a little Hard to Handle... Pretty little thing, let me light your candle...
Wow(!) am I having a time of it today with the concentration thing. Really, I just can't say goodbye to the weekend. I am usually pretty productive on Mondays, but so far aside from some dilly-dallies and fiddle-dee-dos, I have gotten little accomplished.
I feel so badly on these days, like I squandered an amazing opportunity that was bestowed upon me from on-high. Instead of carpe diem it's perdere diem, literally,(according to google as my Latin is, how you say, not so good), Lay Waste to the day.
So what if I don't find some way to redeem my karma for this lackadaisical work ethic from which I am suffering mentally? Is a great cosmic piano going to fall on my head during my afternoon walk? And if there is to be no punishment, than what is it that keeps us honest?
Working from home makes it a little too easy some days to sort of skate on through. I don't do it often, but today is an all skate, baby. REO Speedwagon is promising to keep on lovin' me and there is a long line at the concession stand. I may as well just do a couple more circuits. I think there is a Journey song on deck.
____________________________________________________________
I'm not a fan
There is an initiative in this house right now to cut spending to the bone. See, we need to, for a lot of reasons. It seems as though we have agreed, tacitly to not run the air unless one of our bodies begins to melt or catch fire... or both. As such, we are running window fans (on a scientifically devised intake/exhaust permutation), a stick fan, the furnace fan; and I am presently writing this in the buff in a swimming ppool filled with ice and anti-freeze.
No, I didn't mistype ppool. I can say for sure there is some extra 'p' in it.
____________________________________________________________
Radio Paradise
I have said it hear before, about a year ago if I recall, that Radio Paradise is really good stuff. It is listener supported and so there are some exhortations to donate money, but otherwise commercial free. There are short talk interludes, always the same man who sounds like he is on a really mellow trip courtesy of the fine people at Xanax and Humbolt County's finest- Fresh from the bag and into your bong. Seriously, this guy makes Venus Flytrap's on air persona sound like a spasmodic gym teacher with OCD.
I wish I just recorded the last 45 minute set. Jazzy blues moving through a little electronic fusion jazz (think US3), getting caught in a little Traffic while stopping by Eric Clapton's place, and ending up finally at Bob Marley's house to listen to the incredible rockabilly guitar of Jimmy Thackery.
You aren't going to hear this stuff, mixed this way most other places... and I spend a lot of time jumping to the more esoteric corners of satellite radio. Pandora is good for a self-guided tour through a land of music you already know like the back of your hand. This is a trip through a strange and mysterious world, made friendly by the occasional appearance of people you feel like you've known all your life.
I got to go... Otis Redding and I are getting a little Hard to Handle... Pretty little thing, let me light your candle...
Sunday, June 5, 2011
If You Believe, They Put a Man on the Moon
If You Believe, They Put a Man on the Moon
"They can put a man on the moon..." A generation ago that was a popular sentiment followed by a big "but", as in; "They can put a man on the moon but they can't figure out how to make a pickle jar that's easy to open."
It is called juxtaposition - putting two disparate things, in this case a glorious former and a lamentable latter together to highlight the futility of one in the face of the other. I find that I have said this very phrase to myself a few time in the past and thought sharing a couple instances would be great fun. For me. You do not enter into this equation.
"They can put a man on the moon, but they can't design a urinal that doesn't splash pee back on my calves." Someone obviously heard me since the newest urinals have defeated the splash back problem by giving men something to aim at.
I first saw this technology as a bleary traveler in Amsterdam's Schiphol airport where I strangely knew just what to do without prompting or instruction when I saw the little bumble bee painted in the bowl of the urinal. I just unzipped and aimed at it.
This proves a couple points. Number one, simple fixes are often the best ones. Number two, give a man any excuse to use his penis in a new and exciting way and he will generally jump at the chance. Number three, no matter how bad your job is, at least you don't have to be that little bee.
"They can put man on the moon, but I still can't get all the toothpaste out of the tube." I am kept up at night thinking about the unrealized potential of all the unused toothpaste. Don't even get me started on the Reddy Whip that I know it still in the can long after the propellant has all been snorted, I mean escaped. Same goes for shaving cream and any other product that gets dispensed.
Why haven't we come up with a better way? Or, more accurately, why am I the only one who sees this as a problem? Perhaps I am over thinking it a touch. Maybe there is such a thing as "good enough."
The Need To Upgrade
I love the concept of the upgrade. Mostly, upgrades are exactly that. A grade up on what came before. My wife it not fond of the upgrade. Prior to even hearing about it or knowing about, she forms a presupposition that the upgrade has been developed by a maniacal cadre of master criminals and evil doers with the sole intention of making her life more difficult.
She hates it when Firefox updates without her express consent, which it does by the way when it realizes she will always say no when asked. The rest of the world is on version 20.26.Beta and she is on version 4.
Next thing you know, she gets upgraded unknowingly and one or two things are different and apoplexy ensues.
I held off getting her a new cell phone for as long as I could, because while she hated the old phone, I knew she would expect the new phone to be identical in every way. Now she hates the new phone.
My exhortations to "read the manual" have been met with "They don't come with manuals anymore, it's all on line." The fire in her belly is evident enough after this exchange that I don't dare suggest she goes on line to read the manual. I've seen what that bumble bee has to go through and I am smart enough (usually) to avoid it.
I was really concerned when she got the new car. So similar and yet so different it is to her old car that I thought perhaps it would be a rough transition. Last week, though, she gushed to me over the phone "I love my new car."
Beautiful words indeed.
I don't really have a point or a philosophical connection to make, here. I could try to tie it in to the discussions Em and I have had all week vis a vis church governance and differences of opinion that are fostered by and fester in the gaps between age, education, proximity to urban culture and good old fashioned prejudices. But that seems like a pretty long leap and while I know you all to be very permissive of my questionable flights of literary fantasy I think it is simple a bridge too far.
And So, Where Does This Leave Me?
If you were looking for answers, you came to the wrong place. It seems to me that lately our upgrades have a tendency to be downgrades.We once used Rockets to go into space. Then we developed and used to great effect the Space Shuttle-which we will now abandon without anything in its place. So, America is now relying on Russia, China and Japan to launch us and our stuff into orbit. I think this is a shame. Really I think it's criminal.
Staying on the aerospace theme, we now have the Airbus A380 in which you and about 649 of your closest friends can hurtle off to some ersatz plastic version of a vacation. The downside of course is that the first 3 days are spent waiting in line to deplane and the next three are spent waiting in line to get back on. That's O.K., because all you were going to do is see if Applebees in Hawaii is the same as it is back home. This is not the upgrade to the Concorde that I would have expected. Who wants to sit in a plush chair and be wafted at twice the speed of sound to some exclusive and wonderful place and be made to feel like the king of the world?
In fact, aeronautics in general is an industry in which I believe we have actually ceded capability to economy and that is almost never O.K. What if some major new medical breakthrough was found that cured some form of genetic disease, or cancer? Sure, it would be expensive, but it would be worth it. Once we had that ability, it would be criminal and maybe immoral to back off of it and go the other way because of expense.
When you look at timelines of inventions by year or decade, the leaps are supposed to make you go wow! Wow! WOW! not wow, neato and uh, I guess.
After all, the phrase "they can put a man on the moon", which I assume came about sometime in 1969 concurrent with its eponymous event, is itself not the truism is used to be. I wonder if we could put a man on the moon today. And I wonder why we don't.
"They can put a man on the moon..." A generation ago that was a popular sentiment followed by a big "but", as in; "They can put a man on the moon but they can't figure out how to make a pickle jar that's easy to open."
It is called juxtaposition - putting two disparate things, in this case a glorious former and a lamentable latter together to highlight the futility of one in the face of the other. I find that I have said this very phrase to myself a few time in the past and thought sharing a couple instances would be great fun. For me. You do not enter into this equation.
"They can put a man on the moon, but they can't design a urinal that doesn't splash pee back on my calves." Someone obviously heard me since the newest urinals have defeated the splash back problem by giving men something to aim at.
I first saw this technology as a bleary traveler in Amsterdam's Schiphol airport where I strangely knew just what to do without prompting or instruction when I saw the little bumble bee painted in the bowl of the urinal. I just unzipped and aimed at it.
This proves a couple points. Number one, simple fixes are often the best ones. Number two, give a man any excuse to use his penis in a new and exciting way and he will generally jump at the chance. Number three, no matter how bad your job is, at least you don't have to be that little bee.
"They can put man on the moon, but I still can't get all the toothpaste out of the tube." I am kept up at night thinking about the unrealized potential of all the unused toothpaste. Don't even get me started on the Reddy Whip that I know it still in the can long after the propellant has all been snorted, I mean escaped. Same goes for shaving cream and any other product that gets dispensed.
Why haven't we come up with a better way? Or, more accurately, why am I the only one who sees this as a problem? Perhaps I am over thinking it a touch. Maybe there is such a thing as "good enough."
The Need To Upgrade
I love the concept of the upgrade. Mostly, upgrades are exactly that. A grade up on what came before. My wife it not fond of the upgrade. Prior to even hearing about it or knowing about, she forms a presupposition that the upgrade has been developed by a maniacal cadre of master criminals and evil doers with the sole intention of making her life more difficult.
She hates it when Firefox updates without her express consent, which it does by the way when it realizes she will always say no when asked. The rest of the world is on version 20.26.Beta and she is on version 4.
Next thing you know, she gets upgraded unknowingly and one or two things are different and apoplexy ensues.
I held off getting her a new cell phone for as long as I could, because while she hated the old phone, I knew she would expect the new phone to be identical in every way. Now she hates the new phone.
My exhortations to "read the manual" have been met with "They don't come with manuals anymore, it's all on line." The fire in her belly is evident enough after this exchange that I don't dare suggest she goes on line to read the manual. I've seen what that bumble bee has to go through and I am smart enough (usually) to avoid it.
I was really concerned when she got the new car. So similar and yet so different it is to her old car that I thought perhaps it would be a rough transition. Last week, though, she gushed to me over the phone "I love my new car."
Beautiful words indeed.
I don't really have a point or a philosophical connection to make, here. I could try to tie it in to the discussions Em and I have had all week vis a vis church governance and differences of opinion that are fostered by and fester in the gaps between age, education, proximity to urban culture and good old fashioned prejudices. But that seems like a pretty long leap and while I know you all to be very permissive of my questionable flights of literary fantasy I think it is simple a bridge too far.
And So, Where Does This Leave Me?
If you were looking for answers, you came to the wrong place. It seems to me that lately our upgrades have a tendency to be downgrades.We once used Rockets to go into space. Then we developed and used to great effect the Space Shuttle-which we will now abandon without anything in its place. So, America is now relying on Russia, China and Japan to launch us and our stuff into orbit. I think this is a shame. Really I think it's criminal.
Staying on the aerospace theme, we now have the Airbus A380 in which you and about 649 of your closest friends can hurtle off to some ersatz plastic version of a vacation. The downside of course is that the first 3 days are spent waiting in line to deplane and the next three are spent waiting in line to get back on. That's O.K., because all you were going to do is see if Applebees in Hawaii is the same as it is back home. This is not the upgrade to the Concorde that I would have expected. Who wants to sit in a plush chair and be wafted at twice the speed of sound to some exclusive and wonderful place and be made to feel like the king of the world?
In fact, aeronautics in general is an industry in which I believe we have actually ceded capability to economy and that is almost never O.K. What if some major new medical breakthrough was found that cured some form of genetic disease, or cancer? Sure, it would be expensive, but it would be worth it. Once we had that ability, it would be criminal and maybe immoral to back off of it and go the other way because of expense.
When you look at timelines of inventions by year or decade, the leaps are supposed to make you go wow! Wow! WOW! not wow, neato and uh, I guess.
After all, the phrase "they can put a man on the moon", which I assume came about sometime in 1969 concurrent with its eponymous event, is itself not the truism is used to be. I wonder if we could put a man on the moon today. And I wonder why we don't.
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