Is change really so frightening? Change does not mean dark days, it means a willingness to risk new actions in order to get new, better results. “Change” is not a frightening word when we are already in dark days. Then “change” is a word of hope and a concept of empowerment. Why is "change" such a scary concept now?
Change is certain. Life itself is a process, not a steady state. It is by digging in heels and fighting to remain in that impossible steady state that we give up any control we might have over the outcome of this change. First, accept that there will always be a moment following the current one, and a moment following the next. Each moment exists with its own states and momentums, always in flux. These forces can be shaped and guided as we desire, but only once we accept that they exist.
Brothers and sisters, “change” is not evil. “Change” is not destructive in its own right. Change is whatever we make it into.
Showing posts with label modern life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label modern life. Show all posts
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Bust-Butt Attitude
Talk to me any day, and I will proudly tell you that I love to work. I don't love doing mindless, often pointless, repetitious tasks. I can't stand trading my mortal time for a couple of dollars. But I love work.
Work is the act of creating value with actions. Most people tell themselves that they don't have time to do small tasks. They can't be bothered to help. A wonderful example of this is watching a Taekwando class set up at the local college. More than eighty percent of the people in this class are greenhorns. These people have little to no experience in a pseudo-military environment, and some adapt faster than others.
The first group of people, the doers, are in control of their lives, outcome, and surroundings. Some of them can be in the middle of a category 5 shitstorm and not feel helpless. At the very least, they do not wait. Things do not happen to them, things happen because of and around them. They turn each event to use. They work to overcome the inertia of idleness.
The second are the followers. They do not have control of their lives, and are generally somewhat lost, in a holding pattern, and unwilling to put forth effort to acheive a goal. They flounder. They do the bare minimum. The goal is simply declared "too hard" and discarded. The quick learn quicker not to expect true excellence from members of this group.
In order to set up for this class, two or three people need to go to a different portion of the building and fetch the mats. If there will be sparring or pad drills, that gear needs to be retrieved as well. But many is the time I have seen one, three, or even five people stand and wait in the empty gym, waiting for the equipment to magically appear. Then we doers arrive (or have already arrived and are bringing in equipment), and the rest of the class simply watches it all happen. No-one moves. No-one volunteers to assist in any small manner, from giving a mat a small push as we unroll it to maybe--gasp--walking with us to fetch the rest of the equipment.
Avoid these people. Surround yourself with doers, who evaluate and improve their own results. Who set up their own goals, ask for assistance, respect greater skill and knowledge, and most of all, do everything they can, in every field they can, whenever they can.
It isn't tough to have a bust-butt attitude. All you have to do is increase the value of things within your sphere through both small and large efforts. Pick up the flyer the person in front of you dropped rather than leaving it on the ground. When it's automatic, you don't even have to break stride. Don't wait for people to ask for help, offer it. Many times, you don't even have to ask. Just give your assistance in carrying out the details of the task at hand. Rather than standing around, ask where you can be useful. Even better, look for a place, identify it, and go be useful there! Why bother to ask a higher-up's permission when you can take the initiative?
Veteran wildland firefighter Peter Leschak writes of "developing a reputation as a 'good crew'" through hard work, volunteering for every assignment offered, and most of all, doing this work efficiently. On many fires, this attitude on the part of even a few crewmembers has been enough to earn a mention of their "bust-butt attitude." Among fire grunts, that takes something special! Leschak tells of working a shift with one crew recruited from the city by the Job Service. Because of the sheer amount of fire in the West that year, these people had not been through the regular process that self-selects the self-motivators and efficient workers for assignments on fires. Leschak's experience quickly revealed that these people, average joes in every sense, had no place on the fireline.
In fact, most people will act like the Job Service crew most of the time, throughout most of their lives. They will stand around while other people bust their butts on things that are "not my problem." Do this in a high-performance situation and you will be pulled out of that situation. Do this in everyday life and you will do nothing special.
______________________
In essence, that's what I mean when I say I love to work. I love to spend my idle time identifying and then doing all of the small, asynchronous tasks around me that most people leave undone. Oftentimes this means nothing more than working on the details of making my everyday performance better. When I choose to do something, I do it with a purpose. There is no place for being half-assed in a life well-lived. Take pride in the details. In my efforts to do everything I do as well as possible, I've come up with a few basic tenets to guide a purposeful life.
-- First, do no harm.
-- Seek learning and experiences
-- It is not the mark of a professional to deal well with action. It is the attitude and behavior in lulls that distinguishes the professional from the layman.
-- On the same token, the smallest thing you do reflects on you. Nothing is "close enough" only because nobody else is watching.
--You are always on duty.
-- Be your own worst critic, be your own best motivator.
-- Keep your own counsel, but seek the advice of people more capable than you.
--No situation is a waste of time until you are not learning anything from it.
-- Share the glory with whom it is due, but when something goes awry, aways shoulder the full responsibility.
-- "Sorry" means it won't happen again.
-- When you make a mistake, work to make it right.
-- Nobody can "make" you feel or act a certain way. It is always a choice.
--Everything is possible.
-- Avoid poisonous people, poisonous attitudes, and poisonous environments. Something is wrong when you say "I can't because..." and not "How can I?"
Work is the act of creating value with actions. Most people tell themselves that they don't have time to do small tasks. They can't be bothered to help. A wonderful example of this is watching a Taekwando class set up at the local college. More than eighty percent of the people in this class are greenhorns. These people have little to no experience in a pseudo-military environment, and some adapt faster than others.
The first group of people, the doers, are in control of their lives, outcome, and surroundings. Some of them can be in the middle of a category 5 shitstorm and not feel helpless. At the very least, they do not wait. Things do not happen to them, things happen because of and around them. They turn each event to use. They work to overcome the inertia of idleness.
The second are the followers. They do not have control of their lives, and are generally somewhat lost, in a holding pattern, and unwilling to put forth effort to acheive a goal. They flounder. They do the bare minimum. The goal is simply declared "too hard" and discarded. The quick learn quicker not to expect true excellence from members of this group.
In order to set up for this class, two or three people need to go to a different portion of the building and fetch the mats. If there will be sparring or pad drills, that gear needs to be retrieved as well. But many is the time I have seen one, three, or even five people stand and wait in the empty gym, waiting for the equipment to magically appear. Then we doers arrive (or have already arrived and are bringing in equipment), and the rest of the class simply watches it all happen. No-one moves. No-one volunteers to assist in any small manner, from giving a mat a small push as we unroll it to maybe--gasp--walking with us to fetch the rest of the equipment.
Avoid these people. Surround yourself with doers, who evaluate and improve their own results. Who set up their own goals, ask for assistance, respect greater skill and knowledge, and most of all, do everything they can, in every field they can, whenever they can.
It isn't tough to have a bust-butt attitude. All you have to do is increase the value of things within your sphere through both small and large efforts. Pick up the flyer the person in front of you dropped rather than leaving it on the ground. When it's automatic, you don't even have to break stride. Don't wait for people to ask for help, offer it. Many times, you don't even have to ask. Just give your assistance in carrying out the details of the task at hand. Rather than standing around, ask where you can be useful. Even better, look for a place, identify it, and go be useful there! Why bother to ask a higher-up's permission when you can take the initiative?
Veteran wildland firefighter Peter Leschak writes of "developing a reputation as a 'good crew'" through hard work, volunteering for every assignment offered, and most of all, doing this work efficiently. On many fires, this attitude on the part of even a few crewmembers has been enough to earn a mention of their "bust-butt attitude." Among fire grunts, that takes something special! Leschak tells of working a shift with one crew recruited from the city by the Job Service. Because of the sheer amount of fire in the West that year, these people had not been through the regular process that self-selects the self-motivators and efficient workers for assignments on fires. Leschak's experience quickly revealed that these people, average joes in every sense, had no place on the fireline.
In fact, most people will act like the Job Service crew most of the time, throughout most of their lives. They will stand around while other people bust their butts on things that are "not my problem." Do this in a high-performance situation and you will be pulled out of that situation. Do this in everyday life and you will do nothing special.
______________________
In essence, that's what I mean when I say I love to work. I love to spend my idle time identifying and then doing all of the small, asynchronous tasks around me that most people leave undone. Oftentimes this means nothing more than working on the details of making my everyday performance better. When I choose to do something, I do it with a purpose. There is no place for being half-assed in a life well-lived. Take pride in the details. In my efforts to do everything I do as well as possible, I've come up with a few basic tenets to guide a purposeful life.
-- First, do no harm.
-- Seek learning and experiences
-- It is not the mark of a professional to deal well with action. It is the attitude and behavior in lulls that distinguishes the professional from the layman.
-- On the same token, the smallest thing you do reflects on you. Nothing is "close enough" only because nobody else is watching.
--You are always on duty.
-- Be your own worst critic, be your own best motivator.
-- Keep your own counsel, but seek the advice of people more capable than you.
--No situation is a waste of time until you are not learning anything from it.
-- Share the glory with whom it is due, but when something goes awry, aways shoulder the full responsibility.
-- "Sorry" means it won't happen again.
-- When you make a mistake, work to make it right.
-- Nobody can "make" you feel or act a certain way. It is always a choice.
--Everything is possible.
-- Avoid poisonous people, poisonous attitudes, and poisonous environments. Something is wrong when you say "I can't because..." and not "How can I?"
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Peace. Love. Freedom. Happiness.
Have you ever noticed there are some themes that crop up over and over again, in some of the most far-flung parts of life? Quick, name something that The 5th Dimension and Metallica have both written songs about! Puppets. But for Metallica, it's oppressive. The master of puppets listens for you to scream. He twists your mind and smashes your dreams. Surely Hetfield can't be talking about the same sort of puppet that we hear the 5th Dimension almost rejoice about. They're talking about love.
But can love and hate come from the same place? They can and they do. They grow from the same root, in the same soil. But while one bears a sweet fruit, the other is poison. And yet... both love and hate can fulfill. Both endow you with purpose. Both demand immense input of energy. Now, which can't be deadly?
But can love and hate come from the same place? They can and they do. They grow from the same root, in the same soil. But while one bears a sweet fruit, the other is poison. And yet... both love and hate can fulfill. Both endow you with purpose. Both demand immense input of energy. Now, which can't be deadly?
How? Imagine.
Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
How can I go forward when I don't know which way I'm facing?
How can I go forward when I don't know which way to turn?
How can I go forward into something I'm not sure of?
Oh no, oh no
How can I have feeling when I don't know if it's a feeling?
How can I feel something if I just don't know how to feel?
How can I have feelings when my feelings have always been denied?
Oh no, oh no
You know life can be long
And you got to be so strong
And the world is so tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough
How can I give love when I don't know what it is I'm giving?
How can I give love when I just don't know how to give?
How can I give love when love is something I ain't never had?
Oh no, oh no
You know life can be long
You've got to be so strong
And the world she is tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough
How can we go forward when we don't know which way we're facing?
How can we go forward when we don't know which way to turn?
How can we go forward into something we're not sure of?
Oh no, oh no
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
How can I go forward when I don't know which way I'm facing?
How can I go forward when I don't know which way to turn?
How can I go forward into something I'm not sure of?
Oh no, oh no
How can I have feeling when I don't know if it's a feeling?
How can I feel something if I just don't know how to feel?
How can I have feelings when my feelings have always been denied?
Oh no, oh no
You know life can be long
And you got to be so strong
And the world is so tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough
How can I give love when I don't know what it is I'm giving?
How can I give love when I just don't know how to give?
How can I give love when love is something I ain't never had?
Oh no, oh no
You know life can be long
You've got to be so strong
And the world she is tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough
How can we go forward when we don't know which way we're facing?
How can we go forward when we don't know which way to turn?
How can we go forward into something we're not sure of?
Oh no, oh no
What if?
A friend of mine has suggested that if you want to save the world, ask a child. I know she's not the first. But really, why ask a child? What's so special and wise about someone who can't think for themselves? They haven't seen the world, so how can they fix it? Is the world even broken?
Yes, my friends, that and more. Ask a child because they do think for themselves. Ask a child because when you get an answer, they won't be thinking of themselves. Ask a child how to help a child. Ask a child how to help your againg parents. Ask a child about death when you're feeling down. Ask a child about pain when you're feeling cocky. If you're hot shit, why ask someone who sits in their own shit?
Why not?
The people who haven't decided that the world is normal and nothing can change, they're the people we need to have as advisors. Advisors should NOT be seen-and-not-heard. Advisors like these need to be given priority, and given an honest ear.
Young blood runs in the streets in Athens and Gaza and Mumbai. Young blood runs in the veins of the movers, the shakers, the visionaries and the revolutionaries. Tap the flow of the second to stem the flow of the first.
Ask anyone under three feet tall anything and you'l get an answer in Ifspeak. Why did we stop speaking Ifspeak? Ifspeak is the language of the people who advance our world. Can'tspeak is the language of the people that drain our world. What if we really could eliminate global hunger? We can't, you say? What if we just run the numbers. We can't redirect those resources anyway? Why not? Why should you be the one to say that ntohing can change. Push your pencil elsewhere, Jack, I'm pushing the truth.
Yes, my friends, that and more. Ask a child because they do think for themselves. Ask a child because when you get an answer, they won't be thinking of themselves. Ask a child how to help a child. Ask a child how to help your againg parents. Ask a child about death when you're feeling down. Ask a child about pain when you're feeling cocky. If you're hot shit, why ask someone who sits in their own shit?
Why not?
The people who haven't decided that the world is normal and nothing can change, they're the people we need to have as advisors. Advisors should NOT be seen-and-not-heard. Advisors like these need to be given priority, and given an honest ear.
Young blood runs in the streets in Athens and Gaza and Mumbai. Young blood runs in the veins of the movers, the shakers, the visionaries and the revolutionaries. Tap the flow of the second to stem the flow of the first.
Ask anyone under three feet tall anything and you'l get an answer in Ifspeak. Why did we stop speaking Ifspeak? Ifspeak is the language of the people who advance our world. Can'tspeak is the language of the people that drain our world. What if we really could eliminate global hunger? We can't, you say? What if we just run the numbers. We can't redirect those resources anyway? Why not? Why should you be the one to say that ntohing can change. Push your pencil elsewhere, Jack, I'm pushing the truth.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
When my aunt died, I wrote a short obiruary of sorts. I'm pretty sure that's all that got published. But at least she's getting a funeral, and hopefully a marker for her grave. I didn't write much of anything when my grandpa died. The situation was different--he wasn't young and full of vigor. He had suffered enough, and it was time, if not a little past, for the Angel of Death to collect.
His wife had stopped letting him run his own business and maintain his property. The golddigging bitch finally got to spend all his cash as his mental faculties slipped. I met him when he was in his mid-70s, and again when he was about to turn 80. He wasn't sharp as a tack, but pretty damn close. When she took away his project, his focus, Grandpa slipped away, too.
When she got tired of taking care of him at home, and failing in her efforts to "take care of him" once and for all, Grandpa's wife put him in a home for Alzheimer's patients. That cost far to much, and his alzheimer's medicine wasn't helping the bankroll, either. She had him moved around after that, and the medicine taken away as more and more of his memory went away. We visited him when he was in what we're told was his favorite home. They had a dog that reminded him of one he once had in the '50s. He only remembered some of his kids, and mixed up my dad with my uncle a few tiimes, but he remembered my mom some. He did a good enough job of at least acting like he remembered me. He told the same tired old stories that he always told when we'd go visit him. He ate a lot of cookies.
He seemed genuinely bothered by the fact that he couldn't tell who we were some of the time. He'd get lost in the middle of a story and ask us to remind him where he'd left off. He asked my dad to draw him a diagram showing who his kids were, who they married, and where they lived. That way, when someone called, he said, he'd be able to tell who it was and "talk to them properly." We visited his room at this home. It had pictures from the glory days in drawers, and a large photo of the whole clan, every single damn one of us, up on the wall.
That was a few years ago.
When we saw him this July, he had been moved around to different homes a few times. He was back in Manitou, at a hospice on Lois Lane. He looked an awful lot like I expected, but a terrible sort worse. I'd only known him as an old man, and now he looked even older, but that wasn't the issue. He was stiff, and facing the wall. There were no decorations or posters. No photos. The room had a closet, where all sorts of clothes that he seemed to enjoy had been brought out of closets all over the country and given to him by relatives. Most of his old friends are dead. His lawyer's headstone can be seen from the plot that's still technically reserved for him. Although he wasn't dead yet, when I saw Grandpa's body last, he had this most pathetic, God-awful look on his face. It was one of pain, in spite of morphine that would kill you or I. His jaw was open wider than anything I would have thought possible. We looked. We talked. We said goodbye.
Two days before, his son in law and daughter had come to visit. He hadn't seen his son in law in a long time, but he walked right up, called him by name, and used every ounce of strength he could muster to try and crush his hand, just like he always did. They talked. They left. They got a call two days later that Grandpa's wife had visited, and he'd slipped into a coma. They called us. We hauled ass back home from the Western Slope.
I may live in Denver, but as far as I'm concerned, "home" is about 90 miles south.
His daughter was with him when he died. She talked about each of his children, where they were, and said that they forgive him if there was anything outstanding still on the record between them. That they said he could rest now. He could be seen to calm down, to relax, and he died peacefully. She didn't mention that his youngest daughter was dead.
There was no money for a funeral. He had wanted to donate his body to science, and that was one wish his wife was eager to grant. The coroner had other ideas. Foul play was ruled out, but I doubt that it was a very thorough investigation. Eventually, someone found a university that would take his autopsied body.
His kids got together and wrote an obituary. Originally, it was going to be printed in the city paper in each town one of his kids lived in, but when it proved to be over $200 for just one paper, they settled for his hometown of 50 years. It was run with a photograph of Grandpa with all the trophies he won for customizing his Honda Goldwing.
His wife had stopped letting him run his own business and maintain his property. The golddigging bitch finally got to spend all his cash as his mental faculties slipped. I met him when he was in his mid-70s, and again when he was about to turn 80. He wasn't sharp as a tack, but pretty damn close. When she took away his project, his focus, Grandpa slipped away, too.
When she got tired of taking care of him at home, and failing in her efforts to "take care of him" once and for all, Grandpa's wife put him in a home for Alzheimer's patients. That cost far to much, and his alzheimer's medicine wasn't helping the bankroll, either. She had him moved around after that, and the medicine taken away as more and more of his memory went away. We visited him when he was in what we're told was his favorite home. They had a dog that reminded him of one he once had in the '50s. He only remembered some of his kids, and mixed up my dad with my uncle a few tiimes, but he remembered my mom some. He did a good enough job of at least acting like he remembered me. He told the same tired old stories that he always told when we'd go visit him. He ate a lot of cookies.
He seemed genuinely bothered by the fact that he couldn't tell who we were some of the time. He'd get lost in the middle of a story and ask us to remind him where he'd left off. He asked my dad to draw him a diagram showing who his kids were, who they married, and where they lived. That way, when someone called, he said, he'd be able to tell who it was and "talk to them properly." We visited his room at this home. It had pictures from the glory days in drawers, and a large photo of the whole clan, every single damn one of us, up on the wall.
That was a few years ago.
When we saw him this July, he had been moved around to different homes a few times. He was back in Manitou, at a hospice on Lois Lane. He looked an awful lot like I expected, but a terrible sort worse. I'd only known him as an old man, and now he looked even older, but that wasn't the issue. He was stiff, and facing the wall. There were no decorations or posters. No photos. The room had a closet, where all sorts of clothes that he seemed to enjoy had been brought out of closets all over the country and given to him by relatives. Most of his old friends are dead. His lawyer's headstone can be seen from the plot that's still technically reserved for him. Although he wasn't dead yet, when I saw Grandpa's body last, he had this most pathetic, God-awful look on his face. It was one of pain, in spite of morphine that would kill you or I. His jaw was open wider than anything I would have thought possible. We looked. We talked. We said goodbye.
Two days before, his son in law and daughter had come to visit. He hadn't seen his son in law in a long time, but he walked right up, called him by name, and used every ounce of strength he could muster to try and crush his hand, just like he always did. They talked. They left. They got a call two days later that Grandpa's wife had visited, and he'd slipped into a coma. They called us. We hauled ass back home from the Western Slope.
I may live in Denver, but as far as I'm concerned, "home" is about 90 miles south.
His daughter was with him when he died. She talked about each of his children, where they were, and said that they forgive him if there was anything outstanding still on the record between them. That they said he could rest now. He could be seen to calm down, to relax, and he died peacefully. She didn't mention that his youngest daughter was dead.
There was no money for a funeral. He had wanted to donate his body to science, and that was one wish his wife was eager to grant. The coroner had other ideas. Foul play was ruled out, but I doubt that it was a very thorough investigation. Eventually, someone found a university that would take his autopsied body.
His kids got together and wrote an obituary. Originally, it was going to be printed in the city paper in each town one of his kids lived in, but when it proved to be over $200 for just one paper, they settled for his hometown of 50 years. It was run with a photograph of Grandpa with all the trophies he won for customizing his Honda Goldwing.
Alfred H Dwyer
January 17, 1920-July 22, 2008
We would like to honor our father's life by sharing what many already know of him.
For over 40 years people respected the caliber of the work that Dad completed in the Pikes Peak Region. As owner of Dwyer Construction, he had the privilege to work with/on properties such as the Broadmoor Hotel, Alamo Hotel, and the Cliff House. We know that many of his projects were completed 'on a handshake' because of his professional integrity and quality. His tremendous engineering skill was demonstrated when he and our mother, Jean, bought and renovated the Manitou Spa during the 1960's.
His life's example taught us that hard work, commitment and respect for people of all backgrounds were the foundation of a person. He taught us to never give up learning and that “there is always more than one way to solve a problem”.
We will miss you very much!
David A Dwyer, Las Vegas, NV
Daniel B Dwyer, Denver, CO
James H Dwyer, Buena Vista, CO
Susan H Ayler, Colorado Springs, CO
Mary E Dwyer, living in our memories
Friday, September 5, 2008
They talk about the spaces between the words
Like the pain only hides there.
The last thing she said,
Nobody heard.
We talk without end,
So the silence doesn't get us.
We talk of trifles and outrage and God,
But never what we need to say.
Then it seems like we can't talk
For fear we'll say the wrong thing.
That we'll ruin something we only imagine we had.
Fact is, we can.
We will.
Someone has to speak their mind
Before they lose it.
Throw it away really,
For you can't accidentally let go of your mind.
You leave it because you want to,
Just as people throw away relics that don't suit them.
If I'm the only one not scared
To say what has to be said,
So be it.
And I'd do it again.
I'd admit it eats me up.
That I nearly tore myself apart.
I'd cry when no-one was looking
And come up with a smile.
I'd raise a toast to the day before it's gone
And laugh at Misery himself.
He can take what he wants,
But he'll never get my soul.
The trick is to be glib,
To be wry and rude and uncanny.
You have to be yourself
Especially in those times it seems like you can't,
Because nobody else will.
Like the pain only hides there.
The last thing she said,
Nobody heard.
We talk without end,
So the silence doesn't get us.
We talk of trifles and outrage and God,
But never what we need to say.
Then it seems like we can't talk
For fear we'll say the wrong thing.
That we'll ruin something we only imagine we had.
Fact is, we can.
We will.
Someone has to speak their mind
Before they lose it.
Throw it away really,
For you can't accidentally let go of your mind.
You leave it because you want to,
Just as people throw away relics that don't suit them.
If I'm the only one not scared
To say what has to be said,
So be it.
And I'd do it again.
I'd admit it eats me up.
That I nearly tore myself apart.
I'd cry when no-one was looking
And come up with a smile.
I'd raise a toast to the day before it's gone
And laugh at Misery himself.
He can take what he wants,
But he'll never get my soul.
The trick is to be glib,
To be wry and rude and uncanny.
You have to be yourself
Especially in those times it seems like you can't,
Because nobody else will.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The wisest people are those who don't say so.
"He stood like a rock, a man among men. Then he let that lumberjack hit him again... then with a voice as kind as could be, he cut him down like a big oak tree. He said: 'You got to walk that lonesome valley. You got to walk it by yourself. Lord, nobody else can walk it for you. You got to walk it by yourself.'" -- "Reverend Mr. Black" by The Kingston Trio
This article is from Mind Mullings, a blog by a fellow in Colorado Springs. I came across his blog purely by chance, but I've bookmarked and frequented it because I think he's a wiser fellow than many.
This article is from Mind Mullings, a blog by a fellow in Colorado Springs. I came across his blog purely by chance, but I've bookmarked and frequented it because I think he's a wiser fellow than many.
Have you ever planted a tree? I have…lots of em.’ When a tree comes from the nursery it is “balled and burlaped.” The roots are wrapped to protect them until the tree gets planted. Imagine what would happen if the burlap never came off of the rootball. Would the tree grow strong and healthy? Nope. In fact, it would die. The roots would get so confined that the tree would actually kill itself. Just because it is a tree doesn’t automatically mean it can grow. It needs water, sunlight, and space to thrive in.
Now you may be wondering why I’m giving you a tree planting lesson. I don’t expect many of you plant trees on a regular basis but the question I have for you is: are you in a place where you can grow?
You might be okay right now at the nursery wrapped in your protective burlap but what will happen in two years if you haven’t planted yourself somewhere? What will happen in five years if you are still wrapped in the burlap and you haven’t grown in stature, wisdom or other things of the Lord? What will happen if you manage to plant yourself but don’t get any sunlight, water or space?Be like an old oak tree; never stop growing.
Here are three practical suggestions:
Put yourself in places where you can grow. Sitting at home watching sitcoms doesn’t cut it.
Ask the Holy Spirit to convict you of areas in your life you need to grow
in. Ask for humility while working on these areas.
Talk to a close friend and ask them what your weakest character trait is. Work on it.
75 things to be able to do
This is Esquire's list of "75 things men should be able to do." While that's very true, that title is restrictive. Most, if not all of this advice is applicable to anyone who doesn't want to wind up wondering "Why the hell didn't I do that?" or "I don't know how to do this, better not even try."
There is a resurging popularity of old "Skills for boys" books and their ilk. A book that suggests carving your name into a walking stick or building a tire swing using just a bald tire, a piece of rope, and a tree conjures up images and feelings of a simpler time. It's not that there weren't companies and advertising and networking all vying to overcomplicate our lives, it's just that it wasn't everywhere and in our collective unconscious that we have to listen to these people. But there are still a lot of things that are really best done "by hand." Time, not money, is the most valuable thing you can ever invest. Get the biggest return you can.
1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. I got run out of a job I liked once, and while it was happening, a guy stopped me in the hall. Smart guy, but prone to saying too much. I braced myself. I didn't want to hear it. I needed a white knight, and I knew it wasn't him. He just sighed and said: When nobody has your back, you gotta move your back. Then he walked away. Best advice I ever got. One sentence.
2. Tell if someone is lying. Everyone has his theory. Pick one, test it. Choose the tells that work for you. I like these: Liars change the subject quickly. Liars look up and to their right when they speak. Liars use fewer contractions. Liars will sometimes stare straight at you and employ a dead face. Liars never touch their chest or heart except self-consciously. Liars place objects between themselves and you during a conversation.
3. Take a photo. Fill the frame.
4. Score a baseball game. Scoring a game is an exercise in ciphering, creating a shorthand of your very own. In this way, it's a private language as much as a record of the game. The only given is the numbering of the positions and the use of the diamond to express each batter's progress around the bases. I black out the diamond when a run scores. I mark an RBI with a tally mark in the upper-right-hand corner. Each time you score a game, you pick up on new elements to track: pitch count, balls and strikes, foul balls. It doesn't matter that this information is available on the Internet in real time. Scoring a game is about bearing witness, expanding your own ability to observe.
5. Name a book that matters. The Catcher in the Rye does not matter. Not really. You gotta read.
6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible. One guy at your table knows where Cobain was born and who his high school English teacher was. Another guy can argue the elegant extended trope of Liquid Swords with GZA himself. This is how it should be. Music does not demand agreement. Rilo Kiley. Nina Simone. Whitesnake. Fugazi. Otis Redding. Whatever. Choose. Nobody likes a know-it-all, because 1) you can't know it all and 2) music offers distinct and private lessons. So pick one. Except Rilo Kiley. I heard they broke up.
7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill.
Buy The Way to Cook, by Julia Child. Try roasting. Braising. Broiling. Slow-cooking. Pan searing. Think ragouts, fricassees, stews. All of this will force you to understand the functionality of different cuts. In the end, grilling will be a choice rather than a chore, and your Weber will become a tool rather than a piece of weekend entertainment.
8. Not monopolize the conversation.
9. Write a letter.
So easy. So easily forgotten. A five-paragraph structure works pretty well: Tell why you're writing. Offer details. Ask questions. Give news. Add a specific memory or two. If your handwriting is terrible, type. Always close formally.
10. Buy a suit.
Avoid bargains. Know your likes, your dislikes, and what you need it for (work, funerals, court). Squeeze the fabric -- if it bounces back with little or no sign of wrinkling, that means it's good, sturdy material. And tug the buttons gently. If they feel loose or wobbly, that means they're probably coming off sooner rather than later. The jacket's shoulder pads are supposed to square with your shoulders; if they droop off or leave dents in the cloth, the jacket's too big. The jacket sleeves should never meet the wrist any lower than the base of the thumb -- if they do, ask to go down a size. Always get fitted.
11. Swim three different strokes. Doggie paddle doesn't count.
12. Show respect without being a suck-up. Respect the following, in this order: age, experience, record, reputation. Don't mention any of it.
13. Throw a punch. Close enough, but not too close. Swing with your shoulders, not your arm. Long punches rarely land squarely. So forget the roundhouse. You don't have a haymaker. Follow through; don't pop and pull back. The length you give the punch should come in the form of extension after the point of contact. Just remember, the bones in your hand are small and easy to break. You're better off striking hard with the heel of your palm. Or you could buy the guy a beer and talk it out.
14. Chop down a tree. Know your escape path. When the tree starts to fall, use it.
15. Calculate square footage. Width times length.
16. Tie a bow tie.
Step 1: Make a simple knot, allowing slightly more length (one to two inches) on the end of A.
Step 2: Lay A out of the way, fold B into the normal bow shape, and position it on the first knot you made.
Step 3: Drop A vertically over folded end B.
Step 4: Double back A on itself and position it over the knot so that the two folded ends make a cross.
Step 5: The hard part: Pass folded end A under and behind the left side (yours) of the knot and through the loop behind folded end B.
Step 6: Tighten the knot you have created, straightening, particularly in the center.
17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well.
When I interviewed for my first job, one of the senior guys had me to his house for a reception. He offered me a cigarette and pointed me to a bowl of whiskey sours, like I was Darrin Stephens and he was Larry Tate. I can still remember that first tight little swallow and my gratitude that I could go back for a refill without looking like a drunk. I came to admire the host over the next decade, but he never gave me the recipe. So I use this: • For every 750-ml bottle of whiskey (use a decent bourbon or rye), add: • 6 oz fresh-squeezed, strained lemon juice • 6 oz simple syrup (mix superfine sugar and water in equal quantities)
To serve: Shake 3 oz per person with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glasses. Garnish with a cherry and an orange slice or, if you're really slick, a float of red wine. (Pour about 1/2 oz slowly into each glass over the back of a spoon; this is called a New York sour, and it's great.)
18. Speak a foreign language. Pas beaucoup. Mais faites un effort.
19. Approach a woman out of his league. Ever have a shoeshine from a guy you really admire? He works hard enough that he doesn't have to tell stupid jokes; he doesn't stare at your legs; he knows things you don't, but he doesn't talk about them every minute; he doesn't scrape or apologize for his status or his job or the way he is dressed; he does his job confidently and with a quiet relish. That stuff is wildly inviting. Act like that guy.
20. Sew a button.
21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer.
Once, in our lifetime, much of Europe was approaching cultural and political irrelevance. Then they made like us and banded together into a union of confederated states. So you can always assume that they were simply copying the United States as they now push us to the verge of cultural and political irrelevance.
22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn't have to ask after it.
Otherwise, ask after it.
23. Be loyal. You will fail at it. You have already. A man who does not know loyalty, from both ends, does not know men. Loyalty is not a matter of give-and-take: He did me a favor, therefore I owe him one. No. No. No. It is the recognition of a bond, the honoring of a shared history, the reemergence of the vows we make in the tight times. It doesn't mean complete agreement or invisible blood ties. It is a currency of selflessness, given without expectation and capable of the most stellar return.
24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. Brand, amount, style, fast, like so: Booker's, double, neat.
25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it.
Use a contractor's hammer. Swing hard and loose, like a tennis serve.
26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat.
27. Play gin with an old guy. Old men will try to crush you. They'll drown you in meaningless chatter, tell stories about when they were kids this or in Korea that. Or they'll retreat into a taciturn posture designed to get you to do the talking. They'll note your strategies without mentioning them, keep the stakes at a level they can control, and change up their pace of play just to get you stumbling. You have to do this -- play their game, be it dominoes or cribbage or chess. They may have been playing for decades. You take a beating as a means of absorbing the lessons they've learned without taking a lesson. But don't be afraid to take them down. They can handle it.
28. Play go fish with a kid.
You don't crush kids. You talk their ear off, make an event out of it, tell them stories about when you were a kid this or in Vegas that. You have to play their game, too, even though they may have been playing only for weeks. Observe. Teach them without once offering a lesson. And don't be afraid to win. They can handle it.
29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped.
Sometimes the laws of physics aren't laws at all. Read The Quantum World: Quantum Physics for Everyone, by Kenneth W. Ford.
30. Feign interest. Good place to start: quantum physics.
31. Make a bed.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. I once stood in a wine store in West Hollywood where the owner described a pinot noir he favored as "a night walk through a wet garden." I bought it. I went to my hotel and drank it by myself, looking at the flickering city with my feet on the windowsill. I don't know which was more right, the wine or the vision that he placed in my head. Point is, it was right.
33. Hit a jump shot in pool. It's not something you use a lot, but when you hit a jump shot, it marks you as a player and briefly impresses women. Make the angle of your cue steeper, aim for the bottommost fraction of the ball, and drive the cue smoothly six inches past the contact point, making steady, downward contact with the felt.
34. Dress a wound. First, stop the bleeding. Apply pressure using a gauze pad. Stay with the pressure. If you can't stop the bleeding, forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Once the bleeding stops, clean the wound. Use water or saline solution; a little soap is good, too. If you can't get the wound clean, then forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Finally, dress the wound. For a laceration, push the edges together and apply a butterfly bandage. For avulsions, where the skin is punctured and pulled back like a trapdoor, push the skin back and use a butterfly. Slather the area in antibacterial ointment. Cover the wound with a gauze pad taped into place. Change that dressing every 12 hours, checking carefully for signs of infection. Better yet, get to a hospital.
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once).
36. Make three different bets at a craps table. Play the smallest and most poorly labeled areas, the bets where it's visually evident the casino doesn't want you to go. Simply play the pass line; once the point is set, play full odds (this is the only really good bet on the table); and when you want a little more action, tell the crew you want to lay the 4 and the 10 for the minimum bet.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards.
I play cards with guys who can't shuffle, and they lose. Always.
38. Tell a joke. Here's one:
Two guys are walking down a dark alley when a mugger approaches them and demands their money. They both grudgingly pull out their wallets and begin taking out their cash. Just then, one guy turns to the other, hands him a bill, and says, "Hey, here's that $20 I owe you."
39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
Aces. Eights. Always.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. Use his first name. Don't use baby talk. Don't crank up your energy to match his. Ask questions and wait for answers. Follow up. Don't pretend to be interested in Webkinz or Power Rangers or whatever. He's as bored with that shit as you are. Concentrate instead on seeing the child as a person of his own.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
You don't own the restaurant, so don't act like it. You own the transaction. So don't speak into the menu. Lift your chin. Make eye contact. All restaurants have secrets -- let it be known that you expect to see some of them.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
Go ahead, use baby talk.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help. Just turn off the damned main.
44. Ask for help.
Guys who refuse to ask for help are the most cursed men of all. The stubborn, the self-possessed, and the distant. The hell with them.
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist. Rotate your arm rapidly in the grip, toward the other guy's thumb.
46. Tell a woman's dress size.
47. Recite one poem from memory. Here you go:
WHEN YOU ARE OLD
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
--William Butler Yeats
48. Remove a stain. Blot. Always blot.
49. Say no.
50. Fry an egg sunny-side up. Cook until the white appears solid...and no longer.
51. Build a campfire.
There are three components:
1. The tinder -- bone-dry, snappable twigs, about as long as your hand. You need two complete handfuls. Try birch bark; it burns long and hot.
2. The kindling -- thick as your thumb, long as your forearm, breakable with two hands. You need two armfuls.
3. Fuel wood -- anything thick and long enough that it can't be broken by hand. It's okay if it's slightly damp. You need a knee-high stack.
Step 1: Light the tinder, turning the pile gently to get air underneath it.
Step 2: Feed the kindling into the emergent fire with some pace.
Step 3: Lay on the fuel wood. Pyramid, the log cabin, whatever -- the idea is to create some kind of structure so that plenty of air gets to the fire.
52. Step into a job no one wants to do. When I was 13, my dad called me into his office at the large urban mall he ran. He was on the phone. What followed was a fairly banal 15-minute conversation, which involved the collection of rent from a store. On and on, droning about store hours and lighting problems. I kept raising my eyebrows, pretending to stand up, and my dad kept waving me down. I could hear only his end, garrulous and unrelenting. He rolled his eyes as the excuses kept coming. His assertions were simple and to the point, like a drumbeat. He wanted the rent. He wanted the store to stay open when the mall was open. Then suddenly, having given the job the time it deserved, he put it to an end. "So if I see your gate down next Sunday afternoon, I'm going to get a drill and stick a goddamn bolt in it and lock you down for the next week, right?" When he hung up, rent collected, he took a deep breath. "I've been dreading that call," he said. "Once a week you gotta try something you never would do if you had the choice. Otherwise, why are you here?" So he gave me that. And this...
53. Sometimes, kick some ass.
54. Break up a fight. Work in pairs if possible. Don't get between people initially. Use the back of the collar, pull and urge the person downward. If you can't get him down, work for distance.
55. Point to the north at any time.
If you have a watch, you can point the hour hand at the sun. Then find the point directly between the hour hand and the 12. That's south. The opposite direction is, of course, north.
56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person.
57. Explain what a light-year is. It's the measure of the distance that light travels over 365.25 days.
58. Avoid boredom. You have enough to eat. You can move. This must be acknowledged as a kind of freedom. You don't always have to buy things, put things in your mouth, or be delighted.
59. Write a thank-you note.
Make a habit of it. Follow a simple formula like this one: First line is a thesis statement. The second line is evidentiary. The third is a kind of assertion. Close on an uptick.
Thanks for having me over to watch game six. Even though they won, it's clear the Red Sox are a soulless, overmarketed contrivance of Fox TV. Still, I'm awfully happy you have that huge high-def television. Next time, I really will bring beer. Yours,
60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. It tells a lot about who you are and where you came from. Me? I like Hellman's mayonnaise and Genesee beer, which makes me the fleshy, stubbornly upstate ne'er-do-well that I will always be.
61. Cook bacon.
Lay out the bacon on a rack on a baking sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.
62. Hold a baby.
Newborns should be wrapped tightly and held against the chest. They like tight spaces (consider their previous circumstances) and rhythmic movements, so hold them snug, tuck them in the crook of your elbow or against the skin of your neck. Rock your hips like you're bored, barely listening to the music at the edge of a wedding reception. No one has to notice except the baby. Don't breathe all over them.
63. Deliver a eulogy. Take the job seriously. It matters. Speak first to the family, then to the outside world. Write it down. Avoid similes. Don't read poetry. Be funny.
64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. When I was a kid, because I'm Italian and because the Irish guys in my neighborhood were relentless with the beatings on St. Patrick's Day, I loved the very idea of Christopher Columbus. I loved the fact that Irish kids worshipped some gnome who drove all the rats out of Ireland or whatever, whereas my hero was an explorer. Man, I drank the Kool-Aid on that guy. Of course, I later learned that he was a hand-chopping, land-stealing egotist who sold out an entire hemisphere to European avarice. So I left Columbus behind. Your understanding of your heroes must evolve. See Roger Clemens. See Bill Belichick.
65-67. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap. Throw a football with a tight spiral. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably.
If you can't, play more ball.
68. Find his way out of the woods if lost. Note your landmarks -- mountains, power lines, the sound of a highway. Look for the sun: It sits in the south; it moves west. Gauge your direction every few minutes. If you're completely stuck, look for a small creek and follow it downstream. Water flows toward larger bodies of water, where people live.
69. Tie a knot.
Square knot: left rope over right rope, turn under. Then right rope over left rope. Tuck under. Pull. Or as my pack leader, Dave Kenyon, told me in a Boy Scouts meeting: "Left over right, right over left. What's so fucking hard about that?"
70. Shake hands. Steady, firm, pump, let go. Use the time to make eye contact, since that's where the social contract begins.
71. Iron a shirt. My uncle Tony the tailor once told me of ironing: Start rough, end gently.
72. Stock an emergency bag for the car.
Blanket. Heavy flashlight. Hand warmers. Six bottles of water. Six packs of beef jerky. Atlas. Reflectors. Gloves. Socks. Bandages. Neosporin. Inhaler. Benadryl. Motrin. Hard candy. Telescoping magnet. Screwdriver. Channel-locks. Crescent wrench. Ski hat. Bandanna.
73. Caress a woman's neck. Back of your fingers, in a slow fan.
74. Know some birds. If you can't pay attention to a bird, then you can't learn from detail, you aren't likely to appreciate the beauty of evolution, and you don't have a clue how birdlike your own habits may be. You've been looking at them blindly for years now. Get a guide.
75. Negotiate a better price. Be informed. Know the price of competitors. In a big store, look for a manager. Don't be an asshole. Use one phrase as your mantra, like "I need a little help with this one." Repeat it, as an invitation to him. Don't beg. Ever. Offer something: your loyalty, your next purchase, even your friendship, and, with the deal done, your gratitude.
There is a resurging popularity of old "Skills for boys" books and their ilk. A book that suggests carving your name into a walking stick or building a tire swing using just a bald tire, a piece of rope, and a tree conjures up images and feelings of a simpler time. It's not that there weren't companies and advertising and networking all vying to overcomplicate our lives, it's just that it wasn't everywhere and in our collective unconscious that we have to listen to these people. But there are still a lot of things that are really best done "by hand." Time, not money, is the most valuable thing you can ever invest. Get the biggest return you can.
1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. I got run out of a job I liked once, and while it was happening, a guy stopped me in the hall. Smart guy, but prone to saying too much. I braced myself. I didn't want to hear it. I needed a white knight, and I knew it wasn't him. He just sighed and said: When nobody has your back, you gotta move your back. Then he walked away. Best advice I ever got. One sentence.
2. Tell if someone is lying. Everyone has his theory. Pick one, test it. Choose the tells that work for you. I like these: Liars change the subject quickly. Liars look up and to their right when they speak. Liars use fewer contractions. Liars will sometimes stare straight at you and employ a dead face. Liars never touch their chest or heart except self-consciously. Liars place objects between themselves and you during a conversation.
3. Take a photo. Fill the frame.
4. Score a baseball game. Scoring a game is an exercise in ciphering, creating a shorthand of your very own. In this way, it's a private language as much as a record of the game. The only given is the numbering of the positions and the use of the diamond to express each batter's progress around the bases. I black out the diamond when a run scores. I mark an RBI with a tally mark in the upper-right-hand corner. Each time you score a game, you pick up on new elements to track: pitch count, balls and strikes, foul balls. It doesn't matter that this information is available on the Internet in real time. Scoring a game is about bearing witness, expanding your own ability to observe.
5. Name a book that matters. The Catcher in the Rye does not matter. Not really. You gotta read.
6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible. One guy at your table knows where Cobain was born and who his high school English teacher was. Another guy can argue the elegant extended trope of Liquid Swords with GZA himself. This is how it should be. Music does not demand agreement. Rilo Kiley. Nina Simone. Whitesnake. Fugazi. Otis Redding. Whatever. Choose. Nobody likes a know-it-all, because 1) you can't know it all and 2) music offers distinct and private lessons. So pick one. Except Rilo Kiley. I heard they broke up.
7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill.
Buy The Way to Cook, by Julia Child. Try roasting. Braising. Broiling. Slow-cooking. Pan searing. Think ragouts, fricassees, stews. All of this will force you to understand the functionality of different cuts. In the end, grilling will be a choice rather than a chore, and your Weber will become a tool rather than a piece of weekend entertainment.
8. Not monopolize the conversation.
9. Write a letter.
So easy. So easily forgotten. A five-paragraph structure works pretty well: Tell why you're writing. Offer details. Ask questions. Give news. Add a specific memory or two. If your handwriting is terrible, type. Always close formally.
10. Buy a suit.
Avoid bargains. Know your likes, your dislikes, and what you need it for (work, funerals, court). Squeeze the fabric -- if it bounces back with little or no sign of wrinkling, that means it's good, sturdy material. And tug the buttons gently. If they feel loose or wobbly, that means they're probably coming off sooner rather than later. The jacket's shoulder pads are supposed to square with your shoulders; if they droop off or leave dents in the cloth, the jacket's too big. The jacket sleeves should never meet the wrist any lower than the base of the thumb -- if they do, ask to go down a size. Always get fitted.
11. Swim three different strokes. Doggie paddle doesn't count.
12. Show respect without being a suck-up. Respect the following, in this order: age, experience, record, reputation. Don't mention any of it.
13. Throw a punch. Close enough, but not too close. Swing with your shoulders, not your arm. Long punches rarely land squarely. So forget the roundhouse. You don't have a haymaker. Follow through; don't pop and pull back. The length you give the punch should come in the form of extension after the point of contact. Just remember, the bones in your hand are small and easy to break. You're better off striking hard with the heel of your palm. Or you could buy the guy a beer and talk it out.
14. Chop down a tree. Know your escape path. When the tree starts to fall, use it.
15. Calculate square footage. Width times length.
16. Tie a bow tie.
Step 1: Make a simple knot, allowing slightly more length (one to two inches) on the end of A.
Step 2: Lay A out of the way, fold B into the normal bow shape, and position it on the first knot you made.
Step 3: Drop A vertically over folded end B.
Step 4: Double back A on itself and position it over the knot so that the two folded ends make a cross.
Step 5: The hard part: Pass folded end A under and behind the left side (yours) of the knot and through the loop behind folded end B.
Step 6: Tighten the knot you have created, straightening, particularly in the center.
17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well.
When I interviewed for my first job, one of the senior guys had me to his house for a reception. He offered me a cigarette and pointed me to a bowl of whiskey sours, like I was Darrin Stephens and he was Larry Tate. I can still remember that first tight little swallow and my gratitude that I could go back for a refill without looking like a drunk. I came to admire the host over the next decade, but he never gave me the recipe. So I use this: • For every 750-ml bottle of whiskey (use a decent bourbon or rye), add: • 6 oz fresh-squeezed, strained lemon juice • 6 oz simple syrup (mix superfine sugar and water in equal quantities)
To serve: Shake 3 oz per person with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glasses. Garnish with a cherry and an orange slice or, if you're really slick, a float of red wine. (Pour about 1/2 oz slowly into each glass over the back of a spoon; this is called a New York sour, and it's great.)
18. Speak a foreign language. Pas beaucoup. Mais faites un effort.
19. Approach a woman out of his league. Ever have a shoeshine from a guy you really admire? He works hard enough that he doesn't have to tell stupid jokes; he doesn't stare at your legs; he knows things you don't, but he doesn't talk about them every minute; he doesn't scrape or apologize for his status or his job or the way he is dressed; he does his job confidently and with a quiet relish. That stuff is wildly inviting. Act like that guy.
20. Sew a button.
21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer.
Once, in our lifetime, much of Europe was approaching cultural and political irrelevance. Then they made like us and banded together into a union of confederated states. So you can always assume that they were simply copying the United States as they now push us to the verge of cultural and political irrelevance.
22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn't have to ask after it.
Otherwise, ask after it.
23. Be loyal. You will fail at it. You have already. A man who does not know loyalty, from both ends, does not know men. Loyalty is not a matter of give-and-take: He did me a favor, therefore I owe him one. No. No. No. It is the recognition of a bond, the honoring of a shared history, the reemergence of the vows we make in the tight times. It doesn't mean complete agreement or invisible blood ties. It is a currency of selflessness, given without expectation and capable of the most stellar return.
24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. Brand, amount, style, fast, like so: Booker's, double, neat.
25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it.
Use a contractor's hammer. Swing hard and loose, like a tennis serve.
26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat.
27. Play gin with an old guy. Old men will try to crush you. They'll drown you in meaningless chatter, tell stories about when they were kids this or in Korea that. Or they'll retreat into a taciturn posture designed to get you to do the talking. They'll note your strategies without mentioning them, keep the stakes at a level they can control, and change up their pace of play just to get you stumbling. You have to do this -- play their game, be it dominoes or cribbage or chess. They may have been playing for decades. You take a beating as a means of absorbing the lessons they've learned without taking a lesson. But don't be afraid to take them down. They can handle it.
28. Play go fish with a kid.
You don't crush kids. You talk their ear off, make an event out of it, tell them stories about when you were a kid this or in Vegas that. You have to play their game, too, even though they may have been playing only for weeks. Observe. Teach them without once offering a lesson. And don't be afraid to win. They can handle it.
29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped.
Sometimes the laws of physics aren't laws at all. Read The Quantum World: Quantum Physics for Everyone, by Kenneth W. Ford.
30. Feign interest. Good place to start: quantum physics.
31. Make a bed.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. I once stood in a wine store in West Hollywood where the owner described a pinot noir he favored as "a night walk through a wet garden." I bought it. I went to my hotel and drank it by myself, looking at the flickering city with my feet on the windowsill. I don't know which was more right, the wine or the vision that he placed in my head. Point is, it was right.
33. Hit a jump shot in pool. It's not something you use a lot, but when you hit a jump shot, it marks you as a player and briefly impresses women. Make the angle of your cue steeper, aim for the bottommost fraction of the ball, and drive the cue smoothly six inches past the contact point, making steady, downward contact with the felt.
34. Dress a wound. First, stop the bleeding. Apply pressure using a gauze pad. Stay with the pressure. If you can't stop the bleeding, forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Once the bleeding stops, clean the wound. Use water or saline solution; a little soap is good, too. If you can't get the wound clean, then forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Finally, dress the wound. For a laceration, push the edges together and apply a butterfly bandage. For avulsions, where the skin is punctured and pulled back like a trapdoor, push the skin back and use a butterfly. Slather the area in antibacterial ointment. Cover the wound with a gauze pad taped into place. Change that dressing every 12 hours, checking carefully for signs of infection. Better yet, get to a hospital.
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once).
36. Make three different bets at a craps table. Play the smallest and most poorly labeled areas, the bets where it's visually evident the casino doesn't want you to go. Simply play the pass line; once the point is set, play full odds (this is the only really good bet on the table); and when you want a little more action, tell the crew you want to lay the 4 and the 10 for the minimum bet.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards.
I play cards with guys who can't shuffle, and they lose. Always.
38. Tell a joke. Here's one:
Two guys are walking down a dark alley when a mugger approaches them and demands their money. They both grudgingly pull out their wallets and begin taking out their cash. Just then, one guy turns to the other, hands him a bill, and says, "Hey, here's that $20 I owe you."
39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
Aces. Eights. Always.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. Use his first name. Don't use baby talk. Don't crank up your energy to match his. Ask questions and wait for answers. Follow up. Don't pretend to be interested in Webkinz or Power Rangers or whatever. He's as bored with that shit as you are. Concentrate instead on seeing the child as a person of his own.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
You don't own the restaurant, so don't act like it. You own the transaction. So don't speak into the menu. Lift your chin. Make eye contact. All restaurants have secrets -- let it be known that you expect to see some of them.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
Go ahead, use baby talk.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help. Just turn off the damned main.
44. Ask for help.
Guys who refuse to ask for help are the most cursed men of all. The stubborn, the self-possessed, and the distant. The hell with them.
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist. Rotate your arm rapidly in the grip, toward the other guy's thumb.
46. Tell a woman's dress size.
47. Recite one poem from memory. Here you go:
WHEN YOU ARE OLD
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
--William Butler Yeats
48. Remove a stain. Blot. Always blot.
49. Say no.
50. Fry an egg sunny-side up. Cook until the white appears solid...and no longer.
51. Build a campfire.
There are three components:
1. The tinder -- bone-dry, snappable twigs, about as long as your hand. You need two complete handfuls. Try birch bark; it burns long and hot.
2. The kindling -- thick as your thumb, long as your forearm, breakable with two hands. You need two armfuls.
3. Fuel wood -- anything thick and long enough that it can't be broken by hand. It's okay if it's slightly damp. You need a knee-high stack.
Step 1: Light the tinder, turning the pile gently to get air underneath it.
Step 2: Feed the kindling into the emergent fire with some pace.
Step 3: Lay on the fuel wood. Pyramid, the log cabin, whatever -- the idea is to create some kind of structure so that plenty of air gets to the fire.
52. Step into a job no one wants to do. When I was 13, my dad called me into his office at the large urban mall he ran. He was on the phone. What followed was a fairly banal 15-minute conversation, which involved the collection of rent from a store. On and on, droning about store hours and lighting problems. I kept raising my eyebrows, pretending to stand up, and my dad kept waving me down. I could hear only his end, garrulous and unrelenting. He rolled his eyes as the excuses kept coming. His assertions were simple and to the point, like a drumbeat. He wanted the rent. He wanted the store to stay open when the mall was open. Then suddenly, having given the job the time it deserved, he put it to an end. "So if I see your gate down next Sunday afternoon, I'm going to get a drill and stick a goddamn bolt in it and lock you down for the next week, right?" When he hung up, rent collected, he took a deep breath. "I've been dreading that call," he said. "Once a week you gotta try something you never would do if you had the choice. Otherwise, why are you here?" So he gave me that. And this...
53. Sometimes, kick some ass.
54. Break up a fight. Work in pairs if possible. Don't get between people initially. Use the back of the collar, pull and urge the person downward. If you can't get him down, work for distance.
55. Point to the north at any time.
If you have a watch, you can point the hour hand at the sun. Then find the point directly between the hour hand and the 12. That's south. The opposite direction is, of course, north.
56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person.
57. Explain what a light-year is. It's the measure of the distance that light travels over 365.25 days.
58. Avoid boredom. You have enough to eat. You can move. This must be acknowledged as a kind of freedom. You don't always have to buy things, put things in your mouth, or be delighted.
59. Write a thank-you note.
Make a habit of it. Follow a simple formula like this one: First line is a thesis statement. The second line is evidentiary. The third is a kind of assertion. Close on an uptick.
Thanks for having me over to watch game six. Even though they won, it's clear the Red Sox are a soulless, overmarketed contrivance of Fox TV. Still, I'm awfully happy you have that huge high-def television. Next time, I really will bring beer. Yours,
60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. It tells a lot about who you are and where you came from. Me? I like Hellman's mayonnaise and Genesee beer, which makes me the fleshy, stubbornly upstate ne'er-do-well that I will always be.
61. Cook bacon.
Lay out the bacon on a rack on a baking sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.
62. Hold a baby.
Newborns should be wrapped tightly and held against the chest. They like tight spaces (consider their previous circumstances) and rhythmic movements, so hold them snug, tuck them in the crook of your elbow or against the skin of your neck. Rock your hips like you're bored, barely listening to the music at the edge of a wedding reception. No one has to notice except the baby. Don't breathe all over them.
63. Deliver a eulogy. Take the job seriously. It matters. Speak first to the family, then to the outside world. Write it down. Avoid similes. Don't read poetry. Be funny.
64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. When I was a kid, because I'm Italian and because the Irish guys in my neighborhood were relentless with the beatings on St. Patrick's Day, I loved the very idea of Christopher Columbus. I loved the fact that Irish kids worshipped some gnome who drove all the rats out of Ireland or whatever, whereas my hero was an explorer. Man, I drank the Kool-Aid on that guy. Of course, I later learned that he was a hand-chopping, land-stealing egotist who sold out an entire hemisphere to European avarice. So I left Columbus behind. Your understanding of your heroes must evolve. See Roger Clemens. See Bill Belichick.
65-67. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap. Throw a football with a tight spiral. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably.
If you can't, play more ball.
68. Find his way out of the woods if lost. Note your landmarks -- mountains, power lines, the sound of a highway. Look for the sun: It sits in the south; it moves west. Gauge your direction every few minutes. If you're completely stuck, look for a small creek and follow it downstream. Water flows toward larger bodies of water, where people live.
69. Tie a knot.
Square knot: left rope over right rope, turn under. Then right rope over left rope. Tuck under. Pull. Or as my pack leader, Dave Kenyon, told me in a Boy Scouts meeting: "Left over right, right over left. What's so fucking hard about that?"
70. Shake hands. Steady, firm, pump, let go. Use the time to make eye contact, since that's where the social contract begins.
71. Iron a shirt. My uncle Tony the tailor once told me of ironing: Start rough, end gently.
72. Stock an emergency bag for the car.
Blanket. Heavy flashlight. Hand warmers. Six bottles of water. Six packs of beef jerky. Atlas. Reflectors. Gloves. Socks. Bandages. Neosporin. Inhaler. Benadryl. Motrin. Hard candy. Telescoping magnet. Screwdriver. Channel-locks. Crescent wrench. Ski hat. Bandanna.
73. Caress a woman's neck. Back of your fingers, in a slow fan.
74. Know some birds. If you can't pay attention to a bird, then you can't learn from detail, you aren't likely to appreciate the beauty of evolution, and you don't have a clue how birdlike your own habits may be. You've been looking at them blindly for years now. Get a guide.
75. Negotiate a better price. Be informed. Know the price of competitors. In a big store, look for a manager. Don't be an asshole. Use one phrase as your mantra, like "I need a little help with this one." Repeat it, as an invitation to him. Don't beg. Ever. Offer something: your loyalty, your next purchase, even your friendship, and, with the deal done, your gratitude.
Monday, July 7, 2008
The Sons of No-one
I've already gone through the "CHECK THE ORGAN DONOR BOX ON YOUR DRIVER'S LISCENSE, ASSHOLE" speech. There really aren't enough organs available. If they made "yes" the default choice instead of "no," there would be a lot more organs available for everyone who needs them. If you're dead, you don't need them anymore. Let your organs save someone else's life.
Just wait until you know someone who's been on the list for years. You'll be shouting that same thing at people, too. You know what issues you care about and why. Whatever your story, especially if it's a bit of a personal vendetta, I encourage you to use that motivation to reach other people with your message. If you don't, how will things ever change? And fuck changing things by voting. One vote for your cause is a drop in the bucket. Change things by causing change in peoples' thinking, from the ground up. Community and culture first, then laws. Then all of those people are voting with you, and it's a lasting change, not just a token law that pretty much everyone ignores. Be a part of a minority group and get arrested in the Deep South. Just because the law says they have to treat you fair doesn't mean that's so. You know what I mean.
I also touched on foster care in a previous post. I'm serious, the foster care system is fucked up. A lot of times, coming from a fucked up home is better than becoming a ward of the state. Sad but true. There are exceptions, but a lot of the time, staying in one fucked up situation is better than leaving that situation for another just like it (or, God forbid, worse). Think about how badly some stepchildren are treated. Now imagine it twice as bad. That is how badly some foster parents treat their "tenants."
That makes it sound a lot worse than it is, on average, but there's no denying, that's the Ward of the State experience for far too many kids. Even one is one too may.
Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of foster parents who really care, who, during the year or two years that a foster child is with them, will do their absolute best to make sure they're not just providing room and board, but a family. I'll admit, those parents are few and far between, but if you're a ward of the state and get assigned to fster parents like these people, that is going to be a childhood memory to look back on, beacon of happy times in amongst whatever else you may have been though.
See, there's just some aspect of being a foster parent that apparently leads most people to never really invest, emotionally or financially, in the kids, since they'll be leaving. It's a lot like how Army brats learn not to make friends in their new hometown, because they'll just have no leave them behind again in a little while when daddy is transferred to another base. That's really a tragedy, because that means the vast majority of foster kids have to pretty much fend for themselves, in a kind of limbo, with no real family or support.
So I guess my point is, consider being a foster parent (and vote to make it legal for gay couples to be foster parents, too), but don't jump into the decision. Make sure you can afford to feed and clothe and foster kids you may take in, but make sure you can afford to take them to the amusement park, or maybe on family vacation, too. Make sure you can afford having all of that financial and emotional investment get in a car and disappear someday. And most of all, make sure that you will be making a positive difference in these kids' lives.
If you can do all of that, God willing, I encourage you and your significant other (whomever that may be, but please, be informed that if you try single foster-parenting, you will likely either be turned down, or wish you had been) to look into providing foster care. The system needs more good people like you.
____________________
On that note, have you seen the movie Four Brothers? If not, you should. Netflix it or something. It's a great movie. It's loosely based off of The Sons of Katie Elder, but it's better acted, and I like the storyline more. Of course, I am partial to vigilate flicks.
Just wait until you know someone who's been on the list for years. You'll be shouting that same thing at people, too. You know what issues you care about and why. Whatever your story, especially if it's a bit of a personal vendetta, I encourage you to use that motivation to reach other people with your message. If you don't, how will things ever change? And fuck changing things by voting. One vote for your cause is a drop in the bucket. Change things by causing change in peoples' thinking, from the ground up. Community and culture first, then laws. Then all of those people are voting with you, and it's a lasting change, not just a token law that pretty much everyone ignores. Be a part of a minority group and get arrested in the Deep South. Just because the law says they have to treat you fair doesn't mean that's so. You know what I mean.
I also touched on foster care in a previous post. I'm serious, the foster care system is fucked up. A lot of times, coming from a fucked up home is better than becoming a ward of the state. Sad but true. There are exceptions, but a lot of the time, staying in one fucked up situation is better than leaving that situation for another just like it (or, God forbid, worse). Think about how badly some stepchildren are treated. Now imagine it twice as bad. That is how badly some foster parents treat their "tenants."
That makes it sound a lot worse than it is, on average, but there's no denying, that's the Ward of the State experience for far too many kids. Even one is one too may.
Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of foster parents who really care, who, during the year or two years that a foster child is with them, will do their absolute best to make sure they're not just providing room and board, but a family. I'll admit, those parents are few and far between, but if you're a ward of the state and get assigned to fster parents like these people, that is going to be a childhood memory to look back on, beacon of happy times in amongst whatever else you may have been though.
See, there's just some aspect of being a foster parent that apparently leads most people to never really invest, emotionally or financially, in the kids, since they'll be leaving. It's a lot like how Army brats learn not to make friends in their new hometown, because they'll just have no leave them behind again in a little while when daddy is transferred to another base. That's really a tragedy, because that means the vast majority of foster kids have to pretty much fend for themselves, in a kind of limbo, with no real family or support.
So I guess my point is, consider being a foster parent (and vote to make it legal for gay couples to be foster parents, too), but don't jump into the decision. Make sure you can afford to feed and clothe and foster kids you may take in, but make sure you can afford to take them to the amusement park, or maybe on family vacation, too. Make sure you can afford having all of that financial and emotional investment get in a car and disappear someday. And most of all, make sure that you will be making a positive difference in these kids' lives.
If you can do all of that, God willing, I encourage you and your significant other (whomever that may be, but please, be informed that if you try single foster-parenting, you will likely either be turned down, or wish you had been) to look into providing foster care. The system needs more good people like you.
____________________
On that note, have you seen the movie Four Brothers? If not, you should. Netflix it or something. It's a great movie. It's loosely based off of The Sons of Katie Elder, but it's better acted, and I like the storyline more. Of course, I am partial to vigilate flicks.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The real family values
Why is it that senators who run on a platform of "family values" and one-man-one-woman marriage law are always the ones who get caught with an intern or in the airport bathroom, or maybe soliciting an "escort"? Why is it that people are so damn afraid of people unlike them? Or even more, people like what they're afraid to be?
Please, someone, anyone, explain these things to me. Why in a nation where the separation of church and state is a part of our law, we have let our law be dictated by the Bible? Why any religious group except for mainstream Protestant Christians faces more challenges, prejudice, and persecution?
The Mormons were declared heretics and cast out. They found a home (what kind of God declares a lake home to his chosen people if it is too salty to even drink from and sustain life?), and established their own society according to their beliefs. That's how the colonies got started in the first place. Now it is only a splinter group that still practices polygamy, but just because the idea of polygamy makes the "family values" people feel uncomfortable, they persecute this group every chance they get.
I'll admit, I won't let a Jehovah's Witness in unless there is nothing good on TV. That's actually more than a little bit cruel, now that I think about it. But would you rather spend two hours knocking on doors and getting turned away, usually rudely, or talking about god and the afterlife with someone who doesn't believe one word you say, but will listen, entertain the idea, and bring you ice tea and snacks? I appreciate the fact that these people feel that they are duty bound to attempt to convert others. They honestly believe that they are saving souls. That's a noble thing to try to do. But I always wonder, while we're discussing the fine points of Genesis, is there someone down the block that would actually be listening and believing what this person has to say? Am I preventing this person from actually "saving a soul?" I don't know what to believe when it comes to religion, but I do believe that everyone is entitled to believe and practice whatever they want, without interference from other people.
I do know that religion is a very sophisticated brainwashing system. Brainwashing is one of those terms that depends on perspective. It's education when your side does it. It's indoctrination when the other guy does it. Religion, regardless of any basis in facts, organizes people, gives people something to think, say, and do (or tell others to do, even as they sin themselves). Religion is a necessary part of society.
But is bigotry a part of that, too? Must there always be an enemy, a subversive? This country has been jumping at shadows. It makes me angry. Jaded, too, and at times resigned to "this, too, shall pass." But then I see a loving couple who by all rights should be married by now. Or I hear someone explain their own twisted version of "morality." If only I could count the number of times I've wanted to kick in the television in the process of kicking the pundit or politician on the screen, when they began discussing that is or isn't immoral. I'll tell you what's immoral. It's deciding that people whom you have never met, who have never done anything to you, whose personal conduct does not have any bearing whatsoever on your life, that they are not equal. That they are not entitled to the same rights as everyone else.
We've seen it over and over again through history. Racism. Sexism. Social elitism and either a legal or de facto caste system. Heteronormativity.
Yeah, that's a big-ass word. That's fancy speak for straight people deciding that anyone who isn't like them, who doesn't feel or think like they do, is by definition inferior. That one man can only love one woman, and that anything other than that system is not only immoral in their eyes, but actually worthy of active defamation, persecution, and legislation against it.
Walk around on any given day, and just listen. Listen to how many times "gay" is used as an adjective synonymous with "wrong," "perverted," or "stupid." Any given day. Roger Waters has a new song, for which there is a comic strip projected behind the stage, helping to tell the story in the song. It is the story of how in the early 1960s, Waters went hitchhiking to Lebanon. I love his musical work, both with and after his time with Pink Floyd, don't get me wrong. At one point, when he was sleeping on a porch, a man who had lost a leg in WWII came up and asked him if he'd like to come back to his place for dinner and a roof over his head for that night. He said that his wife cooked very well, and would be delighted to have a guest. In the comic, there is a thought bubble from the young Waters' head which reads "Thanks God. Monopod, but not queer." I will admit, the prospect of getting taken to someone's home and raped is an unpleasant one, but really, the vast majority or rapists and pedophiles are straight men. In prison, maybe, male-on-male rape is relatively common, but that is a special case.
There is no arguing that homophobia and animosity toward gays is pervasive in our society. This is a part of people's learning from an early age, and to many people is as natural as male chauvinism or support of Jim Crow laws and distrust toward non-whites in decades past.
It is interesting, though, that although blacks and women generally enjoy an equal legal footing with the rest of society after their respective liberation movements, even after "gay liberation" in the 80s, we still face legal (not to mention social) roadblocks toward health plans, employment, adoption, foster parenting, military service, and marriage.
There was an unprecedented conservative backlash when the concept of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender equality really gained popular support. I have said before how much I admire and stand in awe of the right-wing propaganda machine. This is no different. Their ability to play on people's fears, deliver misinformation and straw-man arguments, instill new fears, drum up hate, and all the while pass themselves off as being pro-family values, protecting the masses, and most of all, not be seen my many was the hatemongers they are is staggering.
Let's talk about family values. More than half of all children are now born out of wedlock. Divorce rates are over 50%. Obviously, most people don't take the old-fashioned family unit seriously unless they happen to be voting to "protect it." Lemme tell you something, if it is so fragile that it can be destroyed by gay marriage, we are obviously not talking about the same "family." Sprechen ze englisch? Are you sure? We're both talking about the same kind of family where there are two parents, a house, 1.7 cars, a white picket fence, and 2.7 kids? Where they are still "family" to one another for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do them part? Well, it's true, 63% or American families are now considered dysfunctional according to the L.A. Times.
Let me tell you, two women or two men are far more likely to be good, prepared parents than your average two yahoos who had some fun one night and she got knocked up. They are more likely to be good parents than a married couple who decided that maybe they'd like a baby, but didn't think it through (it happens a lot). Think about it. There is so much red tape to adopting a child, you really have to want to adopt that kid (unless you're celebrity in Hollywood....). Now think about all the extra red tape gay couples face. It's true. It's part of the administrative decision checklist: are they "morally fit" to raise this child? What the fuck do you think? Becoming a foster parent is even worse. In many states an municipalities, it is actually illegal for a same-sex couple to become foster parents.
That is especially not right. The foster care system in this country is overworked and overbooked. Foster parents are underpaid for the responsibility, but if they raise the tax breaks, more people will do it just for the money, with no real regard to the people. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Many children fall through the cracks. Turning away qualified, caring foster parents is downright criminal.
While we're at it, let's talk about transgender rights. The laws are patchwork laws, and are often on the wrong side of things anyway. Most of the law is a gray area up to individual judges, and we all know how bad that can be.
Have you ever walked into a bathroom (or out of one) and had people either tell you you're in the wrong bathroom, or stare, glance away, and say something to someone near them? It doesn't happen terribly often, but just plain weird looks do. Double takes, basically.
Funny story. About two and a half weeks after freshman year started, I stopped to use the toilet in between classes. Then when I went to the sink to wash my hands, another girl came out of a stall and started washing her hands at the sink next to me, at about the same time. We had seen each other around campus. We both looked up, looked at each other, and said, "I thought you were a guy."
It's less fucking hilarious when someone says "get outta here, dyke." That's when the asskicking happens. It don't care if your dad has threatened to kill me before, tell me that and I'll rearrange your face before he can get here. And the unconscious don't make phone calls.
Please, someone, anyone, explain these things to me. Why in a nation where the separation of church and state is a part of our law, we have let our law be dictated by the Bible? Why any religious group except for mainstream Protestant Christians faces more challenges, prejudice, and persecution?
The Mormons were declared heretics and cast out. They found a home (what kind of God declares a lake home to his chosen people if it is too salty to even drink from and sustain life?), and established their own society according to their beliefs. That's how the colonies got started in the first place. Now it is only a splinter group that still practices polygamy, but just because the idea of polygamy makes the "family values" people feel uncomfortable, they persecute this group every chance they get.
I'll admit, I won't let a Jehovah's Witness in unless there is nothing good on TV. That's actually more than a little bit cruel, now that I think about it. But would you rather spend two hours knocking on doors and getting turned away, usually rudely, or talking about god and the afterlife with someone who doesn't believe one word you say, but will listen, entertain the idea, and bring you ice tea and snacks? I appreciate the fact that these people feel that they are duty bound to attempt to convert others. They honestly believe that they are saving souls. That's a noble thing to try to do. But I always wonder, while we're discussing the fine points of Genesis, is there someone down the block that would actually be listening and believing what this person has to say? Am I preventing this person from actually "saving a soul?" I don't know what to believe when it comes to religion, but I do believe that everyone is entitled to believe and practice whatever they want, without interference from other people.
I do know that religion is a very sophisticated brainwashing system. Brainwashing is one of those terms that depends on perspective. It's education when your side does it. It's indoctrination when the other guy does it. Religion, regardless of any basis in facts, organizes people, gives people something to think, say, and do (or tell others to do, even as they sin themselves). Religion is a necessary part of society.
But is bigotry a part of that, too? Must there always be an enemy, a subversive? This country has been jumping at shadows. It makes me angry. Jaded, too, and at times resigned to "this, too, shall pass." But then I see a loving couple who by all rights should be married by now. Or I hear someone explain their own twisted version of "morality." If only I could count the number of times I've wanted to kick in the television in the process of kicking the pundit or politician on the screen, when they began discussing that is or isn't immoral. I'll tell you what's immoral. It's deciding that people whom you have never met, who have never done anything to you, whose personal conduct does not have any bearing whatsoever on your life, that they are not equal. That they are not entitled to the same rights as everyone else.
We've seen it over and over again through history. Racism. Sexism. Social elitism and either a legal or de facto caste system. Heteronormativity.
Yeah, that's a big-ass word. That's fancy speak for straight people deciding that anyone who isn't like them, who doesn't feel or think like they do, is by definition inferior. That one man can only love one woman, and that anything other than that system is not only immoral in their eyes, but actually worthy of active defamation, persecution, and legislation against it.
Walk around on any given day, and just listen. Listen to how many times "gay" is used as an adjective synonymous with "wrong," "perverted," or "stupid." Any given day. Roger Waters has a new song, for which there is a comic strip projected behind the stage, helping to tell the story in the song. It is the story of how in the early 1960s, Waters went hitchhiking to Lebanon. I love his musical work, both with and after his time with Pink Floyd, don't get me wrong. At one point, when he was sleeping on a porch, a man who had lost a leg in WWII came up and asked him if he'd like to come back to his place for dinner and a roof over his head for that night. He said that his wife cooked very well, and would be delighted to have a guest. In the comic, there is a thought bubble from the young Waters' head which reads "Thanks God. Monopod, but not queer." I will admit, the prospect of getting taken to someone's home and raped is an unpleasant one, but really, the vast majority or rapists and pedophiles are straight men. In prison, maybe, male-on-male rape is relatively common, but that is a special case.
There is no arguing that homophobia and animosity toward gays is pervasive in our society. This is a part of people's learning from an early age, and to many people is as natural as male chauvinism or support of Jim Crow laws and distrust toward non-whites in decades past.
It is interesting, though, that although blacks and women generally enjoy an equal legal footing with the rest of society after their respective liberation movements, even after "gay liberation" in the 80s, we still face legal (not to mention social) roadblocks toward health plans, employment, adoption, foster parenting, military service, and marriage.
There was an unprecedented conservative backlash when the concept of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender equality really gained popular support. I have said before how much I admire and stand in awe of the right-wing propaganda machine. This is no different. Their ability to play on people's fears, deliver misinformation and straw-man arguments, instill new fears, drum up hate, and all the while pass themselves off as being pro-family values, protecting the masses, and most of all, not be seen my many was the hatemongers they are is staggering.
Let's talk about family values. More than half of all children are now born out of wedlock. Divorce rates are over 50%. Obviously, most people don't take the old-fashioned family unit seriously unless they happen to be voting to "protect it." Lemme tell you something, if it is so fragile that it can be destroyed by gay marriage, we are obviously not talking about the same "family." Sprechen ze englisch? Are you sure? We're both talking about the same kind of family where there are two parents, a house, 1.7 cars, a white picket fence, and 2.7 kids? Where they are still "family" to one another for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do them part? Well, it's true, 63% or American families are now considered dysfunctional according to the L.A. Times.
Let me tell you, two women or two men are far more likely to be good, prepared parents than your average two yahoos who had some fun one night and she got knocked up. They are more likely to be good parents than a married couple who decided that maybe they'd like a baby, but didn't think it through (it happens a lot). Think about it. There is so much red tape to adopting a child, you really have to want to adopt that kid (unless you're celebrity in Hollywood....). Now think about all the extra red tape gay couples face. It's true. It's part of the administrative decision checklist: are they "morally fit" to raise this child? What the fuck do you think? Becoming a foster parent is even worse. In many states an municipalities, it is actually illegal for a same-sex couple to become foster parents.
That is especially not right. The foster care system in this country is overworked and overbooked. Foster parents are underpaid for the responsibility, but if they raise the tax breaks, more people will do it just for the money, with no real regard to the people. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Many children fall through the cracks. Turning away qualified, caring foster parents is downright criminal.
While we're at it, let's talk about transgender rights. The laws are patchwork laws, and are often on the wrong side of things anyway. Most of the law is a gray area up to individual judges, and we all know how bad that can be.
Have you ever walked into a bathroom (or out of one) and had people either tell you you're in the wrong bathroom, or stare, glance away, and say something to someone near them? It doesn't happen terribly often, but just plain weird looks do. Double takes, basically.
Funny story. About two and a half weeks after freshman year started, I stopped to use the toilet in between classes. Then when I went to the sink to wash my hands, another girl came out of a stall and started washing her hands at the sink next to me, at about the same time. We had seen each other around campus. We both looked up, looked at each other, and said, "I thought you were a guy."
It's less fucking hilarious when someone says "get outta here, dyke." That's when the asskicking happens. It don't care if your dad has threatened to kill me before, tell me that and I'll rearrange your face before he can get here. And the unconscious don't make phone calls.
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