She leaves for her dad's tomorrow. It's summer break now, and this is how it goes. She'll be gone until August, and my heart hurts.
She's my best little friend. I tell her that all the time. I think the first time I said it to her she wasn't quite three. She was making me laugh as I tucked her into bed and she was just so cute and so much fun to be with, I hugged her and kissed her and said, "You're my best little friend," and she responded, "you're my best big friend."
In my card, this past Mother's Day, she wrote, "I love you more than anyone on Earth! I know you will always be there for me in the hard times, and I will be there for you too! I love you, Mom!" After I read it, I held her tight and held in a few tears. To some, reading that may evoke little more than an "Oh, how sweet," but for me, knowing all we've been through over the past ten years, I couldn't help but wonder if that little mind of hers knows or understands how many hard times she's already helped me through.
At a time when I thought I had lost it all and sat in my own mother's living room crying, I remember my 15 month old daughter, seeing my tears, gave me her blanky because she knew it would comfort me. And I remember a smile coming to my face through the tears, not because of the blanky but because of the love and concern she showed me at that moment. And some months later, when she had learned to talk a bit more, I stood in the kitchen talking to my mother about some of the things that troubled me, paying no mind to the toddler in the high chair who suddenly reached out for me and said, "Don't worry, Mimi. Don't worry..." And I remember looking at her sweet little face, dumb founded, and trying to convince myself there was no possible way a child that young could make enough sense of what I was saying to know that I needed assurance that all would be well. (Obviously, I've never forgotten that moment.)
I'm not sure she realizes that it was her little face in the window, watching me walk out to the car as I left her at Papa's and Grandma's to go to school and finish my degree, that drove me to succeed. And I doubt she knows that every night when she ran to me, smiling and laughing out of sheer joy for my return home, made every drop of blood, sweat, and tears worth it.
As cool as she thinks it is, I'm pretty sure she has no idea that she was the main reason I ever set foot in a martial arts school -- because everywhere I went, I was a young woman alone with a baby and a vulnerable target for predators of all shapes and sizes, and I wanted to be confident in my ability to defend her precious little life, as well as my own (which is precious to her), and these small little spaces we've called home.
I'm absolutely certain she has no idea that the reason I sat down in that therapist's office and bore my soul, exposing every wound, every dark and hideous corner of my mind, and placed them directly in front of me so I could see clearly, call it like it is, and heal and change myself is because she deserved nothing but the best from me.
And in the most difficult times of them all, when I felt completely broken and unable to move, it was her fresh eyes looking at the world around her and the life she was so excited to live that gave me purpose and a reason to rise above.
I'm sure she has no idea.
A few months back we were driving home from school and talking about her future -- college and graduate school (yes, we talk about that "already" and we've been talking about that since she was five), and the sweet little one said, "If you didn't have me, maybe you'd have your PhD right now." I simply looked at her and said, "If I didn't have you, I'm not sure I'd be alive right now." She looked at me as if to gauge my level of sincerity. I smiled at her and said, "I'm not lying. I don't miss the PhD. I'm happy with who Ive become, who I continue to become, and if I didn't have you I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be the woman I am right now. And, like I said, I'm not sure I'd be alive either." I could see the wheels turning in her head, but she finally smiled and took my hand as I told her, "I mean it. You're my best little friend." She squeezed my hand and replied, "And you're my best big friend, Mama."
I will miss her this summer... my best little friend. I already do.
About Me
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Impromptu Politcal Rant, Opus 1
“So,” she said, “you haven’t blogged lately and I really miss reading it.”
“I know,” I said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I haven’t been able to write. I can’t tell you how many times I sit down, write two paragraphs, decide it’s crap, and then stop. I just can’t seem to make it work right now. And it isn’t because I have no material, it’s almost that I have too much material and all of the thoughts are flying around in my head like some kind of intellectual pot-luck and every time I sit down to write something I get nothing but green bean casserole with those crunchy onion things that came from a can.”
She chuckled a bit and said, “What about the politics over there right now? Surely you have something to say about that! That seems like something you’d jump all over.”
I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh, “One would think, yes, but I haven’t been able to say anything about it at all. The way things are with this one, I can’t really talk about it without going on some kind of 100% political rant. And ranting about this or that is definitely a style of mine, but I do my best to just hint at political issues and hint at social issues. It’s my goal to entertain my reader, to make them laugh or make them cry or perhaps even piss them off a bit, but to do it in a manner that makes them think. This topic around here isn’t really going to make anyone think because there’s nothing I can say to make anyone laugh about it. I can’t even really laugh about it. I get angry just thinking about it because it annoys the hell out of me. It’s everywhere right now. From the day this thing started it was ridiculously annoying – the governor was about to sign a bill and suddenly a bunch of ignorant high school kids who probably don’t know how to properly count change from their place behind the register at the local McDonald's (let alone what the hell’s going on in the economy over here) are outside the capital building protesting. Then, to counteract that impressive show of intelligence, there's suddenly a group of Tea Party Activists out protesting the group of pubescent protesters. Really? We have to out protest the high school kids about this?? Um... what??? And then one night I come home to watch the Suns game, because they made it to the playoffs, and I turn on the TV to see them running up and down the court in jerseys that say Los Suns. Are you fucking kidding me??? Los Suns??? Seriously??? Steve Nash, one of my favorites, is down there running back and forth in a Los Suns jersey because even he has to protest the bill that requires people to be in this state legally? Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Canada Dry? I’m pretty sure his stupid ass is here legally. I’m pretty sure his overpaid pro-ball playing ass is here legally. You bet that idiot’s carrying his papers around everywhere he goes as he’s living it up as a celebrity in this country of ours, but he’s trolling around in a Los Suns jersey? What??? And then that stupid idiot Al Sharpton was out here with a bunch of wackoes protesting somewhere downtown, and… for God’s sake! Who the hell listens to Al Sharpton??? Really??? When is that idiot going to disappear??? Every time I think I’m safe, Al Sharpton shows up again like a recurring "reverse racism" nightmare. Holy cow… And it’s all over the stupid mainstream media all the time, and the right wing media is all about it too and there’s no sign of stopping it. It’s nothing but poison tongue all over the screen and it makes me puke. And then California, my home state, decides it’s a good idea to boycott us. Are you kidding me??? That’s nice. An entire state puts out a boycott against us. Pfft… that’s just fabulous… you know, because California’s the epitome of economic stability and all states in the Union should admire and emulate bankrupt California. Idiots… I wonder how long it will take them to realize that a major portion of their economic failures stem from illegal immigrants. Dumb asses… And I can’t tell you how many of my PhD buddies, you excluded (thank you for that, by the way), have been posting article after article about Arizona and its bigotry and bla bla fucking bla. But do any of them live here? Have any of them even read the bill? Doubtful. And the other day I hop on there and see that so-and-so has posted some stupid article about how the major league baseball players are actively protesting the bill that was recently passed in Arizona, and bla bla bla, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore and so I wrote a comment under his stupid post and said something like yes, yes… and I’d like to know where these big hearted ball players were for the ‘little people’ when they went on strike a few years ago because their multi-million dollar contracts weren’t enough to help them pay the bills and suit their lifestyle. Give me a break! These guys aren’t holding up the torch for anyone or any cause but their own. They think if they jump on the mainstream liberal media bandwagon, it will boost their popularity and increase ticket sales in an economic downturn. I mean, come on people! Where are your heads??? Since when do we just bow down to the appearance and a façade of the “do gooder” without thinking??? Really?!?!?! Where is critical thinking here??? Where has it gone??? ooOOoo… look at these outstanding citizen baseball players with millions of dollars and Publicity Representatives telling them every move to make in front of the press so the average man can be duped by their glory and buy their baseball cards, and jerseys, and hats, and shoes, and season tickets. Come on… really!?!?!? I mean… is it too much to ask my entertainment industry to do JUST THAT – entertain me? Could I please sit through a movie without having some stupid political agenda preached at me? Please??? Is it so wrong if I believe the only reason those people should make millions is because their sole purpose in this life is to give me a little bit of escapism? Really? Is that too much to ask from these idiots? Am I so wrong and wicked because I actually dream of a world where politics is politics and entertainment is entertainment? Really??? And then, to top it all off, that same guy that posted that stupid article about the stupid baseball players, popped back on and started spewing something about all of “the bigots” here in Arizona. And right about now I just can’t take it anymore. I live in a 750 square foot two bedroom apartment surrounded by cuckoo’s nest neighbors and cars that sound like broken time machines. I get up every morning and I feed my daughter a bowl of cereal and get her ready and off to school right before I leave for my own job. I do my job and I come home. I live here. I live in Arizona and I happen to love it here. I’m not responsible for this stupid bill. I had nothing to do with it. And for the most part I guess I try not to think about it because ultimately all I’m concerned about is the well being of my child and whether or not I have the means to get by on a day to day basis. But dude… call me a bigot one more fucking time and I’m going to get myself on a plane and get to Philadelphia, or wherever the hell it is that you live, and I’m going to throw a tomato at your stupid ass!!! ...good grief..."
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!” she laughed, “That was awesome! I should’ve recorded that shit! There’s your blog post, honey. Now get off the phone and go write that down. And don’t forget the part about the tomato.”
“I know,” I said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I haven’t been able to write. I can’t tell you how many times I sit down, write two paragraphs, decide it’s crap, and then stop. I just can’t seem to make it work right now. And it isn’t because I have no material, it’s almost that I have too much material and all of the thoughts are flying around in my head like some kind of intellectual pot-luck and every time I sit down to write something I get nothing but green bean casserole with those crunchy onion things that came from a can.”
She chuckled a bit and said, “What about the politics over there right now? Surely you have something to say about that! That seems like something you’d jump all over.”
I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh, “One would think, yes, but I haven’t been able to say anything about it at all. The way things are with this one, I can’t really talk about it without going on some kind of 100% political rant. And ranting about this or that is definitely a style of mine, but I do my best to just hint at political issues and hint at social issues. It’s my goal to entertain my reader, to make them laugh or make them cry or perhaps even piss them off a bit, but to do it in a manner that makes them think. This topic around here isn’t really going to make anyone think because there’s nothing I can say to make anyone laugh about it. I can’t even really laugh about it. I get angry just thinking about it because it annoys the hell out of me. It’s everywhere right now. From the day this thing started it was ridiculously annoying – the governor was about to sign a bill and suddenly a bunch of ignorant high school kids who probably don’t know how to properly count change from their place behind the register at the local McDonald's (let alone what the hell’s going on in the economy over here) are outside the capital building protesting. Then, to counteract that impressive show of intelligence, there's suddenly a group of Tea Party Activists out protesting the group of pubescent protesters. Really? We have to out protest the high school kids about this?? Um... what??? And then one night I come home to watch the Suns game, because they made it to the playoffs, and I turn on the TV to see them running up and down the court in jerseys that say Los Suns. Are you fucking kidding me??? Los Suns??? Seriously??? Steve Nash, one of my favorites, is down there running back and forth in a Los Suns jersey because even he has to protest the bill that requires people to be in this state legally? Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Canada Dry? I’m pretty sure his stupid ass is here legally. I’m pretty sure his overpaid pro-ball playing ass is here legally. You bet that idiot’s carrying his papers around everywhere he goes as he’s living it up as a celebrity in this country of ours, but he’s trolling around in a Los Suns jersey? What??? And then that stupid idiot Al Sharpton was out here with a bunch of wackoes protesting somewhere downtown, and… for God’s sake! Who the hell listens to Al Sharpton??? Really??? When is that idiot going to disappear??? Every time I think I’m safe, Al Sharpton shows up again like a recurring "reverse racism" nightmare. Holy cow… And it’s all over the stupid mainstream media all the time, and the right wing media is all about it too and there’s no sign of stopping it. It’s nothing but poison tongue all over the screen and it makes me puke. And then California, my home state, decides it’s a good idea to boycott us. Are you kidding me??? That’s nice. An entire state puts out a boycott against us. Pfft… that’s just fabulous… you know, because California’s the epitome of economic stability and all states in the Union should admire and emulate bankrupt California. Idiots… I wonder how long it will take them to realize that a major portion of their economic failures stem from illegal immigrants. Dumb asses… And I can’t tell you how many of my PhD buddies, you excluded (thank you for that, by the way), have been posting article after article about Arizona and its bigotry and bla bla fucking bla. But do any of them live here? Have any of them even read the bill? Doubtful. And the other day I hop on there and see that so-and-so has posted some stupid article about how the major league baseball players are actively protesting the bill that was recently passed in Arizona, and bla bla bla, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore and so I wrote a comment under his stupid post and said something like yes, yes… and I’d like to know where these big hearted ball players were for the ‘little people’ when they went on strike a few years ago because their multi-million dollar contracts weren’t enough to help them pay the bills and suit their lifestyle. Give me a break! These guys aren’t holding up the torch for anyone or any cause but their own. They think if they jump on the mainstream liberal media bandwagon, it will boost their popularity and increase ticket sales in an economic downturn. I mean, come on people! Where are your heads??? Since when do we just bow down to the appearance and a façade of the “do gooder” without thinking??? Really?!?!?! Where is critical thinking here??? Where has it gone??? ooOOoo… look at these outstanding citizen baseball players with millions of dollars and Publicity Representatives telling them every move to make in front of the press so the average man can be duped by their glory and buy their baseball cards, and jerseys, and hats, and shoes, and season tickets. Come on… really!?!?!? I mean… is it too much to ask my entertainment industry to do JUST THAT – entertain me? Could I please sit through a movie without having some stupid political agenda preached at me? Please??? Is it so wrong if I believe the only reason those people should make millions is because their sole purpose in this life is to give me a little bit of escapism? Really? Is that too much to ask from these idiots? Am I so wrong and wicked because I actually dream of a world where politics is politics and entertainment is entertainment? Really??? And then, to top it all off, that same guy that posted that stupid article about the stupid baseball players, popped back on and started spewing something about all of “the bigots” here in Arizona. And right about now I just can’t take it anymore. I live in a 750 square foot two bedroom apartment surrounded by cuckoo’s nest neighbors and cars that sound like broken time machines. I get up every morning and I feed my daughter a bowl of cereal and get her ready and off to school right before I leave for my own job. I do my job and I come home. I live here. I live in Arizona and I happen to love it here. I’m not responsible for this stupid bill. I had nothing to do with it. And for the most part I guess I try not to think about it because ultimately all I’m concerned about is the well being of my child and whether or not I have the means to get by on a day to day basis. But dude… call me a bigot one more fucking time and I’m going to get myself on a plane and get to Philadelphia, or wherever the hell it is that you live, and I’m going to throw a tomato at your stupid ass!!! ...good grief..."
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!” she laughed, “That was awesome! I should’ve recorded that shit! There’s your blog post, honey. Now get off the phone and go write that down. And don’t forget the part about the tomato.”
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Save The Vampires
Okay people, I really can't take it anymore. Will someone please do me a favor and write a real vampire novel? One that is a hit? Perhaps even a multi-million dollar series that glides across the silver screen like hemoglobin and brings out the true horrifying seduction of all that is Vampire? I would do it myself, but I'm too busy working in a cubicle and battling the mundane to take on the task. But please... please... for the sake of the vampire, this MUST BE DONE!!!
I was sitting at lunch yesterday when I heard a sixty-something gentleman tell the sixty-something lady he was sitting with that he wouldn't consider himself a reader "but Twilight is a good book on vampires." Seriously??? How about Bram Stoker? You know, THE Dracula? How about THAT'S a book on vampires? Mr. Stoker must be turning in his grave right now. I know he is and I'm feeling his pain. (Bram! Bram! I am so sorry this is happening! Remember when I read your book in high school and I had nightmares of Dracula gliding into the corner of my room like a mist? Remember when I ran in screaming from reading your novel on the patio because I was certain I heard a bat fly over me? Yes... those were the days. I am so sorry for your loss. I will avenge you! Dracula shall be avenged!!!)
Really, I think the beginning of my disgust was in 1992 when Coppola released his film Bram Stoker's Dracula. In those days, I was a Coppola fan (mainly because of The Godfather series) and a senior in high school set to graduate that June and commence my freshman year in college as an English Major. I was convinced that Coppola was going to do Dracula up right! No more Bela Lugosi to fall back on -- something new, exciting, and "up to date" was just around the corner! So, like a good literature student, I read Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula, before the film was released. On the opening night of the film I sat five rows back from the silver screen and spent the next couple of hours in severe disappointment as I watched Coppola's visually pleasing version of a Dracula that was not Bram Stoker's.
I have always said, and still say, the only reason Coppola was able to call his film "Bram Stoker's Dracula" is because of the one direct Van Helsing quote he took from the novel, nothing more. I believe Stoker would've been sick to his stomach to see Dracula practically martyred in the film. A love story between Dracula and Mina? Mina nearly fighting to save Dracula's undead life? Really? When did that happen in the novel? It didn't. And where was the horror and fear and dread? Where was the seductive power of the dark side? When was that replaced by this fabricated "you were my lover in a past life, come take your place as my queen" kind of garbage? I mean, if you want to write that as a separate vampire story, cool, but don't call it Bram Stoker's story when it isn't. And given the popularity of the film and the people I've spoken to that love it ( who all say something like, "I've never read the book but..."), I've come to believe that perhaps I am one of a select few people that have ever read the book.
Now see, my Bram Stoker rant aside, I've always been a vampire fan. I'm not much for horror stories: zombies make me sick (decaying flesh and random limbs falling off is just gross); werewolves are too hairy, slobbery, and they bore me; ghosts and poltergeists creep me out just a little more than I care for; vampires...? Vampires are just right. Why is that? Because they're creatively and seductively evil. They remind me of Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost -- you know you're supposed to abhor them, you know they're out to get you, but somehow you are drawn in by them, seduced by them into something you don't really want and something that will ultimately destroy you. It is horror and terror in the most subtle and underhanded way, and there is no real defense against their power aside from the strength of one's own conscious mind and will. Overcoming the power of the vampire is the ultimate test in human strength. Take away the wickedness of the vampire and all you've got are some pale humans with sharp teeth and an alternative diet.
I'm not really an Anne Rice fan, never have been, and I hold her partially responsible for this onslaught of pansy-ass vampires who seem more like environmentally friendly denizens of a socialized new world order that would rather lecture me about recycling and water conservation than entice me into the dark shadow where I would serve as their next meal or possibly choose to walk among them in the realm of the undead, feasting upon the glorious and beautiful frailties of the human race. I have nothing against Lestat. The vampire is, as she describes him, "a heady mixture of attraction and revulsion." Agreed, I'll give him (and Ms. Rice) that due. But the minute she created Louis, the poor sap of a vampire that seems tortured by his own wicked nature (a human trait, mind you, not a vampiric one), she opened the door for this ridiculous train of trendy vampires that hunt rodents and protect humans as though they're some kind of super hero. (They're like vegan vampires or something and it's killing me!) And I might be okay with it if the craze were contained between the ages of 9 to 19, but it's not! I have to sit and listen to it being discussed among women of all ages in parking lots, on walks through the park, in lunch rooms and office cubicles, and in front of the mirrors in public restrooms! And as of yesterday, even men in their sixties have jumped on the train? Really? Is this Jonestown? Is there a vat of special kool aid somewhere? Is it a sign of the apocalypse? Maybe this is why the Mayans ended their calendar at 2012. They looked into the scrying bowl and saw what appeared to be a mass group of humans choosing sides between environmentally conscious pro-life vampires and werewolves and they decided it was the end of an age and the dawn of a new one. That's it! Get the crystal skulls everyone! If we can put all thirteen skulls together in a circle by December 21, 2012 then the Twilight series will come to an end and the world will be saved!!!
Seriously... this is ridiculous. Perhaps I shouldn't be such a vampire purist. Perhaps I should drink the kool aid and choose team Edward or something just so I can converse with my fellow woman. (May it never be!)
I'm sitting here with my copy of Dracula in front of me and I feel a sense of 19th century sorrow lingering above me. In this copy of the book there is an Afterward written by R. L. Fisher (I don't really know who R. L. Fisher is aside from some novel called The Prince Of Whales and a forward/afterward he wrote in The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes, but I like what the guy has to say). He wrote:
Had Bram Stoker lived to see the full ripening of his creation, he would certainly be a wealthy man. ...How, I wonder, would he feel if he were suddenly to return like one of his characters from the dead to find that his own reputation had been almost totally eclipsed by that of his creation? The name Dracula, after all, evokes instant recognition throughout the world, while the name Bram Stoker is likely to elicit little more than a scratch on the head, a glance at the ceiling, and the query, "who?" ... Even more vexing, I should imagine, would be seeing his creation parodied mercilessly in movies such as Dracula's Dog. I wonder what he would think if he saw his infamous protagonist, Count Dracula, so fearsome in his day, transformed into a carrot-sucking Bunnicula -- a vampire rabbit? And what do you think it would do to his ego if he walked into a supermarket and happened upon a cartoon caricature of Dracula, his paragon of unadulterated evil, leering down at him from a box of Count Chocula beakfast cereal? Come, now... money isn't everything! -- R. L. Fisher
That excerpt came from the Afterward in my 1988 copyrighted copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. I'm not even sure Count Chocula cereal is still on the shelves in grocery stores, but at least Count Chocula still held an air of horror to him. At least Bunnicula was seducing and terrorizing and sucking the life out of carrots. What I wonder is what Stoker would think of the Vampire's evolution into a rodent consuming human rights activist?
I was sitting at lunch yesterday when I heard a sixty-something gentleman tell the sixty-something lady he was sitting with that he wouldn't consider himself a reader "but Twilight is a good book on vampires." Seriously??? How about Bram Stoker? You know, THE Dracula? How about THAT'S a book on vampires? Mr. Stoker must be turning in his grave right now. I know he is and I'm feeling his pain. (Bram! Bram! I am so sorry this is happening! Remember when I read your book in high school and I had nightmares of Dracula gliding into the corner of my room like a mist? Remember when I ran in screaming from reading your novel on the patio because I was certain I heard a bat fly over me? Yes... those were the days. I am so sorry for your loss. I will avenge you! Dracula shall be avenged!!!)
Really, I think the beginning of my disgust was in 1992 when Coppola released his film Bram Stoker's Dracula. In those days, I was a Coppola fan (mainly because of The Godfather series) and a senior in high school set to graduate that June and commence my freshman year in college as an English Major. I was convinced that Coppola was going to do Dracula up right! No more Bela Lugosi to fall back on -- something new, exciting, and "up to date" was just around the corner! So, like a good literature student, I read Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula, before the film was released. On the opening night of the film I sat five rows back from the silver screen and spent the next couple of hours in severe disappointment as I watched Coppola's visually pleasing version of a Dracula that was not Bram Stoker's.
I have always said, and still say, the only reason Coppola was able to call his film "Bram Stoker's Dracula" is because of the one direct Van Helsing quote he took from the novel, nothing more. I believe Stoker would've been sick to his stomach to see Dracula practically martyred in the film. A love story between Dracula and Mina? Mina nearly fighting to save Dracula's undead life? Really? When did that happen in the novel? It didn't. And where was the horror and fear and dread? Where was the seductive power of the dark side? When was that replaced by this fabricated "you were my lover in a past life, come take your place as my queen" kind of garbage? I mean, if you want to write that as a separate vampire story, cool, but don't call it Bram Stoker's story when it isn't. And given the popularity of the film and the people I've spoken to that love it ( who all say something like, "I've never read the book but..."), I've come to believe that perhaps I am one of a select few people that have ever read the book.
Now see, my Bram Stoker rant aside, I've always been a vampire fan. I'm not much for horror stories: zombies make me sick (decaying flesh and random limbs falling off is just gross); werewolves are too hairy, slobbery, and they bore me; ghosts and poltergeists creep me out just a little more than I care for; vampires...? Vampires are just right. Why is that? Because they're creatively and seductively evil. They remind me of Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost -- you know you're supposed to abhor them, you know they're out to get you, but somehow you are drawn in by them, seduced by them into something you don't really want and something that will ultimately destroy you. It is horror and terror in the most subtle and underhanded way, and there is no real defense against their power aside from the strength of one's own conscious mind and will. Overcoming the power of the vampire is the ultimate test in human strength. Take away the wickedness of the vampire and all you've got are some pale humans with sharp teeth and an alternative diet.
I'm not really an Anne Rice fan, never have been, and I hold her partially responsible for this onslaught of pansy-ass vampires who seem more like environmentally friendly denizens of a socialized new world order that would rather lecture me about recycling and water conservation than entice me into the dark shadow where I would serve as their next meal or possibly choose to walk among them in the realm of the undead, feasting upon the glorious and beautiful frailties of the human race. I have nothing against Lestat. The vampire is, as she describes him, "a heady mixture of attraction and revulsion." Agreed, I'll give him (and Ms. Rice) that due. But the minute she created Louis, the poor sap of a vampire that seems tortured by his own wicked nature (a human trait, mind you, not a vampiric one), she opened the door for this ridiculous train of trendy vampires that hunt rodents and protect humans as though they're some kind of super hero. (They're like vegan vampires or something and it's killing me!) And I might be okay with it if the craze were contained between the ages of 9 to 19, but it's not! I have to sit and listen to it being discussed among women of all ages in parking lots, on walks through the park, in lunch rooms and office cubicles, and in front of the mirrors in public restrooms! And as of yesterday, even men in their sixties have jumped on the train? Really? Is this Jonestown? Is there a vat of special kool aid somewhere? Is it a sign of the apocalypse? Maybe this is why the Mayans ended their calendar at 2012. They looked into the scrying bowl and saw what appeared to be a mass group of humans choosing sides between environmentally conscious pro-life vampires and werewolves and they decided it was the end of an age and the dawn of a new one. That's it! Get the crystal skulls everyone! If we can put all thirteen skulls together in a circle by December 21, 2012 then the Twilight series will come to an end and the world will be saved!!!
Seriously... this is ridiculous. Perhaps I shouldn't be such a vampire purist. Perhaps I should drink the kool aid and choose team Edward or something just so I can converse with my fellow woman. (May it never be!)
I'm sitting here with my copy of Dracula in front of me and I feel a sense of 19th century sorrow lingering above me. In this copy of the book there is an Afterward written by R. L. Fisher (I don't really know who R. L. Fisher is aside from some novel called The Prince Of Whales and a forward/afterward he wrote in The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes, but I like what the guy has to say). He wrote:
Had Bram Stoker lived to see the full ripening of his creation, he would certainly be a wealthy man. ...How, I wonder, would he feel if he were suddenly to return like one of his characters from the dead to find that his own reputation had been almost totally eclipsed by that of his creation? The name Dracula, after all, evokes instant recognition throughout the world, while the name Bram Stoker is likely to elicit little more than a scratch on the head, a glance at the ceiling, and the query, "who?" ... Even more vexing, I should imagine, would be seeing his creation parodied mercilessly in movies such as Dracula's Dog. I wonder what he would think if he saw his infamous protagonist, Count Dracula, so fearsome in his day, transformed into a carrot-sucking Bunnicula -- a vampire rabbit? And what do you think it would do to his ego if he walked into a supermarket and happened upon a cartoon caricature of Dracula, his paragon of unadulterated evil, leering down at him from a box of Count Chocula beakfast cereal? Come, now... money isn't everything! -- R. L. Fisher
That excerpt came from the Afterward in my 1988 copyrighted copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. I'm not even sure Count Chocula cereal is still on the shelves in grocery stores, but at least Count Chocula still held an air of horror to him. At least Bunnicula was seducing and terrorizing and sucking the life out of carrots. What I wonder is what Stoker would think of the Vampire's evolution into a rodent consuming human rights activist?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Wolf
Apparently, I have a knack for cleaning up messes, and I'm not talking about the mess in the kitchen (I'm terrible about that). I'm talking about logistical messes. This is something that I've learned about myself over the past few years. And it isn't necessarily something that I do consciously or intentionally, per se, I just... sit down and do it. I do it for selfish reasons more than anything, because it makes my life easier. It's a matter of survival in the work place. I open my eyes to find myself stuck in a position at work where what they've given me to work with isn't functioning properly and, well, that gets on my nerves so I fix it. If I can get everything running smoothly and efficiently, then I can come into the office, coast through my day, and go home a happy woman. The problem is, management has caught on to this trait of mine and, well, like the A student that gets pushed into advanced placement classes, I get pushed into all the messes (they never let me coast for too long).
I was recently "promoted" (and I use that word lightly) to something called "the government liaison." They said something like, "This is an important move for you, and it's an extremely important position to us. You're not only the department liaison to the engineers, but you are also our representative to the local governments. We need someone who communicates well and gets the job done and we believe you're the perfect person for the job. We already know you have a good rapport with the engineers, and we believe you'll be the one to help grow our relationships with the cities. This is an excellent opportunity for you in your development with the company, at least we see it that way and we hope you do too."
What they meant to say was, "The last agent screwed around on the internet all day and let everything go. Because of this, the inmates are now running the asylum. We need you to go in there and straighten them out. Thanks a lot. If you do a good job, we'll consider giving you a raise."
Anyway, I smiled and said thank you and passed off all my old work (that I spent the last year and a half coasting through)only to find myself in one of the biggest logistical messes I've run into yet. As if it isn't enough that I'm quite literally "working for the man" now, I have a mess on my hands that seemingly requires six more hands to get it done right. And the biggest problem, in situations like mine, is the multiple people that are involved: people that are set in their ways, people that believe their way is the right way, people that don't want change, people who are comfortable with their mess, and people who aren't used to working with someone like me.
I am, more often than not, the shoot from the hip woman. I will use proper grammar and I will be polite, but I refuse to beat around the bush. Because of this, I have, amongst some people, earned the reputation of being scary (which makes me laugh). I have never cussed anyone out in a professional setting, I have never lost my temper, I have never raised my voice to anyone. I have always stayed calm, cool, and collected (at least externally), and I have always been cordial and polite. But if I see something, I won't hesitate to say something. I call it like I see it and I do it that way to save time. We have a mess on our hands, people. We don't have time to play patty cake. We have a business to run and cities to improve, expand, and build. There's no time to bicker and there's no time to take anything I say personal. This isn't personal, it's business. You don't like the way this is running? You want it to work for you? Then stop crying and listen to me. (No joke about the crying part. I sent out a mass email once, during my last clean up mission, that apparently made a fifty year old man cry and, for the life of me, I can't figure out how or why he responded that way. All I did in that email was point out facts A through D and then explained how it was supposed to be. That individual's manager called me up and said, "There was nothing wrong with the email, Pandora. I think the guy got upset because your use of correct grammar is intimidating and I'm pretty sure he had to use the dictionary a few times.")
But this time, this mess I'm in, I have a manager from a different department fighting me tooth and nail. It's one thing when I have worker bees that want to resist change, it's another thing when the Queen Bee wants to resist change. Unfortunately for the Queen Bee, names and titles don't intimidate me. In a situation like this, I run on facts. And facts A through Z indicate to me that we have a problem here and, despite the title, Queen Bees don't really run the hive. So, like the good overachiever that I am, I went to the office on Saturday, gathered facts A through Z, wrote them up in prime Master Of English fashion, and fully intend on making a presentation that will help me turn this thing around. Will I have to apologize for using a four syllable word? Perhaps. But in my experience, once I fearlessly call it out, they never interfere with my "house keeping" again and a few months from now they will be singing my praises. Why? Because all people involved will come to work and coast between the hours of 8 and 5.
If I'm curt with you it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you wanna get out of this. So, pretty please, with sugar on top... Clean the fucking car. -- The Wolf, Pulp Fiction
I was recently "promoted" (and I use that word lightly) to something called "the government liaison." They said something like, "This is an important move for you, and it's an extremely important position to us. You're not only the department liaison to the engineers, but you are also our representative to the local governments. We need someone who communicates well and gets the job done and we believe you're the perfect person for the job. We already know you have a good rapport with the engineers, and we believe you'll be the one to help grow our relationships with the cities. This is an excellent opportunity for you in your development with the company, at least we see it that way and we hope you do too."
What they meant to say was, "The last agent screwed around on the internet all day and let everything go. Because of this, the inmates are now running the asylum. We need you to go in there and straighten them out. Thanks a lot. If you do a good job, we'll consider giving you a raise."
Anyway, I smiled and said thank you and passed off all my old work (that I spent the last year and a half coasting through)only to find myself in one of the biggest logistical messes I've run into yet. As if it isn't enough that I'm quite literally "working for the man" now, I have a mess on my hands that seemingly requires six more hands to get it done right. And the biggest problem, in situations like mine, is the multiple people that are involved: people that are set in their ways, people that believe their way is the right way, people that don't want change, people who are comfortable with their mess, and people who aren't used to working with someone like me.
I am, more often than not, the shoot from the hip woman. I will use proper grammar and I will be polite, but I refuse to beat around the bush. Because of this, I have, amongst some people, earned the reputation of being scary (which makes me laugh). I have never cussed anyone out in a professional setting, I have never lost my temper, I have never raised my voice to anyone. I have always stayed calm, cool, and collected (at least externally), and I have always been cordial and polite. But if I see something, I won't hesitate to say something. I call it like I see it and I do it that way to save time. We have a mess on our hands, people. We don't have time to play patty cake. We have a business to run and cities to improve, expand, and build. There's no time to bicker and there's no time to take anything I say personal. This isn't personal, it's business. You don't like the way this is running? You want it to work for you? Then stop crying and listen to me. (No joke about the crying part. I sent out a mass email once, during my last clean up mission, that apparently made a fifty year old man cry and, for the life of me, I can't figure out how or why he responded that way. All I did in that email was point out facts A through D and then explained how it was supposed to be. That individual's manager called me up and said, "There was nothing wrong with the email, Pandora. I think the guy got upset because your use of correct grammar is intimidating and I'm pretty sure he had to use the dictionary a few times.")
But this time, this mess I'm in, I have a manager from a different department fighting me tooth and nail. It's one thing when I have worker bees that want to resist change, it's another thing when the Queen Bee wants to resist change. Unfortunately for the Queen Bee, names and titles don't intimidate me. In a situation like this, I run on facts. And facts A through Z indicate to me that we have a problem here and, despite the title, Queen Bees don't really run the hive. So, like the good overachiever that I am, I went to the office on Saturday, gathered facts A through Z, wrote them up in prime Master Of English fashion, and fully intend on making a presentation that will help me turn this thing around. Will I have to apologize for using a four syllable word? Perhaps. But in my experience, once I fearlessly call it out, they never interfere with my "house keeping" again and a few months from now they will be singing my praises. Why? Because all people involved will come to work and coast between the hours of 8 and 5.
If I'm curt with you it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you wanna get out of this. So, pretty please, with sugar on top... Clean the fucking car. -- The Wolf, Pulp Fiction
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Potentially Airborne Eyeballs
In days gone by, I have experienced something I call “Hot Face” – a physical sensation that onsets with anger and frustration, resulting from a direct association with idiots. Perhaps you remember this, I may have talked about it before. And perhaps you can empathize with me, having experienced "hot face" moments of your own. That being said, I must inform you that I have now encountered something called “Potentially Airborne Eyeballs.” I’m not exactly sure how to describe this sensation to you, but I must try. You need to be aware of this, in case it comes upon you. I think the best I can do is this:
Potentially Airborne Eyeballs – the pressure of internal stress and tension growing so great it builds, like blocked air, directly behind one’s eyeballs, creating a sensation that said eyeballs may very well fly out of one’s sockets across a conference room table, with vortices and contrails of unexpressed yet righteous anger (that may even appear as blue flames) behind them, as they literally stare down the void of nothingness that is contained in the soul of an empty headed, though quite possibly insane, antagonist.
Warning: presently, this is just a sensation, but be advised, were the eyeballs to take flight out of one’s sockets, authorities will be notified directly (perhaps even the local exorcist) and the individual will most likely spend the remainder of their days in a science lab.
Potentially Airborne Eyeballs – the pressure of internal stress and tension growing so great it builds, like blocked air, directly behind one’s eyeballs, creating a sensation that said eyeballs may very well fly out of one’s sockets across a conference room table, with vortices and contrails of unexpressed yet righteous anger (that may even appear as blue flames) behind them, as they literally stare down the void of nothingness that is contained in the soul of an empty headed, though quite possibly insane, antagonist.
Warning: presently, this is just a sensation, but be advised, were the eyeballs to take flight out of one’s sockets, authorities will be notified directly (perhaps even the local exorcist) and the individual will most likely spend the remainder of their days in a science lab.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Lost In The Shuffle
I've been awake since three. I'm sick again (thanks to Pei Wei's "gluten free" dish that I'm convinced wasn't gluten free, but that's a rant I'll save for the day I'm not wishing I could just give it one good vomit and be done with it all). And while I was lying in bed wishing my eyes would just close, I started thinking, "I'm not writing the way I need to. I'm getting lost in the shuffle again."
I say that to myself a lot -- lost in the shuffle. I say that because it happens to me a lot -- caught up with work and the politics of work, and motherhood and the duties of motherhood, and staying alive and what life demands to stay alive (not eating the "gluten free" meals at Pei Wei is now added to that list). Most of the time, when I say this to myself, I have a visual of shuffling my feet while walking shoulder to shoulder with the rest of Earth's sheeple (like leaving a sold out show after three hours in front of a big screen watching a movie about blue people that live under a giant tree the evil white man is about to destroy). This morning however, in the darkness of my bedroom, I had a visual of my own hands shuffling a deck of cards.
I love to play cards, not just Spider Solitaire on my computer but real card games with real people and real cards in my hand. Rummy, Contract Rummy, Hearts, Spades, Euchre, Poker, War, Speed, Golf, Crazy 8s, Go Fish, Black Jack, Slap Jack... you name it. If it requires a deck of cards and it's a game you love that I've never played before, teach it to me. I love them all. I love sitting at a table full of people, watching and listening the rise and fall of conversation as we all shift from simply being social to concentrating on the game because, let's face it, we all want to win. I love keeping track of who played what, when, and where, and pride myself on my ability to predict what they will do next. I love winning and I love watching people win (card games draw out personality traits that people often hide in an average social encounter). I love the smell of the cards, the feel of them in my hand, and I love to shuffle them.
I started playing cards as a little kid. My parents had given me a deck and, like most children whose hands seem too small to hold a full deck, I shuffled by spreading the cards all out on the floor and swirling them around in a big pile. It didn't take long to learn that smearing the deck all over the floor, though it looked like I was mixing them up, wasn't an efficient way to break up the pairs or "matches" created in our last Go Fish round. Because of that, I decided to teach myself to shuffle properly -- like an adult.
I remember shutting myself in my room for hours with cards flying all over the place as I worked to teach myself "the bridge" of the shuffle. I remember impressing all the little neighborhood kids because I was the only one on the block that knew how to shuffle a deck like their dad. I remember teaching a couple of them how to do it too.
The shuffle is important. It's to be done fast, efficiently, and it doesn't hurt to have a little style while you're at it. And if you think about it, if you're a real card player, you want all of the previous cards in your hand and the hands of your opponents to get lost in the shuffle -- part of the silent thrill of the game is watching and waiting for what you need to turn up.
So as I was lying in my bed, feeling the burn in my stomach, thinking of all that I miss while I'm down for the count, and writhing in a bit of self-pity, I realized, as I saw my own hands shuffling the deck, it isn't about being lost in the shuffle (that stupid face in the crowd image), it's about playing the cards in my own game. It's about being fast and efficient, so I don't slow the game, and it's about shuffling the different aspects of my life around with style. And once I deal the cards for this round, I need to remember that each aspect has a place and purpose in my endeavor to come out on top. Sometimes I have a hand full of nothing but numbers, but I need the deuce through ten to complete the series. And I am the face card, the nobility of my own life. And the Ace In The Hole is my creativity. Like an unexpected jolt of inspiration, I'm sometimes lucky enough to hold all four aces in the first round of play, but most of the time I'm lucky if I have one. And when it comes to the days I've had lately, I need to remember that the Ace isn't really lost in the shuffle, it's always a part of the deck -- the thrill is in the watching and waiting, and sooner or later I'll draw the Ace into my hand.
I say that to myself a lot -- lost in the shuffle. I say that because it happens to me a lot -- caught up with work and the politics of work, and motherhood and the duties of motherhood, and staying alive and what life demands to stay alive (not eating the "gluten free" meals at Pei Wei is now added to that list). Most of the time, when I say this to myself, I have a visual of shuffling my feet while walking shoulder to shoulder with the rest of Earth's sheeple (like leaving a sold out show after three hours in front of a big screen watching a movie about blue people that live under a giant tree the evil white man is about to destroy). This morning however, in the darkness of my bedroom, I had a visual of my own hands shuffling a deck of cards.
I love to play cards, not just Spider Solitaire on my computer but real card games with real people and real cards in my hand. Rummy, Contract Rummy, Hearts, Spades, Euchre, Poker, War, Speed, Golf, Crazy 8s, Go Fish, Black Jack, Slap Jack... you name it. If it requires a deck of cards and it's a game you love that I've never played before, teach it to me. I love them all. I love sitting at a table full of people, watching and listening the rise and fall of conversation as we all shift from simply being social to concentrating on the game because, let's face it, we all want to win. I love keeping track of who played what, when, and where, and pride myself on my ability to predict what they will do next. I love winning and I love watching people win (card games draw out personality traits that people often hide in an average social encounter). I love the smell of the cards, the feel of them in my hand, and I love to shuffle them.
I started playing cards as a little kid. My parents had given me a deck and, like most children whose hands seem too small to hold a full deck, I shuffled by spreading the cards all out on the floor and swirling them around in a big pile. It didn't take long to learn that smearing the deck all over the floor, though it looked like I was mixing them up, wasn't an efficient way to break up the pairs or "matches" created in our last Go Fish round. Because of that, I decided to teach myself to shuffle properly -- like an adult.
I remember shutting myself in my room for hours with cards flying all over the place as I worked to teach myself "the bridge" of the shuffle. I remember impressing all the little neighborhood kids because I was the only one on the block that knew how to shuffle a deck like their dad. I remember teaching a couple of them how to do it too.
The shuffle is important. It's to be done fast, efficiently, and it doesn't hurt to have a little style while you're at it. And if you think about it, if you're a real card player, you want all of the previous cards in your hand and the hands of your opponents to get lost in the shuffle -- part of the silent thrill of the game is watching and waiting for what you need to turn up.
So as I was lying in my bed, feeling the burn in my stomach, thinking of all that I miss while I'm down for the count, and writhing in a bit of self-pity, I realized, as I saw my own hands shuffling the deck, it isn't about being lost in the shuffle (that stupid face in the crowd image), it's about playing the cards in my own game. It's about being fast and efficient, so I don't slow the game, and it's about shuffling the different aspects of my life around with style. And once I deal the cards for this round, I need to remember that each aspect has a place and purpose in my endeavor to come out on top. Sometimes I have a hand full of nothing but numbers, but I need the deuce through ten to complete the series. And I am the face card, the nobility of my own life. And the Ace In The Hole is my creativity. Like an unexpected jolt of inspiration, I'm sometimes lucky enough to hold all four aces in the first round of play, but most of the time I'm lucky if I have one. And when it comes to the days I've had lately, I need to remember that the Ace isn't really lost in the shuffle, it's always a part of the deck -- the thrill is in the watching and waiting, and sooner or later I'll draw the Ace into my hand.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Stalkers & Valentines II
(Two weeks ago: Pandora is walking down the hall when she notices Admin and WhiteNoise standing off to the side gleefully smiling at her.)
Pandora: What?
Admin: (big smile) You have an admirer.
WhiteNoise: (stupid giggle)
Pandora: Pfft... (goes to her cube)
WhiteNoise: (steps into Pandora's cube) You don't even want to know who it is?
Pandora: (puts the files on top of her desk) Not really, no.
WhiteNoise: Are you kidding me? Someone has a crush on you and you don't want to know who it is?
Pandora: There's a certain policy that I live by -- don't shit where you eat.
WhiteNoise: Haha! You crack me up. (sits down) So, want to know who it is?
Pandora: (logs into her computer) Someone in Survey?
WhiteNoise: Yes.
Pandora: Dillon.
WhiteNoise: Oh come on! That's old news. Why would I tell you something that you already know?
Pandora: (turns around) It's someone new?
WhiteNoise: (smiles) Yep. Kurtis.
Pandora: Who?
WhiteNoise: Kurtis. You know, Kurtis Thomas?
Pandora: Kurtis who? I don't know anyone down there named Kurtis.
WhiteNoise: Oh my god! You don't even know who he is???
Pandora: Should I? Is he working on one of my jobs or something? I swear, I've never worked with a Kurtis. I've worked with Dillon, Manny, Rooster, and Troy. A couple times I've worked with Marna, but other than that... I've talked to no one down there. I go in, talk business, and come back out.
WhiteNoise: You've never even said hi to the guy?
Pandora: (shrugs) Maybe I passed him in the hall or something and said hello? I don't know, but I do know that I have no clue who you're talking about. Are you sure it's me he's admiring, or someone else?
WhiteNoise: Who else would he be admiring? You're the only Pandora up here. I wouldn't get that wrong!
Pandora: He said something to you about it?
WhiteNoise: Girl, he walked right up to me and asked about you.
Pandora: Huh. (turns around and starts working)
WhiteNoise: Are you serious? You're not interested in this at all?
Pandora: I don't date men from work. You know that.
WhiteNoise: He's good looking.
Pandora: I've never seen him.
WhiteNoise: He's 37. He's a single dad. He has an 8 year old daughter.
Pandora: I'm not interested.
WhiteNoise: He's a really nice guy! You could be missing out on something.
Pandora: What did you tell him?
WhiteNoise: (sits up straight) Nothing, really. I was shocked. I was down there talking to Dillon and he came out of nowhere and asked about you and I felt really uncomfortable saying anything with Dillon right there.
Pandora: Fabulous.
WhiteNoise: So you're not interested.
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: What do you want me to tell him?
Pandora: I'm not available.
WhiteNoise: That's it? You're not available.
Pandora: Yep. I'm not on the market.
WhiteNoise (disappointed that the juicy gossip was stopped short, leaves Pandora's cube)
(Today, two weeks after that conversation, Pandora comes back from lunch and opens her email only to find the following message: I heard you like sushi. Would you like to go sometime? :-) Kurtis Thomas, Survey Dept.
Pandora stares blankly at the email, trying to figure out who this person is, when she suddenly remembers the previous conversation with WhiteNoise. She forwards the email to WhiteNoise saying, "Is this the guy you were telling me about a couple weeks ago?" After hearing a distant "Oh my god!" followed by some girlish laughter, WhiteNoise steps into Pandora's cube.)
WhiteNoise: (half whispering) Oh my god, Pandora! Yes! That's the guy! Have you been talking to him?
Pandora: (a bit confused/concerned) Uh, no. I've never said two words to the guy and I still have no clue who he is or where he sits or what he even looks like.
WhiteNoise: What??? You haven't been talking to him???
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: Well how did he know you like sushi? (dramatic gasp) Oh no! He must be doing his homework on you! Oh no! Girl... that's kinda creepy.
Pandora: um... what's really bugging me is that I have never even spoken to the guy, nor do I even know what he looks like, and he's asking me out on a date.
WhiteNoise: Hahahahaha! This is crazy! Did you respond to him?
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: You didn't??
Pandora: What am I going to say? "Uh, sorry dude. I have no clue who you are."
WhiteNoise: Well you've gotta say something!
Pandora: What? What am I going to say? This guy came out of the shadows! I don't even know what he looks like! He could be standing next to me in the elevator and I wouldn't know who he is, but he obviously knows who I am and somehow thinks we're acquainted enough to go out for Sushi? What do you say to that guy? Why is this even happening to me right now?
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha...
Pandora: Oh yes, laugh at me. This isn't funny.
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha... I'm sorry. I am. But this is kinda funny.
Pandora: I thought you were going to say something to him. I thought you were going to tell him that I wasn't available.
WhiteNoise: Me??? What was I going to do? He asked me right in front of Dillon! I couldn't say anything in front of that guy!
Pandora: Whatever! Dillon draws up my maps. So he asked me to dinner once and I said no. What difference would it make to him if he watched you tell this new guy that I'm not available? He already knows because I shot him down a year ago. If anything, it would probably make him feel better. At least it would be better than sitting around wondering if I'm going to say yes to a dude I've never even spoken to!
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahahahaha! You heart-breaker you!
Pandora: What? How can I be a breaker of hearts I never get involved with?
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha!
Pandora: More laughing... This is serious! I'm going to get quite the reputation down there if these dudes don't get a grip on reality.
WhiteNoise: (catching her breath) okay... so what are you going to do?
Pandora: (stares at the email for a minute) Nothing.
WhiteNoise: Nothing??
Pandora: Well, if I respond to this then more will follow. So... I think I'm just going to let it go.
WhiteNoise: ...
Pandora: What?
WhiteNoise: That poor guy.
Pandora: Poor guy???
WhiteNoise: He's going to be so disappointed.
Pandora: Noise... I have never even talked with the guy.
WhiteNoise: (sighs) Okay. I'll go down there tomorrow and break it to him gently.
Pandora: What?
WhiteNoise: Don't worry. I'll take care of it for you. I'll tell him you're taken. I just feel bad for him, you know? He likes you. And you gotta admit it, you got it goin' on! These guys really dig you!
Pandora: whatever.
WhiteNoise: Oh come on! It has to make you feel good, doesn't it?
Pandora: No. It doesn't. It annoys me. I'm here at work. I work here. I go down there and I talk business. Sure, I smile and I'm polite, but I'm strictly business. And in this guy's case, I don't even have a working relationship with him. So I have no clue how this even came about.
WhiteNoise: It's the Something About Mary complex. Hehehehehe...
Pandora: It's the annoying complex.
WhiteNoise: Well, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it tomorrow. (leaves Pandora's cube)
Pandora: (stares at the email for a bit) I'm cursed. It's Valentine's Day. That's what it is. Stupid Valentine and Stupid Cupid always missing the mark.
Pandora: What?
Admin: (big smile) You have an admirer.
WhiteNoise: (stupid giggle)
Pandora: Pfft... (goes to her cube)
WhiteNoise: (steps into Pandora's cube) You don't even want to know who it is?
Pandora: (puts the files on top of her desk) Not really, no.
WhiteNoise: Are you kidding me? Someone has a crush on you and you don't want to know who it is?
Pandora: There's a certain policy that I live by -- don't shit where you eat.
WhiteNoise: Haha! You crack me up. (sits down) So, want to know who it is?
Pandora: (logs into her computer) Someone in Survey?
WhiteNoise: Yes.
Pandora: Dillon.
WhiteNoise: Oh come on! That's old news. Why would I tell you something that you already know?
Pandora: (turns around) It's someone new?
WhiteNoise: (smiles) Yep. Kurtis.
Pandora: Who?
WhiteNoise: Kurtis. You know, Kurtis Thomas?
Pandora: Kurtis who? I don't know anyone down there named Kurtis.
WhiteNoise: Oh my god! You don't even know who he is???
Pandora: Should I? Is he working on one of my jobs or something? I swear, I've never worked with a Kurtis. I've worked with Dillon, Manny, Rooster, and Troy. A couple times I've worked with Marna, but other than that... I've talked to no one down there. I go in, talk business, and come back out.
WhiteNoise: You've never even said hi to the guy?
Pandora: (shrugs) Maybe I passed him in the hall or something and said hello? I don't know, but I do know that I have no clue who you're talking about. Are you sure it's me he's admiring, or someone else?
WhiteNoise: Who else would he be admiring? You're the only Pandora up here. I wouldn't get that wrong!
Pandora: He said something to you about it?
WhiteNoise: Girl, he walked right up to me and asked about you.
Pandora: Huh. (turns around and starts working)
WhiteNoise: Are you serious? You're not interested in this at all?
Pandora: I don't date men from work. You know that.
WhiteNoise: He's good looking.
Pandora: I've never seen him.
WhiteNoise: He's 37. He's a single dad. He has an 8 year old daughter.
Pandora: I'm not interested.
WhiteNoise: He's a really nice guy! You could be missing out on something.
Pandora: What did you tell him?
WhiteNoise: (sits up straight) Nothing, really. I was shocked. I was down there talking to Dillon and he came out of nowhere and asked about you and I felt really uncomfortable saying anything with Dillon right there.
Pandora: Fabulous.
WhiteNoise: So you're not interested.
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: What do you want me to tell him?
Pandora: I'm not available.
WhiteNoise: That's it? You're not available.
Pandora: Yep. I'm not on the market.
WhiteNoise (disappointed that the juicy gossip was stopped short, leaves Pandora's cube)
(Today, two weeks after that conversation, Pandora comes back from lunch and opens her email only to find the following message: I heard you like sushi. Would you like to go sometime? :-) Kurtis Thomas, Survey Dept.
Pandora stares blankly at the email, trying to figure out who this person is, when she suddenly remembers the previous conversation with WhiteNoise. She forwards the email to WhiteNoise saying, "Is this the guy you were telling me about a couple weeks ago?" After hearing a distant "Oh my god!" followed by some girlish laughter, WhiteNoise steps into Pandora's cube.)
WhiteNoise: (half whispering) Oh my god, Pandora! Yes! That's the guy! Have you been talking to him?
Pandora: (a bit confused/concerned) Uh, no. I've never said two words to the guy and I still have no clue who he is or where he sits or what he even looks like.
WhiteNoise: What??? You haven't been talking to him???
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: Well how did he know you like sushi? (dramatic gasp) Oh no! He must be doing his homework on you! Oh no! Girl... that's kinda creepy.
Pandora: um... what's really bugging me is that I have never even spoken to the guy, nor do I even know what he looks like, and he's asking me out on a date.
WhiteNoise: Hahahahaha! This is crazy! Did you respond to him?
Pandora: No.
WhiteNoise: You didn't??
Pandora: What am I going to say? "Uh, sorry dude. I have no clue who you are."
WhiteNoise: Well you've gotta say something!
Pandora: What? What am I going to say? This guy came out of the shadows! I don't even know what he looks like! He could be standing next to me in the elevator and I wouldn't know who he is, but he obviously knows who I am and somehow thinks we're acquainted enough to go out for Sushi? What do you say to that guy? Why is this even happening to me right now?
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha...
Pandora: Oh yes, laugh at me. This isn't funny.
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha... I'm sorry. I am. But this is kinda funny.
Pandora: I thought you were going to say something to him. I thought you were going to tell him that I wasn't available.
WhiteNoise: Me??? What was I going to do? He asked me right in front of Dillon! I couldn't say anything in front of that guy!
Pandora: Whatever! Dillon draws up my maps. So he asked me to dinner once and I said no. What difference would it make to him if he watched you tell this new guy that I'm not available? He already knows because I shot him down a year ago. If anything, it would probably make him feel better. At least it would be better than sitting around wondering if I'm going to say yes to a dude I've never even spoken to!
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahahahaha! You heart-breaker you!
Pandora: What? How can I be a breaker of hearts I never get involved with?
WhiteNoise: Hahahahahaha!
Pandora: More laughing... This is serious! I'm going to get quite the reputation down there if these dudes don't get a grip on reality.
WhiteNoise: (catching her breath) okay... so what are you going to do?
Pandora: (stares at the email for a minute) Nothing.
WhiteNoise: Nothing??
Pandora: Well, if I respond to this then more will follow. So... I think I'm just going to let it go.
WhiteNoise: ...
Pandora: What?
WhiteNoise: That poor guy.
Pandora: Poor guy???
WhiteNoise: He's going to be so disappointed.
Pandora: Noise... I have never even talked with the guy.
WhiteNoise: (sighs) Okay. I'll go down there tomorrow and break it to him gently.
Pandora: What?
WhiteNoise: Don't worry. I'll take care of it for you. I'll tell him you're taken. I just feel bad for him, you know? He likes you. And you gotta admit it, you got it goin' on! These guys really dig you!
Pandora: whatever.
WhiteNoise: Oh come on! It has to make you feel good, doesn't it?
Pandora: No. It doesn't. It annoys me. I'm here at work. I work here. I go down there and I talk business. Sure, I smile and I'm polite, but I'm strictly business. And in this guy's case, I don't even have a working relationship with him. So I have no clue how this even came about.
WhiteNoise: It's the Something About Mary complex. Hehehehehe...
Pandora: It's the annoying complex.
WhiteNoise: Well, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it tomorrow. (leaves Pandora's cube)
Pandora: (stares at the email for a bit) I'm cursed. It's Valentine's Day. That's what it is. Stupid Valentine and Stupid Cupid always missing the mark.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Block
I just deleted the whole thing again.
Sorry.
The life is being sucked out of me via Power Point projects and city politics.
I need to take a ride on the flyin' spoon, doo doo doo...
(that's a line I just stole from Creedence Clearwater Revival, in case you didn't know)
Really, maybe that's my problem. I don't have a back door to look out of.
(well, I guess I do, but there isn't anything but a few trees and a parking lot and there's certainly no happy creatures dancing about anywhere)
Sorry.
The life is being sucked out of me via Power Point projects and city politics.
I need to take a ride on the flyin' spoon, doo doo doo...
(that's a line I just stole from Creedence Clearwater Revival, in case you didn't know)
Really, maybe that's my problem. I don't have a back door to look out of.
(well, I guess I do, but there isn't anything but a few trees and a parking lot and there's certainly no happy creatures dancing about anywhere)
Friday, February 5, 2010
Explaining The Postmodern
The poem is entrenched in metaphor and symbol. Think about how a light shines in your eyes so badly you can’t look up at it. Light is supposed to help a person see clearly, it literally “sheds light” on something that was otherwise hidden in the darkness. But still, if we look directly at it we’re blinded by it. In this situation, the only thing the speaker can do is look away from it, or down.
The first thing the speaker realizes, when trying to shade the eyes from the light in an attempt to see what lies beyond it, is a force that prevents the hand from doing so – the cable attached to a brace on the wrist. At that point, the speaker realizes all limbs are bound by something unseen, controlling and limiting her ability to move. Once she realizes that, she sees herself strapped in a chair on top of a cracked concrete slab.
The picture should leave the reader with a sense of being interrogated – the chair, the bondage, the blinding light in the eyes and the force in the shadows controlling it all.
Now think about the symbol of the chair and the concrete. The chair is wooden, the thought being that a wooden chair is made by hand, by a carpenter, and therefore “man made.” The fact that the chair is “weathered” indicates that it’s been there for quite some time. The fact that the speaker is strapped to it, belted in, and “woke up” in it could also indicate that she’s been sitting in it for an equal amount of time without knowing it. And what does the “concrete slab” represent? A foundation, something solid. Houses are built on concrete slabs. Freeways and bridges are often made of concrete. It is a support for our lives but it’s a “man made” support, a “man made” foundation. Concrete by definition is “an artificial, stone like material used for various structural purposes,” but it can also be applied to concepts and theories (also “man made”) as in a concrete idea, a firm notion, etc. But if the concrete is cracked it must not be that solid, right? Something that is cracked is flawed and defective.
So what does all this mean? We have a speaker who has woken up to find herself strapped to a weathered wooden chair atop a cracked foundation with her arms and legs bound by some sort of cables extending out to an unknown source of control? And the only thing the light allows her to see is that fact that she’s bound up against her will. So a voice plays, Defiance and Defiance and Defiance. She may not know how she got there or who or what is behind it all and controlling it all, but she has no intention of staying there. So she slowly and successfully unbuckles herself from the chair, fearing nothing but whatever jerks her limbs from the cables. But the moment she takes a step or two, perhaps her attempt to get past the light and see who’s manning the cables beyond the shadows, that concrete slab, her foundation, falls apart and she falls down with it. And all she can see is the light getting farther and farther away and that the cables are still attached to her. Until she finally reaches the extent of the slack in the cables, causing her body to buckle and bend (like a fallen puppet). And as she dangles, there is just enough light left for her to see that there is “ground,” not cracked concrete, not “man made,” but something real, something true and solid. The problem is, she can’t get to it. It’s the so close and yet so far idea. And why can’t she get to it? Because of the cables. Because of the unknown force that’s holding the strings.
So, again, what does all of this mean? It’s basically my commentary on what I perceive to be the human condition, if you will. I wrote this after spending a few years studying theories like Postmodernism, Feminism, Marxism, Fascism, Capitalism, Liberalism, Humanism, Monotheism, Polytheism, Agnosticism, Atheism, and any other ism that comes out of the human intellect and is then forced upon us at the University.
Postmodernism was my favorite theory to study because it was a never ending puzzle and no two postmodern theorists ever said the same thing, nor am I even sure they truly understand what it is they’re trying to say. The theory sort of falls in on itself regularly, which, in some strange way, is part of the point. But the easiest and most common idea to explain from the theory is that it states there is no absolute truth. Everything depends on one’s own perspective – what I perceive to be right you can perceive to be wrong but somehow we’re both correct in our perceptions because there is no truth, there is no right or wrong. My truth is my truth, your truth is your truth, and that’s as good as it gets. There is no such thing as a lie because, well, there’s no truth to prove the lie wrong.
My problem with this theory is that it holds no practical application to life. It’s fine in the University where all we do is sit around and read books and use language to suit our purpose as academics, but when it comes down to the victim of a crime, when it comes down to the person that has to get to work on time because they’ll get fired tomorrow if they don’t, when it comes down to the person who experiences a great injustice in their everyday life it simply doesn’t work. For example: her truth was that he broke into her house, raped her and murdered her daughter, but his truth was that he grew up beaten and abused his whole life and he didn’t know any better and so he didn’t really commit a crime in his mind. By her standards he committed a crime, by his standards it was normal behavior. You see? Doesn’t work too well. So, for my purposes in this poem, the “cracked concrete slab” and the “abyss” she falls into is Postmodern thought.
The cables represent all other schools of “man made” thought – basically all of the isms I listed above. These are the thoughts that control all of our lives, even if we’re not aware of them. The best example of their daily presence in our lives that I can think of right now is “political correctness.” They are all “thoughts” born out of bad human behavior. Capitalism -- born out of government oppression. Feminism – born out of patriarchal oppression. Marxism – born out of socio-economic oppression. And so on and so forth. “Man made” thought processes put into motion to correct a past mistake but all bearing flaws of their own. The trouble is, they are so dominant, interwoven into every aspect of our everyday lives, there is no way to shake them and there is really no way to control them. Hence, the braces attached to the wrists and ankles and the cables extending endlessly to some unseen force.
The wooden chair represents old time organized religion. I am a believer in God, a follower of Christ, but I am not a believer in the organization, particularly the Americanized church. Too often it is used as a masquerade, a façade to house and hide bad behavior. Even more often the people inside the church building are the most judgmental and uncaring people to their own kind. Jesus was a teacher and a healer of the broken and the lost, “let him without sin cast the first stone,” and yet the organization somehow breeds a people that stand with stones in their fist. The organization is, more often than not, a social club more than it is a hospital for the broken or a light in the darkness. This is why, once the “ground” is seen there are remnants of broken chair and concrete strewn across it. The ground is reality, a solid truth made by God, Earth, Natural foundation, not something thought up and written in a book. But even so… the speaker is left dangling there because, well… the point of the entire poem is that humans and their self-sustaining systems will never be able to exist without their own organizations. And I can sit here and say what I believe all day long, but I’m just a person in a cubicle and I can’t change “the world,” and so… I’m just dangling.
The first thing the speaker realizes, when trying to shade the eyes from the light in an attempt to see what lies beyond it, is a force that prevents the hand from doing so – the cable attached to a brace on the wrist. At that point, the speaker realizes all limbs are bound by something unseen, controlling and limiting her ability to move. Once she realizes that, she sees herself strapped in a chair on top of a cracked concrete slab.
The picture should leave the reader with a sense of being interrogated – the chair, the bondage, the blinding light in the eyes and the force in the shadows controlling it all.
Now think about the symbol of the chair and the concrete. The chair is wooden, the thought being that a wooden chair is made by hand, by a carpenter, and therefore “man made.” The fact that the chair is “weathered” indicates that it’s been there for quite some time. The fact that the speaker is strapped to it, belted in, and “woke up” in it could also indicate that she’s been sitting in it for an equal amount of time without knowing it. And what does the “concrete slab” represent? A foundation, something solid. Houses are built on concrete slabs. Freeways and bridges are often made of concrete. It is a support for our lives but it’s a “man made” support, a “man made” foundation. Concrete by definition is “an artificial, stone like material used for various structural purposes,” but it can also be applied to concepts and theories (also “man made”) as in a concrete idea, a firm notion, etc. But if the concrete is cracked it must not be that solid, right? Something that is cracked is flawed and defective.
So what does all this mean? We have a speaker who has woken up to find herself strapped to a weathered wooden chair atop a cracked foundation with her arms and legs bound by some sort of cables extending out to an unknown source of control? And the only thing the light allows her to see is that fact that she’s bound up against her will. So a voice plays, Defiance and Defiance and Defiance. She may not know how she got there or who or what is behind it all and controlling it all, but she has no intention of staying there. So she slowly and successfully unbuckles herself from the chair, fearing nothing but whatever jerks her limbs from the cables. But the moment she takes a step or two, perhaps her attempt to get past the light and see who’s manning the cables beyond the shadows, that concrete slab, her foundation, falls apart and she falls down with it. And all she can see is the light getting farther and farther away and that the cables are still attached to her. Until she finally reaches the extent of the slack in the cables, causing her body to buckle and bend (like a fallen puppet). And as she dangles, there is just enough light left for her to see that there is “ground,” not cracked concrete, not “man made,” but something real, something true and solid. The problem is, she can’t get to it. It’s the so close and yet so far idea. And why can’t she get to it? Because of the cables. Because of the unknown force that’s holding the strings.
So, again, what does all of this mean? It’s basically my commentary on what I perceive to be the human condition, if you will. I wrote this after spending a few years studying theories like Postmodernism, Feminism, Marxism, Fascism, Capitalism, Liberalism, Humanism, Monotheism, Polytheism, Agnosticism, Atheism, and any other ism that comes out of the human intellect and is then forced upon us at the University.
Postmodernism was my favorite theory to study because it was a never ending puzzle and no two postmodern theorists ever said the same thing, nor am I even sure they truly understand what it is they’re trying to say. The theory sort of falls in on itself regularly, which, in some strange way, is part of the point. But the easiest and most common idea to explain from the theory is that it states there is no absolute truth. Everything depends on one’s own perspective – what I perceive to be right you can perceive to be wrong but somehow we’re both correct in our perceptions because there is no truth, there is no right or wrong. My truth is my truth, your truth is your truth, and that’s as good as it gets. There is no such thing as a lie because, well, there’s no truth to prove the lie wrong.
My problem with this theory is that it holds no practical application to life. It’s fine in the University where all we do is sit around and read books and use language to suit our purpose as academics, but when it comes down to the victim of a crime, when it comes down to the person that has to get to work on time because they’ll get fired tomorrow if they don’t, when it comes down to the person who experiences a great injustice in their everyday life it simply doesn’t work. For example: her truth was that he broke into her house, raped her and murdered her daughter, but his truth was that he grew up beaten and abused his whole life and he didn’t know any better and so he didn’t really commit a crime in his mind. By her standards he committed a crime, by his standards it was normal behavior. You see? Doesn’t work too well. So, for my purposes in this poem, the “cracked concrete slab” and the “abyss” she falls into is Postmodern thought.
The cables represent all other schools of “man made” thought – basically all of the isms I listed above. These are the thoughts that control all of our lives, even if we’re not aware of them. The best example of their daily presence in our lives that I can think of right now is “political correctness.” They are all “thoughts” born out of bad human behavior. Capitalism -- born out of government oppression. Feminism – born out of patriarchal oppression. Marxism – born out of socio-economic oppression. And so on and so forth. “Man made” thought processes put into motion to correct a past mistake but all bearing flaws of their own. The trouble is, they are so dominant, interwoven into every aspect of our everyday lives, there is no way to shake them and there is really no way to control them. Hence, the braces attached to the wrists and ankles and the cables extending endlessly to some unseen force.
The wooden chair represents old time organized religion. I am a believer in God, a follower of Christ, but I am not a believer in the organization, particularly the Americanized church. Too often it is used as a masquerade, a façade to house and hide bad behavior. Even more often the people inside the church building are the most judgmental and uncaring people to their own kind. Jesus was a teacher and a healer of the broken and the lost, “let him without sin cast the first stone,” and yet the organization somehow breeds a people that stand with stones in their fist. The organization is, more often than not, a social club more than it is a hospital for the broken or a light in the darkness. This is why, once the “ground” is seen there are remnants of broken chair and concrete strewn across it. The ground is reality, a solid truth made by God, Earth, Natural foundation, not something thought up and written in a book. But even so… the speaker is left dangling there because, well… the point of the entire poem is that humans and their self-sustaining systems will never be able to exist without their own organizations. And I can sit here and say what I believe all day long, but I’m just a person in a cubicle and I can’t change “the world,” and so… I’m just dangling.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Postmodern
I woke with a start,
my eyes open and blinded,
a light in my face.
My hand raised to block the light.
A force slammed my arm to my side.
A chair,
I was sitting in a chair,
belted down to a wooden,
weathered chair with
my shadow,
cast by the glaring light,
atop a cracked concrete slab.
Cracked...
numerous cracks...
an abundance of cracks...
one more blow and the slab would crumble.
A cable
attached to a brace
on my ankles -- right and left.
My wrists,
bound the same -- cables and braces.
Cables...
extending from me,
attaching to me,
from where I could not see.
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My eyes couldn't see beyond the light.
My hand rose to shade my eyes.
The cable jerked.
My hand slammed to my side.
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My ears were ringing.
My eyes were blinded.
My skin was cold.
I wanted out of the chair.
The belt was leather and buckled.
It could be undone.
My hands moved to the belt.
no jerk from the cables
I loosened the buckle.
no jerk from the cables
Unbuckled,
I clutched the chair.
no jerk from the cables
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My eyes sought beyond me but couldn't.
I slowly stood.
no jerk from the cables
I took a step -- right... left...
no jerk from the cables
I took a step -- right... left...
no jerk from the cables
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My ears rang,
but didn't miss the rumble.
The concrete moldered.
piece by piece
it dropped and dropped
into air
only air
cracked concrete suspended
by nothing.
The chair dropped.
I dropped.
Fallen and falling
farther from the light
shining on the cables
dropping down after me,
hoping they might catch me.
Falling and Falling
into what? ...onto what? ...an abyss?
nothing
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
rang in my head.
My ears heard a crash.
The cables jerked.
My body buckled.
My legs and arms collided.
I ached and I dangled.
My eyes could see.
The light still shown
though dim
There was ground.
It seemed like ground.
My eyes could see
remnants of chair and concrete
strewn upon the ground.
Ground.
There was ground...
one foot below me,
twelve inches beneath me,
and yet...
I dangled.
my eyes open and blinded,
a light in my face.
My hand raised to block the light.
A force slammed my arm to my side.
A chair,
I was sitting in a chair,
belted down to a wooden,
weathered chair with
my shadow,
cast by the glaring light,
atop a cracked concrete slab.
Cracked...
numerous cracks...
an abundance of cracks...
one more blow and the slab would crumble.
A cable
attached to a brace
on my ankles -- right and left.
My wrists,
bound the same -- cables and braces.
Cables...
extending from me,
attaching to me,
from where I could not see.
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My eyes couldn't see beyond the light.
My hand rose to shade my eyes.
The cable jerked.
My hand slammed to my side.
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My ears were ringing.
My eyes were blinded.
My skin was cold.
I wanted out of the chair.
The belt was leather and buckled.
It could be undone.
My hands moved to the belt.
no jerk from the cables
I loosened the buckle.
no jerk from the cables
Unbuckled,
I clutched the chair.
no jerk from the cables
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My eyes sought beyond me but couldn't.
I slowly stood.
no jerk from the cables
I took a step -- right... left...
no jerk from the cables
I took a step -- right... left...
no jerk from the cables
A voice played:
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
My ears rang,
but didn't miss the rumble.
The concrete moldered.
piece by piece
it dropped and dropped
into air
only air
cracked concrete suspended
by nothing.
The chair dropped.
I dropped.
Fallen and falling
farther from the light
shining on the cables
dropping down after me,
hoping they might catch me.
Falling and Falling
into what? ...onto what? ...an abyss?
nothing
Defiance and Defiance and Defiance
rang in my head.
My ears heard a crash.
The cables jerked.
My body buckled.
My legs and arms collided.
I ached and I dangled.
My eyes could see.
The light still shown
though dim
There was ground.
It seemed like ground.
My eyes could see
remnants of chair and concrete
strewn upon the ground.
Ground.
There was ground...
one foot below me,
twelve inches beneath me,
and yet...
I dangled.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Spider Solitaire At The Asylum Complex
"Where have you been? What have you been doing, Pandora?"
I really don't know. I have no answer for you. I've been playing Spider Solitaire for nights on end now. I've gone from one suit to two. It's extremely difficult for me. I went from having something ridiculous like a 90% win with one suit to a 20% win with two suits. And a friend of mine just called and asked what I was doing and when I said Spider Solitaire he said, "What? What's with you and that game lately? You've been playing that for weeks?" I told him it was mind numbing and that I needed to numb my mind for a while, but I think I just made that up because my mind is far from numb when I play this stupid thing. I think I'm obsessing over it, actually. I sit here and play it until I'm angry at the damn game, and I listen to myself say things like, "The computer is toying with me! There's no possible way I can lose this much on something this stupid!" And I'm convinced that its "hints" are purposely misleading. I'm not kidding. I once played an entire game just following its stupid hints to see if it would lead me to a win, and it didn't! Why "hint" at something if it isn't really going to help me? I'm regularly victimized by this stupid game! It enjoys making me go "cold" in the "you're getting warmer" game! (Do you see the potential insanity that is going on with me here?)
I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact that January is an obvious wash on the blogging front (and quite possibly the sanity front). The holidays threw me off pretty bad. I was bombarded with people, obligations to people, and expectations of holiday cheer. This past weekend was the first weekend I was free to lie around and do nothing in at least seven weeks. I don't know about you guys, but I need time to lie around and do nothing. I need down time or my brain goes a little crazy (I think the recent obsession with Spider Solitaire is a testament to that). And I have no clue what great conjunction is happening in the Universe right now, but 2010 flew in like a Chinese Bucket Brigade at the office and I've been running around putting out fires (some that aren't even mine) since January 4. And I won't even begin to talk about the never ending power point project that I've been working on for nearly a year (mostly because there was a shift in upper management and their idea for the project is completely different than the previous management's idea and so... I'm sure I could go on and on about that in some sort of amusing fashion but I have now reached the point where I loath the thing so much I feel like hiring one of those Chinese peasants to come over in a row boat and stab me with a spoon just so I can feel the sense of something new and original).
Okay, I'm being a little dramatic but... there's always truth in the overly dramatic. And besides, what's life without a dash of Histrionic Disorder in the world of disorders? I think it's good. We can just say that I'm putting a hypothesis of one of my postmodern professors to the test: through "embracing the stereotype of the overly dramatic and hysterical woman, I disarm its negative connotation and prove the label to be false." (whatever... I loved that professor, but I always thought that was one of his lamest moments in the classroom.) If Shakespeare were around today, perhaps he would say something like, "All the World is a disorder and all the men and women are placebos." I think I like that. We're all walking talking sugar pills in a world where prescriptions hold the solutions to everyone's problem.
I am, however, starting to think that everyone in this apartment complex is insane. I may be the only placebo in here because the rest of them are bonafide disorders. I've lived here for a year and a half now and I have yet to meet a well balanced human. When I first moved in I had to deal with the drunk man that loved to go out and sing and howl at the moon between the hours of two and four a.m. Right about the time he moved out, Windmill Dick moved in and you know those stories. Now he's gone and some crazy lady who loves to verbally abuse her dog moved in downstairs. (I really can't stand her. I hope she never has children. I'm sure I'll write about her in more detail one of these days.) Then there's the couple across the way that love to stand in the courtyard and throw things at each other in broad daylight while screaming obscenities just long enough for the police to show up. Then there's the lady that pulls in every night around two a.m. in a car that sounds like a broken time machine (someone needs to help her find a new flux capacitor or something because one of these nights she's just not going to make it back). And as I was lying in bed listening to my newest neighbor tell her dog to get out of her face because she just doesn't understand why he treats her this way, all I could think about was that I'm living in the asylum. I unknowingly checked myself into this nut house! It's like One Flew Over The Apartment Complex and they're starting to rub off on me! I really need to think of an escape. It could be worse though, I could be living in the complex down the way called El Diablo. I may be in the asylum complex, but at least I'm not paying rent for a two bedroom pad with bad plumbing in Hell.
I really don't know. I have no answer for you. I've been playing Spider Solitaire for nights on end now. I've gone from one suit to two. It's extremely difficult for me. I went from having something ridiculous like a 90% win with one suit to a 20% win with two suits. And a friend of mine just called and asked what I was doing and when I said Spider Solitaire he said, "What? What's with you and that game lately? You've been playing that for weeks?" I told him it was mind numbing and that I needed to numb my mind for a while, but I think I just made that up because my mind is far from numb when I play this stupid thing. I think I'm obsessing over it, actually. I sit here and play it until I'm angry at the damn game, and I listen to myself say things like, "The computer is toying with me! There's no possible way I can lose this much on something this stupid!" And I'm convinced that its "hints" are purposely misleading. I'm not kidding. I once played an entire game just following its stupid hints to see if it would lead me to a win, and it didn't! Why "hint" at something if it isn't really going to help me? I'm regularly victimized by this stupid game! It enjoys making me go "cold" in the "you're getting warmer" game! (Do you see the potential insanity that is going on with me here?)
I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact that January is an obvious wash on the blogging front (and quite possibly the sanity front). The holidays threw me off pretty bad. I was bombarded with people, obligations to people, and expectations of holiday cheer. This past weekend was the first weekend I was free to lie around and do nothing in at least seven weeks. I don't know about you guys, but I need time to lie around and do nothing. I need down time or my brain goes a little crazy (I think the recent obsession with Spider Solitaire is a testament to that). And I have no clue what great conjunction is happening in the Universe right now, but 2010 flew in like a Chinese Bucket Brigade at the office and I've been running around putting out fires (some that aren't even mine) since January 4. And I won't even begin to talk about the never ending power point project that I've been working on for nearly a year (mostly because there was a shift in upper management and their idea for the project is completely different than the previous management's idea and so... I'm sure I could go on and on about that in some sort of amusing fashion but I have now reached the point where I loath the thing so much I feel like hiring one of those Chinese peasants to come over in a row boat and stab me with a spoon just so I can feel the sense of something new and original).
Okay, I'm being a little dramatic but... there's always truth in the overly dramatic. And besides, what's life without a dash of Histrionic Disorder in the world of disorders? I think it's good. We can just say that I'm putting a hypothesis of one of my postmodern professors to the test: through "embracing the stereotype of the overly dramatic and hysterical woman, I disarm its negative connotation and prove the label to be false." (whatever... I loved that professor, but I always thought that was one of his lamest moments in the classroom.) If Shakespeare were around today, perhaps he would say something like, "All the World is a disorder and all the men and women are placebos." I think I like that. We're all walking talking sugar pills in a world where prescriptions hold the solutions to everyone's problem.
I am, however, starting to think that everyone in this apartment complex is insane. I may be the only placebo in here because the rest of them are bonafide disorders. I've lived here for a year and a half now and I have yet to meet a well balanced human. When I first moved in I had to deal with the drunk man that loved to go out and sing and howl at the moon between the hours of two and four a.m. Right about the time he moved out, Windmill Dick moved in and you know those stories. Now he's gone and some crazy lady who loves to verbally abuse her dog moved in downstairs. (I really can't stand her. I hope she never has children. I'm sure I'll write about her in more detail one of these days.) Then there's the couple across the way that love to stand in the courtyard and throw things at each other in broad daylight while screaming obscenities just long enough for the police to show up. Then there's the lady that pulls in every night around two a.m. in a car that sounds like a broken time machine (someone needs to help her find a new flux capacitor or something because one of these nights she's just not going to make it back). And as I was lying in bed listening to my newest neighbor tell her dog to get out of her face because she just doesn't understand why he treats her this way, all I could think about was that I'm living in the asylum. I unknowingly checked myself into this nut house! It's like One Flew Over The Apartment Complex and they're starting to rub off on me! I really need to think of an escape. It could be worse though, I could be living in the complex down the way called El Diablo. I may be in the asylum complex, but at least I'm not paying rent for a two bedroom pad with bad plumbing in Hell.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Physics Is Not My Thing, But...
I avoided physics like the plague when I was in school, though I enjoy reading about it (if that makes any sense at all – can read about it, and think on it, but cannot do the math required to prove or disprove its theories). But a friend of mine, one of the engineer types, asked me a question regarding the Law Of Conservation Of Energy (i.e. energy cannot be created or destroyed, but can change forms) and how that may apply to "happiness" (or lack thereof) in the workplace.
So, if happiness is the “energy” that cannot be created or destroyed but can change forms, this is what happens to the “happiness” once we walk through the doors of the office:
We, the employees, are the objects in which the Potential Energy, or in this case Potential Happiness, is stored. So then, let’s imagine this energy, or happiness, is like a ping pong ball floating on an air thermal called bliss. The bliss thermal is affected by gravity, or (for our purposes) reality. Different levels of reality can either augment or diminish the lift of the bliss thermal and therefore directly affect the levels happiness contained in the object (i.e. the employee).
The office harbors more reality than any other space we occupy on a regular basis. Once we enter the working zone we are forced to conduct ourselves in a manner which we are instructed, lest we don’t get paid or have the money required to keep our bliss thermals up and our Potential Happiness high. Much like the rubber band that was pulled and released and forced through the air is used as an example for Kinetic Energy, the employee that goes through the motions to help a company achieve its goal is an example of Kinetic Happiness. But Kinetic Happiness in the workplace/office is a direct result of the force of gravity, or a strong dose of reality (if you will) pulling the bliss thermal very low to the ground, thereby causing the ping pong ball of happiness to hang very very low (quite near to depression in some cases, depending upon the individual and the strength of the bliss thermal before entering the center of reality).
If I were good at drawing graphs and such I would use one to help you understand everything I just said, but I'm not good at those things so I won't. Besides, it makes perfect theoretical sense to me and sounds quite logical and scientific (at least for an English Major).
So, if happiness is the “energy” that cannot be created or destroyed but can change forms, this is what happens to the “happiness” once we walk through the doors of the office:
We, the employees, are the objects in which the Potential Energy, or in this case Potential Happiness, is stored. So then, let’s imagine this energy, or happiness, is like a ping pong ball floating on an air thermal called bliss. The bliss thermal is affected by gravity, or (for our purposes) reality. Different levels of reality can either augment or diminish the lift of the bliss thermal and therefore directly affect the levels happiness contained in the object (i.e. the employee).
The office harbors more reality than any other space we occupy on a regular basis. Once we enter the working zone we are forced to conduct ourselves in a manner which we are instructed, lest we don’t get paid or have the money required to keep our bliss thermals up and our Potential Happiness high. Much like the rubber band that was pulled and released and forced through the air is used as an example for Kinetic Energy, the employee that goes through the motions to help a company achieve its goal is an example of Kinetic Happiness. But Kinetic Happiness in the workplace/office is a direct result of the force of gravity, or a strong dose of reality (if you will) pulling the bliss thermal very low to the ground, thereby causing the ping pong ball of happiness to hang very very low (quite near to depression in some cases, depending upon the individual and the strength of the bliss thermal before entering the center of reality).
If I were good at drawing graphs and such I would use one to help you understand everything I just said, but I'm not good at those things so I won't. Besides, it makes perfect theoretical sense to me and sounds quite logical and scientific (at least for an English Major).
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Is There Text In This Email?
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 10:03 AM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if...
If I started emailing like this:
wher i txt evrythng to u in txt speak, would u h8 me
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 10:55 AM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if...
I think I would shun you, yes.
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 12:43 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
And deservedly so!
The reason I ask, is that I have a friend that types all their emails like that. And it’s driving me insane. I mean, I’m not even an English major (which is funny because, well… you are), and it drives me absolutely nutty. So, I can’t even imagine what it does to you… I mean, the difference is WAY worse for you!
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 12:50 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Yeah... I’m not sure I could be a friend to someone that does that. I’m not joking. Of course, I’d be nice to the person (at least to their face) but I would mock them relentlessly. Truth be told, I even hate it in text messages but I let it slide because I know it stems from a need to save time and space, but in an email??? That’s an atrocity!!! That’s a sin!!! If Dante were alive he’d create a special level in Hell for the person that does that!
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 1:42 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
What do I do?!
Do I say anything?!
Do I condemn her to this new hell?!
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 2:23 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Hahaha! Condemn her!
No, no… you’re not Pandora, so the condemning might not go over too well.
Hmmm… I’m trying to think of the best advice I could give you. If I were in your shoes I would first consider how old the person is.
If this individual is somewhere between the ages of 18 and 23 that explains a lot. The closer the individual is to 18 the closer they are to high school and adolescence. (I am convinced that most people don’t stop being “adolescent” until somewhere between 23 and 27 and they don’t become “adults” until sometime between 27 and 33) If she falls into the 18 to 23 age group, she hasn’t seen far beyond the “coolness” of her cell phone and she believes all “cool” people communicate this way no matter the medium. She has no clue that this is socially unacceptable, nor does it cross her mind that it could quite possibly annoy you.
When I taught at the University, a regular “lecture” was given within the first two weeks of class on the written word and how “UR” is not a grammatically correct form of “your” or “you’re.” I had to fail papers because students believed “texting” in Times New Roman 12 font, as long as it was double spaced and stayed within the margins, was acceptable for a college paper. I don’t know why this happens, exactly, other than the state of Arizona has a terrible education system and they teach the kids nothing, but it happens and people should be educated in the proper form of written communication. I’m not saying they need to become Pandora, but I am saying they can at least learn to write in a complete sentence with the entire word written out.
So… if she falls into this category, I would most likely say something to encourage her in the right direction, particularly if she were someone I saw as a good friend, or soon to be good friend, and I wanted to spend time with her and not constantly think about what an idiot she is when it comes to talking with me via email. I would say something like, “Do you always write as though you’re using a cell phone?” That should be enough to prod someone into a self-aware state (especially if they want you to think highly of them) that (unless they ride the short bus, which, given the subject matter, is quite possible, but we’ll touch on that in a moment) may cause them to commence writing in complete sentences because a) they want to prove to you that they can and b) they may have picked up on the annoyed “tone” in your question.
Now, if this person is 23+ you may have a annual pass short-bus rider on your hands. If this is the case then you need to assess the value of the friendship and how much you can tolerate.
If this is someone valuable to you, then you will need to approach the matter as though you’re trying to help them move forward in the realms of social grace. For instance, take this person to lunch and say, “I like you. I think you have potential. But whenever I receive an email from you, I often wonder how many people you frustrate because your messages read as though they were sent using the your cell phone keypad as opposed to the keyboard we all know was readily available at your fingertips. You don’t send emails like that to your boss, do you? If so, you may want to consider the ramifications of your actions here. The boss will never think you’re worthy of promotion or raise in pay because he/she may very well think you’re illiterate and require more education. Now, you’re not illiterate, are you? Of course not! We both know that isn’t true. You are an intelligent individual! I’m just saying you should make a conscious effort to write in complete sentences. In fact, you can use me as practice. I’d be more than happy to help you along with this.” (insert big smile here)
Now, if this is someone you figure will be around no matter what you say, if they have a thick skin, if their feelings will suffer not, or if you could care less whether their feelings suffer or not, simply say the following:
Um… you do know this isn’t a cell phone and you’re not texting me right now, right? You do know this is an email and it’s acceptable, perhaps even impressive, to write in complete sentences and use actual words while doing so, right? And… you do know that h8 is actually spelled h-a-t-e, don’t you? I hope so, because if you don’t know that then I’m not sure you’ll understand me when I say, I hate that you’re writing to me in text speak. I HATE IT!
That’s the best advice I can give you.
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:22 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
Lol!
I think I’ll condemn her! I don’t care about her that much. She’s 21. Let me just give you a couple snippets:
“…says u are but i didnt believe it!”
“…u werent…”
“What about u?”
“…at ur email!”
So, it’s not entirely text speak, but it’s still miserable. Why aren’t these children being beaten enough? Where were their parents?! Argh!
Could I just nip the whole thing right in the butt and say, “talk like a fcking adult, you fcking douche bag!”?
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:47 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Ugh…
Well, at least I once again impressed myself with the wisdom I’ve gleaned from experience: “She’s 21.” (Not to mention I was hoping that was the case and not someone my age or older)
You could put an end to it all by saying a few choice words and concluding with douche bag. Or you would send her a reply that looks like this:
Please make the following corrections and then send me your email.
“…says u are but i didnt believe it!” …says you are, but I didn’t believe it!
“…u werent…” …you weren’t…
“What about u?” What about you?
“…at ur email!” …at your email!
Please keep in mind that “you” is the pronoun and “u” is a letter. Also keep in mind that “your” is a possessive pronoun and “ur” is not a word. Also keep in mind that words such as “didn’t” and “weren’t” are contractions for “were not” and “did not” and an apostrophe is always used in place of the “o” in “not.” (Which reminds me, for future reference, don’t confuse “your” with “you’re” because “you’re” is a contraction for “you are.”) Oh yes, and please remember that “I” when used as a subject in a sentence is a proper pronoun and must always be capitalized.
If you need additional assistance, please feel free to reference the following sites:
Grammar Rules
http://www.grammarbook.com/english_rules.asp
Pronouns
http://www.arts.uottawa.ca/writcent/hypergrammar/pronouns.html
Possessive Pronouns
http://englishplus.com/grammar/00000023.htm
Contractions
http://www.enchantedlearning.com/grammar/contractions/
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:55 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if...
Ah, yes, you are wise.
"...something something douchebag!"
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 10:03 AM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if...
If I started emailing like this:
wher i txt evrythng to u in txt speak, would u h8 me
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 10:55 AM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if...
I think I would shun you, yes.
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 12:43 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
And deservedly so!
The reason I ask, is that I have a friend that types all their emails like that. And it’s driving me insane. I mean, I’m not even an English major (which is funny because, well… you are), and it drives me absolutely nutty. So, I can’t even imagine what it does to you… I mean, the difference is WAY worse for you!
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 12:50 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Yeah... I’m not sure I could be a friend to someone that does that. I’m not joking. Of course, I’d be nice to the person (at least to their face) but I would mock them relentlessly. Truth be told, I even hate it in text messages but I let it slide because I know it stems from a need to save time and space, but in an email??? That’s an atrocity!!! That’s a sin!!! If Dante were alive he’d create a special level in Hell for the person that does that!
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 1:42 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
What do I do?!
Do I say anything?!
Do I condemn her to this new hell?!
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 2:23 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Hahaha! Condemn her!
No, no… you’re not Pandora, so the condemning might not go over too well.
Hmmm… I’m trying to think of the best advice I could give you. If I were in your shoes I would first consider how old the person is.
If this individual is somewhere between the ages of 18 and 23 that explains a lot. The closer the individual is to 18 the closer they are to high school and adolescence. (I am convinced that most people don’t stop being “adolescent” until somewhere between 23 and 27 and they don’t become “adults” until sometime between 27 and 33) If she falls into the 18 to 23 age group, she hasn’t seen far beyond the “coolness” of her cell phone and she believes all “cool” people communicate this way no matter the medium. She has no clue that this is socially unacceptable, nor does it cross her mind that it could quite possibly annoy you.
When I taught at the University, a regular “lecture” was given within the first two weeks of class on the written word and how “UR” is not a grammatically correct form of “your” or “you’re.” I had to fail papers because students believed “texting” in Times New Roman 12 font, as long as it was double spaced and stayed within the margins, was acceptable for a college paper. I don’t know why this happens, exactly, other than the state of Arizona has a terrible education system and they teach the kids nothing, but it happens and people should be educated in the proper form of written communication. I’m not saying they need to become Pandora, but I am saying they can at least learn to write in a complete sentence with the entire word written out.
So… if she falls into this category, I would most likely say something to encourage her in the right direction, particularly if she were someone I saw as a good friend, or soon to be good friend, and I wanted to spend time with her and not constantly think about what an idiot she is when it comes to talking with me via email. I would say something like, “Do you always write as though you’re using a cell phone?” That should be enough to prod someone into a self-aware state (especially if they want you to think highly of them) that (unless they ride the short bus, which, given the subject matter, is quite possible, but we’ll touch on that in a moment) may cause them to commence writing in complete sentences because a) they want to prove to you that they can and b) they may have picked up on the annoyed “tone” in your question.
Now, if this person is 23+ you may have a annual pass short-bus rider on your hands. If this is the case then you need to assess the value of the friendship and how much you can tolerate.
If this is someone valuable to you, then you will need to approach the matter as though you’re trying to help them move forward in the realms of social grace. For instance, take this person to lunch and say, “I like you. I think you have potential. But whenever I receive an email from you, I often wonder how many people you frustrate because your messages read as though they were sent using the your cell phone keypad as opposed to the keyboard we all know was readily available at your fingertips. You don’t send emails like that to your boss, do you? If so, you may want to consider the ramifications of your actions here. The boss will never think you’re worthy of promotion or raise in pay because he/she may very well think you’re illiterate and require more education. Now, you’re not illiterate, are you? Of course not! We both know that isn’t true. You are an intelligent individual! I’m just saying you should make a conscious effort to write in complete sentences. In fact, you can use me as practice. I’d be more than happy to help you along with this.” (insert big smile here)
Now, if this is someone you figure will be around no matter what you say, if they have a thick skin, if their feelings will suffer not, or if you could care less whether their feelings suffer or not, simply say the following:
Um… you do know this isn’t a cell phone and you’re not texting me right now, right? You do know this is an email and it’s acceptable, perhaps even impressive, to write in complete sentences and use actual words while doing so, right? And… you do know that h8 is actually spelled h-a-t-e, don’t you? I hope so, because if you don’t know that then I’m not sure you’ll understand me when I say, I hate that you’re writing to me in text speak. I HATE IT!
That’s the best advice I can give you.
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:22 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if…
Lol!
I think I’ll condemn her! I don’t care about her that much. She’s 21. Let me just give you a couple snippets:
“…says u are but i didnt believe it!”
“…u werent…”
“What about u?”
“…at ur email!”
So, it’s not entirely text speak, but it’s still miserable. Why aren’t these children being beaten enough? Where were their parents?! Argh!
Could I just nip the whole thing right in the butt and say, “talk like a fcking adult, you fcking douche bag!”?
From: Pandora
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:47 PM
To: Misanthrope
Subject: What would you do if…
Ugh…
Well, at least I once again impressed myself with the wisdom I’ve gleaned from experience: “She’s 21.” (Not to mention I was hoping that was the case and not someone my age or older)
You could put an end to it all by saying a few choice words and concluding with douche bag. Or you would send her a reply that looks like this:
Please make the following corrections and then send me your email.
“…says u are but i didnt believe it!” …says you are, but I didn’t believe it!
“…u werent…” …you weren’t…
“What about u?” What about you?
“…at ur email!” …at your email!
Please keep in mind that “you” is the pronoun and “u” is a letter. Also keep in mind that “your” is a possessive pronoun and “ur” is not a word. Also keep in mind that words such as “didn’t” and “weren’t” are contractions for “were not” and “did not” and an apostrophe is always used in place of the “o” in “not.” (Which reminds me, for future reference, don’t confuse “your” with “you’re” because “you’re” is a contraction for “you are.”) Oh yes, and please remember that “I” when used as a subject in a sentence is a proper pronoun and must always be capitalized.
If you need additional assistance, please feel free to reference the following sites:
Grammar Rules
http://www.grammarbook.com/english_rules.asp
Pronouns
http://www.arts.uottawa.ca/writcent/hypergrammar/pronouns.html
Possessive Pronouns
http://englishplus.com/grammar/00000023.htm
Contractions
http://www.enchantedlearning.com/grammar/contractions/
From: Misanthrope
Sent: Tuesday, January 5, 2010 3:55 PM
To: Pandora
Subject: What would you do if...
Ah, yes, you are wise.
"...something something douchebag!"
Monday, January 4, 2010
The New Year Recap?
Ok... so I haven't written in a while. The "holidays" kinda threw me off. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say (I always have something to say, even if I can't find a way to write it), it was the shopping and the parties and the people and such consuming all my time (and a couple days where I just felt lazy and somewhat sick because of that thing called Gluten 
I unintentionally ingested over the vacation days I had... which is really depressing, in all honesty, since the last time I got sick from gluten was only because I knowingly ingested it through a euphoric chocolate magma experience I paid for with dollars just as much as I paid with physical pain... This time I ate rice and veggies and salads and things I thought were "safe" to eat only to get sick because you never really know how the restaurants are preparing your food and... well... sigh... I can't tell you how much this pains me both physically and otherwise...)
Anyway, we are now four days into the "New Year" (I put that in quotes for the people who rambled on at me the other night about the flaws of the Gregorian Calendar and how we should really follow the Chinese New Year, which falls on Valentines Day or some random crap like that, because it's more "accurate." Of course, I didn't really say anything about their ridiculous drunken ramblings; I just smiled and nodded and said something equally random and ridiculous about the 28 day cycles of the moon and how that would make 13 months in a year and how all pagans and neo pagans see that as the true time frame of life but how Christianity, particularly Roman Christianity, screwed that all up with the Gregorian Calendar and such and I just inundated them with more information than they needed until I was certain their eyes glazed over with the desire for me to shut-up which was glorious since my intent was to make them shut-up with the same information I knew they willingly wanted to spew at me but my random academic brain beat them to the punch. But what they didn't know is how much I really wanted to say something right wing like, "Ya... that's probably a good idea, since China's about to dominate us all pretty soon and we'll have to get used to the way they do things anyway. Seriously... have you seen their military parade?
Not sure that dragon is sleeping anymore. In fact, I'm willing to bet that dragon is brushing the morning breath away from its teeth and washing the sleep away from its eyes even as you take that last swallow of your champagne but... what do I know?" Truth is, I really don't know much. Most of my friends are impressed with the way I stay out of what they consider "main stream," but I do know this: China's population is big enough to send people over in row boats to American shores and kill people with little more than a pocket full of table spoons. And while the American airports would rather waste time checking my ten year old daughter's white Nike's for weapons of mass destruction while Abdul Matulablablabla, whose name is actually on some list of potential terrorists, slips through the system onto a plane with something that actually "burns" just enough to capture media attention for a week or two, maybe we should consider the fact that the country who could kill us with spoons, that we just happen to owe a hell of a lot of fucking money to, is actually a problem and potential threat but, again... what do I know? And... I guess I won't say that I'm fairly certain China will totally censor my blogging ass once they take over because I'm lucky enough to live inland and won't be a victim of one of their spoon wielding peasants -- all they'll have to do is make sure I'm seriously committed when I surrender and... censor my stupid blog.)
All that aside, I'm not sure what to say. Most people that Blog or You Tube or something have some sort of end of the year recap between December 30 and January 2 and then just keep on rolling like there's no tomorrow (which there always is... even if you do believe the end is nigh...). It's January 4 though... and, honestly, if you're a die hard Pandora follower, which means you've been with me for two years now and you've also known and endured the long dry spells of writer's block, you know that it's a) a shock I'm even writing on January 4 and b) a shock that I've been writing somewhat consistently enough to say any of this. If I did, however, have a "recap" for the past haphazard year, it would go something like this:
Yes! I know! I'm a slacker! November was the best writing month I ever had! Thank you for supporting that and for encouraging me to keep on rolling! (sorry I failed you when December rolled around)
Right after that I would say something like this:
Out of the 55 posts (which looks really terrible when I put it in print like that) I made in 2009, Regardless was my favorite, but for the random and unknown readers that I do have that, for whatever reason, cross my blog and may or may not come back, that was not the case. The number one blog post of 2009 was Poe, Tinnitus, and The Ringing of the Stinking Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells... (with The Lunch Room taking a close second).
And following that announcement I would have to say something like:
Special thanks to the extraordinary individuals in my life like Misanthrope (The Lunch Room), Gunther (Morning Coffee), Sunshine (Safety Minute), Cowboy (Midnight At The Library), and G. B. Wittington (It's A Penguiolles Thanksgiving) for not only adding spice to my life but character to my blog as you present me with dialogue opportunities that the average person could never provide since they would most likely have their tongues tied and teeth occupied with the Crest Whitening Strips they found on sale, in bulk, at the local Costco or Sam's Club. And an extra special thanks goes out to Windmill Dick for his inspiration and support for at least three of the most recent posts (quite possibly all in November... the record breaking writing month...).
And right after that I would feel like an idiot pretending to receive an Emmy Award
for some bull shit that should've never made it in the first place and yet... I would continue with something like:
I resolved quite some time ago to make no New Year resolutions because they amount to little more than broken promises, wastes of time, and lies to the self (which you'll all feel as soon as you stop going to the gym two weeks from now), but I will say that I look forward to 2010 and a year full of rants, poems, stories, and dialogues to share. So thanks for reading, and thanks for looking for something to read even though there are days, weeks, and sometimes months that go by with nothing new.
~ Pandora -- The Notorious Scribe
I unintentionally ingested over the vacation days I had... which is really depressing, in all honesty, since the last time I got sick from gluten was only because I knowingly ingested it through a euphoric chocolate magma experience I paid for with dollars just as much as I paid with physical pain... This time I ate rice and veggies and salads and things I thought were "safe" to eat only to get sick because you never really know how the restaurants are preparing your food and... well... sigh... I can't tell you how much this pains me both physically and otherwise...)
Anyway, we are now four days into the "New Year" (I put that in quotes for the people who rambled on at me the other night about the flaws of the Gregorian Calendar and how we should really follow the Chinese New Year, which falls on Valentines Day or some random crap like that, because it's more "accurate." Of course, I didn't really say anything about their ridiculous drunken ramblings; I just smiled and nodded and said something equally random and ridiculous about the 28 day cycles of the moon and how that would make 13 months in a year and how all pagans and neo pagans see that as the true time frame of life but how Christianity, particularly Roman Christianity, screwed that all up with the Gregorian Calendar and such and I just inundated them with more information than they needed until I was certain their eyes glazed over with the desire for me to shut-up which was glorious since my intent was to make them shut-up with the same information I knew they willingly wanted to spew at me but my random academic brain beat them to the punch. But what they didn't know is how much I really wanted to say something right wing like, "Ya... that's probably a good idea, since China's about to dominate us all pretty soon and we'll have to get used to the way they do things anyway. Seriously... have you seen their military parade?
Not sure that dragon is sleeping anymore. In fact, I'm willing to bet that dragon is brushing the morning breath away from its teeth and washing the sleep away from its eyes even as you take that last swallow of your champagne but... what do I know?" Truth is, I really don't know much. Most of my friends are impressed with the way I stay out of what they consider "main stream," but I do know this: China's population is big enough to send people over in row boats to American shores and kill people with little more than a pocket full of table spoons. And while the American airports would rather waste time checking my ten year old daughter's white Nike's for weapons of mass destruction while Abdul Matulablablabla, whose name is actually on some list of potential terrorists, slips through the system onto a plane with something that actually "burns" just enough to capture media attention for a week or two, maybe we should consider the fact that the country who could kill us with spoons, that we just happen to owe a hell of a lot of fucking money to, is actually a problem and potential threat but, again... what do I know? And... I guess I won't say that I'm fairly certain China will totally censor my blogging ass once they take over because I'm lucky enough to live inland and won't be a victim of one of their spoon wielding peasants -- all they'll have to do is make sure I'm seriously committed when I surrender and... censor my stupid blog.)All that aside, I'm not sure what to say. Most people that Blog or You Tube or something have some sort of end of the year recap between December 30 and January 2 and then just keep on rolling like there's no tomorrow (which there always is... even if you do believe the end is nigh...). It's January 4 though... and, honestly, if you're a die hard Pandora follower, which means you've been with me for two years now and you've also known and endured the long dry spells of writer's block, you know that it's a) a shock I'm even writing on January 4 and b) a shock that I've been writing somewhat consistently enough to say any of this. If I did, however, have a "recap" for the past haphazard year, it would go something like this:
Yes! I know! I'm a slacker! November was the best writing month I ever had! Thank you for supporting that and for encouraging me to keep on rolling! (sorry I failed you when December rolled around)
Right after that I would say something like this:
Out of the 55 posts (which looks really terrible when I put it in print like that) I made in 2009, Regardless was my favorite, but for the random and unknown readers that I do have that, for whatever reason, cross my blog and may or may not come back, that was not the case. The number one blog post of 2009 was Poe, Tinnitus, and The Ringing of the Stinking Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells Bells... (with The Lunch Room taking a close second).
And following that announcement I would have to say something like:
Special thanks to the extraordinary individuals in my life like Misanthrope (The Lunch Room), Gunther (Morning Coffee), Sunshine (Safety Minute), Cowboy (Midnight At The Library), and G. B. Wittington (It's A Penguiolles Thanksgiving) for not only adding spice to my life but character to my blog as you present me with dialogue opportunities that the average person could never provide since they would most likely have their tongues tied and teeth occupied with the Crest Whitening Strips they found on sale, in bulk, at the local Costco or Sam's Club. And an extra special thanks goes out to Windmill Dick for his inspiration and support for at least three of the most recent posts (quite possibly all in November... the record breaking writing month...).
And right after that I would feel like an idiot pretending to receive an Emmy Award
for some bull shit that should've never made it in the first place and yet... I would continue with something like:
I resolved quite some time ago to make no New Year resolutions because they amount to little more than broken promises, wastes of time, and lies to the self (which you'll all feel as soon as you stop going to the gym two weeks from now), but I will say that I look forward to 2010 and a year full of rants, poems, stories, and dialogues to share. So thanks for reading, and thanks for looking for something to read even though there are days, weeks, and sometimes months that go by with nothing new.
~ Pandora -- The Notorious Scribe
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Santa Was Done In By Vegetables
(On the drive home)
Pandora: It's almost Christmas.
Hope: Yep.
Pandora: Are you getting excited?
Hope: Yep.
Pandora: (looks over at Hope) Yep? Really? You don't sound that excited.
Hope: I'm excited, Mom.
Pandora: ...
Hope: You know I don't believe in Santa anymore, right?
Pandora: I had a feeling, yes, but we never really talked about it so... I was just going to keep going until you said something. Guess I can let it go now, huh?
Hope: Well, you can keep it going if you want to, but... I know he isn't real.
Pandora: (stays quiet for a moment) Well... that makes me kinda sad. When did you stop believing? Last year?
Hope: I started thinking he wasn't real two years ago, but you threw me off with that letter from Santa because I knew it wasn't your hand writing. That was a good one, Mom. You bought yourself some time on that one. But last year I knew for sure he wasn't real.
Pandora: What happened last year?
Hope: Last year I was at Dad's for Christmas.
Pandora: ...and?
Hope: ...and he had this stupid Video email from "Santa" to me and that's how I knew it wasn't real.
Pandora: Yeah, I saw that video. He sent it to me before he sent it to you. I wondered how it was going to go over.
Hope: It didn't go over well, Mom. As soon as Santa told me that I better be a good girl and eat all my vegetables I knew it was fake.
Pandora: (smiles to herself) It was the vegetable line that did it?
Hope: Yeah. I mean... eat my vegetables? Come on, Mom! I know enough from talking to you that being a good person has nothing to do with eating my vegetables! And all Santa Clause can tell me is to eat my stinking vegetables??? I knew right then that it wasn't Santa talking to me -- it was Dad. Dad and his stupid vegetable rules...
Pandora: Hahahahahahahaha!!!
Hope: (stares at Pandora)
Pandora: I'm sorry, Honey Girl. I know that had to be disappointing and it isn't funny but... I saw that video and thought the same thing about the vegetable line and hearing you say that just made me laugh. I'm sorry.
Hope: (smiles a bit) Yeah... I guess it is kinda funny, isn't it.
Pandora: Yes... it is... I am sorry though. I'm sorry that was how you found out.
Hope: Eh... it isn't how I found out. I just started to know and that made me sure.
Pandora: Well, it makes me sad. Having you believe in Santa brought some of the magic back to Christmas that I lost once I grew up. It was really nice to have it back for a while.
Hope: (looks at Pandora) I can still pretend if you want me to.
Pandora: No... no pretending. This is a part of growing up.
(they sit in silence for a moment)
Hope: That was a really good letter that one year though, Mom. I sat in my room and read it over and over. It said a lot of good things. And I thought maybe it was you because of what it said, but the handwriting... I knew the handwriting wasn't yours. I even took it to school and showed some of my friends and they all started thinking that maybe it really was Santa. We all talked about it. None of us could figure it out.
Pandora: (smiles)
Hope: How did you do that, Mom?
Pandora: That's for me to know and you to find out, Hope. Santa may not be real, but that doesn't mean I don't have a magic all my own.
(Hope smiles at her mom and they quietly drive the rest of the way home.)
Pandora: It's almost Christmas.
Hope: Yep.
Pandora: Are you getting excited?
Hope: Yep.
Pandora: (looks over at Hope) Yep? Really? You don't sound that excited.
Hope: I'm excited, Mom.
Pandora: ...
Hope: You know I don't believe in Santa anymore, right?
Pandora: I had a feeling, yes, but we never really talked about it so... I was just going to keep going until you said something. Guess I can let it go now, huh?
Hope: Well, you can keep it going if you want to, but... I know he isn't real.
Pandora: (stays quiet for a moment) Well... that makes me kinda sad. When did you stop believing? Last year?
Hope: I started thinking he wasn't real two years ago, but you threw me off with that letter from Santa because I knew it wasn't your hand writing. That was a good one, Mom. You bought yourself some time on that one. But last year I knew for sure he wasn't real.
Pandora: What happened last year?
Hope: Last year I was at Dad's for Christmas.
Pandora: ...and?
Hope: ...and he had this stupid Video email from "Santa" to me and that's how I knew it wasn't real.
Pandora: Yeah, I saw that video. He sent it to me before he sent it to you. I wondered how it was going to go over.
Hope: It didn't go over well, Mom. As soon as Santa told me that I better be a good girl and eat all my vegetables I knew it was fake.
Pandora: (smiles to herself) It was the vegetable line that did it?
Hope: Yeah. I mean... eat my vegetables? Come on, Mom! I know enough from talking to you that being a good person has nothing to do with eating my vegetables! And all Santa Clause can tell me is to eat my stinking vegetables??? I knew right then that it wasn't Santa talking to me -- it was Dad. Dad and his stupid vegetable rules...
Pandora: Hahahahahahahaha!!!
Hope: (stares at Pandora)
Pandora: I'm sorry, Honey Girl. I know that had to be disappointing and it isn't funny but... I saw that video and thought the same thing about the vegetable line and hearing you say that just made me laugh. I'm sorry.
Hope: (smiles a bit) Yeah... I guess it is kinda funny, isn't it.
Pandora: Yes... it is... I am sorry though. I'm sorry that was how you found out.
Hope: Eh... it isn't how I found out. I just started to know and that made me sure.
Pandora: Well, it makes me sad. Having you believe in Santa brought some of the magic back to Christmas that I lost once I grew up. It was really nice to have it back for a while.
Hope: (looks at Pandora) I can still pretend if you want me to.
Pandora: No... no pretending. This is a part of growing up.
(they sit in silence for a moment)
Hope: That was a really good letter that one year though, Mom. I sat in my room and read it over and over. It said a lot of good things. And I thought maybe it was you because of what it said, but the handwriting... I knew the handwriting wasn't yours. I even took it to school and showed some of my friends and they all started thinking that maybe it really was Santa. We all talked about it. None of us could figure it out.
Pandora: (smiles)
Hope: How did you do that, Mom?
Pandora: That's for me to know and you to find out, Hope. Santa may not be real, but that doesn't mean I don't have a magic all my own.
(Hope smiles at her mom and they quietly drive the rest of the way home.)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Power Ball Ramblings
I was at the work Christmas party yesterday and I won one of the door prizes -- a Power Ball ticket. My first response when they called my number was, "Wow... I never win anything." My second response, after seeing what I won, was, "Nothing like winning something I'm not going to win, eh?" (Of course, during the white elephant exchange, I won a flying monkey which is also a symbol for something like, "You'll win the lottery when monkeys fly.")
I won't know until tomorrow whether I hold a winning or losing ticket, but we all know the chance of winning that is slim to none. And since there wasn't some little old lady that foolishly spent her last dime on that ticket, I'm pretty sure God wouldn't help me out on this one so... no sense in uttering a ridiculous prayer of some kind. But as I stood in the shower this morning I found a lyric from a Barenaked Ladies song running through my head: if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a house, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you furniture for your house, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a car, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you love...
I listened to that song continue to run through my head until finally I started thinking, "Why is this song stuck in my head? I just woke up! Why did I wake up with that in my head? Sure... it's a funny song but... when was the last time I even heard that song? The tune is annoying... Why?" Then I realized, it's that stupid Power Ball ticket lingering in my subconscious!
After I had a good laugh at myself and that song, I found myself thinking, "What would I do with a million dollars? I always said if I had a million dollars I would just go to school and be a professional student for the rest of my life, but I haven't thought about this question in a while. Would I still do that?" Then I started thinking about all the papers I had to write and the crazy research I used to do and I started thinking about how I enjoy reading and writing on my own time and ... "No... no... that was something I said in my twenties while in the midst of grad school. I'm over that one. Forget it. So... what would I do with a million dollars? Hmmm... Would I quit working? Most people say they would quit working, but I don't think they consider the boredom factor. And I wouldn't want to just waste it all. Truly... a million dollars could go away pretty fast if one wasn't careful with it. Let's see... I'm 35 so we could break it up as though I would live another 60 years... I would want to invest some so Hope would get a big chunk of change when I kick the bucket... I'd have to make good on my promise and make sure I have that Arsenal Of Funds to help people... I would buy a house, but nothing over the top, just something pretty and comfortable... Would I quit my job? Hmmm... Maybe I would just continue to work because I like the people there. Or maybe I would just focus solely on writing. I would have to do something. I would get bored. Hmmm... Maybe I could do something ridiculous like open a gluten free bakery. What am I talking about? Me? Run a bakery? Am I being serious? Where did that come from? Dang... Thinking about this million dollar question is taking me way out there. My own publishing company though...? One where I support the excellent writers who are regularly neglected by the mainstream and Oprah's stupid book club? That's more my style..."
And then I looked at the clock and realized I needed to step back into reality because I'll be lucky to win three dollars from that stupid ticket. (I do have that flying monkey though... I could win the lottery the day monkeys fly out my ass... now if I could just find a way to get that flying monkey toy to fly out my ass...)
I won't know until tomorrow whether I hold a winning or losing ticket, but we all know the chance of winning that is slim to none. And since there wasn't some little old lady that foolishly spent her last dime on that ticket, I'm pretty sure God wouldn't help me out on this one so... no sense in uttering a ridiculous prayer of some kind. But as I stood in the shower this morning I found a lyric from a Barenaked Ladies song running through my head: if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a house, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you furniture for your house, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a car, if I had a million dollars, I'd buy you love...
I listened to that song continue to run through my head until finally I started thinking, "Why is this song stuck in my head? I just woke up! Why did I wake up with that in my head? Sure... it's a funny song but... when was the last time I even heard that song? The tune is annoying... Why?" Then I realized, it's that stupid Power Ball ticket lingering in my subconscious!
After I had a good laugh at myself and that song, I found myself thinking, "What would I do with a million dollars? I always said if I had a million dollars I would just go to school and be a professional student for the rest of my life, but I haven't thought about this question in a while. Would I still do that?" Then I started thinking about all the papers I had to write and the crazy research I used to do and I started thinking about how I enjoy reading and writing on my own time and ... "No... no... that was something I said in my twenties while in the midst of grad school. I'm over that one. Forget it. So... what would I do with a million dollars? Hmmm... Would I quit working? Most people say they would quit working, but I don't think they consider the boredom factor. And I wouldn't want to just waste it all. Truly... a million dollars could go away pretty fast if one wasn't careful with it. Let's see... I'm 35 so we could break it up as though I would live another 60 years... I would want to invest some so Hope would get a big chunk of change when I kick the bucket... I'd have to make good on my promise and make sure I have that Arsenal Of Funds to help people... I would buy a house, but nothing over the top, just something pretty and comfortable... Would I quit my job? Hmmm... Maybe I would just continue to work because I like the people there. Or maybe I would just focus solely on writing. I would have to do something. I would get bored. Hmmm... Maybe I could do something ridiculous like open a gluten free bakery. What am I talking about? Me? Run a bakery? Am I being serious? Where did that come from? Dang... Thinking about this million dollar question is taking me way out there. My own publishing company though...? One where I support the excellent writers who are regularly neglected by the mainstream and Oprah's stupid book club? That's more my style..."
And then I looked at the clock and realized I needed to step back into reality because I'll be lucky to win three dollars from that stupid ticket. (I do have that flying monkey though... I could win the lottery the day monkeys fly out my ass... now if I could just find a way to get that flying monkey toy to fly out my ass...)
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Promise
...and it's a long drive home,
and I often wonder if I'll get there.
I feel the weight of an unseen hand.
I hear a voice telling me to submit.
Submit to what? Some kind of lesson?
What lesson? Which lesson? And how many?
...this long drive home,
dodging this and that and sometimes failing
simply because I dared take time to blink.
I'm always pulling the fragments together,
this constant reconstruction,
this endless transformation,
into some kind of cracked form
that somehow stays mobile.
Perhaps it's a good work, waiting to be completed,
but right now I have nothing...
...nothing but the wheel in my hands
and the promise of home.
and I often wonder if I'll get there.
I feel the weight of an unseen hand.
I hear a voice telling me to submit.
Submit to what? Some kind of lesson?
What lesson? Which lesson? And how many?
...this long drive home,
dodging this and that and sometimes failing
simply because I dared take time to blink.
I'm always pulling the fragments together,
this constant reconstruction,
this endless transformation,
into some kind of cracked form
that somehow stays mobile.
Perhaps it's a good work, waiting to be completed,
but right now I have nothing...
...nothing but the wheel in my hands
and the promise of home.
Midnight At The Library
It was raining the other day. I usually tie my hair back into a tight bun when it rains so I can maintain a sense of professionalism, lest my hair flair out into a giant and uncontrollable afro. That particular morning, I was standing in the copy room and...
Cowboy: (walks into the copy room and hovers in the doorway staring at Pandora for a minute before moving further into the room) Hi Pandora.
Pandora: Hey Cowboy.
Cowboy: You got yo hair pulled back.
Pandora: Ya, it was raining out this morning so I pulled it back.
Cowboy: What’s rain got to do with it?
Pandora: My hair gets fluffy in the rain.
Cowboy: What’s wrong with that?
Pandora: Everything
Cowboy: Everything?
Pandora: Yes, Cowboy, everything.
Cowboy: Well okay then, Pandora. You do what you want.
Pandora: Thanks, I will.
The next morning I was at the copy machine and Cowboy walked in again.
Cowboy: Mornin’ Pandora.
Pandora: Good Morning, Cowboy.
Cowboy: Glad to see you got yo hair down today.
Pandora: Yep
Cowboy: That’s good.
Pandora: Good.
Cowboy: I couldn’t take it if you walked in today like Midnight At The Library.
Pandora: What? Did you just say midnight at the library?
Cowboy: Yes, mam. Got yo hair pulled back like that looks like you spending midnight at the library and that don’t look good on you, Pandora. You ain’t no librarian. (pats me on the shoulder as he starts to leave the room) Now you remember what good ole Cowboy says: no mo midnights at the library.
Cowboy: (walks into the copy room and hovers in the doorway staring at Pandora for a minute before moving further into the room) Hi Pandora.
Pandora: Hey Cowboy.
Cowboy: You got yo hair pulled back.
Pandora: Ya, it was raining out this morning so I pulled it back.
Cowboy: What’s rain got to do with it?
Pandora: My hair gets fluffy in the rain.
Cowboy: What’s wrong with that?
Pandora: Everything
Cowboy: Everything?
Pandora: Yes, Cowboy, everything.
Cowboy: Well okay then, Pandora. You do what you want.
Pandora: Thanks, I will.
The next morning I was at the copy machine and Cowboy walked in again.
Cowboy: Mornin’ Pandora.
Pandora: Good Morning, Cowboy.
Cowboy: Glad to see you got yo hair down today.
Pandora: Yep
Cowboy: That’s good.
Pandora: Good.
Cowboy: I couldn’t take it if you walked in today like Midnight At The Library.
Pandora: What? Did you just say midnight at the library?
Cowboy: Yes, mam. Got yo hair pulled back like that looks like you spending midnight at the library and that don’t look good on you, Pandora. You ain’t no librarian. (pats me on the shoulder as he starts to leave the room) Now you remember what good ole Cowboy says: no mo midnights at the library.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
...Know When To Run
I'm not a gambler. Money is too useful to me to be toyed with, but I have dabbled a time or two. The few times I have gone with friends to Vegas or to some random Indian casino, I have set money aside that I would've otherwise blown on some other form of entertainment. I go in with the following attitude: if I win I win and if I lose... no big deal, I was banking on it anyway.
Now I have a friend, old enough to be my mother, whom I love dearly. She's one of those people that would take a bullet for a stranger while the rest of us would only take a bullet for the chosen few. She's absolutely golden, but like the rest of us, she's got her things -- her trials and tribulations in the midst of her glories and triumphs.
Now this friend of mine had fallen on hard times. She'd been struggling to get by, paycheck to paycheck, since I've known her. She was tired, she ached, and weekend television and the newspaper crossword puzzle was the extent of her happiness. So when her birthday came around I wanted to take her out, away from her little apartment, away from the television and the crossword, and watch her smile and feel free the way she did when she was younger and less burdened. So, knowing she had a love for the casino, I pulled out $200 ($100 for me and $100 for her) and took her to Wild Horse Pass. I figured, a gamble on my dime, win or lose, was worth seeing her smile and laugh. The problem was, I forgot to tell her to leave her purse at home.
We sat down at the Keno machines, because that was her game of choice, and we commenced our talking and playing and smiling. At one point I looked over at her machine and saw that she was up $350. I looked at her and said, "Cash that shit out! Pocket $250 and put the original hundred back in!" but she simply waved me off and told me the machine had more to give.
More time passed and when I looked again she was down to $20 and I was holding steady at $150. I figured, once she lost the twenty, I would just cash out and we'd go to lunch or something, so I just waited for her to tell me she was done. It wasn't too much longer before I saw her reaching in her purse to pull money from an envelope that I knew was designated for bills, but I said nothing. She put in another $100 and it wasn't long before that was gone. When I saw her reach into the envelope a second time, I turned and said, "Isn't that bill money?" She just held a finger to her mouth as if to shush me and told me not to worry because she would win it all back. At that point I didn't know what to do. Like I said, I'm not a gambler and when I do gamble I'm certainly not optimistic about it. And I wasn't about to tell a woman who was my elder what to do with her money, so I just sat there, a little bit sick, staring at the $75 remaining from my original $100 that still sat in my machine knowing this poor lady was about to lose it all.
Sometimes (hell, most times) I revel in being right, but when she left her machine so someone else could sit there and stood behind me empty handed I wished to God that I had been wrong. The purpose of me taking her to the casino was to have a good time and enjoy being out, not to end up in my car worrying about how she was going to pay the electric bill.
I still had $50 in my machine, and I stared at it for a moment wondering if I should just play it or cash out and call it a day. I continued to push buttons as I said, "You lost it all?" And she said, "Yes, but don't worry about it Pandora. I'll be okay. You just finish your game." But I couldn't help but worry; it felt like my fault. If I hadn't brought her there she wouldn't have done that. If I hadn't brought her there she would've had money to pay for her needs. Sure, she's responsible for her actions, but she wouldn't have gone to the casino if I hadn't shown up to take her there.
So I sat there, watching my $50 slowly dwindle to $40, feeling sick inside. And at some point I decided to play it out to the end. At some point I sat there staring at the stupid numbers on the machine and I started doing math in my head -- how many numbers did I need to hit to win her money back? And at some point I silently prayed, "Lord, I know this is a ridiculous prayer, I know you probably get prayers like this all the time, and I know you probably hate that I'm even saying this, but... would you mind helping me out on this one? I'm not asking for millions. I'm not asking to hit the big one. I'm not asking you to forgive me for this. I'm not even really apologizing for it. But... this woman just spent her bill money when my intention was for her to just use the money I gave her and nothing more. So, is there any way you could help me out here? I don't want anything for myself, I just want to give back what she lost so we can both go home and sleep in peace." And then I mocked myself for even thinking that stupid prayer.
I watched my money dwindle down to $18 and I knew it was only about twenty more minutes before I would be at zero. So I finally just closed my eyes and pushed the stupid button over and over and over until... all eight of those stupid little balls lit up and all the bells and whistles started going off as my credits started rolling in and my piddly little $18 turned into $400. Without hesitating I hit the cash out button as the lady sitting next to me said, "Oh hell ya, girlfriend! You take that money and RUN!!!" And I took the ticket to the cashier and I took the $400 and I handed it to my friend. She hesitated to reach for it and I said, "You take it. I came in here expecting to lose $200 but you're the one who lost $200. So you take what you lost and you take what I expected to lose. It's your birthday and this is my gift to you." So she took it from my hand and held back a few tears as we walked out to my car in silence.
As we got into the car and strapped on our seat belts, I looked at her and said, "You do know that was some sort of miracle, don't you? You do know that the odds of that happening were slim to none, don't you?" She nodded in agreement and I said, "That was a pass, a one time pass in a losing situation. So say a prayer of thanks tonight because for whatever reason you're going home with money to pay your bills. But I will say this: if I ever do this for you again, you're leaving your purse at home."
Now I have a friend, old enough to be my mother, whom I love dearly. She's one of those people that would take a bullet for a stranger while the rest of us would only take a bullet for the chosen few. She's absolutely golden, but like the rest of us, she's got her things -- her trials and tribulations in the midst of her glories and triumphs.
Now this friend of mine had fallen on hard times. She'd been struggling to get by, paycheck to paycheck, since I've known her. She was tired, she ached, and weekend television and the newspaper crossword puzzle was the extent of her happiness. So when her birthday came around I wanted to take her out, away from her little apartment, away from the television and the crossword, and watch her smile and feel free the way she did when she was younger and less burdened. So, knowing she had a love for the casino, I pulled out $200 ($100 for me and $100 for her) and took her to Wild Horse Pass. I figured, a gamble on my dime, win or lose, was worth seeing her smile and laugh. The problem was, I forgot to tell her to leave her purse at home.
We sat down at the Keno machines, because that was her game of choice, and we commenced our talking and playing and smiling. At one point I looked over at her machine and saw that she was up $350. I looked at her and said, "Cash that shit out! Pocket $250 and put the original hundred back in!" but she simply waved me off and told me the machine had more to give.
More time passed and when I looked again she was down to $20 and I was holding steady at $150. I figured, once she lost the twenty, I would just cash out and we'd go to lunch or something, so I just waited for her to tell me she was done. It wasn't too much longer before I saw her reaching in her purse to pull money from an envelope that I knew was designated for bills, but I said nothing. She put in another $100 and it wasn't long before that was gone. When I saw her reach into the envelope a second time, I turned and said, "Isn't that bill money?" She just held a finger to her mouth as if to shush me and told me not to worry because she would win it all back. At that point I didn't know what to do. Like I said, I'm not a gambler and when I do gamble I'm certainly not optimistic about it. And I wasn't about to tell a woman who was my elder what to do with her money, so I just sat there, a little bit sick, staring at the $75 remaining from my original $100 that still sat in my machine knowing this poor lady was about to lose it all.
Sometimes (hell, most times) I revel in being right, but when she left her machine so someone else could sit there and stood behind me empty handed I wished to God that I had been wrong. The purpose of me taking her to the casino was to have a good time and enjoy being out, not to end up in my car worrying about how she was going to pay the electric bill.
I still had $50 in my machine, and I stared at it for a moment wondering if I should just play it or cash out and call it a day. I continued to push buttons as I said, "You lost it all?" And she said, "Yes, but don't worry about it Pandora. I'll be okay. You just finish your game." But I couldn't help but worry; it felt like my fault. If I hadn't brought her there she wouldn't have done that. If I hadn't brought her there she would've had money to pay for her needs. Sure, she's responsible for her actions, but she wouldn't have gone to the casino if I hadn't shown up to take her there.
So I sat there, watching my $50 slowly dwindle to $40, feeling sick inside. And at some point I decided to play it out to the end. At some point I sat there staring at the stupid numbers on the machine and I started doing math in my head -- how many numbers did I need to hit to win her money back? And at some point I silently prayed, "Lord, I know this is a ridiculous prayer, I know you probably get prayers like this all the time, and I know you probably hate that I'm even saying this, but... would you mind helping me out on this one? I'm not asking for millions. I'm not asking to hit the big one. I'm not asking you to forgive me for this. I'm not even really apologizing for it. But... this woman just spent her bill money when my intention was for her to just use the money I gave her and nothing more. So, is there any way you could help me out here? I don't want anything for myself, I just want to give back what she lost so we can both go home and sleep in peace." And then I mocked myself for even thinking that stupid prayer.
I watched my money dwindle down to $18 and I knew it was only about twenty more minutes before I would be at zero. So I finally just closed my eyes and pushed the stupid button over and over and over until... all eight of those stupid little balls lit up and all the bells and whistles started going off as my credits started rolling in and my piddly little $18 turned into $400. Without hesitating I hit the cash out button as the lady sitting next to me said, "Oh hell ya, girlfriend! You take that money and RUN!!!" And I took the ticket to the cashier and I took the $400 and I handed it to my friend. She hesitated to reach for it and I said, "You take it. I came in here expecting to lose $200 but you're the one who lost $200. So you take what you lost and you take what I expected to lose. It's your birthday and this is my gift to you." So she took it from my hand and held back a few tears as we walked out to my car in silence.
As we got into the car and strapped on our seat belts, I looked at her and said, "You do know that was some sort of miracle, don't you? You do know that the odds of that happening were slim to none, don't you?" She nodded in agreement and I said, "That was a pass, a one time pass in a losing situation. So say a prayer of thanks tonight because for whatever reason you're going home with money to pay your bills. But I will say this: if I ever do this for you again, you're leaving your purse at home."
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Dinner With Hope
We sit down to a plate of steamed flounder, rice, and salad. We say a prayer and begin to eat.
Hope: Everything's gluten free?
Pandora: Yep.
Hope: We've been eating a lot of fish lately.
Pandora: It's good for you.
Hope: Good thing I like fish or you'd be in trouble.
Pandora: Hmm... I would be in trouble or you would be in trouble?
Hope: (smiles)
Pandora: How was school today?
Hope: Fine. Taylor cried a lot this morning when she got there.
Pandora: Did you ask her what was wrong?
Hope: Yes, but she wouldn't tell me. She just sat in the corner and cried for a while and there was nothing I could do to help her so I went out to the playground. She stopped crying by the time we went to class.
Pandora: And how was she the rest of the day?
Hope: She seemed okay. But she's been crying in the mornings a lot. I don't know what's wrong, but I know her mom has been sick a lot lately and I know that if you were sick a lot I would feel like crying too.
Pandora: Yes, I would cry a lot if my mama was sick too.
Hope: Yes, but you're an adult. It isn't the same. We still need our mama's and you take care of yourself now. But I need you to take care of me. And Taylor still has her dad around her and she's still crying alot. If you got sick like that, I would be scared because you are all I have. I don't have my dad here to help me, and even though I love my dad I don't want to be with him, I want to be with you. I think I would cry every day if you were sick. (her little mouth turns down)
Pandora: Well, don't get sad now, Honey. I'm not sick. I'm all good. I can't eat the fun things I used to, but I'm not sick. I'm actually very healthy right now.
Hope: (looks down at her plate) Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you had stayed with my dad?
Pandora: Not really, no.
Hope: No?
Pandora: Sweetheart, I know what life was like when I was with your dad, so no... I don't think about it.
Hope: (stares at Pandora as though she's waiting for more)
Pandora: (puts down her fork) Okay. If I were still with your dad we would have a bigger house. I probably wouldn't be working the way I do now. I wouldn't be up in the morning stressing out because I need to get you to daycare and get myself to work on time. I wouldn't be worried about bills and such because your dad was always good with money. I may not have graduated from college because he's military and we were always moving and I never had time to focus and finish, nor did he want to pay for it. The house would always be clean because I would be home cleaning all day. The laundry would always be done so you would never go digging through the basket for a pair of socks. There would always be a well prepared meal on the table when he came home at night, because that's what I did, and we'd probably be going to some Baptist church somewhere, just like he does now. We'd probably go camping alot, like he does with you now. We'd probably go on trips and vacations, like he takes you on now. We may have even been to Europe by now and I know we would've been to Japan because he lived there for a while. We'd go skiing every winter, like he does with you now. And who knows, you'd probably have a brother or a sister because I always thought we would've had more than one child.
Hope: (chews her food and stares at her plate) But you wouldn't be who you are right now, would you... You wouldn't be writing at night the way you do now, would you... You wouldn't be able to talk with me the way you do now because he would always be around and you wouldn't be free to do what makes you who you are. You wouldn't laugh with me and make the jokes that you do because you couldn't do that if he were here. You wouldn't be happy either because he would always argue with you the way he does with his wife now. (she takes another bite and swallows) We wouldn't have a quiet house like we do now because we would have a fighting house like he has in California. And I probably wouldn't be who I am either. (she looks up from her plate) And I wouldn't be free either. I might not even be as smart as I am right now because I wouldn't have you the way you are and you help me be who I am. I wouldn't know how to think the way I do now, because you taught me that. I might not be the soccer player I am because you let me choose the sports I want to play. I wouldn't even be allowed to play the games I play or listen to the music I listen to because you play with me and you listen to the music with me. Neither of us would be who we are right now if we still lived with dad because you've made a completely different life for us than what he would've made for us.
Pandora: (sits in silence for a moment, not sure what to say) I have done my best to make a calm and peaceful space for us. I have done my best to create an environment where we can both grow and develop our lives into something strong and positive. It isn't always easy and I make my own set of mistakes and bad choices at times. There is a lot that I can't give you because I am doing this alone, there's a lot that I wish I could do for you that I can't because of the circumstance, but I do my best to give all that I can where and when I can.
Hope: (smiles at Pandora) You have done good, Mama. Our house is small, but it's nice. You have put nice things in it and you have made it pretty and comfy. I like our little house. And I like that it's quiet here. I like that when we come home there is no fighting. I like that I can sit and talk with you. And I don't have as much as some of my friends, but they don't have a mom like you either. You always tell me how proud of me you are, but I'm proud of you too.
Pandora: (again, sits in silence for a moment, not sure what to say) You are a special little girl, Hope. I love you.
Hope: (smiles) I love you more.
Hope: Everything's gluten free?
Pandora: Yep.
Hope: We've been eating a lot of fish lately.
Pandora: It's good for you.
Hope: Good thing I like fish or you'd be in trouble.
Pandora: Hmm... I would be in trouble or you would be in trouble?
Hope: (smiles)
Pandora: How was school today?
Hope: Fine. Taylor cried a lot this morning when she got there.
Pandora: Did you ask her what was wrong?
Hope: Yes, but she wouldn't tell me. She just sat in the corner and cried for a while and there was nothing I could do to help her so I went out to the playground. She stopped crying by the time we went to class.
Pandora: And how was she the rest of the day?
Hope: She seemed okay. But she's been crying in the mornings a lot. I don't know what's wrong, but I know her mom has been sick a lot lately and I know that if you were sick a lot I would feel like crying too.
Pandora: Yes, I would cry a lot if my mama was sick too.
Hope: Yes, but you're an adult. It isn't the same. We still need our mama's and you take care of yourself now. But I need you to take care of me. And Taylor still has her dad around her and she's still crying alot. If you got sick like that, I would be scared because you are all I have. I don't have my dad here to help me, and even though I love my dad I don't want to be with him, I want to be with you. I think I would cry every day if you were sick. (her little mouth turns down)
Pandora: Well, don't get sad now, Honey. I'm not sick. I'm all good. I can't eat the fun things I used to, but I'm not sick. I'm actually very healthy right now.
Hope: (looks down at her plate) Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you had stayed with my dad?
Pandora: Not really, no.
Hope: No?
Pandora: Sweetheart, I know what life was like when I was with your dad, so no... I don't think about it.
Hope: (stares at Pandora as though she's waiting for more)
Pandora: (puts down her fork) Okay. If I were still with your dad we would have a bigger house. I probably wouldn't be working the way I do now. I wouldn't be up in the morning stressing out because I need to get you to daycare and get myself to work on time. I wouldn't be worried about bills and such because your dad was always good with money. I may not have graduated from college because he's military and we were always moving and I never had time to focus and finish, nor did he want to pay for it. The house would always be clean because I would be home cleaning all day. The laundry would always be done so you would never go digging through the basket for a pair of socks. There would always be a well prepared meal on the table when he came home at night, because that's what I did, and we'd probably be going to some Baptist church somewhere, just like he does now. We'd probably go camping alot, like he does with you now. We'd probably go on trips and vacations, like he takes you on now. We may have even been to Europe by now and I know we would've been to Japan because he lived there for a while. We'd go skiing every winter, like he does with you now. And who knows, you'd probably have a brother or a sister because I always thought we would've had more than one child.
Hope: (chews her food and stares at her plate) But you wouldn't be who you are right now, would you... You wouldn't be writing at night the way you do now, would you... You wouldn't be able to talk with me the way you do now because he would always be around and you wouldn't be free to do what makes you who you are. You wouldn't laugh with me and make the jokes that you do because you couldn't do that if he were here. You wouldn't be happy either because he would always argue with you the way he does with his wife now. (she takes another bite and swallows) We wouldn't have a quiet house like we do now because we would have a fighting house like he has in California. And I probably wouldn't be who I am either. (she looks up from her plate) And I wouldn't be free either. I might not even be as smart as I am right now because I wouldn't have you the way you are and you help me be who I am. I wouldn't know how to think the way I do now, because you taught me that. I might not be the soccer player I am because you let me choose the sports I want to play. I wouldn't even be allowed to play the games I play or listen to the music I listen to because you play with me and you listen to the music with me. Neither of us would be who we are right now if we still lived with dad because you've made a completely different life for us than what he would've made for us.
Pandora: (sits in silence for a moment, not sure what to say) I have done my best to make a calm and peaceful space for us. I have done my best to create an environment where we can both grow and develop our lives into something strong and positive. It isn't always easy and I make my own set of mistakes and bad choices at times. There is a lot that I can't give you because I am doing this alone, there's a lot that I wish I could do for you that I can't because of the circumstance, but I do my best to give all that I can where and when I can.
Hope: (smiles at Pandora) You have done good, Mama. Our house is small, but it's nice. You have put nice things in it and you have made it pretty and comfy. I like our little house. And I like that it's quiet here. I like that when we come home there is no fighting. I like that I can sit and talk with you. And I don't have as much as some of my friends, but they don't have a mom like you either. You always tell me how proud of me you are, but I'm proud of you too.
Pandora: (again, sits in silence for a moment, not sure what to say) You are a special little girl, Hope. I love you.
Hope: (smiles) I love you more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)