There are names that just always seem to apply to everyone with that name, no matter who the person. For me, there is one name that connotates Asshole. That name?
Tom
Allow me to illustrate...
Toms that are assholes:
Tom Brady: Football players should not be pussies and have publicists. Get out of the limo, off your vapid model girlfriend, and get dirty. Oh, and way to go abandoning the mother of your bastard child 3 months before she's due. Asshole
Tom Cruise: Hostage to a religion that is not a religion makes you an asshole
Tom Arnold: Still not funny on Best Goddamned Sports Show Ever
Tom Hanks: Because you made a movie about astronauts, that does not make you an astronaut, stupid asshole
Tom Brokaw: You blew a chance to let the candidates implode on national television. You've lost it, and Peter Jennings would be calling you an asshole
Tommy Bahama: Thanks for starting a clothing trend for self-serving rich assholes who would rather sink a putt than a dollar in social services
Tommy Tune: child molester. asshole.
Tom Sizemore: since when did drinking, doing drugs and beating your girlfriend senseless get you a cable show?
Tommy Chong: from funny to pathetic
Tom Poston: asshole made me tune in to Newhart
Thomas Jefferson; hypocrite slave owner: founding asshole
George W Bush: should have been named Tom
Tom Bergeron: DWTS is an abomination. AFV is another abomination. Stop killing America's braincells, asshole
C Thomas Howell: Soul Man, really?
Tom Selleck: makes anyone else with a mustache look like an asshole
Tom Waitts: if I tried to sing like that, I'd be asked to stop; you sing like that and my wife's heart melts. asshole
Tom Collicchio: you get to be next to Padme Lakshmi for weeks on end for Top Chef. asshole!
Doubting Thomas: I'm not even a Christian and I think you're an asshole. Way to support the team, dude....
Tom Clancy: Jack Ryan is a stupid CIA name. Go write for a soap opera, asshole
Tom Landry: You're no Curly Lambeau, asshole (and the Cowboys are NOT America's team...any team that has had two pussies for QB (Troy Aikman and Tony Romo) cannot lay claim).
Tom Spenard: Yes, there's a story there, lets just leave it at: super collossal asshole
If your name happens to be Tom, go by your middle name. Trust me, otherwise you'll just end up being an .....
Monday, October 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
My first day in my new future
Today was the first day of my journey towards realizing a goal that I had here-to-for feared chasing.
Today was my first day of school.
In sixteen years.
After being forced from the facetious world of luxury retail, I found myself, to be cliche, at a crossroads. My health had brought me to realize that I was not physically up to the challenge of a 60 hour work week, nor mentally up to the politics of the corporate world. I was burned out in every way and defeated in a manner that left me jaded and confused. Weeks and months passed as I sought an answer to the bigger dillema now facing me: what was I to do with my life?
I knew I did not want to go back to the retail world. I couldn't see the benefit of supplying unneeded services to the over-priveleged. If I were to take on another go at the working world, it would have to be something that held purpose, meaning, honor, and would make a difference.
After countless dissertations on the lack of moral compass in the world at large, I realized that simply ranting about the ills of the world wouldn't fix them in the slightest. If I saw a glimmer of hope in the future of our soceity, I had to be one of the brave few who might actually make things different, leave a mark, make my voice heard through others.
There were two very important people in my life that imprinted upon me the sacred nature of teaching and of teachers. My great uncle Earl and my great aunt Frannie were both teachers in rural Indiana. A great majority of my youth was spent in their care. Because of the them, I learned to read and write earlier than most. I was encouraged to be curious about the world, to ask questions, to be proud of knowledge.
While I may have benefited early, by the time I got to college, my grades were nothing if not embarassing. Looking back, I should have been ashamed of my lack of discipline, pride, commitment. I sullied all that they worked so hard to instill in me. My parents, too, were soundly slapped in the face by my ignominious tenure. They paid for everything out of pocket. I didn't even have a job during my college years and yet I still managed to squirrel away my time and resources.
I flunked out of college during my Junior year.
Returning home, I was forced to get a job. A friend got me a position as a waiter in a Mexican restaurant. Within a year, I was moving up quickly. Moving on to a new restaurant, I made my way from waiter to Assistant Manager, and in every subsequent job thereafter, I was a training manager and/or a General Manager. While I had failed in following through on the promise of my educational future, I managed to find and follow the example of my Dad in the business world: work hard, keep your word, be loyal, have integrity.
Knowing that I had let my Dad and others down with my education, I vowed to redeem myself in the business world. I was proud that I had accomplished as much as I had without a degree. But knowing that it was missing constantly nagged me. I was embarassed that I had flunked out. The older I got and took on more of my own fiscal responsibilities, the more I felt guilty about wasting my parent's money.
My performance in school, though, kept me from going back. The fear that I was a terrible student, that I would fail again was my excuse for not returning.
Then, as circumstances would play out, I felt I failed at the business world, too, and had once again let my Dad down. Here I was, home, with no job, looking at a future that might just prevent me from being able to do what I had always done. For me, the label "disabled" meant "lazy" because I had no outwardly visable sign of ailment to indicate such a state. Would people think I was shirking responsibility once again because I had to limit what I could do?
So then it was that I found myself at this crossroads, looking for a purpose and a role in the world.
And I knew, after looking back on what I had done in my life, with my life, that I could not allow fear or mistakes in my past dicatate my future.
Knowing that I have an incurable genetic disroder that will govern the remainder of my days made me realize that I had to fight to get back some semblance of control over what path this disease would take me. It had controlled too much of my life in the last five years. No longer. No more.
For once in my life, I would not surrender to fate, but make my own.
My biggest challenge? Impatience.
I am an impatient man. I do not like to wait, for anything. I prefer immediate results. I have never been one to think long term. My only decision that has ever taken "the long term" into account was my marrying Lisa.
What I wanted to do was going to take time. Five years, possibly more. But I had realized my calling and I set upon putting it into motion.
I applied to Portland State University. My transcript from my earlier college years kept me from entering as a transfer student. My GPA was just shy of acceptable. It wasn't a surprise. If anything, my grades were actually a little better than I remembered. I would have to appeal for special consideration for the winter term.
January was too long to wait to get the ball rolling. Considering how far I had to go, I needed to get going. Besides, I was now eager to get back to school. An advisor at PSU recommeded taking relevant courses at the Community College that would transfer over once I achieved admittance to PSU, and it would allow me an easier transition back into school life.
Today was my first day of classes at Portland Community College. I have gotten a student loan and have begun my appeal process with PSU. Although my wife has plenty of experience with the finacial aid processes, I was determined to do it myself. It was important to me that I do it all myself. My goal, my responsibility. My folks did everything for me the first time around. This was going to be all me.
Giddiness would be the best word to describe my mood today. And proud. Proud of myself for eclipsing my fear of failing, of following through with my plan, for not getting discouraged when starting off at PSU became an impossibility, for finding the resources to make it happen.
So what is the goal?
Strangely enough, I accumulated over 70 credits at Western Illinois University. The majority of them in Political Science. The plan is to get my B.A. in Political Science with a minor in Philosophy. Afterwards I will enter the Teaching Certification Program and complete my masters in education.
And then I will teach. High School government and civics.
My passion combined with my experience: politics and teaching.
I've spent years teaching others how to be managers. I have never stopped loving and following all things political.
I will do what I love and what I know. I will fulfill a promise to loved ones now gone. I will finsih what my parents sent me to do 20 years ago. And I will have a say in our future by hopefully making a difference in a few kids' lives.
I can't rant about the world and not do anything to fix what I rant about.
And I can't let my fear of the past dictate my future.
Well, I guess I can be a little afraid: the last time I wrote a term paper, it was on a typewriter.
Seriously.
Today was my first day of school.
In sixteen years.
After being forced from the facetious world of luxury retail, I found myself, to be cliche, at a crossroads. My health had brought me to realize that I was not physically up to the challenge of a 60 hour work week, nor mentally up to the politics of the corporate world. I was burned out in every way and defeated in a manner that left me jaded and confused. Weeks and months passed as I sought an answer to the bigger dillema now facing me: what was I to do with my life?
I knew I did not want to go back to the retail world. I couldn't see the benefit of supplying unneeded services to the over-priveleged. If I were to take on another go at the working world, it would have to be something that held purpose, meaning, honor, and would make a difference.
After countless dissertations on the lack of moral compass in the world at large, I realized that simply ranting about the ills of the world wouldn't fix them in the slightest. If I saw a glimmer of hope in the future of our soceity, I had to be one of the brave few who might actually make things different, leave a mark, make my voice heard through others.
There were two very important people in my life that imprinted upon me the sacred nature of teaching and of teachers. My great uncle Earl and my great aunt Frannie were both teachers in rural Indiana. A great majority of my youth was spent in their care. Because of the them, I learned to read and write earlier than most. I was encouraged to be curious about the world, to ask questions, to be proud of knowledge.
While I may have benefited early, by the time I got to college, my grades were nothing if not embarassing. Looking back, I should have been ashamed of my lack of discipline, pride, commitment. I sullied all that they worked so hard to instill in me. My parents, too, were soundly slapped in the face by my ignominious tenure. They paid for everything out of pocket. I didn't even have a job during my college years and yet I still managed to squirrel away my time and resources.
I flunked out of college during my Junior year.
Returning home, I was forced to get a job. A friend got me a position as a waiter in a Mexican restaurant. Within a year, I was moving up quickly. Moving on to a new restaurant, I made my way from waiter to Assistant Manager, and in every subsequent job thereafter, I was a training manager and/or a General Manager. While I had failed in following through on the promise of my educational future, I managed to find and follow the example of my Dad in the business world: work hard, keep your word, be loyal, have integrity.
Knowing that I had let my Dad and others down with my education, I vowed to redeem myself in the business world. I was proud that I had accomplished as much as I had without a degree. But knowing that it was missing constantly nagged me. I was embarassed that I had flunked out. The older I got and took on more of my own fiscal responsibilities, the more I felt guilty about wasting my parent's money.
My performance in school, though, kept me from going back. The fear that I was a terrible student, that I would fail again was my excuse for not returning.
Then, as circumstances would play out, I felt I failed at the business world, too, and had once again let my Dad down. Here I was, home, with no job, looking at a future that might just prevent me from being able to do what I had always done. For me, the label "disabled" meant "lazy" because I had no outwardly visable sign of ailment to indicate such a state. Would people think I was shirking responsibility once again because I had to limit what I could do?
So then it was that I found myself at this crossroads, looking for a purpose and a role in the world.
And I knew, after looking back on what I had done in my life, with my life, that I could not allow fear or mistakes in my past dicatate my future.
Knowing that I have an incurable genetic disroder that will govern the remainder of my days made me realize that I had to fight to get back some semblance of control over what path this disease would take me. It had controlled too much of my life in the last five years. No longer. No more.
For once in my life, I would not surrender to fate, but make my own.
My biggest challenge? Impatience.
I am an impatient man. I do not like to wait, for anything. I prefer immediate results. I have never been one to think long term. My only decision that has ever taken "the long term" into account was my marrying Lisa.
What I wanted to do was going to take time. Five years, possibly more. But I had realized my calling and I set upon putting it into motion.
I applied to Portland State University. My transcript from my earlier college years kept me from entering as a transfer student. My GPA was just shy of acceptable. It wasn't a surprise. If anything, my grades were actually a little better than I remembered. I would have to appeal for special consideration for the winter term.
January was too long to wait to get the ball rolling. Considering how far I had to go, I needed to get going. Besides, I was now eager to get back to school. An advisor at PSU recommeded taking relevant courses at the Community College that would transfer over once I achieved admittance to PSU, and it would allow me an easier transition back into school life.
Today was my first day of classes at Portland Community College. I have gotten a student loan and have begun my appeal process with PSU. Although my wife has plenty of experience with the finacial aid processes, I was determined to do it myself. It was important to me that I do it all myself. My goal, my responsibility. My folks did everything for me the first time around. This was going to be all me.
Giddiness would be the best word to describe my mood today. And proud. Proud of myself for eclipsing my fear of failing, of following through with my plan, for not getting discouraged when starting off at PSU became an impossibility, for finding the resources to make it happen.
So what is the goal?
Strangely enough, I accumulated over 70 credits at Western Illinois University. The majority of them in Political Science. The plan is to get my B.A. in Political Science with a minor in Philosophy. Afterwards I will enter the Teaching Certification Program and complete my masters in education.
And then I will teach. High School government and civics.
My passion combined with my experience: politics and teaching.
I've spent years teaching others how to be managers. I have never stopped loving and following all things political.
I will do what I love and what I know. I will fulfill a promise to loved ones now gone. I will finsih what my parents sent me to do 20 years ago. And I will have a say in our future by hopefully making a difference in a few kids' lives.
I can't rant about the world and not do anything to fix what I rant about.
And I can't let my fear of the past dictate my future.
Well, I guess I can be a little afraid: the last time I wrote a term paper, it was on a typewriter.
Seriously.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Heroes
Lets talk about heroes.
In this year of Obama, an historic election, Michael Phelps and the Olympics, the term hero has been tossed about in such a cavallier manner that it is beginning to lose it's weight, it's heft, it's sway, it's swagger, it's importance. I admire many celebrities, politicians, sports heroes. Folks like soldiers, cops, firefighters, and teachers are unanimously lauded with the term.
But a hero is someone who does great deeds for the selfless benefit of others. So while the last group I mentioned fall under that definition, they are broad-based heroes who's job requires them to perform selfless acts as the norm.
Personal heroes, on the other hand, are different. And while certain accomplished individuals may be thought of as heroes to certain people, individuals like Michael Jordan or Hillary Clinton, they are not personal heroes, but should rather classified as role models or inspirations.
Heroes, personal heroes, are those that you owe a debt to, that have changed your life through personal interaction.
These are mine:
My Dad. My Dad, in technical terms is my stepdad, but in reality, he is the only father I have ever known or loved. Our early years together were tumultuous, to put it lightly, but in retrospect, only so due to his profound desire to see me live up to my full potential. He saw things in me I didn't and pushed me toward a life of responsibility. It took a long time for me to realize the benefit of his tough love, but I can say that the only reason I ever succeeded in the business and real world is by coming to follow his example. In all my working years, I always tried to conduct myself as I imagined he would. I did everything to prove him right, and I hope I have. Now that I am in a position where I may not be able to return to the working world , I feel as if I have let him down by not being able to continue my journey in the business world. Now, I look to his example for guidance as I learn to adapt to a new lifestyle. I owe more to my Dad than anyone else. Others have touched my life, and made great impacts, but none more so or in a more lasting manner than he. My Dad is my hero.
Friends come and go, but two stand out for remaining by my side for over twenty years:
Jenifer Kloss was the first to befriend a gawky but arrogant teen joining the college world for the first time. She has always been a sounding board, an encouraging word, a laugh in dark hours, a reliable passport to Wrigley Field. She has shared her heartbreaks and wins, her thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. She has laid herself bare before me and has given me every ounce of trust one friend can give another. She has always been there when I needed her, and has tolerated my slow and tedious evolution from Alex P Keaton to Stephen Keaton. She is a part of my family and I know that twenty years from now, I could write this same affirmation word for word. Her ability to overcome setback after setback makes it very hard for me to slip into despair over my own. Jenifer is my hero friend.
Bob Walters has been the brother I never had. We hated each other for the first year we knew one another. Jenifer Kloss is the one who saw how very alike we are and was responsible for pushing us together, most forcibly, I might add. Bob has always been the one who has set out with specific life goals in mind and has never failed to accomplish them. He is the epitome of "yes I can." Never one to meddle, proffer advice, or chastise, he simply lends an ear, and tries to change the subject toward something summarily odd. Bob is a storyteller. Bob is a strange mix of Midwestern sensibility and Hollywood indifference to the extraordinary. Nothing phases him. Nothing flusters him. Nothing stops him. Bob's ability to remain a consistent force of calm and distraction, an example that you can do whatever you put your mind to, makes Bob Walters one of my heroes.
Marsha Goldberg worked with me for a short time, but her devotion to the good will of others has led to my subsequent diagnosis and treatment that has eluded me for so long. She simply said: I want to help you and I will help you. And she did. With no ulterior motive, she set about lobbying her doctor-husband to get me treatment with his colleagues at Oregon Health and Sciences University. She has called to check on my well being, she takes the time to write thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my writing. She has written the most glowing appraisal of my abilities to aid my return to the collegiate world. A published author and former teacher, she has spent her life giving to others without want of reward. There are so few of her kind in this world and I am beyond blessed to have her in my life and in my corner. For re-affirming my belief that there are good, honest, and true people in this ever increasingly selfish and self-possessed world. Marsha Goldberg is my hero.
Her nickname is Cheese Sammich. Her real name is Anni and she is my huge-hearted sister-in-law. In-law affections can always be iffy, but this is not about our getting along. It is about her whole-hearted commitment to the well-being of Lisa. Not even blood-related (it's hard to explain), they share a collective consciousness that borders on the uncanny. Generosity oozes from her, genuine compassion, and a love for Lisa that transcends family. Selfless. Empathetic. Brilliant. Talented. Somehow she has made it her mission to try and rescue us from our troubles simply because that is her heart. She is a hero to me because she has been able to buttress Lisa in her times of need in a way that shows her that family, even without blood ties, matters. She is my family, she is my sister, she is my hero.
But my life, my entire existence would be for naught without one person. Without Lisa, I would have remained a drifting, lost, and hopeless soul. I was so afraid of love and commitment. I never thought anyone would be able to see through all the walls, obfuscation, and resistance to opening my heart to others. I tried to dissuade her many many times, nearly breaking her heart, selfishly out of fear that she would break mine like so many others had. But she persevered, knowing that we were two souls unable to shake destiny. She saw those things that my Dad saw so long ago. She saw my potential to love, to grow, to be a better man. She has never lost faith that I might be better than I could imagine myself being. She has never given up on our future together as I continue to battle illness and she battles hers. Two hearts, linked together by pain, sympathy, and undeniable love. I know know that she will never leave, never give up on me or on us, will never resent or blame. She has taught me ultimate trust and there has never been a greater gift given me in my life. This woman, this amazing woman, loves me without pause. This amazing woman is my love, my wife, my hero.
To be sure, there are many others who have touched me and supported me: my Mom (to be sure; no one has been more in my corner or put up with more), my sister, my Aunt Frannie, to name a few. So many good people have come and gone in my life, but my heroes are the ones who have literally changed my life for the better and continue to do so.
So take a moment and reassess your definition of a hero. They may not be on posters, but they are plastered all over the walls of your heart.
In this year of Obama, an historic election, Michael Phelps and the Olympics, the term hero has been tossed about in such a cavallier manner that it is beginning to lose it's weight, it's heft, it's sway, it's swagger, it's importance. I admire many celebrities, politicians, sports heroes. Folks like soldiers, cops, firefighters, and teachers are unanimously lauded with the term.
But a hero is someone who does great deeds for the selfless benefit of others. So while the last group I mentioned fall under that definition, they are broad-based heroes who's job requires them to perform selfless acts as the norm.
Personal heroes, on the other hand, are different. And while certain accomplished individuals may be thought of as heroes to certain people, individuals like Michael Jordan or Hillary Clinton, they are not personal heroes, but should rather classified as role models or inspirations.
Heroes, personal heroes, are those that you owe a debt to, that have changed your life through personal interaction.
These are mine:
My Dad. My Dad, in technical terms is my stepdad, but in reality, he is the only father I have ever known or loved. Our early years together were tumultuous, to put it lightly, but in retrospect, only so due to his profound desire to see me live up to my full potential. He saw things in me I didn't and pushed me toward a life of responsibility. It took a long time for me to realize the benefit of his tough love, but I can say that the only reason I ever succeeded in the business and real world is by coming to follow his example. In all my working years, I always tried to conduct myself as I imagined he would. I did everything to prove him right, and I hope I have. Now that I am in a position where I may not be able to return to the working world , I feel as if I have let him down by not being able to continue my journey in the business world. Now, I look to his example for guidance as I learn to adapt to a new lifestyle. I owe more to my Dad than anyone else. Others have touched my life, and made great impacts, but none more so or in a more lasting manner than he. My Dad is my hero.
Friends come and go, but two stand out for remaining by my side for over twenty years:
Jenifer Kloss was the first to befriend a gawky but arrogant teen joining the college world for the first time. She has always been a sounding board, an encouraging word, a laugh in dark hours, a reliable passport to Wrigley Field. She has shared her heartbreaks and wins, her thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. She has laid herself bare before me and has given me every ounce of trust one friend can give another. She has always been there when I needed her, and has tolerated my slow and tedious evolution from Alex P Keaton to Stephen Keaton. She is a part of my family and I know that twenty years from now, I could write this same affirmation word for word. Her ability to overcome setback after setback makes it very hard for me to slip into despair over my own. Jenifer is my hero friend.
Bob Walters has been the brother I never had. We hated each other for the first year we knew one another. Jenifer Kloss is the one who saw how very alike we are and was responsible for pushing us together, most forcibly, I might add. Bob has always been the one who has set out with specific life goals in mind and has never failed to accomplish them. He is the epitome of "yes I can." Never one to meddle, proffer advice, or chastise, he simply lends an ear, and tries to change the subject toward something summarily odd. Bob is a storyteller. Bob is a strange mix of Midwestern sensibility and Hollywood indifference to the extraordinary. Nothing phases him. Nothing flusters him. Nothing stops him. Bob's ability to remain a consistent force of calm and distraction, an example that you can do whatever you put your mind to, makes Bob Walters one of my heroes.
Marsha Goldberg worked with me for a short time, but her devotion to the good will of others has led to my subsequent diagnosis and treatment that has eluded me for so long. She simply said: I want to help you and I will help you. And she did. With no ulterior motive, she set about lobbying her doctor-husband to get me treatment with his colleagues at Oregon Health and Sciences University. She has called to check on my well being, she takes the time to write thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my writing. She has written the most glowing appraisal of my abilities to aid my return to the collegiate world. A published author and former teacher, she has spent her life giving to others without want of reward. There are so few of her kind in this world and I am beyond blessed to have her in my life and in my corner. For re-affirming my belief that there are good, honest, and true people in this ever increasingly selfish and self-possessed world. Marsha Goldberg is my hero.
Her nickname is Cheese Sammich. Her real name is Anni and she is my huge-hearted sister-in-law. In-law affections can always be iffy, but this is not about our getting along. It is about her whole-hearted commitment to the well-being of Lisa. Not even blood-related (it's hard to explain), they share a collective consciousness that borders on the uncanny. Generosity oozes from her, genuine compassion, and a love for Lisa that transcends family. Selfless. Empathetic. Brilliant. Talented. Somehow she has made it her mission to try and rescue us from our troubles simply because that is her heart. She is a hero to me because she has been able to buttress Lisa in her times of need in a way that shows her that family, even without blood ties, matters. She is my family, she is my sister, she is my hero.
But my life, my entire existence would be for naught without one person. Without Lisa, I would have remained a drifting, lost, and hopeless soul. I was so afraid of love and commitment. I never thought anyone would be able to see through all the walls, obfuscation, and resistance to opening my heart to others. I tried to dissuade her many many times, nearly breaking her heart, selfishly out of fear that she would break mine like so many others had. But she persevered, knowing that we were two souls unable to shake destiny. She saw those things that my Dad saw so long ago. She saw my potential to love, to grow, to be a better man. She has never lost faith that I might be better than I could imagine myself being. She has never given up on our future together as I continue to battle illness and she battles hers. Two hearts, linked together by pain, sympathy, and undeniable love. I know know that she will never leave, never give up on me or on us, will never resent or blame. She has taught me ultimate trust and there has never been a greater gift given me in my life. This woman, this amazing woman, loves me without pause. This amazing woman is my love, my wife, my hero.
To be sure, there are many others who have touched me and supported me: my Mom (to be sure; no one has been more in my corner or put up with more), my sister, my Aunt Frannie, to name a few. So many good people have come and gone in my life, but my heroes are the ones who have literally changed my life for the better and continue to do so.
So take a moment and reassess your definition of a hero. They may not be on posters, but they are plastered all over the walls of your heart.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
An Addendum to "I Hate God"
Well it would appear that I've freaked out quite a few people with my last entry railing against God and espousing surrender.
Let me clarify.
I cannot, in fact, be mad at something I don't believe exists.
I can believe I am a vicitm of vicious karma.
I am not suicidal or anything near that.
I simply needed to scream at the universe and vent in such a way that I have not been able to do before.
Yes, things are bad, depressing, tense, and frustrating. Everyone, no matter how optimistic or positive breaks at some point. I guess I reached mine. But that breakdown has allowed me to completely deflate so that I can be refilled with a hope that I can somehow fix this situation so that I might possibly make things a little better for my wife. She is my reason for everything and if I give up, then I have given up on her, too. I will never, ever, never give up on her. This is the one person who has never given up on me. There has been plenty of opportunity for her to do so. I am not alone in physical suffering, but she soldiers on in a way that I struggle to emulate. She comforts me, assures me, holds me, and understands me. She has ripped my heart out of my chest and locked it in her own so that I can never be without her lest I simply die. This woman is my life and I would betray everything she has done and been for me if I were to give up.
Allow me, too, to thank everyone who has lent a supportive word, comfort, empathy, sympathy, advice, money, time, and love. Those who have stepped forward and made our plight their own have shown us that not only are there good, kind people in this world, but that we have some very strong relationships and friendships that have proven themselves these past few days. I could only hope that I will be able to repay or reciprocate in kind.
Meanwhile I look forward to my upcomming return to school. Ironically, I am taking a class in Existentialism so the debate as to whether God is dead will remain on the front burner for me for a wee bit longer.
What is not dead nor will ever be up for debate is my love for my wife, my dear, beautiful, wonderful wife. Without her, I would have no rhyme, no reason, no purpose. She is my rock and I remain, as ever, dedicated solely to her.
Let me clarify.
I cannot, in fact, be mad at something I don't believe exists.
I can believe I am a vicitm of vicious karma.
I am not suicidal or anything near that.
I simply needed to scream at the universe and vent in such a way that I have not been able to do before.
Yes, things are bad, depressing, tense, and frustrating. Everyone, no matter how optimistic or positive breaks at some point. I guess I reached mine. But that breakdown has allowed me to completely deflate so that I can be refilled with a hope that I can somehow fix this situation so that I might possibly make things a little better for my wife. She is my reason for everything and if I give up, then I have given up on her, too. I will never, ever, never give up on her. This is the one person who has never given up on me. There has been plenty of opportunity for her to do so. I am not alone in physical suffering, but she soldiers on in a way that I struggle to emulate. She comforts me, assures me, holds me, and understands me. She has ripped my heart out of my chest and locked it in her own so that I can never be without her lest I simply die. This woman is my life and I would betray everything she has done and been for me if I were to give up.
Allow me, too, to thank everyone who has lent a supportive word, comfort, empathy, sympathy, advice, money, time, and love. Those who have stepped forward and made our plight their own have shown us that not only are there good, kind people in this world, but that we have some very strong relationships and friendships that have proven themselves these past few days. I could only hope that I will be able to repay or reciprocate in kind.
Meanwhile I look forward to my upcomming return to school. Ironically, I am taking a class in Existentialism so the debate as to whether God is dead will remain on the front burner for me for a wee bit longer.
What is not dead nor will ever be up for debate is my love for my wife, my dear, beautiful, wonderful wife. Without her, I would have no rhyme, no reason, no purpose. She is my rock and I remain, as ever, dedicated solely to her.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I hate God and God hates me
This is a personal rant. I write without hyperbole or exaggeration. I simply need to let out all that is in my broken and forsaken heart.
If there is a God, and I have said this before, but I mean it now more than ever, He hates me. He as not forsaken me, has not abandoned me, but hates me, with a callousness and coldness reserved for those evil souls who deserve no redemption.
My circumstance is dire, my will on the razor sharp edge of breaking.
I am not a bad person. I hold no true malice, I reserve great hope that something good will someday befall me. Perhaps meeting the love of my lide was that one good thing. I don't dismiss that at all. Rather, if it is, indeed, all the good that will wver happen to me in my life, then my heart grows ever more weary knowing that I will never be able to bring her the happiness that hope holds in my heart, but reality will ever prevent from occuring.
We are good people. We are honest, we love each other unconditionally. We support and comfort one another. We work hard, valuing integrity, determination, commitment, and loyalty. We give what we can to provide a happy and loving home to our pets, animals we see as people trapped in four-legged bodies. We give support and advice to those around us who need and seek it. We do not cheat, lie, steal, obfuscate or deceive. We are honest, hard working adults.
But we are sick. My strong, determined, perfect-in-my-eyes wife suffers from Lupus. Every time she moves, her joints scream, her muscles groan. She sleeps very little, unable to find a comfortable postion that will allow her a modicum of comfort. She still goes to work every day and finds time to devote love, affection, and care to her loved ones. Having had years of disresepct and intolerable treatment from those she worked for and with, she has finally found a place that treats her as they should, and pays her more than she feels she is worth.
And yet, we are on the gut-wrenching precipce of bankruptcy.
After floundering in school, I found my niche in the business world, fighting my way to the top, becoming a respected manager, trainer, and mentor. I worked hard, commited myself to the name over the door, and did my best to ensure that all around me were equal to the task.
My health took that away from me.
I lost my last two jobs to absences duw to illness. My luck has brought me not one, but two, yes two, incurable disorders that disrupt every single day I exist on this earth. Atopic Dermatitis keeps me clawing at my skin, scratching in a maniacal manner, wishing I could rip every inch of my skin from my body so that I might find a moment of release. Four years of steroids to abate this torment has left me with eyesight problems and weakened kidney and liver function. Yes, I have the luxury of enduring a life-long battle with kidney stones now, just because I wanted to stop itching.
On top of that, I have a genetic condition called Common Variable Immuno Deficiency. I spent years of blood loss, transfusions, weekly IV iron treatments, hospitalizations due to migraines brought on by catastrophically low blood counts. Myopathy of the muscle gives me constant back aches. I endured the most painful of procedures, a bone marrow biopsy, to determine my disorder. And now, I face IV treatments lasting the better part of a day every three weeks for the rest of my life. Oh, and I had the pleasure of undergoing a surgical procedure to have an IV power port implanted in my chest because my veins are completely blown from years of needle pokes.
Those IV treatments? $1130 a pop.
Which leads me to the crutch of my despair. After years of searching for an answer, countless procedures, surgeries, tests, doctor visits and hospitalizations, we face an insurmountable debt of over $21,000. Just medical bills. After insurance.
And considering my conditions, they will just keep piling up and piling up.
This doesn't even factor in the credit card debt, accrued only as purchases made in absolute emergency. Unlike most who face financial difficulty or ruin, we don't use our credit cards to buy clothes, trinkets, gadgets, trends, or whims. We use them to pay for repairs to cars, or vet bills.
We have pets. Three of them are getting to be quite old. Their end is near and we don't have a penny to spend on them. Our credit cards are maxed out, and by the end of the month, after rent, utilities, gas, food, pre-arranged payments to maybe 5% of our medical debts, student loans, and credit cards, we have nothing left. We have borrowed from our savings until it dry. We live paycheck to paycheck. We have nothing left in case of an emergency.
Our cats need care, our cars are literally falling apart. Lisa's car has been in a multiple of accidents, the front end an accordion of mangled metal. My car is nearing the 200,000 mile mark. It, too has been in a fender bender, leaving behind a crooked gait. We cannot afford to even tune them up hoping that they will last another year. I have no heat in my car going on two years now, and winter is fast approaching. Our credit does not allow us to buy a new car. We have had to buy our cars with cash, from private owners, hoping they'll be good enough to keep puttering along. We will never again have the joy of smelling the interior of a brand new car.
My condition makes it hard, if not impossible to find a job that will pay anything near what I made as a manager. My condition forces me to ask "can you excuse me from work every three weeks so I can recover from an incurrable disease?" My lst tow jobs were not so forgiving, so I find it difficult imagining a company that would welcome such a prospect.
So I look toward disability. Months and months lie between me and an answer. It has taken me weeks to sort through all of my medical history to provide an accurate timeline for my case. There is a binder on my desk that is 6" thick with medical records.
Meanwhile, one of the many hospitals I have frequented is demanding a $1500 payment within days to avoid a lawsuit and $400 a month minmum thereafter to keep us out of legal trouble.
We don't have $400 a month to give them, let alone $1500.
We will never be able to eliminate our debt to even a manageable level. If perchance we should succeed in declaring bankruptcy and eliminate all of our medical and credit card debt, we will still find ourselves in this same predicament in a few years' time. My disorders are incurable and require lifelong treatment. If we are at a point of financial ruin after five years of medical care, then where will we be in ten? Twenty years from now? How do we build a nest egg when every cent we earn goes to the medical community?
We do not get to go on a vacation. I have a new nephew I don't know if I'll ever see in the near future. All of our friends and fmily have taken on the burden to come to see us wherever we have been, but we have never been able to reciprocate, nor will we.
We will always be ill. We will always be broke. We will always live in fear of losing everything. We cannot rely on others to be safety nets. We have nothing in our futures to look forward to.
We have lost hope.
Between the two of us, I have always been the voice of optimism But now, I am speaking the voice of cold harsh reality.
We may be able to bail oursleves out for a short time, but God, in His infinite and cruel wisdom has left us with a situation that will continue to repeat itself until the end of our days. Ask me again why I hate God, if such villain should exist?
He has brought us nothing but misery, anguish, pain, suffering, and stress. He provides no solace for the future and has not shown an ounce of magnanimity towards two desperate souls who only wish to stay afloat. We don't want riches, we don't want luxe. We want one day, just one day, when we both awake to a sunny day, free from pain or discomfort, financially in the black, with a small pennance pinched away for our golden years (which will never be golden, you might agree).
We are not greedy, we are not selfish. We are simply asking for a break. A small break. A sign that if there is indeed a God, he sees our lot, and bestows a modicum of pity our way.
Meanwhile, I am lost in my complete hopelessness. I don't want platitudes or temporary stays of execution. This is my one chance on this planet. I have found the one person who lifts my heart and makes me smile, and I cannot provide a life of happiness or comfort for her. I cannot give us a life worth living. I cannot bear another minute of this existence. I cannot bear to see my dear wife perched along side me on the edge of sanity. I'm done. I give up. God wins.
If there is a God, and I have said this before, but I mean it now more than ever, He hates me. He as not forsaken me, has not abandoned me, but hates me, with a callousness and coldness reserved for those evil souls who deserve no redemption.
My circumstance is dire, my will on the razor sharp edge of breaking.
I am not a bad person. I hold no true malice, I reserve great hope that something good will someday befall me. Perhaps meeting the love of my lide was that one good thing. I don't dismiss that at all. Rather, if it is, indeed, all the good that will wver happen to me in my life, then my heart grows ever more weary knowing that I will never be able to bring her the happiness that hope holds in my heart, but reality will ever prevent from occuring.
We are good people. We are honest, we love each other unconditionally. We support and comfort one another. We work hard, valuing integrity, determination, commitment, and loyalty. We give what we can to provide a happy and loving home to our pets, animals we see as people trapped in four-legged bodies. We give support and advice to those around us who need and seek it. We do not cheat, lie, steal, obfuscate or deceive. We are honest, hard working adults.
But we are sick. My strong, determined, perfect-in-my-eyes wife suffers from Lupus. Every time she moves, her joints scream, her muscles groan. She sleeps very little, unable to find a comfortable postion that will allow her a modicum of comfort. She still goes to work every day and finds time to devote love, affection, and care to her loved ones. Having had years of disresepct and intolerable treatment from those she worked for and with, she has finally found a place that treats her as they should, and pays her more than she feels she is worth.
And yet, we are on the gut-wrenching precipce of bankruptcy.
After floundering in school, I found my niche in the business world, fighting my way to the top, becoming a respected manager, trainer, and mentor. I worked hard, commited myself to the name over the door, and did my best to ensure that all around me were equal to the task.
My health took that away from me.
I lost my last two jobs to absences duw to illness. My luck has brought me not one, but two, yes two, incurable disorders that disrupt every single day I exist on this earth. Atopic Dermatitis keeps me clawing at my skin, scratching in a maniacal manner, wishing I could rip every inch of my skin from my body so that I might find a moment of release. Four years of steroids to abate this torment has left me with eyesight problems and weakened kidney and liver function. Yes, I have the luxury of enduring a life-long battle with kidney stones now, just because I wanted to stop itching.
On top of that, I have a genetic condition called Common Variable Immuno Deficiency. I spent years of blood loss, transfusions, weekly IV iron treatments, hospitalizations due to migraines brought on by catastrophically low blood counts. Myopathy of the muscle gives me constant back aches. I endured the most painful of procedures, a bone marrow biopsy, to determine my disorder. And now, I face IV treatments lasting the better part of a day every three weeks for the rest of my life. Oh, and I had the pleasure of undergoing a surgical procedure to have an IV power port implanted in my chest because my veins are completely blown from years of needle pokes.
Those IV treatments? $1130 a pop.
Which leads me to the crutch of my despair. After years of searching for an answer, countless procedures, surgeries, tests, doctor visits and hospitalizations, we face an insurmountable debt of over $21,000. Just medical bills. After insurance.
And considering my conditions, they will just keep piling up and piling up.
This doesn't even factor in the credit card debt, accrued only as purchases made in absolute emergency. Unlike most who face financial difficulty or ruin, we don't use our credit cards to buy clothes, trinkets, gadgets, trends, or whims. We use them to pay for repairs to cars, or vet bills.
We have pets. Three of them are getting to be quite old. Their end is near and we don't have a penny to spend on them. Our credit cards are maxed out, and by the end of the month, after rent, utilities, gas, food, pre-arranged payments to maybe 5% of our medical debts, student loans, and credit cards, we have nothing left. We have borrowed from our savings until it dry. We live paycheck to paycheck. We have nothing left in case of an emergency.
Our cats need care, our cars are literally falling apart. Lisa's car has been in a multiple of accidents, the front end an accordion of mangled metal. My car is nearing the 200,000 mile mark. It, too has been in a fender bender, leaving behind a crooked gait. We cannot afford to even tune them up hoping that they will last another year. I have no heat in my car going on two years now, and winter is fast approaching. Our credit does not allow us to buy a new car. We have had to buy our cars with cash, from private owners, hoping they'll be good enough to keep puttering along. We will never again have the joy of smelling the interior of a brand new car.
My condition makes it hard, if not impossible to find a job that will pay anything near what I made as a manager. My condition forces me to ask "can you excuse me from work every three weeks so I can recover from an incurrable disease?" My lst tow jobs were not so forgiving, so I find it difficult imagining a company that would welcome such a prospect.
So I look toward disability. Months and months lie between me and an answer. It has taken me weeks to sort through all of my medical history to provide an accurate timeline for my case. There is a binder on my desk that is 6" thick with medical records.
Meanwhile, one of the many hospitals I have frequented is demanding a $1500 payment within days to avoid a lawsuit and $400 a month minmum thereafter to keep us out of legal trouble.
We don't have $400 a month to give them, let alone $1500.
We will never be able to eliminate our debt to even a manageable level. If perchance we should succeed in declaring bankruptcy and eliminate all of our medical and credit card debt, we will still find ourselves in this same predicament in a few years' time. My disorders are incurable and require lifelong treatment. If we are at a point of financial ruin after five years of medical care, then where will we be in ten? Twenty years from now? How do we build a nest egg when every cent we earn goes to the medical community?
We do not get to go on a vacation. I have a new nephew I don't know if I'll ever see in the near future. All of our friends and fmily have taken on the burden to come to see us wherever we have been, but we have never been able to reciprocate, nor will we.
We will always be ill. We will always be broke. We will always live in fear of losing everything. We cannot rely on others to be safety nets. We have nothing in our futures to look forward to.
We have lost hope.
Between the two of us, I have always been the voice of optimism But now, I am speaking the voice of cold harsh reality.
We may be able to bail oursleves out for a short time, but God, in His infinite and cruel wisdom has left us with a situation that will continue to repeat itself until the end of our days. Ask me again why I hate God, if such villain should exist?
He has brought us nothing but misery, anguish, pain, suffering, and stress. He provides no solace for the future and has not shown an ounce of magnanimity towards two desperate souls who only wish to stay afloat. We don't want riches, we don't want luxe. We want one day, just one day, when we both awake to a sunny day, free from pain or discomfort, financially in the black, with a small pennance pinched away for our golden years (which will never be golden, you might agree).
We are not greedy, we are not selfish. We are simply asking for a break. A small break. A sign that if there is indeed a God, he sees our lot, and bestows a modicum of pity our way.
Meanwhile, I am lost in my complete hopelessness. I don't want platitudes or temporary stays of execution. This is my one chance on this planet. I have found the one person who lifts my heart and makes me smile, and I cannot provide a life of happiness or comfort for her. I cannot give us a life worth living. I cannot bear another minute of this existence. I cannot bear to see my dear wife perched along side me on the edge of sanity. I'm done. I give up. God wins.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A witness to history
This is a moment in history and I am so proud to be a witness to it.
Regardless of your poltical philosophy, you must recognize the impact of this moment, the signifigance of this accomplishment. It is the first true signifier of our emergence from the darkness that was our collective history of intollerance and hatred.
I do not pretend to think that this is a universal acceptance of progression. There will always be those who will fill their hearts with empty and pointless hate. But we are a nation built on the premise of the Shining City on a Hill, a promise of something better than where we came from, somewhere more perfect than what we can imagine. This moment in history is our first step up the staircase of progress toward that lofty goal of true democracy, inclusion, and hope.
Hyperbole? Nothing in this century can compare to this great step forward. We are a generation that is closer toward color-blindness having not witnessed first hand the tragedies of Jim Crow. We have grown up in integrated schools, integrated neighborhoods, integrated workplaces. We are the generation that can take this color-blindness to a higher plane simply by casting a vote.
Do not deny that every one in this country has a place in it's history. While many of our nation's accomplishments have been made at the hands of a few, many, many more have been at the hands of the nameless, the faceless, the common man with a voice guaranteed to him by our Founding Fathers. Do not squander that which is so sacred in the story of our nation. Do not squander your chance to tell your children that you were responsible for changing the tide of history and restoring true righteous grandeur to our country. Relish the chance to have your voice be heard saying "I have made a difference, I have made things better, I have helped right a wrong."
I am proud tonight to be an American, simply because I have learned that my fellow countrymen believe, as I do, that we are better than our collective history and can redraw the path we go down. It has been so long since I have been able to embrace my country. It has let me down, lied to me, stolen from me, betrayed me. But now there is hope, that our nation will once again be led by an honest, altruisitc man filled with integrity, duty, courage, and conviction. What makes me proud is that so many in this nation have seen as I do and have made their voices heard.
We will not erase the errors of our past, but we can control the tenor of our future. Choose to be a part of that which is greater than you. Make the future one you wish your children to inherit. But more importantly, simply recognize that America is being re-born as a nation filled with promise. Do not let that flame of hope be extinguished by the repetition of history.
Regardless of your poltical philosophy, you must recognize the impact of this moment, the signifigance of this accomplishment. It is the first true signifier of our emergence from the darkness that was our collective history of intollerance and hatred.
I do not pretend to think that this is a universal acceptance of progression. There will always be those who will fill their hearts with empty and pointless hate. But we are a nation built on the premise of the Shining City on a Hill, a promise of something better than where we came from, somewhere more perfect than what we can imagine. This moment in history is our first step up the staircase of progress toward that lofty goal of true democracy, inclusion, and hope.
Hyperbole? Nothing in this century can compare to this great step forward. We are a generation that is closer toward color-blindness having not witnessed first hand the tragedies of Jim Crow. We have grown up in integrated schools, integrated neighborhoods, integrated workplaces. We are the generation that can take this color-blindness to a higher plane simply by casting a vote.
Do not deny that every one in this country has a place in it's history. While many of our nation's accomplishments have been made at the hands of a few, many, many more have been at the hands of the nameless, the faceless, the common man with a voice guaranteed to him by our Founding Fathers. Do not squander that which is so sacred in the story of our nation. Do not squander your chance to tell your children that you were responsible for changing the tide of history and restoring true righteous grandeur to our country. Relish the chance to have your voice be heard saying "I have made a difference, I have made things better, I have helped right a wrong."
I am proud tonight to be an American, simply because I have learned that my fellow countrymen believe, as I do, that we are better than our collective history and can redraw the path we go down. It has been so long since I have been able to embrace my country. It has let me down, lied to me, stolen from me, betrayed me. But now there is hope, that our nation will once again be led by an honest, altruisitc man filled with integrity, duty, courage, and conviction. What makes me proud is that so many in this nation have seen as I do and have made their voices heard.
We will not erase the errors of our past, but we can control the tenor of our future. Choose to be a part of that which is greater than you. Make the future one you wish your children to inherit. But more importantly, simply recognize that America is being re-born as a nation filled with promise. Do not let that flame of hope be extinguished by the repetition of history.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
I am the anti-Job
So we all know, even us who don't read the Bible, the story of Job. Satan bet God that Job would renounce his faith if he felt that God had abandoned him. After countless tragedies, Job remained faithful.
I, too, feel like Job, but more like the anti-Job. One thing after another continues to plague my happiness and health, questioning my faith. But instead of these trials pushing me to renounce God, my tribulations are due to my lack of belief. Although it may sound oxy-moronic to say that I believe that a deity I don't believe in is pushing me to believe in Him by punishing me over and over again. Just admitting that this is a possibility is tantamount to acceptance of the existence of a higher being.
Of course if I truly believed this, I would have become a born-again long ago. Too much has happened for me to allow it all to continue Yet, I refuse to believe that my suffering is due to a lack of religious belief. And so as I continue to be steadfast in my atheism, more and more gets piled on.
So would my refusal to believe give recognition that I am in a battle with a God, which in turn shows that I have to believe in something to disagree with it? Or am I simply ranting against the frustration of all that continues to befall me?
If there is a God, then he is a cruel one because only a sadist would construct a body that had to pass a kidney stone.
Really, if God loves us, then why create man (in his image, no less) that is so susceptible to illness and injury? If we are made in God's image, then God must be in constant pain and agony, victim of cancer, multiple sclerosis, blindness, deafness, congestive heart failure, leprosy, diabetes, to name a few. (And another question, if man is made in God's image, then is God black, oriental, hispanic, arabic?) This might explain why He's too distracted to step in and end our own human sufferings. Misery enjoys company.
They say that kidney stones are the closest man will ever get to experiencing the pain of childbirth. Another reason for me not to want kids. I would never wish this pain on my wife.
I spent the day doubled over in more pain than I can ever recall having. And after getting fabulous drugs at the ER, I traded my kidney pain for skin pain. Yes, I had a terrible reaction with my skin and every inch of me flared up in red painful rash and I tried my best to completely rip off my skin.
So as my doctor used his skills to ease my suffering, the deity I don't believe in stepped in and gave me another round of pain to try and force me to admit He exists.
Instead, I chalk it up to karma.
I must have been one mean terrible evil son of a bitch in my previous life. It is the only explanation as to why I have been so crapped on by life when I try so very hard to be a good and productive person. I love my wife, and I try every day to do right by her, to give her a good marriage, to show her my undying love and devotion. I love my pets, whom I consider my kids. I respect and adore my family, my friends. I don't do drugs (unless you count prescriptions, countless and unending prescriptions), I don't practice bigotry, racism, sexism. I don't steal, slack-off, cheat. I own-up to my mistakes and shortcomings. I do what I must to be a productive and positive member of society.
So why do I continue to suffer affliction after affliction, economic defeat after economic defeat? I have an incurable immune disorder that will require me to get IV treatments for the rest of my life and may prevent me from ever working a 40 hour work week. I have a painful and incurable skin disorder that causes me to always want to rip off my own skin. I have insomnia, partial deafness in my right ear, the beginnings of cataracts in my left eye due to years on steroids for my other conditions, constant digestive distress due to the immuno deficiency, and now 6 stones sitting in my kidneys just waiting to cause me unearthly pain and suffering.
I must be paying penance for a prior life of scum and villainy.
Because if God does exist, he hates me.
I, too, feel like Job, but more like the anti-Job. One thing after another continues to plague my happiness and health, questioning my faith. But instead of these trials pushing me to renounce God, my tribulations are due to my lack of belief. Although it may sound oxy-moronic to say that I believe that a deity I don't believe in is pushing me to believe in Him by punishing me over and over again. Just admitting that this is a possibility is tantamount to acceptance of the existence of a higher being.
Of course if I truly believed this, I would have become a born-again long ago. Too much has happened for me to allow it all to continue Yet, I refuse to believe that my suffering is due to a lack of religious belief. And so as I continue to be steadfast in my atheism, more and more gets piled on.
So would my refusal to believe give recognition that I am in a battle with a God, which in turn shows that I have to believe in something to disagree with it? Or am I simply ranting against the frustration of all that continues to befall me?
If there is a God, then he is a cruel one because only a sadist would construct a body that had to pass a kidney stone.
Really, if God loves us, then why create man (in his image, no less) that is so susceptible to illness and injury? If we are made in God's image, then God must be in constant pain and agony, victim of cancer, multiple sclerosis, blindness, deafness, congestive heart failure, leprosy, diabetes, to name a few. (And another question, if man is made in God's image, then is God black, oriental, hispanic, arabic?) This might explain why He's too distracted to step in and end our own human sufferings. Misery enjoys company.
They say that kidney stones are the closest man will ever get to experiencing the pain of childbirth. Another reason for me not to want kids. I would never wish this pain on my wife.
I spent the day doubled over in more pain than I can ever recall having. And after getting fabulous drugs at the ER, I traded my kidney pain for skin pain. Yes, I had a terrible reaction with my skin and every inch of me flared up in red painful rash and I tried my best to completely rip off my skin.
So as my doctor used his skills to ease my suffering, the deity I don't believe in stepped in and gave me another round of pain to try and force me to admit He exists.
Instead, I chalk it up to karma.
I must have been one mean terrible evil son of a bitch in my previous life. It is the only explanation as to why I have been so crapped on by life when I try so very hard to be a good and productive person. I love my wife, and I try every day to do right by her, to give her a good marriage, to show her my undying love and devotion. I love my pets, whom I consider my kids. I respect and adore my family, my friends. I don't do drugs (unless you count prescriptions, countless and unending prescriptions), I don't practice bigotry, racism, sexism. I don't steal, slack-off, cheat. I own-up to my mistakes and shortcomings. I do what I must to be a productive and positive member of society.
So why do I continue to suffer affliction after affliction, economic defeat after economic defeat? I have an incurable immune disorder that will require me to get IV treatments for the rest of my life and may prevent me from ever working a 40 hour work week. I have a painful and incurable skin disorder that causes me to always want to rip off my own skin. I have insomnia, partial deafness in my right ear, the beginnings of cataracts in my left eye due to years on steroids for my other conditions, constant digestive distress due to the immuno deficiency, and now 6 stones sitting in my kidneys just waiting to cause me unearthly pain and suffering.
I must be paying penance for a prior life of scum and villainy.
Because if God does exist, he hates me.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The case against God
Some numbers are hard to wrap your head around.
A number like, say, 117, 599,000.
These numbers represent people. Actually, these numbers represent dead people. More specifically, casualties.
Casualties of God.
This number is actually only a small slice of the real number of people killed throughout history in the name of religion.
Casualties of God.
For me, this is just a small reason for my personal disdain for anything religious. To hear the faithful portend that God is good, great, giving, compassionate doesn't fit with the reality of the murderous and callous nature of invoking God's name. It has been invoked in nearly every conflict in mankind's history. The Bible itself is wrought with wars of faith, man killing man in the name of God.
The hypocrisy is a bit troublesome. Why should I believe that God is vested in the personal happiness and well-being of this Earth when He is the cause and reason for so much death, destruction, hatred, and war?
Religion is the cause of social prejudices, clinic bombings. It taints laws and governance. The tenants of inclusion, love thy neighbor, compassion are espoused by all religious believers, but ignored when applied toward those of a differing religious belief. Every church, every religion, believes that they are the "right and true" way to God. Because of this, man has fought man for all of history. Nearly every conflict and conflagration has invoked God as it's cause celeb re.
Think of all of the wars that have been fought due to religious differences, and then think of how many have died in these conflicts.
50 million dead because one failed vegetarian German painter had a prejudice against Jews.
15 million dead because a Catholic zealot assassinated a low-level royal in Sarajevo.
20 million Native Americans slaughtered or displaced because they were "pagan savages."
9 million Russians dead in a civil war that pitted Orthodox Christians against atheists.
7 million Europeans in the 30 Year's War (Catholics vs Protestants).
1 million or more during the Crusades.
2 million Saxons, Vikings, and Swedes died battling conversion to Christianity.
3 million in the battle between the Catholics and the Huguenots.
10 million indigenous Indians in Central and South America battling the Conquistadors.
Over 112,000 in the Troubles, the conflict between Ireland and England.
More than 60,000 died during the Muslim invasion of Hindu India.
Think, too, of the inter-Muslim battles between Shia and Sunnis, the fight over Cashmir between Muslims and Hindus, Kurds being repressed by Muslims and Christians, the genocide in Rwanda, Sudan, the Balkans. 32,000 died during the Inquisition. How many have died in the Middle East due to religious differences?
Gays have been attacked by conservatives. Doctors murdered for performing abortions. The KKK burns crosses on the lawns of African Americans.
And yet, God seems to be there for the vapid actress who had won an award or the athlete who scored a touchdown? Where is He when man picks up a gun and kills his fellow man in His name? Where is the logic in believing in a God that would allow so many to murder, rape, kill, molest, defame, degrade, maim, slaughter in His name? If God is watching over us all, and investing His time in personal achievements, then why is He not also guiding us all toward reconciliation? Why allow so many to claim ownership to Him?
If there is a God, then it's about time He stepped up to the plate, stop being so narcissistic in allowing so many to fight over who loves Him more, or who loves Him in the right way and end the aggression that has sullied His name for centuries.
If we are to follow the mantra: love thy neighbor, then why allow the violation of this tenant for so long? Why allow so many to die in Your name if you preach peace and tolerance?
Religion has caused nothing but misery for mankind since we grasped at something to explain those things in nature around us that we had no answers for. We are enlightened and educated now and can see the world through logical and scientific eyes. We don't need an unseen force to explain thunder and lightening, which is exactly what religion is: a convenient device to explain the unknown during the early days of mankind's' evolution.
I know that I have just offended many of my friends and family who themselves believe in God. I respect those who hold such a deep belief, but I will only respect those who do not disparage the beliefs of others. For if you do, then you are no better than those who have caused and perpetuated the death and destruction of millions simply because they disagree with something that neither of you can see. For those who quietly practice their devotion without impeding on the beliefs of others, I begrudge you not.
So forgive me if I choose not to believe. There is more evidence to contradict His existence than I can reconcile.
Numbers don't lie. And 117,559,000 is just too big a number to ignore.
A number like, say, 117, 599,000.
These numbers represent people. Actually, these numbers represent dead people. More specifically, casualties.
Casualties of God.
This number is actually only a small slice of the real number of people killed throughout history in the name of religion.
Casualties of God.
For me, this is just a small reason for my personal disdain for anything religious. To hear the faithful portend that God is good, great, giving, compassionate doesn't fit with the reality of the murderous and callous nature of invoking God's name. It has been invoked in nearly every conflict in mankind's history. The Bible itself is wrought with wars of faith, man killing man in the name of God.
The hypocrisy is a bit troublesome. Why should I believe that God is vested in the personal happiness and well-being of this Earth when He is the cause and reason for so much death, destruction, hatred, and war?
Religion is the cause of social prejudices, clinic bombings. It taints laws and governance. The tenants of inclusion, love thy neighbor, compassion are espoused by all religious believers, but ignored when applied toward those of a differing religious belief. Every church, every religion, believes that they are the "right and true" way to God. Because of this, man has fought man for all of history. Nearly every conflict and conflagration has invoked God as it's cause celeb re.
Think of all of the wars that have been fought due to religious differences, and then think of how many have died in these conflicts.
50 million dead because one failed vegetarian German painter had a prejudice against Jews.
15 million dead because a Catholic zealot assassinated a low-level royal in Sarajevo.
20 million Native Americans slaughtered or displaced because they were "pagan savages."
9 million Russians dead in a civil war that pitted Orthodox Christians against atheists.
7 million Europeans in the 30 Year's War (Catholics vs Protestants).
1 million or more during the Crusades.
2 million Saxons, Vikings, and Swedes died battling conversion to Christianity.
3 million in the battle between the Catholics and the Huguenots.
10 million indigenous Indians in Central and South America battling the Conquistadors.
Over 112,000 in the Troubles, the conflict between Ireland and England.
More than 60,000 died during the Muslim invasion of Hindu India.
Think, too, of the inter-Muslim battles between Shia and Sunnis, the fight over Cashmir between Muslims and Hindus, Kurds being repressed by Muslims and Christians, the genocide in Rwanda, Sudan, the Balkans. 32,000 died during the Inquisition. How many have died in the Middle East due to religious differences?
Gays have been attacked by conservatives. Doctors murdered for performing abortions. The KKK burns crosses on the lawns of African Americans.
And yet, God seems to be there for the vapid actress who had won an award or the athlete who scored a touchdown? Where is He when man picks up a gun and kills his fellow man in His name? Where is the logic in believing in a God that would allow so many to murder, rape, kill, molest, defame, degrade, maim, slaughter in His name? If God is watching over us all, and investing His time in personal achievements, then why is He not also guiding us all toward reconciliation? Why allow so many to claim ownership to Him?
If there is a God, then it's about time He stepped up to the plate, stop being so narcissistic in allowing so many to fight over who loves Him more, or who loves Him in the right way and end the aggression that has sullied His name for centuries.
If we are to follow the mantra: love thy neighbor, then why allow the violation of this tenant for so long? Why allow so many to die in Your name if you preach peace and tolerance?
Religion has caused nothing but misery for mankind since we grasped at something to explain those things in nature around us that we had no answers for. We are enlightened and educated now and can see the world through logical and scientific eyes. We don't need an unseen force to explain thunder and lightening, which is exactly what religion is: a convenient device to explain the unknown during the early days of mankind's' evolution.
I know that I have just offended many of my friends and family who themselves believe in God. I respect those who hold such a deep belief, but I will only respect those who do not disparage the beliefs of others. For if you do, then you are no better than those who have caused and perpetuated the death and destruction of millions simply because they disagree with something that neither of you can see. For those who quietly practice their devotion without impeding on the beliefs of others, I begrudge you not.
So forgive me if I choose not to believe. There is more evidence to contradict His existence than I can reconcile.
Numbers don't lie. And 117,559,000 is just too big a number to ignore.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
The Definition of "Sacrilege"
Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary defines sacrilege as: gross irreverence toward something hallowed.
I define it as Brett Favre wearing a New York Jets jersey.
The name Favre has become synonymous with the Green Bay Packers, with Lambeau Field, with Cheesehead. He reigned as the most respected man in football. Rivals and peers alike afforded him the respect and awe due a record-setting athlete. He was considered the Gentleman of the NFL. No matter how you spin it, he was the epitome of sportsmanship.
Then he retired.
Sure, there had been overtures in the last few years, hints that he was ready to hang up his jockstrap. But with a finality punctuated with tears, he retired for real at the end of last season. He left at the pinnacle of his career, celebrated as one of the best to ever play the game.
-Uh, wait, hang on a sec...I think I've changed my mind.
-No, no, nevermind, nevermind, I'm retired.
-But, uh, I sure do miss playing....
-No, I'm done, time to be with the fam.
-Okay, I want to play. I definitely want to play. I totally take it back, I am NOT retired.
Seriously? We were gonna go with this Rogers fella, you know, the guy who's been shivering in your shadow all these years...
-Yeah, screw him and everyone else, I need to play, I AM the Packers, and I'm comin' home!
Uh, yeah, but we've moved on and you aren't on our list, so, uh, yeah, you're gonna have to sit in that Rogers fella's seat.
-Well then I'm taking my toys and going to Minnesota, so there!
Actually, you're going where we tell you, and you know where it really sucks? New York.
Although there is a certain justice in that decision, given Favre's impetuousness, there is also an inherent wrong in seeing him in a New York jersey (at least he's still in green).
Imagine if Michael Jordan or Ryne Sandberg got traded and were no longer in Bulls red or Cubs blue!
Oh, yeah, nevermind.
So one of two scenarios are going to happen:
1. The Jets will go all the way under the leadership of a rejuvenated and determined Favre.
2. The Jets will go down, down, down, proving that he should have stopped when he was ahead.
The only real scenario:
I will be rooting for that Rogers fella all the way. Team loyalty trumps individual athletes. One phrase will always ring true, no matter to whom it may refer:
Go Packers, Go!!!
I define it as Brett Favre wearing a New York Jets jersey.
The name Favre has become synonymous with the Green Bay Packers, with Lambeau Field, with Cheesehead. He reigned as the most respected man in football. Rivals and peers alike afforded him the respect and awe due a record-setting athlete. He was considered the Gentleman of the NFL. No matter how you spin it, he was the epitome of sportsmanship.
Then he retired.
Sure, there had been overtures in the last few years, hints that he was ready to hang up his jockstrap. But with a finality punctuated with tears, he retired for real at the end of last season. He left at the pinnacle of his career, celebrated as one of the best to ever play the game.
-Uh, wait, hang on a sec...I think I've changed my mind.
-No, no, nevermind, nevermind, I'm retired.
-But, uh, I sure do miss playing....
-No, I'm done, time to be with the fam.
-Okay, I want to play. I definitely want to play. I totally take it back, I am NOT retired.
Seriously? We were gonna go with this Rogers fella, you know, the guy who's been shivering in your shadow all these years...
-Yeah, screw him and everyone else, I need to play, I AM the Packers, and I'm comin' home!
Uh, yeah, but we've moved on and you aren't on our list, so, uh, yeah, you're gonna have to sit in that Rogers fella's seat.
-Well then I'm taking my toys and going to Minnesota, so there!
Actually, you're going where we tell you, and you know where it really sucks? New York.
Although there is a certain justice in that decision, given Favre's impetuousness, there is also an inherent wrong in seeing him in a New York jersey (at least he's still in green).
Imagine if Michael Jordan or Ryne Sandberg got traded and were no longer in Bulls red or Cubs blue!
Oh, yeah, nevermind.
So one of two scenarios are going to happen:
1. The Jets will go all the way under the leadership of a rejuvenated and determined Favre.
2. The Jets will go down, down, down, proving that he should have stopped when he was ahead.
The only real scenario:
I will be rooting for that Rogers fella all the way. Team loyalty trumps individual athletes. One phrase will always ring true, no matter to whom it may refer:
Go Packers, Go!!!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Express Lane is a relative term
There are certain jobs you don't hire certain people for. For instance, you wouldn't hire a Mormon to be a bartender, would you? Sure, they'd be friendly enough, but when it came down to knowing the product they were serving, they become a wee bit handicapped. You wouldn't hire the Amish to sell computers, either.
When you are in retail, you need to have a basic grasp of your products for sale. Sure, there are always new employees who need to learn more specifics, but generally people apply for occupations that they are comfortable with, have an interest in, or have some experience in that field. Trainees usually aren't thrown into the deep end of the pool either if that company wishes them to properly represent them. You start off slow and work your way up in accordance with your increased knowledge about the job and the product.
So it was with great amusement that I observed a young man prove my point in the check-out line of the local supermarket.
There was a lady in front of me who was placing her items on the conveyor and in her myriad of consumables was a ginger root. The young man grabbed it, looked it over and then set it aside. He'd scan a few more items and then eye the root again with consternation and curiosity. Eventually the poor chap ran out of items to scan and was forced to confront the issue. Again, he grabbed it, studied it, turned it over and over in his hand. His expression grew pained.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, is this a potato?"
"No," she replied, a glimmer of mirth in her tone. "It's ginger."
"Uh, oh." He eyed her suspiciously. "I thought that was a powder."
Now you could see that the poor boy wasn't a day over sixteen and nervous. I have nothing but patience and understanding for trainees as most of my professional career consisted of training.
But you don't put the new guy on the Express Lane on a Saturday afternoon (of course, why I subjected myself to the grocery on a weekend is beyond me...).
I am so glad I decided against grabbing that jicama root...
When you are in retail, you need to have a basic grasp of your products for sale. Sure, there are always new employees who need to learn more specifics, but generally people apply for occupations that they are comfortable with, have an interest in, or have some experience in that field. Trainees usually aren't thrown into the deep end of the pool either if that company wishes them to properly represent them. You start off slow and work your way up in accordance with your increased knowledge about the job and the product.
So it was with great amusement that I observed a young man prove my point in the check-out line of the local supermarket.
There was a lady in front of me who was placing her items on the conveyor and in her myriad of consumables was a ginger root. The young man grabbed it, looked it over and then set it aside. He'd scan a few more items and then eye the root again with consternation and curiosity. Eventually the poor chap ran out of items to scan and was forced to confront the issue. Again, he grabbed it, studied it, turned it over and over in his hand. His expression grew pained.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, is this a potato?"
"No," she replied, a glimmer of mirth in her tone. "It's ginger."
"Uh, oh." He eyed her suspiciously. "I thought that was a powder."
Now you could see that the poor boy wasn't a day over sixteen and nervous. I have nothing but patience and understanding for trainees as most of my professional career consisted of training.
But you don't put the new guy on the Express Lane on a Saturday afternoon (of course, why I subjected myself to the grocery on a weekend is beyond me...).
I am so glad I decided against grabbing that jicama root...
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Yeah, let me pull some magic money out of my butt....
In the last five years, I have racked up over $10,000 in medical bills. That's just me, that doesn't include the $6000 accrued by my wife. This is with insurance, mind you. Beyond that are the student loans to pay off, plus the obvious credit card debt.
My wife and I are like most Americans who try their best to pay down their debt and "get square" with their lenders. Like half of America, we are true blue Democrats, and for those who have read my writings, big supporters of Barack Obama. We have made our small contribution to the campaign, giving a nominal sum for a T-shirt and a few bumper stickers. But we are in a position, like most in this country, who cannot contribute in large sums like lobbies or corporations. We cannot afford, on our incomes, to give more to a candidate than we pay month to month toward our own personal debts.
So why am I being asked to pay off the debt of the Clinton campaign? Why am I being asked by my own nominee to give money to the woman who is not the nominee and continuously put herself deeper into debt knowing she could not win. She knowingly accrued an ever growing hole in her pocket without thinking of the future consequences (which goes to show that Democrats made the right decision in choosing Obama). And now she has the audacity to ask those who did not support her candidacy to pay off the debts of her egotism.
We cannot afford gas for our commutes, food for the dinner table, insurance for our ills, yet we are asked to deepen our own debt to lessen a millionaire's own financial shortcomings? If you pour money into a slot machine and continue to lose, all the while convinced you will win, the casino is not going to reimburse you when you finally crap out. Take the gamble, pay the price.
Write a new book, go on a speaking tour, do what you must to work off your own damned debt, Senator, and stop insulting the hard-working middle-class you so vociferously fought for. Hell, go get appointed to a board of directors somewhere and then retire a year later; the severance package will most certainly pay off those campaign loans.
As for Senator Obama, take the hint as shown by your supporters' response to your plea to help out Hillary: less than $100,000 has been given for her debts since you clinched the nomination. Don't alienate those who got you where you are. Just concentrate on how you'll make it easier for us regular citizens to ease our own debts.
Hillary, this is why you will always be a polarizing figure: you have no real grasp on reality. Go back to Chappaqua, your multi-million dollar mansion, and your focus on the job you do have.
My wife and I are like most Americans who try their best to pay down their debt and "get square" with their lenders. Like half of America, we are true blue Democrats, and for those who have read my writings, big supporters of Barack Obama. We have made our small contribution to the campaign, giving a nominal sum for a T-shirt and a few bumper stickers. But we are in a position, like most in this country, who cannot contribute in large sums like lobbies or corporations. We cannot afford, on our incomes, to give more to a candidate than we pay month to month toward our own personal debts.
So why am I being asked to pay off the debt of the Clinton campaign? Why am I being asked by my own nominee to give money to the woman who is not the nominee and continuously put herself deeper into debt knowing she could not win. She knowingly accrued an ever growing hole in her pocket without thinking of the future consequences (which goes to show that Democrats made the right decision in choosing Obama). And now she has the audacity to ask those who did not support her candidacy to pay off the debts of her egotism.
We cannot afford gas for our commutes, food for the dinner table, insurance for our ills, yet we are asked to deepen our own debt to lessen a millionaire's own financial shortcomings? If you pour money into a slot machine and continue to lose, all the while convinced you will win, the casino is not going to reimburse you when you finally crap out. Take the gamble, pay the price.
Write a new book, go on a speaking tour, do what you must to work off your own damned debt, Senator, and stop insulting the hard-working middle-class you so vociferously fought for. Hell, go get appointed to a board of directors somewhere and then retire a year later; the severance package will most certainly pay off those campaign loans.
As for Senator Obama, take the hint as shown by your supporters' response to your plea to help out Hillary: less than $100,000 has been given for her debts since you clinched the nomination. Don't alienate those who got you where you are. Just concentrate on how you'll make it easier for us regular citizens to ease our own debts.
Hillary, this is why you will always be a polarizing figure: you have no real grasp on reality. Go back to Chappaqua, your multi-million dollar mansion, and your focus on the job you do have.
Friday, July 4, 2008
The Pursuit of MY Happiness
So why am I sitting here on the Fourth of July banging out my miscreant thoughts instead of getting sunburned at a local fest or bloated from a cold frosty PBR? Because Americans can't read.
Every newspaper across the country today will invariably print a copy of the Declaration of Independence in full, which most will scan over instead of reading word for word, assuming they remember it from their school days. But like a bad game of "Telephone", the rights claimed therein have gotten slightly muddled after two hundred plus years. Specifically, the inalienable right to the "pursuit of happiness."
We aren't guaranteed happiness itself, rather, the right to try and make ourselves as happy as we wish. Whether or not we achieve happiness is another story. Unfortunately, we have become a nation of immediacy as illustrated by the brevity of "YouTube" clips, leaders speaking in sound bites, and television on demand through DVRs and TiVo. We have gone from a saving society that planned for purchases to one of debt where we get what we want now and deal with the consequences of that purchase later. Immediacy has pervaded every part of our lives. Pundits call elections the very second the polls close. Movies can be downloaded to your computer instantly for viewing so you don't have to waste the thirty minutes it would take to go to the video store and back.
Americans don't pursue happiness anymore, they expect it, and they expect it now.
I'm sitting in my office typing on my computer right now because I can't go to a fest or a picnic or barbecue. My wife is at work today. On a national holiday. In the summer. A holiday that celebrates the document that purports her right to try to be happy, which I would assume to be a day off to celebrate the nation's birth. Instead, she's sitting in an office rectifying obstacles to other peoples need for immediate happiness.
In other words, she's got to be the one who tells people they aren't getting the product they ordered because the Post Office is closed today.
My question is why the Post Office has the gall to be closed when every other business in America remains open on the nation's birthday? How dare they infringe on the happiness of the American people like that? Don't they realize that we will collapse as a civilization if we don't get what we want when we want it?
As I wait for my wife to get home from work, I could get in my car and waste the $4.26 per gallon tank of gas on hopping from strip mall to strip mall buying all those things I feel would make me happy today, from a new mattress (the top honor for our country as the biggest mattress sales usually correspond to our more patriotic holidays (President's Day, Columbus Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran's Day, Fourth of July)) to a wide screen television to a garden gnome for the back yard. You name it, I could buy it today, on this, our biggest national holiday.
Really, what better way to celebrate our national birthday than by exploiting it's greatest virtue: greed. We have been a nation of consumers since the first days of the Republic, ever expanding, ever building, ever growing. So why should we close our businesses on this one day? It would be un-American to prohibit rampant commercial consumption.
And it would be un-American to ignore the true meaning of this day.
There was a time not so long ago that we held this holiday in a higher esteem. Growing up in the Seventies, the only businesses open on the Fourth of July were the grocery stores for those who needed a few more hot dog buns for the picnic or a bag of ice for the cooler. But they, too, shut down by noon. Perhaps it was the occurrence of the Bicentennial that made us a bit more reverent, but it doesn't explain how other national holidays were honored in the same way. You couldn't go to the mall on Labor Day because it was actually a day off from labor, for everyone. Now days, most companies don't even offer time and a half for working on that day.
The Fourth of July should be the day that everyone gets to pursue happiness by having a day off work and being able to enjoy the day in whatever manner they chose. The Fourth of July should not be a day when we expect happiness by having someone else answer the complaint line you have called because you are pursuing happiness. It's not guaranteed that someone will answer that line and make you happy, but you have every right to call and try to be made happy. It's that "try" part that trips everyone up.
So go back to today's paper, pull out that reprint of the Declaration of Independence, and actually read it. Double check that "happiness" part. It's not an inalienable right, but trying to be is. So I think I might go try and get my wife to take off work early so that I can try and enjoy the rest of this day. Sorry if that means you won't get your merchandise today. You'll just have to try and deal with it.
Every newspaper across the country today will invariably print a copy of the Declaration of Independence in full, which most will scan over instead of reading word for word, assuming they remember it from their school days. But like a bad game of "Telephone", the rights claimed therein have gotten slightly muddled after two hundred plus years. Specifically, the inalienable right to the "pursuit of happiness."
We aren't guaranteed happiness itself, rather, the right to try and make ourselves as happy as we wish. Whether or not we achieve happiness is another story. Unfortunately, we have become a nation of immediacy as illustrated by the brevity of "YouTube" clips, leaders speaking in sound bites, and television on demand through DVRs and TiVo. We have gone from a saving society that planned for purchases to one of debt where we get what we want now and deal with the consequences of that purchase later. Immediacy has pervaded every part of our lives. Pundits call elections the very second the polls close. Movies can be downloaded to your computer instantly for viewing so you don't have to waste the thirty minutes it would take to go to the video store and back.
Americans don't pursue happiness anymore, they expect it, and they expect it now.
I'm sitting in my office typing on my computer right now because I can't go to a fest or a picnic or barbecue. My wife is at work today. On a national holiday. In the summer. A holiday that celebrates the document that purports her right to try to be happy, which I would assume to be a day off to celebrate the nation's birth. Instead, she's sitting in an office rectifying obstacles to other peoples need for immediate happiness.
In other words, she's got to be the one who tells people they aren't getting the product they ordered because the Post Office is closed today.
My question is why the Post Office has the gall to be closed when every other business in America remains open on the nation's birthday? How dare they infringe on the happiness of the American people like that? Don't they realize that we will collapse as a civilization if we don't get what we want when we want it?
As I wait for my wife to get home from work, I could get in my car and waste the $4.26 per gallon tank of gas on hopping from strip mall to strip mall buying all those things I feel would make me happy today, from a new mattress (the top honor for our country as the biggest mattress sales usually correspond to our more patriotic holidays (President's Day, Columbus Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran's Day, Fourth of July)) to a wide screen television to a garden gnome for the back yard. You name it, I could buy it today, on this, our biggest national holiday.
Really, what better way to celebrate our national birthday than by exploiting it's greatest virtue: greed. We have been a nation of consumers since the first days of the Republic, ever expanding, ever building, ever growing. So why should we close our businesses on this one day? It would be un-American to prohibit rampant commercial consumption.
And it would be un-American to ignore the true meaning of this day.
There was a time not so long ago that we held this holiday in a higher esteem. Growing up in the Seventies, the only businesses open on the Fourth of July were the grocery stores for those who needed a few more hot dog buns for the picnic or a bag of ice for the cooler. But they, too, shut down by noon. Perhaps it was the occurrence of the Bicentennial that made us a bit more reverent, but it doesn't explain how other national holidays were honored in the same way. You couldn't go to the mall on Labor Day because it was actually a day off from labor, for everyone. Now days, most companies don't even offer time and a half for working on that day.
The Fourth of July should be the day that everyone gets to pursue happiness by having a day off work and being able to enjoy the day in whatever manner they chose. The Fourth of July should not be a day when we expect happiness by having someone else answer the complaint line you have called because you are pursuing happiness. It's not guaranteed that someone will answer that line and make you happy, but you have every right to call and try to be made happy. It's that "try" part that trips everyone up.
So go back to today's paper, pull out that reprint of the Declaration of Independence, and actually read it. Double check that "happiness" part. It's not an inalienable right, but trying to be is. So I think I might go try and get my wife to take off work early so that I can try and enjoy the rest of this day. Sorry if that means you won't get your merchandise today. You'll just have to try and deal with it.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
The nerf of some people....
It's bad enough that we coddle our children and try to be their "best friend." The result being "grown-ups" who have never had to grow up. We don't discipline anymore out of fear of over-reactive observers who claim that a justified smack on the bottom constitutes child abuse. Instead of laying ground rules and consequences, we encourage indifference and contempt for authority. Children who are not held accountable for their actions will continue to be irresponsible in the future. What we do now influences how these kids will behave as adults.
So it was with complete exasperation that I read about a Little League conference in Ohio that has cancelled it's All-Star Game for fear that "singling out certain kids as better players than others can hurt youthful self-confidence."
Well, then, when these summer sluggers get back to school, we had better make sure we eliminate the honor roll, and then for high schools and colleges, the valedictorian and salutatorian honors. We don't want the "stupid" kids to feel any "stupider" than they already are.
How will this help them!? Are they going to go to their boss when they get a job and cry that it's unfair that someone else got a promotion and they didn't? Or be surprised when they get a performance review?
How will this help them learn to take criticism, feedback, learn humility, respect for others, respect for hard work, respect for determination, respect for the job they have done? How does this help them learn to better themselves? How does this help them learn introspection?
It doesn't, plain and simple. What it does teach them is that if you don't try and you don't give your best effort, you'll be congratulated anyway. You'll be taught that it's not important to to try and be better, to do better. You will never be able to learn from your own mistakes because you will never be able to recognize when you do make mistakes. You will never realize your own potential.
Coddle these kids now, and they'll be bigger cry-babies in the future than what you're trying to prevent them from being now.
So this season, Beechwood, Ohio, don't do it half-assed: stop keeping score (or at least make sure every game ends in a tie), let everyone get on base, eliminate the play-offs, and you better use an extra-soft nerf ball (egos can be pretty fragile....).
So it was with complete exasperation that I read about a Little League conference in Ohio that has cancelled it's All-Star Game for fear that "singling out certain kids as better players than others can hurt youthful self-confidence."
Well, then, when these summer sluggers get back to school, we had better make sure we eliminate the honor roll, and then for high schools and colleges, the valedictorian and salutatorian honors. We don't want the "stupid" kids to feel any "stupider" than they already are.
How will this help them!? Are they going to go to their boss when they get a job and cry that it's unfair that someone else got a promotion and they didn't? Or be surprised when they get a performance review?
How will this help them learn to take criticism, feedback, learn humility, respect for others, respect for hard work, respect for determination, respect for the job they have done? How does this help them learn to better themselves? How does this help them learn introspection?
It doesn't, plain and simple. What it does teach them is that if you don't try and you don't give your best effort, you'll be congratulated anyway. You'll be taught that it's not important to to try and be better, to do better. You will never be able to learn from your own mistakes because you will never be able to recognize when you do make mistakes. You will never realize your own potential.
Coddle these kids now, and they'll be bigger cry-babies in the future than what you're trying to prevent them from being now.
So this season, Beechwood, Ohio, don't do it half-assed: stop keeping score (or at least make sure every game ends in a tie), let everyone get on base, eliminate the play-offs, and you better use an extra-soft nerf ball (egos can be pretty fragile....).
Friday, June 27, 2008
Your kid is killing my earth....
Children are the reason for global warming. Well, not maliciously, but they are why the ice caps are melting, why basic food prices are on the rise. Don't jump to the conclusion that I'm referring to over-population, although that is part of the problem, it's not my underlying argument.
Tax breaks.
That's my underlying argument.
The federal government allows a break on taxes for every child you have. Supposedly this is to make things financially more viable for said family. In the long run, it actually costs the family more money due to rising food and fuel prices. It is this lack of tax income to the government that is hurting the American family.
Taxes pay for our education system, and yet the people who use this system are the ones being given a break on funding that system. Those with children aren't paying into that which educates their children as much as non-breeding families do. Teachers pay for supplies out of pocket, lunch programs are being wiped out left and right, and there is no money for any type of extra-curricular activities. Now families are paying more for healthy (we would hope) lunches for their kids to take to school and fees for private athletic programs.
Now that these kids are getting shuttled to the soccer field, the dance studio, the karate dojo, we are leaving a larger carbon footprint by all of this constant motion from one venue to the next. We drive them to the mall to buy the gear they need, we take them to practice, we go to the grocery store for lunch snacks, activity snacks.
How do we get to these places? Mr. and Mrs,. Average American will taxi their brood in an SUV. Now if that family were interested in getting another tax break, they could buy a hybrid vehicle, as the government will reward those who own and drive those wonders of science. But they don't make a Prius with room for six and three DVD players in the back, so Joe Blow will do what he thinks is his part in supporting the American economy and eschew those efficient imports for a true-blue American monster. They will take it three times as much to the local BP station and fill 'er up, unwittingly contributing the profits of a foreign-owned oil company (yes, BP is British). And should some of those profits make it into the hands of Americans, they will be mostly be shared by the stock-holders who make enough money that they get even larger tax-breaks than the folks who pay their salary leaving less money going into the tax-funded education system.
As the average price of gas goes up, the good folks who grow the food we eat suffer, too. Shipping costs go up due to high gas prices and to recoup those losses, the farmer needs to charge more for his wares. In order to off-set production costs, many will use chemicals to boost production in order to get multiple harvests in a given year. Others in Third World countries will use slash-and-burn techniques to clear more land for farming, disrupting the natural balance in local ecosystems and adding more pollutants to the atmosphere.
But what of those goods folks supporting organic products and using canvass shopping bags to help with the environment? My applause for them, indeed, but it's hard to clap for someone who loads those Whole Foods products into a Hummer left running in the parking lot while her four kids watch "Spiderman 3" in the back seat.
Those who choose not to have children pay more into the tax system than those who use the system for their kids. If anything, the tax breaks should be given to those who are contributing to the balance of nature by not reproducing and wreaking havoc on the environment in their vain attempts to carry on a surname. Reward those who leave a smaller carbon footprint. That's not to say that childless couples do not do their part to destroy the world unwittingly, but they do it at a much slower pace. Less mouths to feed and shuttle around leave less of a footprint behind.
So don't grumble when you fill the tank on your Suburban while taking Ethan and Mackenzie to the water park (whew, it's a hot summer, eh?) because the government, if you remember, is rewarding you for this.
Tax breaks.
That's my underlying argument.
The federal government allows a break on taxes for every child you have. Supposedly this is to make things financially more viable for said family. In the long run, it actually costs the family more money due to rising food and fuel prices. It is this lack of tax income to the government that is hurting the American family.
Taxes pay for our education system, and yet the people who use this system are the ones being given a break on funding that system. Those with children aren't paying into that which educates their children as much as non-breeding families do. Teachers pay for supplies out of pocket, lunch programs are being wiped out left and right, and there is no money for any type of extra-curricular activities. Now families are paying more for healthy (we would hope) lunches for their kids to take to school and fees for private athletic programs.
Now that these kids are getting shuttled to the soccer field, the dance studio, the karate dojo, we are leaving a larger carbon footprint by all of this constant motion from one venue to the next. We drive them to the mall to buy the gear they need, we take them to practice, we go to the grocery store for lunch snacks, activity snacks.
How do we get to these places? Mr. and Mrs,. Average American will taxi their brood in an SUV. Now if that family were interested in getting another tax break, they could buy a hybrid vehicle, as the government will reward those who own and drive those wonders of science. But they don't make a Prius with room for six and three DVD players in the back, so Joe Blow will do what he thinks is his part in supporting the American economy and eschew those efficient imports for a true-blue American monster. They will take it three times as much to the local BP station and fill 'er up, unwittingly contributing the profits of a foreign-owned oil company (yes, BP is British). And should some of those profits make it into the hands of Americans, they will be mostly be shared by the stock-holders who make enough money that they get even larger tax-breaks than the folks who pay their salary leaving less money going into the tax-funded education system.
As the average price of gas goes up, the good folks who grow the food we eat suffer, too. Shipping costs go up due to high gas prices and to recoup those losses, the farmer needs to charge more for his wares. In order to off-set production costs, many will use chemicals to boost production in order to get multiple harvests in a given year. Others in Third World countries will use slash-and-burn techniques to clear more land for farming, disrupting the natural balance in local ecosystems and adding more pollutants to the atmosphere.
But what of those goods folks supporting organic products and using canvass shopping bags to help with the environment? My applause for them, indeed, but it's hard to clap for someone who loads those Whole Foods products into a Hummer left running in the parking lot while her four kids watch "Spiderman 3" in the back seat.
Those who choose not to have children pay more into the tax system than those who use the system for their kids. If anything, the tax breaks should be given to those who are contributing to the balance of nature by not reproducing and wreaking havoc on the environment in their vain attempts to carry on a surname. Reward those who leave a smaller carbon footprint. That's not to say that childless couples do not do their part to destroy the world unwittingly, but they do it at a much slower pace. Less mouths to feed and shuttle around leave less of a footprint behind.
So don't grumble when you fill the tank on your Suburban while taking Ethan and Mackenzie to the water park (whew, it's a hot summer, eh?) because the government, if you remember, is rewarding you for this.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
At least it's quiet in the winter...
In an age dominated by XBOX, Wii, and Playstation, it is always encouraging to see children outside, enjoying the great outdoors, getting fresh air and exercise.
But for the love of God, why must every child who steps foot out the front door commence screaming and shrieking at the top of the lungs? Every second spent outside is accompanied with an unending siren of ear-piercing squeals, without pause, without breath, without reason, and without regard for the rest of the neighborhood.
Sure, playtime is fun, it's exciting, it's imaginations run wild. Running around, expending youthful energies, enjoying life as only a child can. But why, simply why, must it be ensconced in cacophony that would put a NASCAR race to shame? Why are the parents so indifferent to how this may effect or offend their neighbors?
Many people chose not to have children for this reason. They chose a life of quiet, of peace, of calm. Unfortunately adult-only neighborhoods are only to be found in retirement communities. What of the twenty-somethings that want a tranquil street, free of tricycles, super-soakers, and other rugrat paraphernalia? Exclusionary communities are rare as most developers fear discrimination lawsuits. But if nudist colonies can exist on the requisite that it's denizens eschew clothing, then why cannot a sub-division constrain it's residents to a no-child policy? It is and can be a life-style choice and those who chose to be child-free should be availed neighborhoods that cater to that lifestyle.
Meanwhile, I'm going to medical school to become an ear doctor. When these fountains of sonic exuberance grow up, they're gonna be deaf, deaf, deaf...
But for the love of God, why must every child who steps foot out the front door commence screaming and shrieking at the top of the lungs? Every second spent outside is accompanied with an unending siren of ear-piercing squeals, without pause, without breath, without reason, and without regard for the rest of the neighborhood.
Sure, playtime is fun, it's exciting, it's imaginations run wild. Running around, expending youthful energies, enjoying life as only a child can. But why, simply why, must it be ensconced in cacophony that would put a NASCAR race to shame? Why are the parents so indifferent to how this may effect or offend their neighbors?
Many people chose not to have children for this reason. They chose a life of quiet, of peace, of calm. Unfortunately adult-only neighborhoods are only to be found in retirement communities. What of the twenty-somethings that want a tranquil street, free of tricycles, super-soakers, and other rugrat paraphernalia? Exclusionary communities are rare as most developers fear discrimination lawsuits. But if nudist colonies can exist on the requisite that it's denizens eschew clothing, then why cannot a sub-division constrain it's residents to a no-child policy? It is and can be a life-style choice and those who chose to be child-free should be availed neighborhoods that cater to that lifestyle.
Meanwhile, I'm going to medical school to become an ear doctor. When these fountains of sonic exuberance grow up, they're gonna be deaf, deaf, deaf...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Red state, blue state, green state?
On St. Patrick's Day everybody wears green. The Celtics, the Packers, the winner of The Masters golf tournament claim green as a signature color. Yoda just wouldn't be your favorite Jedi master if he were any other hue. It's the color that signifies the onset of spring. M & Ms just wouldn't be the same without green.
Green is the reason John McCain will lose the general election.
No, not because of the environment (though that's another point of contention...). It's his campaign logo.
Breaking with tradition and eschewing the patriotic standard red, white, and blue, McCain has instead opted for white lettering on a kelly green background. A bold attempt to stand out from the standard regardless of the negative subliminal message it conveys.
My Dad is a stock car enthusiast and he took my sister and I to tracks as kids. We would pick out favorites to win based solely on the look of the car until we were told never to pick the green car. The color is considered unlucky in racing.
In high school I was in a few theatre productions and in one play I was the villain. My costume was a green suit. My drama coach informed me that characters who needed a negative reaction from the audience were frequently dressed in green and that it had the psychological effect of inducing disdain.
Envy is a mortal sin. "Green with envy" anyone?
We all know the altruism "money is the root of all evil". American dollars are referred to as "greenbacks" for the reverse-side dye. To go even further, gamblers consider the fifty dollar bill to be unlucky and refuse to carry them.
Dr. Banner turns into a raging green monster when angry, transforming himself and his rage into the Incredible Hulk.
The Wicked Witch of the West?
While the intention to show the "maverick" nature of the candidate, McCain's handlers have made an unintentional error in trying to visually convey that message.
Perhaps a lesson can be learned from one who knows the ins and outs of that precarious color, Kermit the Frog: "it's not easy being green"
Green is the reason John McCain will lose the general election.
No, not because of the environment (though that's another point of contention...). It's his campaign logo.
Breaking with tradition and eschewing the patriotic standard red, white, and blue, McCain has instead opted for white lettering on a kelly green background. A bold attempt to stand out from the standard regardless of the negative subliminal message it conveys.
My Dad is a stock car enthusiast and he took my sister and I to tracks as kids. We would pick out favorites to win based solely on the look of the car until we were told never to pick the green car. The color is considered unlucky in racing.
In high school I was in a few theatre productions and in one play I was the villain. My costume was a green suit. My drama coach informed me that characters who needed a negative reaction from the audience were frequently dressed in green and that it had the psychological effect of inducing disdain.
Envy is a mortal sin. "Green with envy" anyone?
We all know the altruism "money is the root of all evil". American dollars are referred to as "greenbacks" for the reverse-side dye. To go even further, gamblers consider the fifty dollar bill to be unlucky and refuse to carry them.
Dr. Banner turns into a raging green monster when angry, transforming himself and his rage into the Incredible Hulk.
The Wicked Witch of the West?
While the intention to show the "maverick" nature of the candidate, McCain's handlers have made an unintentional error in trying to visually convey that message.
Perhaps a lesson can be learned from one who knows the ins and outs of that precarious color, Kermit the Frog: "it's not easy being green"
Monday, June 16, 2008
Lessons from Star Jones
There are a lot of names that flash across the tabloid conscience, and while they all milk their fifteen minutes, we can, for the most part, recognize the foundation of their fame. Not that there is a discernable relevance to these figures in relation to our own trials and tribulations, but watching the rise and fall of public figures can sometimes add humor to our own life experiences. Some of us can relate to the unfortunate relationship a certain intern held with a person in high powerful office. Others can sympathize with a celebrity's addictions. We read "US Weekly" and "InTouch" to form a connection with those in the spotlight; similarities can bind us to our most beloved Hollywood figures.
There is also a type of celebrity that cause instantaneous disdain, derision, and disgust: the "why-are-they-famous ?" celebrity. Not knowing how or why this person is on the cover of "The Star" can pique ire rather than curiosity.
My case in point: Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt.
They're famous for being on a reality soap-opera that was actually scripted. In "real life" they have become engaged. With the engagement has come Star Jones-sized demands.
They have demanded (and I use that word puriently) that every aspect of the wedding be donated, ala Star Jones. They expect to pay for nothing.
These are two bimbos that have blown their paychecks on night after night of partying, being out at "hot spots" to ensure they catch the media's eye. Now that the biggest days of egoism have arrived, they are left unprepared.
They have turned being pseudo-celebrities into a cash cow, only they've milked the teat of fame dry and the pail is empty.
So like every member of the "me" generation they have decided that the public owes them everything fo, forgetting the land-slide of negative press Star Jones received after her donated wedding.
I didn't have anything donated for my wedding.
We made our invitations on a laptop and printed them, at our own expense, on colored copy paper at the Kinko's. We couldn't afford to go home to Illinois for the ceremony, let alone have everyone come out to the west coast, either. There was no reception, no cake, no limo. We made the best of what we had and we managed to have a rather spectacular day. Everything came out of our own pocket.
My Dad didn't have his health insurance or mortgage paid for by others when he was laid off. He didn't have Volkswagon buy the van we took on family vacations. Wall Drug Store didn't pay for us to get to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore.
A donation is a charitable gift, for one not able to buy the given item. Food is donated to starving Third World countries, books to schools that operate on shoe-string budgets. Disaster relief is an answer to a cry for help. Donations are given to a good cause.
For the life of me, I cannot phathom how these two self-absorbed ego-freaks believe they constitute a good cause..
Wamt to experience a day as recipients of donated goods? Walk your fake-and-bake asses down to the Goodwill. That tent you want? Sleep under one in a reugee camp in Chad. Free food? Wait in the soup kitchen lines of New York.
It's not that they are celebrities for no reason that bugs me, but rather, that the centerpieces of the "me" generation are ironically asking that same generation to give to others.
To be fair, you are supposed to get something "old, somthing new, something borrowed"....
There is also a type of celebrity that cause instantaneous disdain, derision, and disgust: the "why-are-they-famous ?" celebrity. Not knowing how or why this person is on the cover of "The Star" can pique ire rather than curiosity.
My case in point: Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt.
They're famous for being on a reality soap-opera that was actually scripted. In "real life" they have become engaged. With the engagement has come Star Jones-sized demands.
They have demanded (and I use that word puriently) that every aspect of the wedding be donated, ala Star Jones. They expect to pay for nothing.
These are two bimbos that have blown their paychecks on night after night of partying, being out at "hot spots" to ensure they catch the media's eye. Now that the biggest days of egoism have arrived, they are left unprepared.
They have turned being pseudo-celebrities into a cash cow, only they've milked the teat of fame dry and the pail is empty.
So like every member of the "me" generation they have decided that the public owes them everything fo, forgetting the land-slide of negative press Star Jones received after her donated wedding.
I didn't have anything donated for my wedding.
We made our invitations on a laptop and printed them, at our own expense, on colored copy paper at the Kinko's. We couldn't afford to go home to Illinois for the ceremony, let alone have everyone come out to the west coast, either. There was no reception, no cake, no limo. We made the best of what we had and we managed to have a rather spectacular day. Everything came out of our own pocket.
My Dad didn't have his health insurance or mortgage paid for by others when he was laid off. He didn't have Volkswagon buy the van we took on family vacations. Wall Drug Store didn't pay for us to get to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore.
A donation is a charitable gift, for one not able to buy the given item. Food is donated to starving Third World countries, books to schools that operate on shoe-string budgets. Disaster relief is an answer to a cry for help. Donations are given to a good cause.
For the life of me, I cannot phathom how these two self-absorbed ego-freaks believe they constitute a good cause..
Wamt to experience a day as recipients of donated goods? Walk your fake-and-bake asses down to the Goodwill. That tent you want? Sleep under one in a reugee camp in Chad. Free food? Wait in the soup kitchen lines of New York.
It's not that they are celebrities for no reason that bugs me, but rather, that the centerpieces of the "me" generation are ironically asking that same generation to give to others.
To be fair, you are supposed to get something "old, somthing new, something borrowed"....
Sunday, June 15, 2008
A picture is worth a thousand words...
There was a framed picture of me on my Mother's desk at work. A co-worker was looking at it and told my Mom that I looked just like my Dad. She laughed.
"You think so?"
"Oh, definitely. You can tell that's Larry's son."
I love that story because Larry is, in the technical sense, my stepdad. In reality, he is the only real father I have ever had.
Just like most pre-teen kids, my relationship with my new father didn't go so well. It's not that I thought he was trying to replace my "real" father, because in truth, there was no "real" father to replace; the greasy yellow-toothed used-car salesman was never a father to begin with, just a sperm-donor. My relationship with Larry was tenuous simply because I suddenly had an authority figure in my life. We spent the better part of the next fifteen years battling, bumping heads, misunderstanding each other. In hindsight, I was the monster, not him, but at the time, I thought he was an unforgiving hard-ass.
Thank God he was.
Growing up with him, I found him to be anal-retentive, a perfectionist, and completely unbending in his ways. He had strange sayings, curses, and phrases. He was always taking showers.
But he found ways to make sure my sister and I always had a summer vacation, a tree-house to play in, a bedroom decorated to our tastes. There were sacrifices I was never aware of.
Our relationship eventually grew into one of respect as I got older, moved up the corporate ladder, settled down and got married. I can't remember exactly when I stopped calling him Larry and started calling him Dad. But that's what he always was, whether I was mature enough to admit it. And I was his son. So much so that I became my father.
My wife likes to joke that I snore like him, curse like him, eat like him, obsess over minute details like him. We have come to look like one another, our heads shorn close, our whiskers white, our noses always sunburned. I have become my father and I am the better man for it. And when I look at those pictures of my father and me, it is true, we do look alike. We should. He's my dad....
"You think so?"
"Oh, definitely. You can tell that's Larry's son."
I love that story because Larry is, in the technical sense, my stepdad. In reality, he is the only real father I have ever had.
Just like most pre-teen kids, my relationship with my new father didn't go so well. It's not that I thought he was trying to replace my "real" father, because in truth, there was no "real" father to replace; the greasy yellow-toothed used-car salesman was never a father to begin with, just a sperm-donor. My relationship with Larry was tenuous simply because I suddenly had an authority figure in my life. We spent the better part of the next fifteen years battling, bumping heads, misunderstanding each other. In hindsight, I was the monster, not him, but at the time, I thought he was an unforgiving hard-ass.
Thank God he was.
Growing up with him, I found him to be anal-retentive, a perfectionist, and completely unbending in his ways. He had strange sayings, curses, and phrases. He was always taking showers.
But he found ways to make sure my sister and I always had a summer vacation, a tree-house to play in, a bedroom decorated to our tastes. There were sacrifices I was never aware of.
Our relationship eventually grew into one of respect as I got older, moved up the corporate ladder, settled down and got married. I can't remember exactly when I stopped calling him Larry and started calling him Dad. But that's what he always was, whether I was mature enough to admit it. And I was his son. So much so that I became my father.
My wife likes to joke that I snore like him, curse like him, eat like him, obsess over minute details like him. We have come to look like one another, our heads shorn close, our whiskers white, our noses always sunburned. I have become my father and I am the better man for it. And when I look at those pictures of my father and me, it is true, we do look alike. We should. He's my dad....
Monday, June 9, 2008
A Burning Ring Of Fire
Country music has been called the heartbeat of America. It should be called the cheatin' heart of America.
Cheaters are duplicitous two-timers and I believe that it is duplicitous to listen to and have a love of country music and be a Republican at the same time.
The Republican Party's platform is one of family values. They decry the lyrics of rap and pop music for it's treatment of women, it's glorification of sex, it's blatant promotion of drugs and alcohol.
Have you listened to country music lately?
One of the biggest sensations in country music history is Garth Brooks. He's a poster child for Middle America. Oklahoma City is his home. But take another look at his tunes and you might think he was a regular on MTV. His Greatest Hits album contains songs about "Friends in Low Places" who get drunk and crash a wedding, a trucker's obsessive crush on a teen girl in "Baton Rouge", and a high school boy who loses his virginity to a woman twice his age in "That Summer." Other songs glorify drinking such as "Two Pina Coladas", "Longneck Bottle", and "Beer Run" which also contains references to drinking and driving. Nice life lessons, Garth.
Oh, and congratulations on leaving your wife of thirteen years while on tour for Trisha Yearwood. Guess adultery's okay in your book.
Speaking of adultery, take a listen to the cross-over hit by Carrie Underwood: "He Better Think Next Time Before He Cheats." Think of country classics like "Your Cheatin' Heart", "Jolene", and "Lucille". For the sanctity-of-marriage crowd, the music doesn't seem to fit the belief system. The old joke goes that if you play country music backwards the dog comes back, the wife comes back.... If the Christian majority of red-state residents can't seem to keep their own marriages together then how can they have the audacity to claim that the only way to preserve marriage is to define it? How about practicing what ya'll preach?
Willie Nelson is one of the Kings of Country Music, famous for ditties such as "Whisky River" and "Whisky For My Men and Beer For My Horses." But here, too, is a man who is better known for getting high on the roof of the White House.
Take an hour and listen to a country-western music radio station and simply pay attention to the lyrics. You'll be surprised how equally irresponsible these songs are compared to a Top 20 station's music. So stop the "holier than thou" attitude, my red-state bible-thumpin' cowboy-hat-wearing pick-up truck-drivin' Coors Light- drinkin' friends, and just keep to the Lee Greenwood tunes. At least they're true to your cause.
Cheaters are duplicitous two-timers and I believe that it is duplicitous to listen to and have a love of country music and be a Republican at the same time.
The Republican Party's platform is one of family values. They decry the lyrics of rap and pop music for it's treatment of women, it's glorification of sex, it's blatant promotion of drugs and alcohol.
Have you listened to country music lately?
One of the biggest sensations in country music history is Garth Brooks. He's a poster child for Middle America. Oklahoma City is his home. But take another look at his tunes and you might think he was a regular on MTV. His Greatest Hits album contains songs about "Friends in Low Places" who get drunk and crash a wedding, a trucker's obsessive crush on a teen girl in "Baton Rouge", and a high school boy who loses his virginity to a woman twice his age in "That Summer." Other songs glorify drinking such as "Two Pina Coladas", "Longneck Bottle", and "Beer Run" which also contains references to drinking and driving. Nice life lessons, Garth.
Oh, and congratulations on leaving your wife of thirteen years while on tour for Trisha Yearwood. Guess adultery's okay in your book.
Speaking of adultery, take a listen to the cross-over hit by Carrie Underwood: "He Better Think Next Time Before He Cheats." Think of country classics like "Your Cheatin' Heart", "Jolene", and "Lucille". For the sanctity-of-marriage crowd, the music doesn't seem to fit the belief system. The old joke goes that if you play country music backwards the dog comes back, the wife comes back.... If the Christian majority of red-state residents can't seem to keep their own marriages together then how can they have the audacity to claim that the only way to preserve marriage is to define it? How about practicing what ya'll preach?
Willie Nelson is one of the Kings of Country Music, famous for ditties such as "Whisky River" and "Whisky For My Men and Beer For My Horses." But here, too, is a man who is better known for getting high on the roof of the White House.
Take an hour and listen to a country-western music radio station and simply pay attention to the lyrics. You'll be surprised how equally irresponsible these songs are compared to a Top 20 station's music. So stop the "holier than thou" attitude, my red-state bible-thumpin' cowboy-hat-wearing pick-up truck-drivin' Coors Light- drinkin' friends, and just keep to the Lee Greenwood tunes. At least they're true to your cause.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Where The Wild Things Are
Every child grows up with some sort of stuffed animal, from the ubiquitous Teddy Bear to plush versions of animistic cartoon characters. Animals are a part of our world from birth. As we get older we attach ourselves to a favorite species, the elephant being mine, a representative of gentle intelligence. Some incur love for panthers for their fierceness, penguins for their playfulness, koalas for an innate cuteness. We come to have a connection that drives us to collect figurines, pictures, documentaries, jewelry, and the like. They are movie heroes, product mascots, Halloween costumes. They exist in our world everywhere, but there is one place that they do not belong, and they are there only due to our selfishness and instinctual drive to remain at the top of the evolutionary chain:
Zoos.
The major defense launched by zoological societies is one of protection and viability. Where it is true that there are many programs at zoos nationwide aimed at propagating species, a zoo is not the place for that altruistic activity. Claiming success at having birthed the first giraffe in captivity is no boast. The key word in that sentence is "captivity." A giraffe born at Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo, for example, is entirely unnatural. A giraffe born in an African wildlife sanctuary, in it's natural habitat, is a step toward the progress of saving a species from extinction, and saving, too, it's natural habitat.
Giraffes do not live in a 500 square foot concrete enclosure voluntarily. How does this type of environment give the animal dignity, happiness, or comfort ? When humans are put into the same type of situation, we call it prison.
When we go to a zoo, we aren't seeing the animals we love in their natural environment, acting in a way that shows their true behavior in nature. Instead we see, through barbed wires, plexiglass, and metal cages, bored, sad, emotionally disconnected inmates lying listless, showing none of the grandeur and beauty they possess in the wild. Baths with rubber garden hoses aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Michelin snow tires aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Animals, all animals, are in some way, hunters, always looking for sustenance. When we simply throw buckets of lettuce and carrots at them three times a day, we take away that most basic thing that makes them animals.
On Friday a Bengal tiger mauled and killed a zookeeper at a Tokyo zoo. Tigers do not naturally hunt humans, but after eleven years in the same small enclosure, instinct takes over when it spies the first moving thing it has seen in its life within paws' reach. What does a zoo do in this circumstance? It secures the animal even more, eliminating any chance for that beast to be its true self.
Animals at zoos are kept in constant torment by the yelling of children, throwing of things, tapping of glass. Are these the lives that these animals would lead in the wild? Hardly so. Even when viewed by people on safari, it is from a distance and with the caveat that your actions could bring you bodily harm. Tourists behave on safari. Tourists fall into a false sense of safety and disregard for nature when they go to the zoo.
The tiger that escaped and mauled three men at the San Diego Zoo not so long ago is a prime example. The uninjured friend who caused the attack has admitted he was high on drugs when he taunted and threw debris at the tiger in his enclosure. Would this same animal have been subjected to this kind of abuse in the wild? And because this tiger fought back when it was attacked, it was killed for it's actions. If we are trying to protect and preserve the majesty of these beasts, then why do we continually subject them to these miserable lifestyles?
We adopt animals at the zoo, we accept that our entry tickets are donations for the animals' upkeep. But are we truly caring for our animals by patronizing these places? Would you feel happy and playful if it were your neighborhood's family pets locked up, separated from each other in cages, have things thrown at them by strangers, given no room to play, and on display for all the world to taunt and point at?
Summer is upon us. Would you rather spend a weekend having fun with the family, enjoying the sun, or would you rather spend it contributing to the humiliation and degradation of imprisoned beasts of beauty? We will most certainly look back upon this time in our history and lament that we ever subjected these children of Mother Nature to such horrid treatment. Be the one who looks back and remembers how you helped change it.
Zoos.
The major defense launched by zoological societies is one of protection and viability. Where it is true that there are many programs at zoos nationwide aimed at propagating species, a zoo is not the place for that altruistic activity. Claiming success at having birthed the first giraffe in captivity is no boast. The key word in that sentence is "captivity." A giraffe born at Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo, for example, is entirely unnatural. A giraffe born in an African wildlife sanctuary, in it's natural habitat, is a step toward the progress of saving a species from extinction, and saving, too, it's natural habitat.
Giraffes do not live in a 500 square foot concrete enclosure voluntarily. How does this type of environment give the animal dignity, happiness, or comfort ? When humans are put into the same type of situation, we call it prison.
When we go to a zoo, we aren't seeing the animals we love in their natural environment, acting in a way that shows their true behavior in nature. Instead we see, through barbed wires, plexiglass, and metal cages, bored, sad, emotionally disconnected inmates lying listless, showing none of the grandeur and beauty they possess in the wild. Baths with rubber garden hoses aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Michelin snow tires aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Animals, all animals, are in some way, hunters, always looking for sustenance. When we simply throw buckets of lettuce and carrots at them three times a day, we take away that most basic thing that makes them animals.
On Friday a Bengal tiger mauled and killed a zookeeper at a Tokyo zoo. Tigers do not naturally hunt humans, but after eleven years in the same small enclosure, instinct takes over when it spies the first moving thing it has seen in its life within paws' reach. What does a zoo do in this circumstance? It secures the animal even more, eliminating any chance for that beast to be its true self.
Animals at zoos are kept in constant torment by the yelling of children, throwing of things, tapping of glass. Are these the lives that these animals would lead in the wild? Hardly so. Even when viewed by people on safari, it is from a distance and with the caveat that your actions could bring you bodily harm. Tourists behave on safari. Tourists fall into a false sense of safety and disregard for nature when they go to the zoo.
The tiger that escaped and mauled three men at the San Diego Zoo not so long ago is a prime example. The uninjured friend who caused the attack has admitted he was high on drugs when he taunted and threw debris at the tiger in his enclosure. Would this same animal have been subjected to this kind of abuse in the wild? And because this tiger fought back when it was attacked, it was killed for it's actions. If we are trying to protect and preserve the majesty of these beasts, then why do we continually subject them to these miserable lifestyles?
We adopt animals at the zoo, we accept that our entry tickets are donations for the animals' upkeep. But are we truly caring for our animals by patronizing these places? Would you feel happy and playful if it were your neighborhood's family pets locked up, separated from each other in cages, have things thrown at them by strangers, given no room to play, and on display for all the world to taunt and point at?
Summer is upon us. Would you rather spend a weekend having fun with the family, enjoying the sun, or would you rather spend it contributing to the humiliation and degradation of imprisoned beasts of beauty? We will most certainly look back upon this time in our history and lament that we ever subjected these children of Mother Nature to such horrid treatment. Be the one who looks back and remembers how you helped change it.
Friday, June 6, 2008
I'm sorry, Jesus, you didn't make it through to the next round
Okay, I'll admit it: I watch, with unabashed enthusiasm, "So You Think You Can Dance."
There are a lot, and I mean a lot, of sub-par reality/competition programs on the air. This one is different in that it puts the performances of professional dancers in the hands of professional judges. The contestants are put through paces that very few accomplished athletes could keep up with. The work is hard, artful, expressive, beautiful, and demanding. Each dancer striving to become one of the top twenty has pushed themselves beyond their limits and have had to reach deep within to find that extra push to get them over the competitive edge. They have acknowledged personal demons, friends and relatives as guideposts, tragedies that have given them second chances. A myriad of impetus has been expressed.
But I refuse to acknowledge that Jesus had anything to do with your making it to the next round.
Like many on the awards stage, a sobbing young lass, after being cut from the program, told the world that Jesus got her there.
"Excuse me, starving, beaten, homeless refugees of Darfur," says Jesus to his suffering flock. "I have to excuse myself to attend to a young attractive American girl and help her through a grueling dance competition on national television."
To think and claim that Jesus would belittle his own ministering to clear a path toward victory in a reality-TV competition is insulting to anyone who believes in Jesus in the first place.
In her acceptance speech at the 2007 Primetime Creative Arts Emmy Award for Best Reality Show, Kathy Griffin, star of "My Life on the D-List", joked:
"A lot of people come up here, and they thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus...suck it, Jesus, this award is my God now!"
Crude? Yes. Truthful? Yes.
To assume that Jesus would take his attention away from real human suffering and calamity to focus his attention on one individual's drive toward self-promotion and recognition is beyond all definitions of ridiculous. If anything, these apostates are worshiping at the feet of false golden idols. If they were truly religious and believed that Jesus was the guiding force in their lives, they would not need a golden statue or a silver medal to represent their achievement. It is anathema to the teachings of Christianity and humility before God.
The reward for me, though, was knowing that Jesus was only half-heartedly interested in our young blonde friend. She didn't make it into the top twenty.
But Kathy Griffin's Life on the D List certainly made it into my top twenty...
There are a lot, and I mean a lot, of sub-par reality/competition programs on the air. This one is different in that it puts the performances of professional dancers in the hands of professional judges. The contestants are put through paces that very few accomplished athletes could keep up with. The work is hard, artful, expressive, beautiful, and demanding. Each dancer striving to become one of the top twenty has pushed themselves beyond their limits and have had to reach deep within to find that extra push to get them over the competitive edge. They have acknowledged personal demons, friends and relatives as guideposts, tragedies that have given them second chances. A myriad of impetus has been expressed.
But I refuse to acknowledge that Jesus had anything to do with your making it to the next round.
Like many on the awards stage, a sobbing young lass, after being cut from the program, told the world that Jesus got her there.
"Excuse me, starving, beaten, homeless refugees of Darfur," says Jesus to his suffering flock. "I have to excuse myself to attend to a young attractive American girl and help her through a grueling dance competition on national television."
To think and claim that Jesus would belittle his own ministering to clear a path toward victory in a reality-TV competition is insulting to anyone who believes in Jesus in the first place.
In her acceptance speech at the 2007 Primetime Creative Arts Emmy Award for Best Reality Show, Kathy Griffin, star of "My Life on the D-List", joked:
"A lot of people come up here, and they thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus...suck it, Jesus, this award is my God now!"
Crude? Yes. Truthful? Yes.
To assume that Jesus would take his attention away from real human suffering and calamity to focus his attention on one individual's drive toward self-promotion and recognition is beyond all definitions of ridiculous. If anything, these apostates are worshiping at the feet of false golden idols. If they were truly religious and believed that Jesus was the guiding force in their lives, they would not need a golden statue or a silver medal to represent their achievement. It is anathema to the teachings of Christianity and humility before God.
The reward for me, though, was knowing that Jesus was only half-heartedly interested in our young blonde friend. She didn't make it into the top twenty.
But Kathy Griffin's Life on the D List certainly made it into my top twenty...
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Not Another Four Years.....
I didn't want to continue on and on about Hillary's lack of poise, grace, and humility, but as I was browsing MySpace today I got a bulletin informing me of the new "Hillary Clinton for President 2012" page. Only two days since she lost the nomination and already an inter-party battle has been launched for the next four years. Regardless if she should somehow wrangle the VP slot, she has already shown her true colors: an unquenchable thirst for power and spotlight.
The party is in need of unification. Democrats have long been accurately perceived as the party of internal chaos. The lack of cohesion and focus has cost the party in far too many national races. Senator Clinton's continued aping of Dick Cheney in an unswerving drive toward ultimate power does nothing but disservice to her party, her supporters and her New York constituents, let alone her need to leave a larger-than-life legacy.
She's leaving a legacy, alright, albeit one of a scorched earth policy in the quest for political immortality.
Just seeing the new site up, before she has even officially conceded the race, is telling in the question of her character. It belies the truth as to why she got into the race: for her own glory and not for the sake of the country.
History has a way of sorting out the magnanimous from the malicious. The legacy of Richard Nixon, for example, who could boast the greatest achievements in foreign policy of any modern President is instead remembered for his bunker-mentality, enemies lists, and self-inflicted downfall, all for the sake of holding power.
In that one speech, on Tuesday night, Hillary Clinton secured her spot in history, not as magnanimous, but malicious. Her inability to serve the people instead of her own interests is the one thing that will keep her from attaining that which she so desires. By not squelching any talk of her desire to remain a perpetual candidate for President she cements her legacy as a power-monger and not a power-sharer.
The Democratic Party has always held itself as the party of inclusion. By refusing to acknowledge the accomplishments of Barack Obama, Hillary has tarnished that image and has forfeited any right as a standard-bearer for the party.
So go ahead, Hillary, keep running. Four years is a lot of time for people to get to see your true colors.
The party is in need of unification. Democrats have long been accurately perceived as the party of internal chaos. The lack of cohesion and focus has cost the party in far too many national races. Senator Clinton's continued aping of Dick Cheney in an unswerving drive toward ultimate power does nothing but disservice to her party, her supporters and her New York constituents, let alone her need to leave a larger-than-life legacy.
She's leaving a legacy, alright, albeit one of a scorched earth policy in the quest for political immortality.
Just seeing the new site up, before she has even officially conceded the race, is telling in the question of her character. It belies the truth as to why she got into the race: for her own glory and not for the sake of the country.
History has a way of sorting out the magnanimous from the malicious. The legacy of Richard Nixon, for example, who could boast the greatest achievements in foreign policy of any modern President is instead remembered for his bunker-mentality, enemies lists, and self-inflicted downfall, all for the sake of holding power.
In that one speech, on Tuesday night, Hillary Clinton secured her spot in history, not as magnanimous, but malicious. Her inability to serve the people instead of her own interests is the one thing that will keep her from attaining that which she so desires. By not squelching any talk of her desire to remain a perpetual candidate for President she cements her legacy as a power-monger and not a power-sharer.
The Democratic Party has always held itself as the party of inclusion. By refusing to acknowledge the accomplishments of Barack Obama, Hillary has tarnished that image and has forfeited any right as a standard-bearer for the party.
So go ahead, Hillary, keep running. Four years is a lot of time for people to get to see your true colors.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
...Except for Aquaman...
Every young boy has at some point tied a towel around his neck and pretended to be a superhero. He can fly, he has super strength, he fights bad guys. He gets a little older and he starts to read comic books, fascinated by the struggles of good versus evil. And even when he is old enough to drive himself to the movie theater and watch the latest superhero feature, he will sit in his seat and imagine the world with real live superheroes, or perhaps fancy himself one. The fascination never ends.
But I have a real problem with costumed crusaders.
First of all, how seriously am I to take a grown man wearing pale blue leotards, Speedoes, and red Wellies. I certainly wouldn't think: Superhero. No, I might wonder what asylum he wandered away from. Seriously, who would wear such a thing? If we learned anything from "The Incredibles" it's that capes are a bad idea. And how is it that every crime fighter and super-villain have such mad sewing and designer skills? Peter Parker isn't just an ace photographer, he's ready for his turn on "Project Runway."
If there were real life superheroes I would totally want to be an insurance agent. My fortune would be made in selling "Superhero Battle Protection." Ever wonder what happens to the guy who comes out of his office building after a long day at work only to find that the Incredible Hulk has used his car as a frisbee? How do you file a claim for that? Do major cities allow for battle damage in their budgets? Think of all the collateral damage done when Batman and the Joker are done with their gadget-centric fisticuffs. If we can't rebuild New Orleans, how are we to rebuild Gotham after Mr Freeze turns it into a giant Slushee?
Superheroes would cause unemployment. Police forces would cut jobs in the face of a superior crime-fighting force. Bus drivers would walk off their jobs (the city bus is almost guaranteed to be used as a weapon in any given superhero battle). Our armed services would suffer recruitment losses as we turn as a nation to superior beings to protect us from our enemies.
The collective expectations of our society would never meet the performance standards of superheroes. We would expect them to be everywhere at once, fixing every problem. Our disappointment would exceed the level of accomplishment made by our protectors. So if not an insurance agent, I would definitely become a superhero psychologist.
Or a sanitation worker...plenty of Spidey-webs to clean up. He's the single greatest environmental threat posed by superheroes.
And where do these crusaders get all the money to buy their gadgets, hideouts, invisible planes, and weapons? Secret identities? Pretty easy to figure out. I mean, sure, you can rule out folks like Warren Buffet and Donald trump as masked crime-fighters, but you just know they are secretly financing one. So no more tax breaks for the wealthiest 10% of society; it only encourages mass destruction.
So I'd rather live in a world where the real superheroes are regular Joes, like cops, firemen, soldiers, doctors, teachers, and game-show hosts. Let's keep the webslingers and dark knights in our collective imaginations where they safely belong.
But I have a real problem with costumed crusaders.
First of all, how seriously am I to take a grown man wearing pale blue leotards, Speedoes, and red Wellies. I certainly wouldn't think: Superhero. No, I might wonder what asylum he wandered away from. Seriously, who would wear such a thing? If we learned anything from "The Incredibles" it's that capes are a bad idea. And how is it that every crime fighter and super-villain have such mad sewing and designer skills? Peter Parker isn't just an ace photographer, he's ready for his turn on "Project Runway."
If there were real life superheroes I would totally want to be an insurance agent. My fortune would be made in selling "Superhero Battle Protection." Ever wonder what happens to the guy who comes out of his office building after a long day at work only to find that the Incredible Hulk has used his car as a frisbee? How do you file a claim for that? Do major cities allow for battle damage in their budgets? Think of all the collateral damage done when Batman and the Joker are done with their gadget-centric fisticuffs. If we can't rebuild New Orleans, how are we to rebuild Gotham after Mr Freeze turns it into a giant Slushee?
Superheroes would cause unemployment. Police forces would cut jobs in the face of a superior crime-fighting force. Bus drivers would walk off their jobs (the city bus is almost guaranteed to be used as a weapon in any given superhero battle). Our armed services would suffer recruitment losses as we turn as a nation to superior beings to protect us from our enemies.
The collective expectations of our society would never meet the performance standards of superheroes. We would expect them to be everywhere at once, fixing every problem. Our disappointment would exceed the level of accomplishment made by our protectors. So if not an insurance agent, I would definitely become a superhero psychologist.
Or a sanitation worker...plenty of Spidey-webs to clean up. He's the single greatest environmental threat posed by superheroes.
And where do these crusaders get all the money to buy their gadgets, hideouts, invisible planes, and weapons? Secret identities? Pretty easy to figure out. I mean, sure, you can rule out folks like Warren Buffet and Donald trump as masked crime-fighters, but you just know they are secretly financing one. So no more tax breaks for the wealthiest 10% of society; it only encourages mass destruction.
So I'd rather live in a world where the real superheroes are regular Joes, like cops, firemen, soldiers, doctors, teachers, and game-show hosts. Let's keep the webslingers and dark knights in our collective imaginations where they safely belong.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Where were you when...
Hillary Clinton is a selfish power-hungry egotist who has sullied a century of suffragist progress.
I remember where I was when the Berlin Wall came down; sitting in my college dorm room, perched on the edge of my seat, thrilled, exasperated, aware that I was witnessing history.
I remember where I was when the Challenger exploded. I watched it happen. Not repeats of the footage on breaking news, but seeing it first-hand. CNN was on in the background as I was sweeping the floors on a day off. Something made me stop and watch the launch. Within minutes, I was aware I was witnessing history.
As I stood in my kitchen tonight, washing dishes, I again witnessed history. A nation founded by slave-holding white men decided that an African-American should be one of two nominees for President of the United States. That interruption to announce that Barack Obama had won enough delegates to be the nominee of the Democratic Party came like an unexpected shiver of goose-flesh on a hot summer day; exciting and breath-taking. And in that involuntary gasp, I sucked in the knowledge that I was seeing one of the single greatest moments in American history.
The first ten minutes of Senator Obama's speech, after the ramblings of Senator McCain and the self-congratulatory remarks of Senator Clinton, were spent on acknowledging the historical significance of Hillary's campaign. Her achievement, in spite of the political glass ceiling that women in office have faced, is in and of itself a special moment in American history. Although we have a female Speaker of the House, we have never seen a woman rise so far in our political history. Senator Obama praised all of Hillary Clinton's achievements, aspirations, and value in future social change. His speech went on to speak of the promise of the future, in positive terms. It was steeped in the language of inclusion. Goose-flesh, once again.
In stark contrast was the non-concession speech of Senator Clinton. Lacking the magnanimity of John McCain, who acknowledged and praised Senator Obama's achievement, Hillary spent twenty minutes praising Hillary. Hers was a speech that pointedly ignored the historical significance of Obama's ascension to the pinnacle of leadership. Hers was a speech that failed the progress of women in politics by focusing only on herself instead of the milestones the nation has witnessed. As a pre-eminent leader she had every opportunity and every right to blatantly point out her rise as a lesson and hope for women everywhere. As the wife of a President who touted himself as the best friend of the African-American community, she had every right and, indeed, should be expected to praise Senator Obama as a role-model for minorities. Instead of slapping Obama on the back, she spent twenty minutes patting her own.
What should have been a night of unity became a showcase for Hillary Clinton's ego, hubris, and selfishness. A closet Republican, perhaps? She certainly spoke like one.
America is built on the achievements of history. As an American leader, as one claiming to be the voice and choice of the nation and the people, she failed in recognizing an historical benchmark. Failing to recognize the progress of America is ignoring America altogether.
And that is why she is not a leader, and will not be our President. Power for power's sake is not a platform to greatness, but to the footnotes of history.
Tonight was an opportunity to witness two great moments in history: recognition of the advancement of minorities and the advancement of women. Instead, we witnessed two political dichotomies: grace and greed.
Nevertheless, I will remember the moment that Barack Obama won the nomination as one of the singular greatest moments in American history. And I will also remember where I was when I realized the definition of true greatness.
I remember where I was when the Berlin Wall came down; sitting in my college dorm room, perched on the edge of my seat, thrilled, exasperated, aware that I was witnessing history.
I remember where I was when the Challenger exploded. I watched it happen. Not repeats of the footage on breaking news, but seeing it first-hand. CNN was on in the background as I was sweeping the floors on a day off. Something made me stop and watch the launch. Within minutes, I was aware I was witnessing history.
As I stood in my kitchen tonight, washing dishes, I again witnessed history. A nation founded by slave-holding white men decided that an African-American should be one of two nominees for President of the United States. That interruption to announce that Barack Obama had won enough delegates to be the nominee of the Democratic Party came like an unexpected shiver of goose-flesh on a hot summer day; exciting and breath-taking. And in that involuntary gasp, I sucked in the knowledge that I was seeing one of the single greatest moments in American history.
The first ten minutes of Senator Obama's speech, after the ramblings of Senator McCain and the self-congratulatory remarks of Senator Clinton, were spent on acknowledging the historical significance of Hillary's campaign. Her achievement, in spite of the political glass ceiling that women in office have faced, is in and of itself a special moment in American history. Although we have a female Speaker of the House, we have never seen a woman rise so far in our political history. Senator Obama praised all of Hillary Clinton's achievements, aspirations, and value in future social change. His speech went on to speak of the promise of the future, in positive terms. It was steeped in the language of inclusion. Goose-flesh, once again.
In stark contrast was the non-concession speech of Senator Clinton. Lacking the magnanimity of John McCain, who acknowledged and praised Senator Obama's achievement, Hillary spent twenty minutes praising Hillary. Hers was a speech that pointedly ignored the historical significance of Obama's ascension to the pinnacle of leadership. Hers was a speech that failed the progress of women in politics by focusing only on herself instead of the milestones the nation has witnessed. As a pre-eminent leader she had every opportunity and every right to blatantly point out her rise as a lesson and hope for women everywhere. As the wife of a President who touted himself as the best friend of the African-American community, she had every right and, indeed, should be expected to praise Senator Obama as a role-model for minorities. Instead of slapping Obama on the back, she spent twenty minutes patting her own.
What should have been a night of unity became a showcase for Hillary Clinton's ego, hubris, and selfishness. A closet Republican, perhaps? She certainly spoke like one.
America is built on the achievements of history. As an American leader, as one claiming to be the voice and choice of the nation and the people, she failed in recognizing an historical benchmark. Failing to recognize the progress of America is ignoring America altogether.
And that is why she is not a leader, and will not be our President. Power for power's sake is not a platform to greatness, but to the footnotes of history.
Tonight was an opportunity to witness two great moments in history: recognition of the advancement of minorities and the advancement of women. Instead, we witnessed two political dichotomies: grace and greed.
Nevertheless, I will remember the moment that Barack Obama won the nomination as one of the singular greatest moments in American history. And I will also remember where I was when I realized the definition of true greatness.
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