Wild Man - Galactic (mp3)
Jackie Collins Existential Question Time - Manic Street Preachers (mp3)
I am a Man.
Statistically speaking, there seems to be a correlation between the power and prevalence of that thought in my mind and the likelihood I’m engaged or tempted to engage in behavior that is unwise or “bad.” And when I say “me,” I really mean “people with penises.”
Equally problematic is that my masculine self-awareness also correlates frequently with a higher sense of joy. And when I say “me,” well, you know.
Importantly, as I learned in high school, correlation does not mean causation.
A fascinating cover story in Newsweek, “Why We Need to Reimagine Masculinity,” kinda forces me to think about and accept that I am a Man. (That they named Brad Pitt as the Paragon of 2010 Masculinity leaves me cold.)
In my job, I have read and studied hundreds of articles and books about gender differences, mostly surrounding issues of education, but not always. This might not make me an Expert on it, but I feel confident I’ve read and had the opportunity to study as much on these matters in the last 20 years as most masters and doctors specializing in the area.
Yet, in spite of all the knowledge and information crammed into my tiny male brain, at times I’m pretty sure I don’t know a damn thing about gender, about masculinity, about femininity, or about humanity.
I’ve always been uncomfortable with being A Man. What I mean is, were I the last man on earth, I would change the name so that I wasn’t required to become some Paragon of Manhood. It’s when I think about my masculinity that I am most sympathetic to black kids who are asked questions about race in class, as if they can knowledgeably and ably speak for their entire race of people merely from their own personal experience.
Am I a Bad Man? No. Well, mostly no.
Am I Bad at Being a Man? Hmm. That answer doesn’t come as easily.
The good news seems to be that masculinity works a lot like wisdom. Shakespeare said “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” Or, if you prefer Lao Tzu: “The wise man knows he doesn't know. the fool doesn't know he doesn't know.”
When it comes to Being a Man, it seems to me that the more certain a man is that he is some paragon of manhood, some lighthouse of manhood showing the way for the rest of us, the less likely he’s the kind of man we as a society should aspire to clone or value too highly.
When I’m insecure, more often than not the issue of masculinity is at the core.
But my sense of my own masculinity is also central to many of the biggest highlights of my life, the moments about which I am most proud or meant the most to me. Wedding and becoming a father are the most obvious, but examples go much farther than that.
However, if I were splitting hairs, masculinity for me falls closer to the heart of insecurity than the heart of success.
This doesn’t make me some gender-neutral proponent. Yes, males and females are more similar than they are different, and by a big stretch, but certain differences are too stubborn and consistently present to fight or ignore, and I'm not just talking NooNoos and PeePees and BumBums. (Let the war of cited contradictory studies begin!)
Since anecdotes are more fun and ultimately more useless... my son fell in love with throwing, hitting, and tractors almost at birth, and anyone who knows me now or knew me at any time in my past can attest that these interests were not pushed on him by me through some orchestrated Make a Man Outta My Son agenda. Whereas both of my daughters would as infants fall asleep when I put them on my chest and rocked them, my son has only once in his entire life fallen asleep on my chest. My touch and presence soothed my daughters; it electrifies my son and always has.
What’s a lot more fun is to play along with Newsweek’s breakdown of current advertising campaigns and how they manipulate our perceptions of manhood. I might not agree with every last sentence, but Steve Tuttle is right on far more than he’s wrong! (Right: Everything he says about the highly disturbing Stayfree Internet videos; the Most Interesting Man in the World.... Wrong: Posting links to the Stayfree Internet videos.)
UPDATE: There is talk of colleges starting "Male Studies" departments to assist with the disenfranchisement of the apparently new-weaker sex in higher education and the workforce, according to a Newsweek update in their education section.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Just Like Other Cities, Only More So
This past Friday, the Chattanooga Time-Free Press released its 3rd Annual Chattanooga's Official People's Choice Awards Best of the Best. I am disappointed, even disgusted.
Why? I'll tell you why. Because in the only section that I care about--dining--nearly half of the top vote getters are chains that have nothing to do with the restaurant traditions and unique places to eat that make Chattanooga special. And I'm surprised that our own citizens in our own city don't see that.
Now, I'm not naive. I know that this kind of thing goes on, usually to a lesser extent, even in large cities like Chicago, where a place like Chipotle can emerge as the "Best Mexican" because there are so many of them. I know that when you put something to a vote of everyone, you are like to end up with a bland victor.
But I thought that Chattanooga would be different. I don't know why. Maybe because in my 27 years here, it has gotten a little more open-minded, a little more expansive, a little more sophisticated each year. At least where restaurants are concerned.
So, in a city where we have a James Beard nominee for Best Regional Chef every year, where we have 3 stellar Italian restaurants opening in the last couple of years, where we have a restaurant group that has patented a superior version of wood-grilling, what is the best overall restaurant?
J. Alexander's.
J. Alexander's is a chain out of Nashville or Memphis, I forget which. Admittedly, it is a smart chain, with not too many outposts, consistent cooking, a clubby atmosphere, and good-looking hostesses, but it is ultimately an upscale fern bar serving slightly-to-much better versions of the basic dishes that other fern bars offer--salads, ribs, fried shrimp, a creamy pasta, etc.
St. John's, where our perennial James Beard nominee holds court, relies almost exclusively on locally-grown organic meats and vegetables and puts out food that a New York sophisticate who visits our city regularly proclaims is as good as anything in the Big Apple.
Chattanooga offers a wealth of country cooking. What, supposedly, is our finest country restaurant? Cracker Barrel.
We have terrific breakfast options, including nationally-recognized pancakes at Aretha Frankenstein's. What is our finest breakfast establishment? Cracker Barrel.
Really? When we've got everything from Wally's to Bluegrass Grill and the Blue Plate?
Our best chicken wings? Buffalo Wild Wings. Our best ribs? Sticky Fingers. Our best doughnuts? Krispy Kreme. Our greatest sandwiches? McAlister's, followed by Subway. Our greatest Italian, a local place that lets you eat free on your birthday and has great garlic rolls, followed by Carabba's and Olive Garden. Our best burger? Five Guys (which is pretty good, but no match for Zarzour's).
Even among our local establishments, to suggest that a chain like Amigo's is putting out the best Mexican food in the city is a joke. The cheapest, especially on Taco Night, yes. The best? No way.
And then it's almost a shock to find out that our voters have figured some things out. Yes, Lupi's really is the best pizza. Somehow, it managed to fend off Pizza Hut in the voting. Yes, Southern Star does a good job with meat-and-threes.
Two things are at work here. One, our local eaters seem to be largely interested in what is the best bargain and the most well-known. That may be expected. Times are tough now. Times are always tough. People are likely to confuse a good value with good eating. The other thing is that there are incredible opportunities for people to come in here and develop new offerings. Where is the great steakhouse in Chattanooga? It ain't Outback, the most popular. But what local establishment is there? Why aren't there more great breakfast places? The Bonefish Grill probably is our best seafood restaurant. Why is that?
Ok, I also think our newspaper is not always asking the right questions. Where is the category for Best Fried Chicken or Best Soul Food?
And what a kick in the you-know-whats it must be to know that you are putting out local food that is far superior to what corporate America can produce, and yet, your city seems to suggest that their menu, crafted in the flavor factories of New Jersey, is better than yours.
Ultimately, I think a "Best Of" edition like this does more harm than good. It ignores any number of local entrepreneurs who have built up loyal followings over years or even decades. It reduces all of the peculiar traits of our city, or any city, into least common denominators and suggests both to us and to the tourists who come here, that we embrace those generic choices. It provides (in my opinion, undeserved) bragging rights to those places. And, it ultimately doesn't tell those of us who live here anything at all, except, perhaps, what we'd rather not know.
Why? I'll tell you why. Because in the only section that I care about--dining--nearly half of the top vote getters are chains that have nothing to do with the restaurant traditions and unique places to eat that make Chattanooga special. And I'm surprised that our own citizens in our own city don't see that.
Now, I'm not naive. I know that this kind of thing goes on, usually to a lesser extent, even in large cities like Chicago, where a place like Chipotle can emerge as the "Best Mexican" because there are so many of them. I know that when you put something to a vote of everyone, you are like to end up with a bland victor.
But I thought that Chattanooga would be different. I don't know why. Maybe because in my 27 years here, it has gotten a little more open-minded, a little more expansive, a little more sophisticated each year. At least where restaurants are concerned.
So, in a city where we have a James Beard nominee for Best Regional Chef every year, where we have 3 stellar Italian restaurants opening in the last couple of years, where we have a restaurant group that has patented a superior version of wood-grilling, what is the best overall restaurant?
J. Alexander's.
J. Alexander's is a chain out of Nashville or Memphis, I forget which. Admittedly, it is a smart chain, with not too many outposts, consistent cooking, a clubby atmosphere, and good-looking hostesses, but it is ultimately an upscale fern bar serving slightly-to-much better versions of the basic dishes that other fern bars offer--salads, ribs, fried shrimp, a creamy pasta, etc.
St. John's, where our perennial James Beard nominee holds court, relies almost exclusively on locally-grown organic meats and vegetables and puts out food that a New York sophisticate who visits our city regularly proclaims is as good as anything in the Big Apple.
Chattanooga offers a wealth of country cooking. What, supposedly, is our finest country restaurant? Cracker Barrel.
We have terrific breakfast options, including nationally-recognized pancakes at Aretha Frankenstein's. What is our finest breakfast establishment? Cracker Barrel.
Really? When we've got everything from Wally's to Bluegrass Grill and the Blue Plate?
Our best chicken wings? Buffalo Wild Wings. Our best ribs? Sticky Fingers. Our best doughnuts? Krispy Kreme. Our greatest sandwiches? McAlister's, followed by Subway. Our greatest Italian, a local place that lets you eat free on your birthday and has great garlic rolls, followed by Carabba's and Olive Garden. Our best burger? Five Guys (which is pretty good, but no match for Zarzour's).
Even among our local establishments, to suggest that a chain like Amigo's is putting out the best Mexican food in the city is a joke. The cheapest, especially on Taco Night, yes. The best? No way.
And then it's almost a shock to find out that our voters have figured some things out. Yes, Lupi's really is the best pizza. Somehow, it managed to fend off Pizza Hut in the voting. Yes, Southern Star does a good job with meat-and-threes.
Two things are at work here. One, our local eaters seem to be largely interested in what is the best bargain and the most well-known. That may be expected. Times are tough now. Times are always tough. People are likely to confuse a good value with good eating. The other thing is that there are incredible opportunities for people to come in here and develop new offerings. Where is the great steakhouse in Chattanooga? It ain't Outback, the most popular. But what local establishment is there? Why aren't there more great breakfast places? The Bonefish Grill probably is our best seafood restaurant. Why is that?
Ok, I also think our newspaper is not always asking the right questions. Where is the category for Best Fried Chicken or Best Soul Food?
And what a kick in the you-know-whats it must be to know that you are putting out local food that is far superior to what corporate America can produce, and yet, your city seems to suggest that their menu, crafted in the flavor factories of New Jersey, is better than yours.
Ultimately, I think a "Best Of" edition like this does more harm than good. It ignores any number of local entrepreneurs who have built up loyal followings over years or even decades. It reduces all of the peculiar traits of our city, or any city, into least common denominators and suggests both to us and to the tourists who come here, that we embrace those generic choices. It provides (in my opinion, undeserved) bragging rights to those places. And, it ultimately doesn't tell those of us who live here anything at all, except, perhaps, what we'd rather not know.
Good Afternoon World!
*A shot of Sunday's incredible sunset from my balcony*
Good Afternoon! How was your weekend?
I meant to make this post yesterday, however I got carried away with some exciting news that pretty much distracted me for the rest of the day. Oh, did I say exciting news? Unfortunately it's all too premature to spill the beans on here. Hopefully soon I can let the cat outta the bag, until then I'll tell you about my weekend...
Saturday I went to my sister's Special Olympics bowling competition, it was a lot of fun AND, she won first place!!! We are very proud... plus now she gets to go on to the finals in Orlando come November! Road trip! Congratulations Danielle! After the competition my family and I went out for pizza at Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza.... delicious! Mmmmmm mmm! Suffice it to say, with a full belly and the overbearing Miami heat... I was ready to go home after that.
BUT, I did hit up two Goodwill's on the way home, finding only a little yellow California pottery dish for fifty cents... I gotta post up a picture of it later. Oh yes, and how can I forget that I also stopped at my grandmother and aunt's house to share the pizza love and as I was turning the corner by their house I spotted a huge cactus growing in front of the vacant house on the corner! You can already guess what I did... I grabbed my aunt and we walked over there and got some pieces, including babies that had sprung up around it... it's awesome! It's one of those massive 7 foot tall cacti full of red bulbs. Anyway, we made off like bandits! And since the house may be bulldozed in the future, we are contemplating chopping down the entire cactus and planting it in her yard.... Anybody have tips for success when it comes to that type of endeavor, is it a no-no or a hell-yes?
After all that sweaty cactus hunting, by the time I got home all I wanted to do was shower and space out in front of the tube with my man, we watched the premiere of Saturday Night Live's new season and it was okay. Nothing beats the Obama/Biden/McCain/Palin campaign days... that made for damn good material!
Saturday I went to my sister's Special Olympics bowling competition, it was a lot of fun AND, she won first place!!! We are very proud... plus now she gets to go on to the finals in Orlando come November! Road trip! Congratulations Danielle! After the competition my family and I went out for pizza at Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza.... delicious! Mmmmmm mmm! Suffice it to say, with a full belly and the overbearing Miami heat... I was ready to go home after that.
BUT, I did hit up two Goodwill's on the way home, finding only a little yellow California pottery dish for fifty cents... I gotta post up a picture of it later. Oh yes, and how can I forget that I also stopped at my grandmother and aunt's house to share the pizza love and as I was turning the corner by their house I spotted a huge cactus growing in front of the vacant house on the corner! You can already guess what I did... I grabbed my aunt and we walked over there and got some pieces, including babies that had sprung up around it... it's awesome! It's one of those massive 7 foot tall cacti full of red bulbs. Anyway, we made off like bandits! And since the house may be bulldozed in the future, we are contemplating chopping down the entire cactus and planting it in her yard.... Anybody have tips for success when it comes to that type of endeavor, is it a no-no or a hell-yes?
After all that sweaty cactus hunting, by the time I got home all I wanted to do was shower and space out in front of the tube with my man, we watched the premiere of Saturday Night Live's new season and it was okay. Nothing beats the Obama/Biden/McCain/Palin campaign days... that made for damn good material!
As for Sunday, I spent the early morning further freaking out about my spreading Mealy Bug problem, which I talked about in last Friday's Tribulations of Gardening post. Those little pests spread like wildfire, they are all over nearly every single one of my succulents and cacti, along with all other plants.... In a brief moment of exasperation, I cried when I went out onto my balcony and saw the rapidly deteriorating state of my big basil plant!
In last week's post I said I bought "Sevin" pest spray and was ready to spray massacre the Mealy Bugs over the weekend... I must amend that! When I got home on Friday my boyfriend practically bawled me out because (I had forgotten) he had told me to buy "Organocide" which is organic and much safer for my plants, herbs and for humans! He says Sevin is the devil... and since he used to work at Home Depot and often helped in the garden section, he knows better than me. I'll admit, I read the booklet taped to the Sevin bottle and did not like the environmental hazard warning OR the warning about calling a doctor if it got on your skin! It seemed like I would need to take annoying and painstaking precaution if I was going to use Sevin. So, after calming down my freak-out tears, my man convinced me to get presentable so we could go exchange the Sevin for some Organocide.....
In last week's post I said I bought "Sevin" pest spray and was ready to spray massacre the Mealy Bugs over the weekend... I must amend that! When I got home on Friday my boyfriend practically bawled me out because (I had forgotten) he had told me to buy "Organocide" which is organic and much safer for my plants, herbs and for humans! He says Sevin is the devil... and since he used to work at Home Depot and often helped in the garden section, he knows better than me. I'll admit, I read the booklet taped to the Sevin bottle and did not like the environmental hazard warning OR the warning about calling a doctor if it got on your skin! It seemed like I would need to take annoying and painstaking precaution if I was going to use Sevin. So, after calming down my freak-out tears, my man convinced me to get presentable so we could go exchange the Sevin for some Organocide.....
Ummmm beware folks, this stuff smells fishy! You don't want to spill it in your home by mistake! I know there must be some fish oil in there, especially because it smells just like fish oil pills and I guess the oil is a nice natural way of drowning those disgusting cotton, err mealy bugs! Anyway, as you can see in the image above there are several Organocide options to choose from, I chose the bottle of concentrated Organocide because it will go much further than the other already-diluted options. It cost me around $15.99, but I'd say it's worth it since it only takes 1.5 ounces to make a gallon of spray (diluted in water), and the bottle has 32 total ounces - not bad. As you can imagine I sprayed the living daylights out of all my plants (well, not really since the directions say not to over-apply), but you catch my drift.... I was like an evil fumigator, cackling as I doused the mealy bugs in fishy Organocide! HAHAHAHAHA... I must wait two weeks to see if it eliminates the mealy bug problem, if not I should spray again. After it takes my pests away I can spray monthly as a preventative method. I've got my fingers crossed!!
*UPDATE* It has now been two days since I sprayed the Organocide and my plants look fine, no signs of the the pest problem continuing to spread or getting worse. YAY! But I still can't breath a sigh of relief until it has been weeks and there is no more sign of those buggers!
Okay, enough of my excited rambling.... Hopefully I can focus enough to do some more posts today! Oh, and I couldn't resist photographing the incredible sunset from my balcony on Sunday night....
*UPDATE* It has now been two days since I sprayed the Organocide and my plants look fine, no signs of the the pest problem continuing to spread or getting worse. YAY! But I still can't breath a sigh of relief until it has been weeks and there is no more sign of those buggers!
Okay, enough of my excited rambling.... Hopefully I can focus enough to do some more posts today! Oh, and I couldn't resist photographing the incredible sunset from my balcony on Sunday night....
(All images in this post are my personal photos)
Monday, September 27, 2010
When the Truth Doesn't Matter... Kinda
Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups (mp3)
Hazy Shade of Winter - Simon + Garfunkel (mp3)
My very first real honest-to-God girlfriend was a senior when I was a junior. She was a stud. She was built like an efficient brick shithouse, played soccer like a champ, and loved Van Halen, Dan Fogelberg, Indiana Jones and Jesus. “Carrie” was also salutatorian at the very large public school where my mother taught. She was socially clueless enough to find me attractive and interesting. One in a million, I tell ya.
We courted for three wonderful months. We dated for six. In the summer before my senior year, I broke up with Carrie. The reasons were lame but valid. And they were punctuated with this minor, insignificant detail that I'd spent two weeks at Governor's School romancing and eventually falling for a semi-psychotic but incredibly adventurous drama queen, someone who was in all ways the complete opposite of Carrie.
Carrie was back in Chattanooga writing me three to four letters each week, drawing little cartoons and cutting out ransom notes and writing bad limericks. I never wrote her once.
I broke up with Carrie the week I got back home, but it took two months of follow-up talks to settle the matter. She never could understand why I was breaking up, and I kept leaving out that little detail about Leigh. But Leigh and I had broken up before Carrie had finally accepted we were over, so I kinda had the chance to make up with her and never did.
I really had no desire to go back. In part because I was scum for lying to her so utterly and repeatedly... and in part because this girl, a very conservative and mature Christian, was simply too good for me.
Yeah so I'm defensive about it. Whatevs.
Cue the fast-moving clock. Move forward in time. Speed past our drifting apart once I get to college and become all but unreachable by family and friends from back home. Soar past our Christmas holiday dinner non-date when I'm a senior and we're awkward and both single but not feeling that thing that would transform a polite dinner into something more intense. Slip past the time we ran into one another on AOL and I tell her I'm engaged and will be married in three months and she immediately disconnects and never answers another email.
It's now the summer of 2010. I'm at a local dive watching the World Cup with my fellow blogger and 100 or so of my closest non-friends. I'm drinking a Bud Light Chelada for shits and giggles, my own form of Mad Men-esque rebellion of imbibing during the workday. (Don’t worry; it was just one freakin’ Chelada.)
Bob introduces me to a lawyer who works in the firm with his wife. Guy went to Red Bank. My mom taught him. He knew my ex-girlfriend. Small world yada yada. And then he says it.
"So weird about Carrie, right?"
"Weird what?" I say. 'Cuz I have no idea what he's talking about.
"I just can't believe she's gay. Never pictured her playing for the other team, you know?"
My reaction to all information I can't quite handle is very similar. If someone says the N-word in my presence, or if someone insults my mother's fidelity, or if someone says my Christian ex-girlfriend is gay, I just shrug and fake-chuckle and turn away and take another drink and try to pretend it didn't happen. It is the reaction of a non-confrontational coward, and I haven't been very good at doing anything about it.
Was it true? Is/was Carrie gay?
That night, when I was hopping around on Facebook, I searched for her name and found it. She was still living and working in Atlanta, but all other information was blocked from snooping eyes. So I sent her a long message. It updated her about my life, my family, my job, my hobbies. Everything someone who was happy not having anything to do with me for 20 years would be fine never knowing. God bless Facebook.
She never responded. Can't say I really expected her to.
So why does this stick in my craw? I don't really care if she's gay. Seriously, if she's married, or if she's celibate and uninterested in relationships, or if she's gay and dating Jane Lynch, none of it changes the way my heart reacts to her or my memories of her. If she's who she is, and if she's happy, then it's a good thing, and I would like knowing it.
Human nature. The Billy version is definitely screwed up. I want Carrie to be happy, but I also want to know I was written into her history book. But is my pathetic ego-trip enough to explain my desire to reconnect and find out?
Maybe I've convinced myself that if she was gay that I could absolve myself of messing around with another girl* while we were dating. I could excuse my unconscionable act with the faulty logic that I must've known something wasn't quite right with Carrie, something I just didn't understand in my clueless youth, and my straying was simply the product of a sixth-sense in my subconsciousness.
* “Messing around” isn’t code for kinky sex. “Messing around” wasn’t even petting. “Messing around” was strictly limited to kissing and groping over clothing. I never actually got my hands under the clothing covering female erogenous zones until one month before my wife got pregnant for the first time. OK, that’s exaggerated, but I was definitely in college.
Hazy Shade of Winter - Simon + Garfunkel (mp3)
My very first real honest-to-God girlfriend was a senior when I was a junior. She was a stud. She was built like an efficient brick shithouse, played soccer like a champ, and loved Van Halen, Dan Fogelberg, Indiana Jones and Jesus. “Carrie” was also salutatorian at the very large public school where my mother taught. She was socially clueless enough to find me attractive and interesting. One in a million, I tell ya.
We courted for three wonderful months. We dated for six. In the summer before my senior year, I broke up with Carrie. The reasons were lame but valid. And they were punctuated with this minor, insignificant detail that I'd spent two weeks at Governor's School romancing and eventually falling for a semi-psychotic but incredibly adventurous drama queen, someone who was in all ways the complete opposite of Carrie.
Carrie was back in Chattanooga writing me three to four letters each week, drawing little cartoons and cutting out ransom notes and writing bad limericks. I never wrote her once.
I broke up with Carrie the week I got back home, but it took two months of follow-up talks to settle the matter. She never could understand why I was breaking up, and I kept leaving out that little detail about Leigh. But Leigh and I had broken up before Carrie had finally accepted we were over, so I kinda had the chance to make up with her and never did.
I really had no desire to go back. In part because I was scum for lying to her so utterly and repeatedly... and in part because this girl, a very conservative and mature Christian, was simply too good for me.
Yeah so I'm defensive about it. Whatevs.
Cue the fast-moving clock. Move forward in time. Speed past our drifting apart once I get to college and become all but unreachable by family and friends from back home. Soar past our Christmas holiday dinner non-date when I'm a senior and we're awkward and both single but not feeling that thing that would transform a polite dinner into something more intense. Slip past the time we ran into one another on AOL and I tell her I'm engaged and will be married in three months and she immediately disconnects and never answers another email.
It's now the summer of 2010. I'm at a local dive watching the World Cup with my fellow blogger and 100 or so of my closest non-friends. I'm drinking a Bud Light Chelada for shits and giggles, my own form of Mad Men-esque rebellion of imbibing during the workday. (Don’t worry; it was just one freakin’ Chelada.)
Bob introduces me to a lawyer who works in the firm with his wife. Guy went to Red Bank. My mom taught him. He knew my ex-girlfriend. Small world yada yada. And then he says it.
"So weird about Carrie, right?"
"Weird what?" I say. 'Cuz I have no idea what he's talking about.
"I just can't believe she's gay. Never pictured her playing for the other team, you know?"
My reaction to all information I can't quite handle is very similar. If someone says the N-word in my presence, or if someone insults my mother's fidelity, or if someone says my Christian ex-girlfriend is gay, I just shrug and fake-chuckle and turn away and take another drink and try to pretend it didn't happen. It is the reaction of a non-confrontational coward, and I haven't been very good at doing anything about it.
Was it true? Is/was Carrie gay?
That night, when I was hopping around on Facebook, I searched for her name and found it. She was still living and working in Atlanta, but all other information was blocked from snooping eyes. So I sent her a long message. It updated her about my life, my family, my job, my hobbies. Everything someone who was happy not having anything to do with me for 20 years would be fine never knowing. God bless Facebook.
She never responded. Can't say I really expected her to.
So why does this stick in my craw? I don't really care if she's gay. Seriously, if she's married, or if she's celibate and uninterested in relationships, or if she's gay and dating Jane Lynch, none of it changes the way my heart reacts to her or my memories of her. If she's who she is, and if she's happy, then it's a good thing, and I would like knowing it.
Human nature. The Billy version is definitely screwed up. I want Carrie to be happy, but I also want to know I was written into her history book. But is my pathetic ego-trip enough to explain my desire to reconnect and find out?
Maybe I've convinced myself that if she was gay that I could absolve myself of messing around with another girl* while we were dating. I could excuse my unconscionable act with the faulty logic that I must've known something wasn't quite right with Carrie, something I just didn't understand in my clueless youth, and my straying was simply the product of a sixth-sense in my subconsciousness.
* “Messing around” isn’t code for kinky sex. “Messing around” wasn’t even petting. “Messing around” was strictly limited to kissing and groping over clothing. I never actually got my hands under the clothing covering female erogenous zones until one month before my wife got pregnant for the first time. OK, that’s exaggerated, but I was definitely in college.
Compromising Positions
--In one of Maureen Dowd's latest columns, she talks about her sister-in-law, who voted for Obama but has turned against him because he "compromises too much," which makes him appear "weak."
--In the play, Lemon Sky, a father wants to buy his son a car. But he wants to pick the color. He wants to get the son a red car. The son wants a blue car. They go back and forth. Finally, in exasperation, the son says, "Compromise: purple."
--In Steve Earle's musical manifesto of rebellion, "The Other Kind," he screams with bravado, "There are those who break and bend/ I'm the other kind." Bruce Springsteen urges "no retreat, baby, no surrender."
Weakness? Foolishness? Cowardice? Is this really what compromise is? In our American psyche, we have developed a notion that compromise is bad. "I won't back down," Tom Petty tells us, and it becomes a slogan for the post-9/11 world. Folks with a bit of history like to point to the political compromises, like the Compromise of 1850, when the country was grappling with the spread of slavery as proof that compromising pleases no one and leads to greater trouble.
On the other hand, those of us who live in the every day world of small work problems, basic conflict avoidance, and the trivialities that can bring down a marriage or ruin a family night live and die by the compromise. And, let's be honest, live much more than die. Many of us probably pride ourselves on the ability to navigate the ship through rough waters towards an amicable solution. It may not be Montego Bay, but it is usually a place where the ship is safe, the provisions are dry, and the passengers benefit from making it to land.
So where's the disconnect? Why do literary lights like Henry David Thoreau and Holden Caufield hold absolute loyalty to principles in such high regard while the rest of us cave or throw in the towel on a regular basis in order to get through the day?
Sure, life is too short to drink cheap beer or bad wine, I get that, but is it really a big deal if you end up eating a mediocre hamburger because you and your friend finally agreed on a joint that both of you were okay with? Isn't the time with the friend more important?
The temptation is to suggest that the divide occurs between weighty national issues and personal relations. We're supposed to give in as needed to get through the day, but our politicians, if they have any backbone at all, are supposed to stand up for their stated values and ward off hypocrisy in all shapes and forms as it tries to undermine their resolve.
Bullshit.
I am well aware that the history of the world is littered with poor compromises, but that is a reflection on those particular negotiations, not on the act of compromising.
Take the health care bill now taking effect. A flawed bill, perhaps, and certainly a problematic one, given the Republican-fueled public wrath that has risen up against it. And, probably even a flawed bit of compromise, given the devils that we had to get in bed with to get the damn thing passed. But you know what? I firmly believe that there was either going to be a flawed bill passed or no bill passed. Much as the naysayers gripe about the bill, in the 18 years since Hilary Clinton last spearheaded a health care effort, it isn't like the conservatives have offered they're own. So, I say, hey, we passed it, and now if you want to tweak it, be my guest.
The inner (false?) bravado that tells any of us that we can't support something unless it is exactly the way that we envision it is destroying our country, just as it almost did 150 years ago. I don't care what the issue is--abortion, gay marriage, what movie we should go see--there are ways to find common ground. And, if you wish you had seen the other movie, go see it. Don't bitch about how we should have gone to that one in the first place. After all, even the divisive issue of slavery ended up in compromise, however forced: "You can have a lot of states' rights, just not that one."
I think the songs and the idealists have got it wrong. Whether we compromise or don't compromise cannot be a hard and fast rule in itself. Indeed, we must even compromise at times our willingness or unwillingness to do so. The only thing that can really guide us is an awareness of what we're giving up and whether it's worth it.
In these latter days of America where I continue to fear for a strong, vibrant future, our ability as citizens not to get sucked into the black and white politico-religious whirlwind of hard and steadfast beliefs, especially those that we are not quite up to speed on, will probably be the major factor in determining whether we progress forward or continue to attempt to undo what has been done by those whom we disagree with.
As for me, I won't back down, unless I have to, or want to. Or my wife tells me to.
The temptation is to suggest that the divide occurs between weighty national issues and personal relations. We're supposed to give in as needed to get through the day, but our politicians, if they have any backbone at all, are supposed to stand up for their stated values and ward off hypocrisy in all shapes and forms as it tries to undermine their resolve.
Bullshit.
I am well aware that the history of the world is littered with poor compromises, but that is a reflection on those particular negotiations, not on the act of compromising.
Take the health care bill now taking effect. A flawed bill, perhaps, and certainly a problematic one, given the Republican-fueled public wrath that has risen up against it. And, probably even a flawed bit of compromise, given the devils that we had to get in bed with to get the damn thing passed. But you know what? I firmly believe that there was either going to be a flawed bill passed or no bill passed. Much as the naysayers gripe about the bill, in the 18 years since Hilary Clinton last spearheaded a health care effort, it isn't like the conservatives have offered they're own. So, I say, hey, we passed it, and now if you want to tweak it, be my guest.
The inner (false?) bravado that tells any of us that we can't support something unless it is exactly the way that we envision it is destroying our country, just as it almost did 150 years ago. I don't care what the issue is--abortion, gay marriage, what movie we should go see--there are ways to find common ground. And, if you wish you had seen the other movie, go see it. Don't bitch about how we should have gone to that one in the first place. After all, even the divisive issue of slavery ended up in compromise, however forced: "You can have a lot of states' rights, just not that one."
I think the songs and the idealists have got it wrong. Whether we compromise or don't compromise cannot be a hard and fast rule in itself. Indeed, we must even compromise at times our willingness or unwillingness to do so. The only thing that can really guide us is an awareness of what we're giving up and whether it's worth it.
In these latter days of America where I continue to fear for a strong, vibrant future, our ability as citizens not to get sucked into the black and white politico-religious whirlwind of hard and steadfast beliefs, especially those that we are not quite up to speed on, will probably be the major factor in determining whether we progress forward or continue to attempt to undo what has been done by those whom we disagree with.
As for me, I won't back down, unless I have to, or want to. Or my wife tells me to.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Second Half Of The Day
Tom Waits--"All The World Is Green (live)" (mp3)
"And Monday when the foreman calls time,
I've already got Friday on my mind."
"And Monday when the foreman calls time,
I've already got Friday on my mind."
I hate to admit it, but the last hour of work each day, I don't really get very much done. The hall is quiet, the students are gone, few teachers are around, whatever pressure or deadline there might have been has passed. Everyone has moved on to something else.
I find myself listening to the persistent blast of the air conditioner while I sort through email, check social networks, try to work magic with my portfolio, get through my phone messages, clean my office, try to work magic with my fantasy team, drink a final cup of coffee, read for tomorrow's class, try to work magic with my checking account.
Maybe that's okay. Or maybe I'm wasting company time.
What I've come to realize, though, is that if I could work 7-4 instead of 8-5, I would probably get a lot more done. Or what if I could work 6-3? I don't want to claim that I'm a "morning person," because I'm not. I don't jump out of bed, rarin' to go. I'm not "chipper" at the breakfast table. I don't accomplish more before 9AM than most people do all day. But I do begin the day with a sense of purpose that involves accomplishment and commitment, and I'm willing to start that as soon as I can.
Increasingly, though, I enjoy a double life. Now, that's not what you think, because I'm not talking about two simultaneous lives. No, I'm referring to one life in the first part of the day and a different one during the second one.
In my current routine, I'm focused on work or getting ready for it for the first 10 hours of the day; during the final 7 that I'm usually awake, I'm thinking about anything but.
My friend, the co-writer of this blog, has been really jacked up about problems at work this year. I agree with him about every single problem that he has identified. I may even wish for the (sometimes obvious) solutions as much as he does. But not at night. Not this year.
Five or six years ago, heck, maybe even five or six months ago, I was lying awake in the middle of the night, worrying about work, solving problems in my head, envisioning conversations and confrontations. I was angry while cutting the grass. I was furious while driving to school. Now I'm not.
What's changed? I'm not entirely sure. The same things bother me. But not while I'm away.
I think it's the double life. The pleasures of home and hearth, of working on a new vision of our house, of cooking a good meal, of going out with family or friends, of getting to read what I want to instead of what I have to, of sitting with a dog or a cat, of making plans for parties or games or trips or "Dylan Night" all have such a strong pull on me this year that when I walk out the door of my office, I've left almost everything there.
It's a life of trade-offs. I'll do this, put in the time that is expected of me, in order to be able to do what I really want to do. Expect me to do something at a time inconvenient to me and I will still do it, but I will actively carve out that other time to do what I want. Take my weekend; I will take my week.
I've also discovered that, and I don't say this as a boast but as a commentary, I can do all that's needed and more during a work day and still have plenty of brain leftover. That's key if you're going to live a double life. You can't use it all up. There are plenty of days where all emotional energy, all social energy, all "helping" energy can be depleted, but that doesn't stop me from finding outlets during the second half of the day that don't require those kinds of energies from me anyway.
Ben Franklin, I'll meet you halfway. I'll accept "Early to bed." I'll get up as early as I need to to get done what I have to get done. But then I'm going to take the rest of the day and work it how I want to for as long as I can.
It's a life of trade-offs. I'll do this, put in the time that is expected of me, in order to be able to do what I really want to do. Expect me to do something at a time inconvenient to me and I will still do it, but I will actively carve out that other time to do what I want. Take my weekend; I will take my week.
I've also discovered that, and I don't say this as a boast but as a commentary, I can do all that's needed and more during a work day and still have plenty of brain leftover. That's key if you're going to live a double life. You can't use it all up. There are plenty of days where all emotional energy, all social energy, all "helping" energy can be depleted, but that doesn't stop me from finding outlets during the second half of the day that don't require those kinds of energies from me anyway.
Ben Franklin, I'll meet you halfway. I'll accept "Early to bed." I'll get up as early as I need to to get done what I have to get done. But then I'm going to take the rest of the day and work it how I want to for as long as I can.
Craigslist Miami Finds: 9/24/10
Here are my Craigslist Miami finds of the day, some pieces are great just the way they are and others are screaming for some tender lovin' care... and refinishing! To go to the original Craigslist post just click the description below the image....
Antique Leather Top w/ Embossing - Side Tables/Nightstands |
(also pictured above)
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Retro Vintage Dresser/Wardrobe |
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Retro Vintage Walnut Wood Lounge Chairs by Stacey House |
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1940's Antique Wood Side Tables/Nightstands |
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Antique Wood Vanity/Dressing Table w/ Mirror |
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Antique Metal/Iron Sewing Table Bases |
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Antique New Jersey Farm Table - Porcelain and Steel Top |
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1960's Retro Metal Chairs by Shaver Howard |
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Antique Wood Cabinets w/ Drawers/Side tables/Nightstand |
(screaming for a makeover!!!)
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Antique Desk |
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(All images via Craigslist Miami)
The Tribulations of Gardening!
Good day everyone... I am so glad it's finally Friday because I'm so over this week! Let me tell you why.... my balcony garden is infested with Mealy Bugs!!! Mealy Bugs are these unarmored scale insects that feed on plant sap and juices by affixing themselves to roots and other small plant crevices (like under leaves at the stem). You can identify these pests by the waxy/powdery/sticky/cotton-like white fuzz they secrete and deposit onto the plant. In fact, at first it just looks like there is cotton fuzz on your plants, but beware, rub it away and there are those sneaky bugs! YUCK! They give me the heebeejeebees!!! Anyway, by now you might know just how much I love my garden and my plants, so as you can imagine this is VERY upsetting! Tonight when I get home I must arm myself with this "Sevin" pest spray that I picked up at Home Depot today during my lunch break and fire away at all my plants, grrr!
My mother, grandmother and cousin, along with many friends have reassured me that I can kill them with dish soap diluted in water, but I have read this could lead to something called phytotoxicity, plus I am so worried about my succulents that I want to kill all these bugs the first time around! Anyway, it appears the outbreak occurred in my strawberry pot herb garden and now the little creepers are spreading (jumping that is) to all of my other plants! Suffice it to say I'm frantic and bothered, particularly because my garden has been doing so so well! I guess these are the growing pains of gardening huh!?
Here is my infested strawberry pot, notice the white specs, particularly all over the perennial butterfly-attracting plant at the top (pictured below). As you can see it was thriving in this post from a while back, but has since declined in health.
At first I noticed that the herbs were looking ragged at the base of the stems, then I saw the cotton stuff. By this point I had already transferred the largest basil plant to a new pot (pictured in this post) since it was too big for the strawberry pot and beginning to droop under its weight, however I can see that it too has mealy bugs. I must save this basil plant because it is huge now and it would be a sad loss. But, the rest of the strawberry pot is getting trashed, I figure with the way it's looking and things are dying the whole thing could be infested inside and is probably not worth the trouble. The Thyme dried up into a brown crisp long ago from the sun (I guess) and the other remaining Basil plant is so small that it has not survived the mealy bugs, the Italian Parsley I'll transfer to its own small pot.
That's right, say goodbye to my strawberry pot herb garden, but never fear, next time you see her she will be cleaned out and filled with succulents and cacti!! I can't wait to show you that... but first I must do it, hehe... Speaking of which, tomorrow I will be going to some plant nurseries out in Homestead, Florida with my mom, my aunt and my grandmother to look for plants (well, I'm only going with succulents on the brain of course)! When we come back home we'll have a gardening and decorative planter making extravaganza! Yay, can't wait!
What else, what else? Oh! I found a 24"x24" Mid Century Modern Ottoman on Craigslist for $10! I am going to pick it up today after work, I can't wait to reupholster it and share the before and after with you - my plans are to reupholster it using a gorgeous Suzani!
And last, the beautiful plant pictures in this post are from my grandmother's garden, we aren't sure what the plant is called except that it's in the Yucca family and of course, it's GORGEOUS! Just look at those fuchsia flower stalks! Stunning! Thankfully the lighting and conditions were perfect, plus it had just rained, and my iphone took a pretty decent picture!
If anyone knows the name of the plant pictured in this post OR has any tips for dealing with Mealy Bugs I would appreciate your feedback. Thank you :)
Have a great weekend! Wish me luck with my bug massacre!
Here is an image of the steps at the back door which my aunt just had extended and pretty distressed railings added on.... You can read more about this beautiful home and garden in this post and this post....
I took this one while looking up at the sky through the trees, my little window to the universe... :)
I took this one while looking up at the sky through the trees, my little window to the universe... :)
(All images in these post are my own personal images)
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Sport of Serfs
Black Betty - Ram Jam (mp3)
For Tomorrow - Blur (mp3)
UGA’s A.J. Green was suspended for four games for selling his own jersey for somewhere in the range of $400-500. A 1-game suspension per $100 of profit. According to Michael Wilbon’s column in the Washington Post, UGA rakes in a healthy six figures in pure profit off the sales of various licensed versions of A.J. Green’s #8 UGA jersey. Meanwhile, A.J. Green could only buy three Kindles with the money he made.
That makes my head hurt. But not as much as the next factoid.
Somewhere between 1.6 million and 3.8 million brain injuries - mostly concussions - are suffered each year during sports activities. There’s no reliable way to track athletes and concussions in high school because so many players are afraid of missing games or falling in dutch with coaches (PDF, GAO.gov). The number of emergency room visits for concussions for children ages 8-19 doubled from 1997-2007 (PDF, Pediatrics).
I play fantasy football. I am a moderately fervent UNC sports fanatic. My daughter plays select soccer, and it would take the jaws of life to remove her from doing so for the foreseeable future, because she loves it. So I’m not the Anti-Jock or Gozer the Destructor, apocalyptic death-bringer of all things sporty. But I would happily bet that we’re approaching the point, in the coming decade, where the cultural pendulum will reach its pinnacle of sports obsession and begin returning to something more in line with reason.
Take a look at Newsweek’s latest feature on college athletics, “The Case Against College Athletic Recruiting,” which is a troubling (if admittedly oversimplified) investigation into how important playing a sport can be in the college admission process... at all levels for schools of all sizes.
After my rant about our local paper, perhaps I’m beating a dead horse here. But sports are often hurting the very people it claims to help -- the students. It’s hurting them physically with concussions, torn ACLs, broken bones, and it’s taking advantage of their pipe dreams by giving them “scholarships” and then making millions of dollars off them. And those great college scholarships earn them majors in amazing things like “sports management,” “African-American Studies,” and “General studies.” (The top 10 list is here.)
What I’m saying is, the claim that these money-making athletes (read: D-I basketball and football players) get a free ride in college and should be grateful is a lie we all know to be a lie. We want to be deceived. We also prefer to believe that football is “safe enough” because they wear armor and are super-sized humans with super-speed. We say this even as we watch approximately 45 players get carted off the field during the Clemson v. Auburn football game last weekend. (OK, slight exaggeration, but myself ant at least three friends declared that game “one of the most violent football games in recent memory.”)
At some point, the willful self-deception will have to stop. Because it always does.
We are currently riding a sports bubble not unlike the housing bubble and dot-com bubble of the recent past. BThe economic unfairness of the college system, and the evidence piling up on the kind of permanent physical damage we’re doing to teens and young adults will eventually force us to wake up. And we will wake up. We will eventually decide that the risks are more costly than the rewards.
Sports won’t die. Nothing at all like that. But I do believe my grandchildren will grow up in a society that doesn’t use phrases like “select sports” with quite the same zeal and focus. It’s possible this will be because everyone speaks Chinese and plays table tennis. Or it’s possible we’ll all be dead because an astronaut hit us or we did something to our planet that we can’t fix that wipes us out.
Or maybe the zombie virus will actually come. (And oh hell yeah I’m gonna watch “The Walking Dead” on AMC. You betcha! I say, to quote our most famous American zombie. I have a huuuuge soft spot in my heart for zombies.)
For Tomorrow - Blur (mp3)
UGA’s A.J. Green was suspended for four games for selling his own jersey for somewhere in the range of $400-500. A 1-game suspension per $100 of profit. According to Michael Wilbon’s column in the Washington Post, UGA rakes in a healthy six figures in pure profit off the sales of various licensed versions of A.J. Green’s #8 UGA jersey. Meanwhile, A.J. Green could only buy three Kindles with the money he made.
That makes my head hurt. But not as much as the next factoid.
Somewhere between 1.6 million and 3.8 million brain injuries - mostly concussions - are suffered each year during sports activities. There’s no reliable way to track athletes and concussions in high school because so many players are afraid of missing games or falling in dutch with coaches (PDF, GAO.gov). The number of emergency room visits for concussions for children ages 8-19 doubled from 1997-2007 (PDF, Pediatrics).
I play fantasy football. I am a moderately fervent UNC sports fanatic. My daughter plays select soccer, and it would take the jaws of life to remove her from doing so for the foreseeable future, because she loves it. So I’m not the Anti-Jock or Gozer the Destructor, apocalyptic death-bringer of all things sporty. But I would happily bet that we’re approaching the point, in the coming decade, where the cultural pendulum will reach its pinnacle of sports obsession and begin returning to something more in line with reason.
Take a look at Newsweek’s latest feature on college athletics, “The Case Against College Athletic Recruiting,” which is a troubling (if admittedly oversimplified) investigation into how important playing a sport can be in the college admission process... at all levels for schools of all sizes.
After my rant about our local paper, perhaps I’m beating a dead horse here. But sports are often hurting the very people it claims to help -- the students. It’s hurting them physically with concussions, torn ACLs, broken bones, and it’s taking advantage of their pipe dreams by giving them “scholarships” and then making millions of dollars off them. And those great college scholarships earn them majors in amazing things like “sports management,” “African-American Studies,” and “General studies.” (The top 10 list is here.)
What I’m saying is, the claim that these money-making athletes (read: D-I basketball and football players) get a free ride in college and should be grateful is a lie we all know to be a lie. We want to be deceived. We also prefer to believe that football is “safe enough” because they wear armor and are super-sized humans with super-speed. We say this even as we watch approximately 45 players get carted off the field during the Clemson v. Auburn football game last weekend. (OK, slight exaggeration, but myself ant at least three friends declared that game “one of the most violent football games in recent memory.”)
At some point, the willful self-deception will have to stop. Because it always does.
We are currently riding a sports bubble not unlike the housing bubble and dot-com bubble of the recent past. BThe economic unfairness of the college system, and the evidence piling up on the kind of permanent physical damage we’re doing to teens and young adults will eventually force us to wake up. And we will wake up. We will eventually decide that the risks are more costly than the rewards.
Sports won’t die. Nothing at all like that. But I do believe my grandchildren will grow up in a society that doesn’t use phrases like “select sports” with quite the same zeal and focus. It’s possible this will be because everyone speaks Chinese and plays table tennis. Or it’s possible we’ll all be dead because an astronaut hit us or we did something to our planet that we can’t fix that wipes us out.
Or maybe the zombie virus will actually come. (And oh hell yeah I’m gonna watch “The Walking Dead” on AMC. You betcha! I say, to quote our most famous American zombie. I have a huuuuge soft spot in my heart for zombies.)
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The streets of Morocco...
I've made no secret about my love for Morocco... I have yet to go there but believe me it's at the top of my list of countries to visit. So far I have only covered fourteen countries, and all in Europe, including Turkey, so I still have a lot of countries and continents to see! I'm a lover of travel, so it's only a matter of time :)
In the meantime I'll just swoon over these pictures, care to join me?
Mmmm... whatever that steamy street food is I'm sure it's delicious!
Sunny yellow fabric hanging out to dry... pretty...
Ahhh, looks like the bazaar in Istanbul! I miss Istanbul and I have yet to finish all my posts about my trip there in 2008... bad me!
Ummm.. I'm seeing some great plate wall art here..... :)
(All images via Google image search)
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