Friday, September 01, 2006
The Miseducation of... well, every kid in the U.S.
I love John Stossel. I'm coming to despise our country's slow improvement:
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Innovative self-cheerleading
In response to the not-so-anonymous :) I wish to clarify that the higher being with which I am familiar doesn't desire anyone to be in a state of denial but on a course of aspiration and progression, and while I am one who questions the dubious outcome of "fake it till you make it" I realize that the road to "perfection" requires some innovative self-cheerleading, even self-hypnosis in a case as self-aware as mine.
And artist or no, I'm concerned that I not even begin to set my self apart so as to justify my considerable penchant for selfish languor or cantankerous ruin. Having different challenges I find myself resorting to unusual strategems in order to conquer and even momentary victories only reveal a new (and simultaneously old) series of trenches.
Naturally, the cycle will only end once I assume my right to choose my path instead of allowing the wind to toss me to and fro (James 1:6).
Nonetheless, a whopping thanks for your ever kind and generous commentary.
And artist or no, I'm concerned that I not even begin to set my self apart so as to justify my considerable penchant for selfish languor or cantankerous ruin. Having different challenges I find myself resorting to unusual strategems in order to conquer and even momentary victories only reveal a new (and simultaneously old) series of trenches.
Naturally, the cycle will only end once I assume my right to choose my path instead of allowing the wind to toss me to and fro (James 1:6).
Nonetheless, a whopping thanks for your ever kind and generous commentary.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Melancholy and other forms of madness...
Since I have no reputation there's little to stop these mini-diatribes from turning lunatic, lewd, malicious, etc. except that I wonder if there's not some record being made in heaven. My thoughts are already sometimes black, and if I were to double their darkness by loosing them here it would be catastrophic to my dwindling spiritual ego and reverse any residual accolades remaining were I to repent.
It's funny that I'd always had a peripheral understanding of agency, of right vs. wrong and yet never discerned the devilish grins swimming in my melancholy and other forms of madness.
I keep wishing both that I had never gotten myself so mired and that I had some uniquely sympathetic earthly soul who could share in the comprehension of my utter stupidity. :) Lest I become too much like the adversary, who wishes that all become miserable like unto himself I'll forego furthering the aforementioned.
Le sigh. Let's hope I find better days.
It's funny that I'd always had a peripheral understanding of agency, of right vs. wrong and yet never discerned the devilish grins swimming in my melancholy and other forms of madness.
I keep wishing both that I had never gotten myself so mired and that I had some uniquely sympathetic earthly soul who could share in the comprehension of my utter stupidity. :) Lest I become too much like the adversary, who wishes that all become miserable like unto himself I'll forego furthering the aforementioned.
Le sigh. Let's hope I find better days.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Ka-ching!
Are there any other retail workers out there? Specifically, are there any other sufferers of retail labor? Sad but true the blogosphere probably has a host of whiners, rant-and-ravers, etc. but I have to say my whimsical piece about the absurdity of being a cog in the machine.
Such absurdity emerges in its most banal when for the hundredth time I've recommended the M&M two for a dollar special to a diabetic; as I'm unfazed by a monolithic wall of cigarettes peering back at me with cancerous fatality; when I can't end a conversation without saying, "Thank you! Have a nice day!" and so on.
Customer service wouldn't irk me if I could while away more than a few minutes conversing with the talky spinsters, the charming college-goers, the winsome moms and spit-fire fathers instead of scuttling them the moment they have their receipt. Lines in retail/grocery shouldn't be divided based on the number of items but more on the mood of the individuals. Doubtless the conversationalist line would have fewer patrons, but that's as it should be since we'll have to talk longer anyway. You'd have a robotic high-speed register clerk at your "I left the iron on, water boiling, my teenage daughter and a mangy, tattooed guitarist together on the couch" line, so they could hear "Hello. Receipt. Thanks for coming!" and rocket to put out whatever fires were plaguing them in due time. There's also the line for cigarette buyers, which would boil down to little more than a dispenser that would require them to show their I.D.--here the receipt, a bag, and perhaps even "Hello" would be moot considerations--more intrusion than adequate customer service.
I suppose retail in general is aggravating because it, like the DMV, the post office, the airport, etc. is little more than a people processor: managers tend to think more in numbers than faces (customer service anymore boils down to "Ka-ching!" instead of courtesy and community--call me a cynic) and the store's geography itself is meant to induce superfluous purchases rather than to provoke warmth or to foster happiness.
Granted, this may be more of my malcontented bile issuing like a deluge onto the already encrusted sickness of cyberspace, but I've reached my ceiling of empty courtesy. I'm taking back humanity, one Walgreens at a time. LOL.
Seriously, it seems to me that like our politicians--thank you, George Carlin--Walgreens, if indeed it is a grey hulking machine sucking people in and spewing them out minus a prescription and a few 4x6s worth of money, is only symptomatic of us as a whole, both collectively and individually. I can't blame the corporate machine; whether acting as a component or penniless opponent I still have to take action. No one robs us of our agency, our fresh air, our love, or our enduring happiness but us. Doubtless I have yet to fully embrace that lesson, simple though it is.
Now, lest I lose the inertia momentarily granted by thoughts not entirely my own, I'll tear myself away from parasitic technology and try doing something truly productive. Adieu.
Such absurdity emerges in its most banal when for the hundredth time I've recommended the M&M two for a dollar special to a diabetic; as I'm unfazed by a monolithic wall of cigarettes peering back at me with cancerous fatality; when I can't end a conversation without saying, "Thank you! Have a nice day!" and so on.
Customer service wouldn't irk me if I could while away more than a few minutes conversing with the talky spinsters, the charming college-goers, the winsome moms and spit-fire fathers instead of scuttling them the moment they have their receipt. Lines in retail/grocery shouldn't be divided based on the number of items but more on the mood of the individuals. Doubtless the conversationalist line would have fewer patrons, but that's as it should be since we'll have to talk longer anyway. You'd have a robotic high-speed register clerk at your "I left the iron on, water boiling, my teenage daughter and a mangy, tattooed guitarist together on the couch" line, so they could hear "Hello. Receipt. Thanks for coming!" and rocket to put out whatever fires were plaguing them in due time. There's also the line for cigarette buyers, which would boil down to little more than a dispenser that would require them to show their I.D.--here the receipt, a bag, and perhaps even "Hello" would be moot considerations--more intrusion than adequate customer service.
I suppose retail in general is aggravating because it, like the DMV, the post office, the airport, etc. is little more than a people processor: managers tend to think more in numbers than faces (customer service anymore boils down to "Ka-ching!" instead of courtesy and community--call me a cynic) and the store's geography itself is meant to induce superfluous purchases rather than to provoke warmth or to foster happiness.
Granted, this may be more of my malcontented bile issuing like a deluge onto the already encrusted sickness of cyberspace, but I've reached my ceiling of empty courtesy. I'm taking back humanity, one Walgreens at a time. LOL.
Seriously, it seems to me that like our politicians--thank you, George Carlin--Walgreens, if indeed it is a grey hulking machine sucking people in and spewing them out minus a prescription and a few 4x6s worth of money, is only symptomatic of us as a whole, both collectively and individually. I can't blame the corporate machine; whether acting as a component or penniless opponent I still have to take action. No one robs us of our agency, our fresh air, our love, or our enduring happiness but us. Doubtless I have yet to fully embrace that lesson, simple though it is.
Now, lest I lose the inertia momentarily granted by thoughts not entirely my own, I'll tear myself away from parasitic technology and try doing something truly productive. Adieu.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Devilish carrots
I've come to realize the reasons why sin is so attractive (at least from a personal perspective)--or at the very least, why it is so addictive in contrast with righteousness. I say so at great personal cost because I may betray my deepest inadequacies to the discerning reader. Thankfully, this is one of the last unvisited bastions of the internet.
Sinful behavior (and for the non-religious this would best be labeled "dumb" behavior, since to the believer that's really what sin boils down to anyway) creates a vacuum hollowed out by regret, shame, sorrow, misery, etc. The individual thus suffering from such will then desire some kind of reprieve, and due to the harrowing nature of the aforementioned conditions will typically not have the patience needed for more enduring relief.
Righteousness, on the other hand, is deeply fulfilling and while not always immediately (nor intensely) gratifying, doesn't create a vacuum but new substance/sustinence--new challenges and horizons, (even revelations?). To clarify, much of righteous behavior involves ritual immersion and patient, concentrated effort, and more often than not, little to no adrenaline. (This is not to say that there is no chemical emission involved in spiritual transcendence, only that the experience promotes peace as opposed to aggression.) Therefore, a person isn't compelled to continue doing righteous deeds as they are with sinful practice, since righteousness is the only course that offers true satisfaction as opposed to a piecemeal gratification, the proverbial devilish carrot on the primrose path.
I say all of this not because it is new to the religiously educated or spiritually discerning, but because it is new to me, a person of spiritually meager intelligence. Over and over again I'm reminded of how little I know.
Sinful behavior (and for the non-religious this would best be labeled "dumb" behavior, since to the believer that's really what sin boils down to anyway) creates a vacuum hollowed out by regret, shame, sorrow, misery, etc. The individual thus suffering from such will then desire some kind of reprieve, and due to the harrowing nature of the aforementioned conditions will typically not have the patience needed for more enduring relief.
Righteousness, on the other hand, is deeply fulfilling and while not always immediately (nor intensely) gratifying, doesn't create a vacuum but new substance/sustinence--new challenges and horizons, (even revelations?). To clarify, much of righteous behavior involves ritual immersion and patient, concentrated effort, and more often than not, little to no adrenaline. (This is not to say that there is no chemical emission involved in spiritual transcendence, only that the experience promotes peace as opposed to aggression.) Therefore, a person isn't compelled to continue doing righteous deeds as they are with sinful practice, since righteousness is the only course that offers true satisfaction as opposed to a piecemeal gratification, the proverbial devilish carrot on the primrose path.
I say all of this not because it is new to the religiously educated or spiritually discerning, but because it is new to me, a person of spiritually meager intelligence. Over and over again I'm reminded of how little I know.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Back from hiatus...
Hiatus sounds too Hollywood; or maybe I wish it did. A lingering part of me wishes I was hob-knobbing with the big studio moguls, hopeful starlets, and otherwise fulfilling lifelong aspirations of having my imagination finally mean something financially important. Well, whether it's self-imposed reprieve or slothful negligence I've repented and returned to you, welcoming oblivion of cyberspace.
Sad but true, my motivations for writing here ---I've come to realize--- were primarily because I thought someone was paying attention. Now that I'm almost certain no one does, I should just really say things like I mean them. I'm not suggesting that anything I've said previously was remotely untrue. Rather, I won't have to mince the spicier elements for the benefit of persons for whom my respect demands a modicum of delicacy.
Granted, since this is still a "public" venue, I'll not share my deepest sentiments, but I'll feel less obliged to spare people's feelings about punk music. :)
Sad but true, my motivations for writing here ---I've come to realize--- were primarily because I thought someone was paying attention. Now that I'm almost certain no one does, I should just really say things like I mean them. I'm not suggesting that anything I've said previously was remotely untrue. Rather, I won't have to mince the spicier elements for the benefit of persons for whom my respect demands a modicum of delicacy.
Granted, since this is still a "public" venue, I'll not share my deepest sentiments, but I'll feel less obliged to spare people's feelings about punk music. :)
Saturday, December 10, 2005
The up-sell of mediocre employment...
There's something debilitating about a "job." Note that a job might be distinguished from a career because a job is typically a means to an end, at least for those of us inured into the dredges of higher education. In particular a job, though promising a moderate to negligible stipend come the end of a two-week or one-week period, rewards little. Much of the work feels purposeless 1) because it is routine, which means it will necessarily have to be repeated again and again and again and 2) there's only a faint hint that anyone's life will have been graced by one's efforts; it is doubtful, after all, that a memorization of corporate up-sell technique will have brightened a beleaguered individual's perspective, or that a nimble ring-up at the cash register will shatter the gray wall between people and change the community for the better. At the very least, were I able to make a movie, it could, even for a moment, affect someone. A job is more or less devoid of those opportunities on a regular basis. I don't deny that here and there one may produce the kind of profound changes that lead to elusive "fulfillment," but as a cog in the machine, the glitter of individual spark typically erodes under the dimming tide of commercial grease.
My pessimism no doubt is part and parcel of my problem. Still, I hold onto the hope that I can be both a caregiver (of sorts) and a corporate lackey at the same time.
My pessimism no doubt is part and parcel of my problem. Still, I hold onto the hope that I can be both a caregiver (of sorts) and a corporate lackey at the same time.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Marred
One of my wittiest friends says "marred" instead of married; humorous as that conversion is marriage does have a way of making its mark, oftentimes in brutal awakening. Honestly, though, I have no complaints... it's my spouse that suffers. No doubt she's perplexed my ease (as am I) or perturbed by my goofball behavior. Surely I'm not THAT prone to playing video games, am I? But anyway, I thought I'd drop another note into my negligible corner of cyberspace and say unequivocally that marriage, while challenging, is as sweet as it was formerly cracked up to be.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Internet acrimony
I'm not a fan of relationships; mind you, I'm really excited about the one I'll be forming in little more than a month's time and all that it implies, but I don't enjoy those awkward, half-formed devils that usually emerge from an acidic pool of emotional constipation or lack of communication in general. Furthermore I don't like them when I'm made to feel guilty when they end/subside though I have only a vague idea as to what kind of ludicrously obscure or unspoken code I've overlooked.
Anyway, I just don't like internet acrimony, though I'm hypocritically wont to retaliate once the hammer comes down.
So... nevermind.
Anyway, I just don't like internet acrimony, though I'm hypocritically wont to retaliate once the hammer comes down.
So... nevermind.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Recent thoughts
- No doubt everyone has their horror stories from the dentist's office. What perplexes me is that little has changed since I was a wee lad, except that I get a gourmet cookie instead of a lollipop. (The hypocrisy of providing the dentally debilitated unadulterated sugar seems too obvious to mention---conspiracies abound! The miniature spit sink/armrest must be bugged also.) My dentist resembles a leather-skinned slick used-car salesman/shady Wall Street mover-and-shaker, not the dowdy kind-spirited Santa-types I was so fond of as a pubescent metal-mouth. He refers to me as "studly." His assistants are all wafer-thin, well-tanned and/or smooth-skinned, polished and bright as their teeth. On my most recent visit to the dentist I was hurriedly asked whether I wanted anesthesia or not---his words: You want me to numb you...? Before I had time to bleat out a "%$#@*&%$ Numb me! Numb me, you cretin!" a voracious drill was feverishly applied to an already throbbing molar and a very thin temporary crown. Thankfully my agonized contortions were ample sign that he should stop or risk a wild bony elbow to the forehead, and I escaped his sadistic predilection momentarily. To make a long story short, I've now got a new crown, and no matter how incongruous the fit may result in the next month I have no desire to return to this house of horrors.
- My dearest Amber took me to see The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and it was a well-crafted movie, though I understandably was not immersed in the story despite my best efforts. There were tear-jerking moments, giddy girl fun-times and so on, but I couldn't help but pay more attention to the whispers and sighs in the estrogen-riddled audience around me. In one moment in particular the a female behind me testified, "Oh, I love her dress! I want all of her outfits! The only time I feel that way during a movie, I remarked to Amber, is when I'm watching Marlon Brando as Sky Masterson in Guys N' Dolls. Additionally certain yelps and oohs caught me by surprise, though in one or two cases I understood the implications. Suffice it to say that my masculinity, although challenged in a sports venue or toppled in a contest of car knowledge, was validated and then some. (As for other forms of criticism, I have yet to breach the feminist rumblings stirring within... Don't ask.)
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
I should have been a farmer...
No doubt the packs of ravenous Potter fans have already masticated, digested, and er, excreted the latest news on the fourth installment of the movie version coming this November, and will soon enough be perched ominously over the carcass of the sixth book arriving this month.
Likewise Star Wars fans' creative saliva is dribbling down their sagging jowls after a hearty helping of the Dark Side, and they'll be twenty years down the road foraging in a video game bin for a relic copy of a Star Wars first-person shooter just for old-times sake.
Even the bedraggled vestiges of Lord of the Rings majesty hover like the skeletal reinforcements of the last installment over the media-frenzied populace.
The aftermath of them all? A drought of creative elbow-room. I speak from a creator's standpoint when I whimper that I can't make a viable "stand-out" wizard/fantasy story in the wake of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Were I to attempt a sci-fi epic it would get caught like a dolphin in a net meant for tuna. They would see my personal "babies" and call them by other names. My Jonathan would be their Anakin... My RedGuy would be their... I dunno.
Perhaps it's just that my timing is terrible. I want to make a work that inspires... and I don't know how to surpass something like Harry Potter , etc. when I'm still geeking out about them myself. Ugh. To quote a movie that thankfully isn't so "epic," (or at least so prolific) "I should have been a farmer."
Likewise Star Wars fans' creative saliva is dribbling down their sagging jowls after a hearty helping of the Dark Side, and they'll be twenty years down the road foraging in a video game bin for a relic copy of a Star Wars first-person shooter just for old-times sake.
Even the bedraggled vestiges of Lord of the Rings majesty hover like the skeletal reinforcements of the last installment over the media-frenzied populace.
The aftermath of them all? A drought of creative elbow-room. I speak from a creator's standpoint when I whimper that I can't make a viable "stand-out" wizard/fantasy story in the wake of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Were I to attempt a sci-fi epic it would get caught like a dolphin in a net meant for tuna. They would see my personal "babies" and call them by other names. My Jonathan would be their Anakin... My RedGuy would be their... I dunno.
Perhaps it's just that my timing is terrible. I want to make a work that inspires... and I don't know how to surpass something like Harry Potter , etc. when I'm still geeking out about them myself. Ugh. To quote a movie that thankfully isn't so "epic," (or at least so prolific) "I should have been a farmer."
Friday, April 15, 2005
Holding her
If I were a versatile blogger, I'd probably have better words for the contentment I feel when I'm holding her, my angel. (Henceforth angel will be code for the all-too charming, intelligent, sunny and stunning woman of my life. I do so because I fret that somehow the cheap air of cyberspace will dim the glory of my admiration to the eyes of its sometimes callous denizens.) More specifically, I don't think I can do justice to the palpitations, pinings, etc. that persist both in her presence and in the rosy-colored imagery she induces with my over-flowery self-expression.
As a writer, I have yet to "kill my darlings" so I'll have to pine in silence until I can muster something less maudlin.
As a writer, I have yet to "kill my darlings" so I'll have to pine in silence until I can muster something less maudlin.
Friday, March 25, 2005
My medieval princess
I feel a wee bit withered. Last night my medieval princess jaunted off to her Californian Camelot to be with family and friends, and I retire to yet another cave today, albeit sunshiny and sprinkled with chocolate paraphernalia galore: my grandmother's house. We agreed that I identify with Disney's "Beast" and she identifies with Belle... so I suppose our destinations are perfectly apropos.
At any rate, I miss her... I began missing her when I parted from her doorstep Wednesday night... Sigh... Were I a better writer I could guise my goofball swooning/sighing in delicious prose, even poetry. As it is I can't muster more than ugh, meeeeeeeeeeh, ... oh, and siiiiiiiiiiigh. Me Cro-Magnon. Me bash computer. Go ape. Ooogah-boogah.
At any rate, I miss her... I began missing her when I parted from her doorstep Wednesday night... Sigh... Were I a better writer I could guise my goofball swooning/sighing in delicious prose, even poetry. As it is I can't muster more than ugh, meeeeeeeeeeh, ... oh, and siiiiiiiiiiigh. Me Cro-Magnon. Me bash computer. Go ape. Ooogah-boogah.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Word of the Day
I get a daily e-mail from Dictionary.com which occasionally proves phonetically/lexically fruitful... (i.e, just plain fun)...
Case in point:
Word of the Day for Sunday March 20, 2005
spoonerism \SPOO-nuh-riz-uhm\, noun:
The transposition of usually initial sounds in a pair of
words.
Some examples:
* We all know what it is to have a half-warmed fish
["half-formed wish"] inside us.
* The Lord is a shoving leopard ["loving shepherd"].
* It is kisstomary to cuss ["customary to kiss"] the bride.
* Is the bean dizzy ["dean busy"]?
* When the boys come back from France, we'll have the hags
flung out ["flags hung out"]!
* Let me sew you to your sheet ["show you to your seat"].
_____________________________________________________
Spoonerism comes from the name of the Rev. William
Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), a kindly but nervous
Anglican clergyman and educationalist. All the above
examples were committed by (or attributed to) him.
Dictionary.com Entry and Pronunciation
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=9&q=spoonerism
Case in point:
Word of the Day for Sunday March 20, 2005
spoonerism \SPOO-nuh-riz-uhm\, noun:
The transposition of usually initial sounds in a pair of
words.
Some examples:
* We all know what it is to have a half-warmed fish
["half-formed wish"] inside us.
* The Lord is a shoving leopard ["loving shepherd"].
* It is kisstomary to cuss ["customary to kiss"] the bride.
* Is the bean dizzy ["dean busy"]?
* When the boys come back from France, we'll have the hags
flung out ["flags hung out"]!
* Let me sew you to your sheet ["show you to your seat"].
_____________________________________________________
Spoonerism comes from the name of the Rev. William
Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), a kindly but nervous
Anglican clergyman and educationalist. All the above
examples were committed by (or attributed to) him.
Dictionary.com Entry and Pronunciation
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=9&q=spoonerism
Geek? Who me???
Going faster than a speeding bullet, being transformed into the world's fastest man via a chemical spill ---(usually when those happen there's serious cosmetic surgery to be had and then a hermit's life holed up in a middle-of-nowhere house; super powers are then only employed to bound over stacks of newspapers and last weekend's pizza leftovers... but I digress), etc.: a geeky guy's delight. Why? Why does an oppressed woman dig a female empowerment flick? Why does Donald Trump remain oblivious to his hairpiece? Expectations fulfilled, kids.
I want a world where at least one someone does what is right at all costs against all odds and mostly because it's right (and wearing clashing colors). Furthermore, in the traditional super-hero"verse" up and down are crystal clear. Even w/ my Gospel goggles on I detect a palpable void between what I know is right and wrong and the application of said understanding. (Proof positive that only God is fit to judge in the ultimate outcome...)
So, before I make any more grammatical errors (or have to puzzle about where I put the colon... haha! Nevermind)---I'll be signing off yet again, fellow adventurers.
Comments? Criticism? Koo-koo-ka-choo?
So I'm thinking that my BLOG banner looks creepy. Anyway I can make it happy, happy, joy-joy? Any suggestions?
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Hopped-up OR Begin a Rockin' Boogie
What sugary magic is there in romantic aspiration that makes even the most plain and mundane seem potent and lofty? I'm listening to sappy old love songs, which on their own are fantastic enough, and yet they begin a rockin' boogie on the inside. That's right. I said boogie. Boogie, boogie, boogie.
The experiential plusses of what otherwise I would leave lingering on the doorstep of my peripheral contemplation I find now carry me aloft on wings of newfound inspiration. I was listening to Gene Pitney's? "Only Love Can Break a Heart" (only love can mend it again) and felt myself lilting with each cutesy bob and tuck of the melody.
It's rare, I know, but I can say for once w/o any clausal back-door that I am happy, with all of the hopped-up idealism that entails. Whoooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! etc.
The experiential plusses of what otherwise I would leave lingering on the doorstep of my peripheral contemplation I find now carry me aloft on wings of newfound inspiration. I was listening to Gene Pitney's? "Only Love Can Break a Heart" (only love can mend it again) and felt myself lilting with each cutesy bob and tuck of the melody.
It's rare, I know, but I can say for once w/o any clausal back-door that I am happy, with all of the hopped-up idealism that entails. Whoooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! etc.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Muscle factor
It's odd how straightforward we want romance to be (or male-female relationships in general, for that matter), and likewise no surprise that our clear notions about what makes a man tick or a woman va-va-voom get halted. Our frail hope that the "secret" to the opposite sex is somehow buried in a dusty tome or outlined in geometric perfection in some trumped up self-help manual is continually frustrated by new feelings, recurring yet rudely refreshing epiphanies.
Some time ago I had deluded myself into thinking that all I needed was flowers and fudge to woo my would-be. (Some oversimplification inherent in the aforementioned.) True, there are those women who are easily snared by those fleeting tokens, but they're not the kind of woman anyone wants for long, at least not in my reckoning, if only because they're so cheaply won. My issue is that I honestly have a drought of character, of... whatever it is that makes a man seem manly. (Hence the need for a supplementary arsenal.) I'm not adventurous, nor courageous, not too smart, funny or charming... I don't have that muscle factor that though women suggest is not important still seems powerful enough to secure their affection anyway.
Is it wrong that I still want, nay demand that at some point a woman will swoon because of me??? Ugh. This tired "me" again... I should have left it chained and gagged in the archives. Poo.
Some time ago I had deluded myself into thinking that all I needed was flowers and fudge to woo my would-be. (Some oversimplification inherent in the aforementioned.) True, there are those women who are easily snared by those fleeting tokens, but they're not the kind of woman anyone wants for long, at least not in my reckoning, if only because they're so cheaply won. My issue is that I honestly have a drought of character, of... whatever it is that makes a man seem manly. (Hence the need for a supplementary arsenal.) I'm not adventurous, nor courageous, not too smart, funny or charming... I don't have that muscle factor that though women suggest is not important still seems powerful enough to secure their affection anyway.
Is it wrong that I still want, nay demand that at some point a woman will swoon because of me??? Ugh. This tired "me" again... I should have left it chained and gagged in the archives. Poo.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
A ghastly void...
A sugary free dozen donuts. That's how they got me.
Picture, if you will, a bleak, chilly Thursday night; workers at a Sandy, Utah Krispy Kreme are scurrying like worker ants around rolling carts upon carts chock full of the trademark treats and loading them onto trucks. One short, goateed recent hire is hefting boxes almost as big as he is onto a large dolly. In the midst of it all a rather lost, disconsolate spirit is hovering, already anxiously anticipating the end of the day's work.
The night yawned across intermittent instructions on how to fill out a day's report, how to unbuckle the menacing clasp securing the tall donut carts in the back of the truck, how not to drive all the way back to Sandy to pick up a neglected order/item. The supervisor training us, we'll call L, was a no-nonsense, rustic 26 year-old with child-support payments. He and "Goatee" seemed comfortable enough rolling around in the behemoth with the stock of fresh donuts in its belly. I could only look longingly out the windows at darkness.
If Utah in the daytime is boring (as some have insisted) then it's a ghastly void of sensory experience in the bleakest hours of night. Granted, I don't mind the night so much, but I can't imagine being alone in it with nothing more to do than to regularly hop in and out of the cab to open the back, pull out the loading "plank," roll out the cart, take it into a store, etc., etc., etc.
Granted, to some it may seem like just another job; to me it was a harrowing venture into the true meaning of "graveyard shift." (Try visiting Smith's at 3:30 a.m. and look for a beaming smile. Go on, I dare ya!)
At any rate, my apologies and condolences to you who may have been prematurely promised a bundle of donuts...
Picture, if you will, a bleak, chilly Thursday night; workers at a Sandy, Utah Krispy Kreme are scurrying like worker ants around rolling carts upon carts chock full of the trademark treats and loading them onto trucks. One short, goateed recent hire is hefting boxes almost as big as he is onto a large dolly. In the midst of it all a rather lost, disconsolate spirit is hovering, already anxiously anticipating the end of the day's work.
The night yawned across intermittent instructions on how to fill out a day's report, how to unbuckle the menacing clasp securing the tall donut carts in the back of the truck, how not to drive all the way back to Sandy to pick up a neglected order/item. The supervisor training us, we'll call L, was a no-nonsense, rustic 26 year-old with child-support payments. He and "Goatee" seemed comfortable enough rolling around in the behemoth with the stock of fresh donuts in its belly. I could only look longingly out the windows at darkness.
If Utah in the daytime is boring (as some have insisted) then it's a ghastly void of sensory experience in the bleakest hours of night. Granted, I don't mind the night so much, but I can't imagine being alone in it with nothing more to do than to regularly hop in and out of the cab to open the back, pull out the loading "plank," roll out the cart, take it into a store, etc., etc., etc.
Granted, to some it may seem like just another job; to me it was a harrowing venture into the true meaning of "graveyard shift." (Try visiting Smith's at 3:30 a.m. and look for a beaming smile. Go on, I dare ya!)
At any rate, my apologies and condolences to you who may have been prematurely promised a bundle of donuts...
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
PLUGGED IN...
So I figured since other bloggers do it, why shouldn't I? Just in case anyone had the same ambitions of collecting cool artwork should they ever be rich and famous, here's one of my favorite artists, whose work I first saw here at BYU! Top notch!
Edit: A weird link-shift-vortex-something-or-other happened above that led to www.thepage.com instead of Aaron Jasinski's website. Ah well... I changed it but maybe I'm not allowed to "hotlink" his site...
Edit: A weird link-shift-vortex-something-or-other happened above that led to www.thepage.com instead of Aaron Jasinski's website. Ah well... I changed it but maybe I'm not allowed to "hotlink" his site...
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