So in all the months of this year so far, I've been busy at work, at home, trying to balance my budget and trying not to run out of money, and personal stuff that I won't go into here but at this point (knock on wood) seems to be going my way. What have I forgotten?
Oh yeah, writing. Of the professional variety, anyway.
Not only haven't I written anything that's been publishable lately, I haven't written much of anything. I go into spells like this from time to time, of course, but lately it seems a little harder to get out of. Partly it's due to the financial hell hole I seemed trapped in until recently, when I started getting my tax refund (still waiting on the state, but the fed arrived Friday), but also it has to do with the simple question: what do I want to write?
It's an important question, because I've never been "I must write the great American novel" except for brief flashes when I thought the great American novel could be set at a grocery store (it can't), or just run flat on ideas. I don't know that I have a novel in me. Maybe a memoir, based on various incidents in my life that defined me? Good, but I'm still being defined (at this point, it's "will I actually find something job-wise that my degree qualifies me for?" Because so far I've seemed to be in a career rut of sorts when it comes to that).
Questions without answers...hmm, sounds philosophical.
Anyway, the point is (apart from some Amazon reviews) I've been slack about writing in general, much less for publication. I have been reading a lot, however, and I know that I want to maybe try and get some essays out about things I care about or have impacted my life, because I might be able to make a book out of that.
Now that I've said it out loud, nothing will come of it ;-)
I've been hesitant to do so because I'm still of the belief that, in order to write about your life, you need to have done something to merit writing about it. But maybe just living in general, and the lessons you acquire, can be the source of your muse.
Anyway, here's hoping I got something publishable in me for the forseeable future, because I don't want to go back to selling crack on the streets of mean ole Walhalla.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Fearing and Loathing the Idea of Newt as President
I want to delve into the world of politics because, in case you hadn't noticed, this is what we call an "election year," and you probably can already guess that I'm none too thrilled that Newt Gingrich (a man who oozes sleaze) won big in my home state of South Carolina. Granted, none of his competitors would appeal to me any more than he does (Ron Paul is batshit crazy and isolationist, Romney is of the manor born, and Santorum is slang for anal discharge following gay sex...no, really, Google it if you dare), but Newt is something else entirely.
The guy has no moral compass except his own personal aggrandizement, he reeks of political corruption and financial misdeeds, he's a hypocrite who only sees what he wants to see, and he has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. Plus, he's from Georgia...just kidding, I have friends from Georgia so I know not all Georgians are like him.
But he's more than enough.
I went through a Watergate phase a few years back, possibly due to the release of Frost/Nixon, and my reading on Newt is that he's very Nixonian, and I don't mean that as a compliment. Richard Milhous Nixon might be the most fascinating president we've ever had, because at no point did he ever attempt to mask the fact that he was a bad, bad dude. Okay, in '68 he ran as "the new Nixon" much like Newt is running as somehow a minted hero of the '94 "Contract with America," claiming credit for Clinton-era reforms that by anyone else's logic would be...well, Clinton's achievements, not Newt's. But the American public, particularly the conservative bent, have short-term memory loss, and to them Newt is appealing. God knows why, but he is.
Newt Gingrich as the next president of the United States is both alarming and intriguing to me, alarming because it means a return to Bush-era hypocrisy in the name of "national security" and intriguing because part of me wants to see just how much Newt would out-Nixon Nixon. Nixon's mistake, in Newt's world, isn't that he covered up the burglary of the Democrats' national headquarters; it's that he got caught.
And now, thanks to my fellow South Carolinians, Newt isn't going anywhere fast. We sure know how to pick a winner.
Trevor
The guy has no moral compass except his own personal aggrandizement, he reeks of political corruption and financial misdeeds, he's a hypocrite who only sees what he wants to see, and he has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. Plus, he's from Georgia...just kidding, I have friends from Georgia so I know not all Georgians are like him.
But he's more than enough.
I went through a Watergate phase a few years back, possibly due to the release of Frost/Nixon, and my reading on Newt is that he's very Nixonian, and I don't mean that as a compliment. Richard Milhous Nixon might be the most fascinating president we've ever had, because at no point did he ever attempt to mask the fact that he was a bad, bad dude. Okay, in '68 he ran as "the new Nixon" much like Newt is running as somehow a minted hero of the '94 "Contract with America," claiming credit for Clinton-era reforms that by anyone else's logic would be...well, Clinton's achievements, not Newt's. But the American public, particularly the conservative bent, have short-term memory loss, and to them Newt is appealing. God knows why, but he is.
Newt Gingrich as the next president of the United States is both alarming and intriguing to me, alarming because it means a return to Bush-era hypocrisy in the name of "national security" and intriguing because part of me wants to see just how much Newt would out-Nixon Nixon. Nixon's mistake, in Newt's world, isn't that he covered up the burglary of the Democrats' national headquarters; it's that he got caught.
And now, thanks to my fellow South Carolinians, Newt isn't going anywhere fast. We sure know how to pick a winner.
Trevor
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Tebowphenia
It's been a little while, so let me comment on the onrush of Tim Tebow madness that, up until yesterday's loss to the Pats, seemed poised to overtake the nation worse than a plague of mosquitos or Ron Paul political ads (sidenote: anyone catch the "hip, young" ad that's running now, full of flashy graphics and what not? I expected ole Ron to say "tubeular" or something at the end). Anyway, I am not what one would call a Tebowaholic, but in the aftermath of our long national nightmare coming to an end, I can feel more charitable towards the guy.
In our hyper-aware era of overblown praise and equally overdone criticism, it's easy to forget that the guy is just a quarterback for a major team, albeit one whose abilities at the position are questionable to say the least (hell, the guy has skills, I'll admit that. You try and get anyone else to pull off some of the wins he got over the season, you just can't). He's been bought up wholesale by the right-wing illiterati of this nation as some kind of "savior" from the mean, arrogant (read: black) professional athletes who dominate so much of our culture more with their antics off the field than on (though sometimes the two intermingle, as in the case of Terrell Owens). Does this mean that every gun-hating, baby-aborting liberal in the world has to hate him in return?
I am putting it out there: I don't like the guy more because of what he's become to the other side than what he is, or who he is. Who he is is a son of missionaries who returns to the Phillippines (hope I spelled that right, that's one country whose name defies my internal spellcheck) to assist in making lives better for the children there, with the mission of spreading his view of God's word (which is Christian, in his case) as a side note. The guy has never been in trouble with the law, he's never been known to do anything that would reveal him as a hypocrite, and he's never been afraid to put his opinions out there...as opinions, not as truths that other people have to buy into. For that, I can't fault him.
What I can fault him for, or what I can fault his handlers for, is the way in which it's either "you're with us or against us" in the current political climate that surrounds the poor kid (and let's remember, he's a kid, still). When the debate over his abilities as a quarterback became personalized (i.e., as a question of whether his moral faith was a help or hinderance to his reaching fans), I began to feel almost beholden to dislike him. Not because I disagree with him about his right to hold an opinion contrary to my own, but because those who put him up as an example made it a litmus test for patriotism or faith or whatever. When you reduce someone to a soundbite or a catchphrase, you negate the very important, very conflicted sides of a person's nature and render him a statue (someone much smarter than me must have come up with that or something similar, I don't feel like it's an original thought).
More importantly, the Tebow debate raises an important point that I think needs addressing: our almost psychopathic need to first have someone in a heroic position and then to remove said person from our esteem, most notably with an act so deplorable that we can never look at him the same way again. For the haters as much as the lovers, Tim Tebow is a lightening rod, and unless (or until) he suffers some public humiliation akin to Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, or some other public figure who has faced the level of both adoration and dislike as he has, they won't forgive him his position as a figurehead for morality in the eyes of many.
I can remember when O.J. Simpson and Michael Jackson were still regarded in their previous light (awesome athlete and musical superstar, respectively) before we learned that OJ was at best a wife-abuser (and at worst, a multiple murderer) and Jacko liked little boys...really liked little boys. That sense of betrayal with both guys (whose falls from grace were almost simultaneous) colors the way we see them now, even if our loss of faith is rewarded (as in the incarceration of OJ on unrelated matters...see, he was guilty!) or denied (Jacko went to his grave never really vindicated in the eyes of many, despite his aquittals and/or settlements).
With Tebow, we're all caught up in the first rush of a love (or hate) affair; we only know what we're supposed to know, how he's doing incredible things and also telling us how we should live. Until we see him as more human or less god-like (whichever comes first) we're gonna carry around that image of him, come hell or high water. I don't want to actively root against the guy, but I'm not comfortable rooting for him, either. When my dislike of him began, he was still at Florida, and Urban Meyer's health was related to whether or not Tebow (who can be something of a drama queen himself) came back to play (you'll notice how quickly Urb left town when Tebow jumped to the NFL). His beliefs didn't really play into that, though I can see where some will find issue with his soapbox. But I ask those who support him because of his beliefs, weren't you the same people who got irked every time some Hollywood celebrity bashed Bush or said something you didn't like? Isn't that hypocritical of you to say that his opinions should be respected when you couldn't afford the same to Kanye or Alec Baldwin?
It all seems like we're living in a hyper-realized age, and we just need to take a step back. Maybe now that Tebowpocalypse doesn't seem to be happening anymore (well, at least not this season), we can take a step back and let the kid's game speak for him. Because when all the lovers and haters jump off their respective bandwagons and move on to the next thing, we'll be left with a kid who's much better than a lot of people gave him credit for, but who isn't all that yet. I hope that Tim Tebow has success in his career, that he isn't exposed as a fraud or worse, and that he can survived the scrutiny of our over-sensitive age. He isn't Jesus with a football, but he's not the anti-Christ of quarterbacks either. He's just a dude, like you and me.
In our hyper-aware era of overblown praise and equally overdone criticism, it's easy to forget that the guy is just a quarterback for a major team, albeit one whose abilities at the position are questionable to say the least (hell, the guy has skills, I'll admit that. You try and get anyone else to pull off some of the wins he got over the season, you just can't). He's been bought up wholesale by the right-wing illiterati of this nation as some kind of "savior" from the mean, arrogant (read: black) professional athletes who dominate so much of our culture more with their antics off the field than on (though sometimes the two intermingle, as in the case of Terrell Owens). Does this mean that every gun-hating, baby-aborting liberal in the world has to hate him in return?
I am putting it out there: I don't like the guy more because of what he's become to the other side than what he is, or who he is. Who he is is a son of missionaries who returns to the Phillippines (hope I spelled that right, that's one country whose name defies my internal spellcheck) to assist in making lives better for the children there, with the mission of spreading his view of God's word (which is Christian, in his case) as a side note. The guy has never been in trouble with the law, he's never been known to do anything that would reveal him as a hypocrite, and he's never been afraid to put his opinions out there...as opinions, not as truths that other people have to buy into. For that, I can't fault him.
What I can fault him for, or what I can fault his handlers for, is the way in which it's either "you're with us or against us" in the current political climate that surrounds the poor kid (and let's remember, he's a kid, still). When the debate over his abilities as a quarterback became personalized (i.e., as a question of whether his moral faith was a help or hinderance to his reaching fans), I began to feel almost beholden to dislike him. Not because I disagree with him about his right to hold an opinion contrary to my own, but because those who put him up as an example made it a litmus test for patriotism or faith or whatever. When you reduce someone to a soundbite or a catchphrase, you negate the very important, very conflicted sides of a person's nature and render him a statue (someone much smarter than me must have come up with that or something similar, I don't feel like it's an original thought).
More importantly, the Tebow debate raises an important point that I think needs addressing: our almost psychopathic need to first have someone in a heroic position and then to remove said person from our esteem, most notably with an act so deplorable that we can never look at him the same way again. For the haters as much as the lovers, Tim Tebow is a lightening rod, and unless (or until) he suffers some public humiliation akin to Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, or some other public figure who has faced the level of both adoration and dislike as he has, they won't forgive him his position as a figurehead for morality in the eyes of many.
I can remember when O.J. Simpson and Michael Jackson were still regarded in their previous light (awesome athlete and musical superstar, respectively) before we learned that OJ was at best a wife-abuser (and at worst, a multiple murderer) and Jacko liked little boys...really liked little boys. That sense of betrayal with both guys (whose falls from grace were almost simultaneous) colors the way we see them now, even if our loss of faith is rewarded (as in the incarceration of OJ on unrelated matters...see, he was guilty!) or denied (Jacko went to his grave never really vindicated in the eyes of many, despite his aquittals and/or settlements).
With Tebow, we're all caught up in the first rush of a love (or hate) affair; we only know what we're supposed to know, how he's doing incredible things and also telling us how we should live. Until we see him as more human or less god-like (whichever comes first) we're gonna carry around that image of him, come hell or high water. I don't want to actively root against the guy, but I'm not comfortable rooting for him, either. When my dislike of him began, he was still at Florida, and Urban Meyer's health was related to whether or not Tebow (who can be something of a drama queen himself) came back to play (you'll notice how quickly Urb left town when Tebow jumped to the NFL). His beliefs didn't really play into that, though I can see where some will find issue with his soapbox. But I ask those who support him because of his beliefs, weren't you the same people who got irked every time some Hollywood celebrity bashed Bush or said something you didn't like? Isn't that hypocritical of you to say that his opinions should be respected when you couldn't afford the same to Kanye or Alec Baldwin?
It all seems like we're living in a hyper-realized age, and we just need to take a step back. Maybe now that Tebowpocalypse doesn't seem to be happening anymore (well, at least not this season), we can take a step back and let the kid's game speak for him. Because when all the lovers and haters jump off their respective bandwagons and move on to the next thing, we'll be left with a kid who's much better than a lot of people gave him credit for, but who isn't all that yet. I hope that Tim Tebow has success in his career, that he isn't exposed as a fraud or worse, and that he can survived the scrutiny of our over-sensitive age. He isn't Jesus with a football, but he's not the anti-Christ of quarterbacks either. He's just a dude, like you and me.
Friday, December 30, 2011
It's The End of the World As We Know It (Wait, Did I Use that Title Already?)
So uncreative of me...
Anywho, 2011 is winding down, and 2012 is knocking at the door like the drunk uncle you didn't invite to your New Year's Eve party because you were sure he'd proposition the women in your apartment with crude sex jokes related to his work as a novelty toys salesman (if I could think of any such jokes right now, this would be an excellent metaphor, but my brain is on vacation today for some reason), but he shows up anyway. And it's awful.
The Mayan calendar runs out in 2012, which means a lot of easily-led people assume that the Mayans foretold the end of days. Granted, try asking a Mayan what he meant; you can't, their civilization vanished centuries ago.
Or did it?
Anyway, if next year is the end, at least I can say that I'm a damn good uncle. Oh, and I want to write a book next year, though I say that every year and so far I've done bupkus.
But that's what a resolution is: before it's an empty promise that you made at the beginning of the year which looks untenable as the months coagulate, at least it holds the promise of something new.
Also, there's a very good chance that we'll elect a white man to the White House. I wonder how the media will handle that earth-shaking story, a first in American politics (I'm an Obama guy, but I'm not optimistic. Granted, the guy got Osama, but in case you haven't noticed, a lot of Americans are uncomfortable with him. I spell Tea Party "K-K-K" myself).
But 2012 beckons, calling to us that no, it will not end in a dramatic CGI-palooza of dread and doom. I hope it doesn't, anyway.
Anywho, 2011 is winding down, and 2012 is knocking at the door like the drunk uncle you didn't invite to your New Year's Eve party because you were sure he'd proposition the women in your apartment with crude sex jokes related to his work as a novelty toys salesman (if I could think of any such jokes right now, this would be an excellent metaphor, but my brain is on vacation today for some reason), but he shows up anyway. And it's awful.
The Mayan calendar runs out in 2012, which means a lot of easily-led people assume that the Mayans foretold the end of days. Granted, try asking a Mayan what he meant; you can't, their civilization vanished centuries ago.
Or did it?
Anyway, if next year is the end, at least I can say that I'm a damn good uncle. Oh, and I want to write a book next year, though I say that every year and so far I've done bupkus.
But that's what a resolution is: before it's an empty promise that you made at the beginning of the year which looks untenable as the months coagulate, at least it holds the promise of something new.
Also, there's a very good chance that we'll elect a white man to the White House. I wonder how the media will handle that earth-shaking story, a first in American politics (I'm an Obama guy, but I'm not optimistic. Granted, the guy got Osama, but in case you haven't noticed, a lot of Americans are uncomfortable with him. I spell Tea Party "K-K-K" myself).
But 2012 beckons, calling to us that no, it will not end in a dramatic CGI-palooza of dread and doom. I hope it doesn't, anyway.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Ned's Atomic Dustbin of Crap
The season is over for Clemson football...and we're ACC champs. I know, I know, I don't know that I believe it either.
Clemson is used to...well, how to put it nicely? Stinking. Not just choking, but downright self-murder, especially as the season winds down. And we damn near did so, not once but twice, first at NC State (making their back-up QB look like Dan Marino and Tom Brady's love child) and then against South Carolina (where the new guy most definitely is a love child of Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning). So going into last weekend's ACC Championship game against Virginia Tech, to say that I had little hope would be an understatement.
I had lost faith entirely.
It's always sobering coming back down to earth, when you had been on a magical carpet ride of 8-0 football, against opponents who weren't terrible (but maybe weren't as good as they were before, ahem, looking at you Auburn). Doubt is a painful emotion, not because it comes around suddenly but because it creeps under your skin until the next thing you know, you can't even look in the mirror anymore at your orange shirt because deep down you know the wide-eyed innocence of pure unadultered fandom is no longer yours. You have questions about the special teams, you moan the inefficiency of the defense, and your quarterback is not really "your" quarterback so much.
So while I enjoyed the fact that we won last weekend, I couldn't really take any credit for believing that we'd do it. I didn't even watch the game until the fourth quarter, preferring instead to catch up with an old favorite of mine that I hadn't seen in a while.
(500) Days of Summer is, to my mind, the coolest, intentionally cool romantic comedy of our current age. But when I first saw it, and on subsequent viewings, I missed the point; I thought the film was indeed a love story, despite the protestations of the voiceover at the beginning. But upon rewatching it, and after experiencing a personal epiphany of which I may or may not elaborate later, I got it: the film isn't about love, but how to fall in love, and how not to fall in love is ably demonstrated by Tom, the protagonist with whom I couldn't help identify because we have both been known to misread The Graduate and wear Joy Division t-shirts. Behind the indie-rock soundtrack and Zooey(sic) Deschanel's blue eyes, it's the story of how we often talk ourselves into believing things that just aren't so.
Fans do that a lot, in the sports world: we want to believe that our teams are better than they are, or if they're not, that there's an explanation for that that's easily definable (i.e., the curse of Bambino, or the Billy Goat). For a lot of Clemson fans, it's just more comforting to believe that we suck, and that we will continue to suck, with occasional flashes of non-sucking thrown in to suck in the new fans year after year. My niece will be surrounded by Clemson fans, so the poor child will have no choice, you see. But I remember the Boston Red Sox of '04 deciding not to overthrow the Bambino so much as ignore the hell out of him, and just keep playing baseball. You do recall how that turned out, right?
For the longest time, at least over a year, I've not had the confidence to be myself around women. I've tried to "woo" them, or whatever, just failing miserably because deep down, I didn't believe any of it. But now, I have to say, my confidence is sorta back. And while I don't think it is any of your business to say what all brought this about, I suppose it will suffice to say that I'm not looking for someone else to make me feel better about myself anymore. Getting fired might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, because it forced me to take a long look at myself and realize that I'm often the reason I can't get anything I want. Self-defeater, party of one. And that's not what falling in love should be about, this urge to define yourself through someone else's eyes. It should be about you saying...I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
Okay, bit cliched there at the end, but you catch my drift, imaginary audience to whom I feel I am speaking?
Anyway, time to get back on that horse, only this time I think I'll be a more confident rider. If I'm not...believe me, I'll probably bitch about it here.
Clemson is used to...well, how to put it nicely? Stinking. Not just choking, but downright self-murder, especially as the season winds down. And we damn near did so, not once but twice, first at NC State (making their back-up QB look like Dan Marino and Tom Brady's love child) and then against South Carolina (where the new guy most definitely is a love child of Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning). So going into last weekend's ACC Championship game against Virginia Tech, to say that I had little hope would be an understatement.
I had lost faith entirely.
It's always sobering coming back down to earth, when you had been on a magical carpet ride of 8-0 football, against opponents who weren't terrible (but maybe weren't as good as they were before, ahem, looking at you Auburn). Doubt is a painful emotion, not because it comes around suddenly but because it creeps under your skin until the next thing you know, you can't even look in the mirror anymore at your orange shirt because deep down you know the wide-eyed innocence of pure unadultered fandom is no longer yours. You have questions about the special teams, you moan the inefficiency of the defense, and your quarterback is not really "your" quarterback so much.
So while I enjoyed the fact that we won last weekend, I couldn't really take any credit for believing that we'd do it. I didn't even watch the game until the fourth quarter, preferring instead to catch up with an old favorite of mine that I hadn't seen in a while.
(500) Days of Summer is, to my mind, the coolest, intentionally cool romantic comedy of our current age. But when I first saw it, and on subsequent viewings, I missed the point; I thought the film was indeed a love story, despite the protestations of the voiceover at the beginning. But upon rewatching it, and after experiencing a personal epiphany of which I may or may not elaborate later, I got it: the film isn't about love, but how to fall in love, and how not to fall in love is ably demonstrated by Tom, the protagonist with whom I couldn't help identify because we have both been known to misread The Graduate and wear Joy Division t-shirts. Behind the indie-rock soundtrack and Zooey(sic) Deschanel's blue eyes, it's the story of how we often talk ourselves into believing things that just aren't so.
Fans do that a lot, in the sports world: we want to believe that our teams are better than they are, or if they're not, that there's an explanation for that that's easily definable (i.e., the curse of Bambino, or the Billy Goat). For a lot of Clemson fans, it's just more comforting to believe that we suck, and that we will continue to suck, with occasional flashes of non-sucking thrown in to suck in the new fans year after year. My niece will be surrounded by Clemson fans, so the poor child will have no choice, you see. But I remember the Boston Red Sox of '04 deciding not to overthrow the Bambino so much as ignore the hell out of him, and just keep playing baseball. You do recall how that turned out, right?
For the longest time, at least over a year, I've not had the confidence to be myself around women. I've tried to "woo" them, or whatever, just failing miserably because deep down, I didn't believe any of it. But now, I have to say, my confidence is sorta back. And while I don't think it is any of your business to say what all brought this about, I suppose it will suffice to say that I'm not looking for someone else to make me feel better about myself anymore. Getting fired might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, because it forced me to take a long look at myself and realize that I'm often the reason I can't get anything I want. Self-defeater, party of one. And that's not what falling in love should be about, this urge to define yourself through someone else's eyes. It should be about you saying...I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
Okay, bit cliched there at the end, but you catch my drift, imaginary audience to whom I feel I am speaking?
Anyway, time to get back on that horse, only this time I think I'll be a more confident rider. If I'm not...believe me, I'll probably bitch about it here.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Nobody Likes an English Major
In the past few weeks, I've worked like crazy at work, and I am recently able to enjoy the fruits of my labor with a slight bump up in my finances (though the forbearance on my student loan payments also helps with that). So I can sit back for a little bit and reflect on what it is that I want out of life.
I want a life, basically.
Since last year and getting fired, I have been "out of the game," so to speak. My romantic attachment to a coworker there came to naught, mostly because I was, to use the proper English term as handed down to us from Dr. Samuel Johnson himself, a "pussy." Too many times I've come close to an emotional connection with someone; too many times I've managed to talk myself out of it or screw it up.
That ends now...or a few months from now. No, now.
Fear, of course, is a powerful emotion, as anyone who makes horror movies can tell you. It's always easier to not go into that spooky-looking house (though granted, the movie is really short and you end up feeling cheated. A buddy and I once traded ideas about how to make the world's shortest horror movie). Fear is based sometimes on experience, but most of the time it comes from the unknown, from the never-dreamt-of possibilities that your worst fears might not be realized, or at least not in the way that you imagined. Sometimes it's worse to do nothing than to do something, because even if you end up in some crazy ghost's Human Souffle, at least you're able to tell your figurative self that you tried.
I suppose it's wrong for me to air family laundry, so I won't go into details, but I have noticed that the inability to act is something of a family trait, whether to ask for help when you need it or just to be more assertive about what it is you want from another person. For a long time now, I've put my wants aside for others, mostly family, who need me to be there for them, and I don't regret it. But a central thought keeps coming up, doing its best to rob me of my satisifaction at another selfless act (though if it were truly selfless, would I take anything from it like that?). When will it be my turn?
I hope soon, or at least I hope to know soon. For now, of course, I must continue on, carrying a load that has seemed less oppressive of late, the burden of being stuck in a situation where the distance between what I want and what I have seems to be hard to cross. But I got a lot, so don't think this is anything more than a former English major's lament. I'm good, now I'm ready to be great.
I want Chuck Norris in the Octagon! No holds barred! ;-p
I want a life, basically.
Since last year and getting fired, I have been "out of the game," so to speak. My romantic attachment to a coworker there came to naught, mostly because I was, to use the proper English term as handed down to us from Dr. Samuel Johnson himself, a "pussy." Too many times I've come close to an emotional connection with someone; too many times I've managed to talk myself out of it or screw it up.
That ends now...or a few months from now. No, now.
Fear, of course, is a powerful emotion, as anyone who makes horror movies can tell you. It's always easier to not go into that spooky-looking house (though granted, the movie is really short and you end up feeling cheated. A buddy and I once traded ideas about how to make the world's shortest horror movie). Fear is based sometimes on experience, but most of the time it comes from the unknown, from the never-dreamt-of possibilities that your worst fears might not be realized, or at least not in the way that you imagined. Sometimes it's worse to do nothing than to do something, because even if you end up in some crazy ghost's Human Souffle, at least you're able to tell your figurative self that you tried.
I suppose it's wrong for me to air family laundry, so I won't go into details, but I have noticed that the inability to act is something of a family trait, whether to ask for help when you need it or just to be more assertive about what it is you want from another person. For a long time now, I've put my wants aside for others, mostly family, who need me to be there for them, and I don't regret it. But a central thought keeps coming up, doing its best to rob me of my satisifaction at another selfless act (though if it were truly selfless, would I take anything from it like that?). When will it be my turn?
I hope soon, or at least I hope to know soon. For now, of course, I must continue on, carrying a load that has seemed less oppressive of late, the burden of being stuck in a situation where the distance between what I want and what I have seems to be hard to cross. But I got a lot, so don't think this is anything more than a former English major's lament. I'm good, now I'm ready to be great.
I want Chuck Norris in the Octagon! No holds barred! ;-p
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Witching Hour
Hello on this Halloween Eve, my friends. Are you ready for a blood-curdling tale of horror and suspense?
Too bad, I don't work that genre too well.
But I do know someone who does: John Carpenter, whose The Thing was recently remade...I'm sorry, "prequeled" by a major Hollywood studio who said "I wonder what happened at the Norwegian camp where the Thing thawed out originally" (answer: chaos ensues). The 1951 original is also good, though less gory, in case you need Halloween viewing options.
I am not a horror guy by and large, and I feel like there's an undercurrent of Puritan morality and conservative politics in even the most forward-thinking horror, a sense of punishment for daring to break society's boundaries. Sure, you get to have all the pot and sex you want, but it means a machete through the groin when you're done. That never sat well with me (of course, if I had a machete in my groin, sitting well would be the least of my worries).
I'm currently making my way thru Jerry West's memoir (talk about transition from subjects), and it turns out that he's kind of a miserable bastard. This despite being the NBA logo, playing on a Lakers team that was always denied by the Celtics of that NBA championship until 1972, and supervising both the Showtime Lakers of the Eighties and the beginning of the Threepeat Lakers of the 00's. Still, though, I like the guy. I will post a review of the book on Amazon when I get done.
Ghouls and goblins abound, but beware the scariest Halloween creature of all: Monday morning! Evil laugh!....
Too bad, I don't work that genre too well.
But I do know someone who does: John Carpenter, whose The Thing was recently remade...I'm sorry, "prequeled" by a major Hollywood studio who said "I wonder what happened at the Norwegian camp where the Thing thawed out originally" (answer: chaos ensues). The 1951 original is also good, though less gory, in case you need Halloween viewing options.
I am not a horror guy by and large, and I feel like there's an undercurrent of Puritan morality and conservative politics in even the most forward-thinking horror, a sense of punishment for daring to break society's boundaries. Sure, you get to have all the pot and sex you want, but it means a machete through the groin when you're done. That never sat well with me (of course, if I had a machete in my groin, sitting well would be the least of my worries).
I'm currently making my way thru Jerry West's memoir (talk about transition from subjects), and it turns out that he's kind of a miserable bastard. This despite being the NBA logo, playing on a Lakers team that was always denied by the Celtics of that NBA championship until 1972, and supervising both the Showtime Lakers of the Eighties and the beginning of the Threepeat Lakers of the 00's. Still, though, I like the guy. I will post a review of the book on Amazon when I get done.
Ghouls and goblins abound, but beware the scariest Halloween creature of all: Monday morning! Evil laugh!....
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