Sunday, April 10, 2011
So This is Casablanca, Eh?
The government might not have shut down this week, but Glenn Beck did; Fox News reportedly canceled the self-appointed mindfucker's show, which apparently is running til the end of the year still but after that will be kaput. You know what this means, of course... Glenn was right about someone being out to silence him. The fact that it was Fox News...that's an M. Night Shamalamadingdong worthy twist. I kid, but the fact is that Fox News, by firing the guy most people think of when you say "Fox News," is really doing themselves a disservice. Nobody talks about O'Reilly anymore; he went from being a firebrand of conservative thought to everyone's drunk grandfather bitching about Socialism while passing out at the wheel of his yacht which is in dry dock in your parents' backyard. Hannity is still like the Urkel of right-wing nutjobs, but I haven't heard him mentioned in years. Dude's last book came out in paperback right out of the gate. Ann Coulter morphed into Sue Sylvester, G. Gordon Liddy tried to hunt down that Nigerian prince who stole his money, and Rush Limbaugh is going deaf. I can remember a time when these people walked the earth like fire-breathing dragons of hate, then Bush got in there and screwed up big time so now they're like neutered housecats, albeit the kind that piss all over your furniture and berate you about Obama's lack of a birth certificate. The GOP might as well admit that they're going to try to "put the White back in the White House" next year, I think there's one token non-white guy who isn't Michael Steele still in the party and he seems like more of a long shot that Al Sharpton ever was. High times indeed. That's all I got for today.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Hot Child in the City
Just wanted to check in, I know it's been a while (and my last post was, now that I think about it, unintentionally morbid), but I've been busy with work and such. Don't worry, I also neglected my online family on the Oregon Trail. Last I heard, Pa had been scalped by Indians, Sis and Mama were taken out by cholera, and I was selling myself to interested prospectors in the Idaho mountains. If you are an aspiring literary snob, or just think to yourself "someday someone will recognize my genius at literary puns," check out the Clemson Literary Festival (fourth one in a row) this week. I was a bit bewildered to see on the website (www.clemson.edu/litfest) that Kurt Vonnegut was at some point "associated" with the university. If this means "you can find his books in our library," then yes, he was associated with Clemson. Other than that, I'm wondering what possible connection the author of Breakfast of Champions could have with the school still obsessed with our one and only title. Anyway, toodles!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Lady Magaga
Death: How to Make It Work For You, On the Job
I've been thinking about mortality a lot lately, not on account of any illnesses I might have (though I could have loads; it's been ages since I went to the doc), but because I read a really good book about the subject by Julian Barnes (Metroland). The book is called Nothing to Be Frightened Of. He basically presents the idea of death as the be-all-end-all and how terrifying that can be, but also how oddly reassuring the thought is that, well, this is it, better make the best of it.
I suppose the idea of mortality comes up more often in my mind now because I'm much older than I ever thought I might be, if not in terms of chronology than in terms of years of experience, without having experienced some basic human needs in the course of my life (thus, if I died tomorrow, I'd feel more than a little cheated, all things considered). When I was younger and stupidly fixated on the idea of "dying young" but not before "blessing the world with a masterpiece," the idea of much good coming after thirty would have been suspect to my mind. Then again, the heroic early death of literary or cinematic or musical heroes often leaves out the very important fact that you're fucked after you die, because all the posthumous mythologizing can't raise you from your tomb.
Which is why you never see the zombie Ian Curtis or a reanimated JD Salinger running around these days.
One of the basic arguments of the book has to do with the afterlife, and whether or not it exists. Barnes is of the opinion that it doesn't, and I can see his logic for it (wouldn't it be egotistical of us to suppose that, just because we had the run of things on this side of the mortal coin, we could have even longer stays of execution on the other?). But there's enough of the Southern Baptist faith of which I was brought up in and for a large part rejected still left to make me fearful of the idea that nothing exists beyond the void. Pretty heady stuff, and all this after having a new niece born into my life that I look forward to seeing grow up and imparting my wisdom to, provided I don't get lucky in the genetic race to continue propagating the species and never mate myself (I mean, mate with another person besides myself, not that I can mate with myself...bloody hell).
Lighter Topics
Spring is here...is it? Just around the corner?...well, something resembling it seems to be lollygagging around, and in the interim my allergies are starting their return to full and annoying life. I look forward to the first dusting of pollen, because that will be the sign that I was wise to save so many coins for possible trips to the car wash.
Ay dios mio...
I've been thinking about mortality a lot lately, not on account of any illnesses I might have (though I could have loads; it's been ages since I went to the doc), but because I read a really good book about the subject by Julian Barnes (Metroland). The book is called Nothing to Be Frightened Of. He basically presents the idea of death as the be-all-end-all and how terrifying that can be, but also how oddly reassuring the thought is that, well, this is it, better make the best of it.
I suppose the idea of mortality comes up more often in my mind now because I'm much older than I ever thought I might be, if not in terms of chronology than in terms of years of experience, without having experienced some basic human needs in the course of my life (thus, if I died tomorrow, I'd feel more than a little cheated, all things considered). When I was younger and stupidly fixated on the idea of "dying young" but not before "blessing the world with a masterpiece," the idea of much good coming after thirty would have been suspect to my mind. Then again, the heroic early death of literary or cinematic or musical heroes often leaves out the very important fact that you're fucked after you die, because all the posthumous mythologizing can't raise you from your tomb.
Which is why you never see the zombie Ian Curtis or a reanimated JD Salinger running around these days.
One of the basic arguments of the book has to do with the afterlife, and whether or not it exists. Barnes is of the opinion that it doesn't, and I can see his logic for it (wouldn't it be egotistical of us to suppose that, just because we had the run of things on this side of the mortal coin, we could have even longer stays of execution on the other?). But there's enough of the Southern Baptist faith of which I was brought up in and for a large part rejected still left to make me fearful of the idea that nothing exists beyond the void. Pretty heady stuff, and all this after having a new niece born into my life that I look forward to seeing grow up and imparting my wisdom to, provided I don't get lucky in the genetic race to continue propagating the species and never mate myself (I mean, mate with another person besides myself, not that I can mate with myself...bloody hell).
Lighter Topics
Spring is here...is it? Just around the corner?...well, something resembling it seems to be lollygagging around, and in the interim my allergies are starting their return to full and annoying life. I look forward to the first dusting of pollen, because that will be the sign that I was wise to save so many coins for possible trips to the car wash.
Ay dios mio...
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Hiroshima, Mon Amour
As often happens lately, something truly horrifying has happened in the world. I'm not just talking about the NFL labor agreement kerfuffle (though that is bad), I mean the earthquake, tsunami, and now explosion at a nuclear plant in Japan, all within the span of forty-eight hours. I wrote up something about that for a website I contribute to regularly (by "regularly" I mean "infrequently"), so I won't go into detail here. I just want to send out a thought or two for the Japanese people, I'm not a praying person much so it feels wrong to say "praying" for them but I reckon it's about right.
It seems like some people want to say this is a "sign of the apocalypse". Those people are idiots and jerks.
Anyway, I got to hold the baby again last night, she went to sleep in my arms and I almost fell asleep myself (I'd been up since six in the morning, on account of work). Did I mention how cute she is?
Shout out to my first follower, who I'm betting based on his comment is my cousin Brandon. If this is correct, he will quote a Morrissey solo (not the Smiths) lyric in the comments section of this post. The ball is in your court, sir...;-p
It seems like some people want to say this is a "sign of the apocalypse". Those people are idiots and jerks.
Anyway, I got to hold the baby again last night, she went to sleep in my arms and I almost fell asleep myself (I'd been up since six in the morning, on account of work). Did I mention how cute she is?
Shout out to my first follower, who I'm betting based on his comment is my cousin Brandon. If this is correct, he will quote a Morrissey solo (not the Smiths) lyric in the comments section of this post. The ball is in your court, sir...;-p
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Uncle Trevordomus
I had been predicting the birth of my niece, Dusty Sade, for some time now, but I was wrong every time. She came into the world this past Tuesday, February 22, so now I don't have to constantly ask my sister "have you had your baby yet?" I'm sure that's the least of her worries.
It's hard to describe just what's going on in me right now, other than the monster case of indigestion or whatever it was that almost kept me up all night and may or may not be related to the questionable nature of the hamburger steak that was served for dinner (the less you know about this, the better). In regards to my niece, I mean, it's odd because she went from being this abstract concept (i.e., there's a baby in my sister's belly) to a real, live, screaming and crying thing. I've held her twice now, and each time she stretches and squirms and makes horrible faces like she's about to cry, and I can't help but badger perfect strangers with the picture I now have on my cell phone when I first open it up, of her looking at me like I'm nuts. I love the little stinker.
And yes, I have indeed shown off the picture I took of her, she's just about the cutest thing I've seen. It's different than, say, when a cousin or uncle of mine has a kid (as has happened over the past six years now), I mean, those babies are cute and all, but this is different. My sister, whom I can still recall as a bald-headed little stinker, has her own now, covered in hair and sporting some tiny, tiny hands and feet. It feels like I'm closer to this one than to my cousins or whatnot.
In the past, I've wondered what it might be like to have a family of my own, kids that look like me but hopefully have better luck in social situations in which they have to talk to girls. Not being sexually active in high school did mean that I avoided the pitfall of having a kid right before graduation that could, in turn, derail my chances to have fun away at college, but then I didn't have much fun in college, either. Also, there was the whole "not being sexually active" part, which was not by choice. Anyway, I would like to think I'd be a good dad, perhaps because I'm something of an okay babysitter (who else would let his three-year-old cousin "ground and pound" him for her amusement while tears streamed down his face from all the pain she was inflicting with her surprisingly muscular fists?). Time will tell if I can land a girlfriend, much less a baby mama. But for the time being, I will try to be the best uncle I can to little Vanity T'Pau.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Arcade Fire Can Also Win Best Album
My sister is still, as of this writing, swollen with pregnancy, but I reckon she'll pop at some point soon because...okay, I just jinxed it, she's now going to carry the baby into March. Sorry, sis.
Anyway, before the birth of Jermajesty Beyonce, I will say that the past few weeks of waiting for her to arrive have caused me to wonder about my own fitness as a parent, should I be lucky enough to con a woman into loving me. I'm great with the cousins and half-cousins who have come through my grandparents' abode over the years for babysitting (that's not me saying that, I have testimonials that me taking a whiffle bat to the crotch kept Lil Satan entertained enough to allow the grands some much-needed bickering time), but the thought of my own kid, a little copy of me, somehow being born onto this planet and then asking me to clean up his or her shit, well, that's just a little unnerving.
You see, my experiences with women have been of the disappointing kind, sometimes I was the instigator of it or she was, but the result was usually the same; something that started off kinda nice devolved because one or both of us was too insecure to really think this might last.
So god forbid that I bring a child into that equation. Also, it doesn't help that, of the various couplings within my family (marriage-wise, I mean; no incest that I know of), only a couple are of the "romantic, isn't it?" variety. What I mean is, marriage and family are not conducive to happiness amongst my family, or if it is, it's aided by the abuse and misuse of alcohol and/or drugs. Depression seems to run in the family, as well as "playful" ball-busting that, for someone as sensitive as me, has sometimes come off as more mean than meaningful (see my thoughts on Thanksgiving).
But I always had an "out": my father's side of the family. Granted, I know next to nothing about them, but that's the point: I can come up with all sorts of identities for the man and his kinfolks. He could have been a hero, and his father before him, and they never spent any major holiday sitting around the table eying each other with mutual suspicion and ill-concieved contempt for some imagined past wrong. Not that my family is Swedish malaise personified, but let's just say Ingmar Bergman could have a field day with them (I've only seen a couple of Bergman films, but really, you see one and you get the idea. Plus, I read both of his autobiographies). But my father's side, the family I didn't know...they could be just about anything.
To this day, my efforts to construct what my father was really like, assuming he's not around anymore (I don't even know if that's the case or not) have failed, or I just haven't pursued them to the best of my ability. It's this lack of closure, maybe, that has something to do with my lack to be the kind of guy I could see having a family, and being there. Maybe, deep down, I fear I'd run away at the first sign of trouble (say, the part where my future girlfriend or wife says "we need to talk" and indicates that yes, my sperm is powerful enough to propogate the species), or I'd just plain suck at it. Maybe I should quit being such a scaredy cat.
Anyway, not to extend all this to my as-yet unborn niece, but I hope she gets none of the weird shit that the rest of my family has; I know I'll try my best to be Uncle Trevor for her, and not "weird Uncle Trevor who lives in the basement and never talks to women." I'll love her no matter when she's born, but I hope for my sister's sake it's before St Patty's day.
Trevor
Anyway, before the birth of Jermajesty Beyonce, I will say that the past few weeks of waiting for her to arrive have caused me to wonder about my own fitness as a parent, should I be lucky enough to con a woman into loving me. I'm great with the cousins and half-cousins who have come through my grandparents' abode over the years for babysitting (that's not me saying that, I have testimonials that me taking a whiffle bat to the crotch kept Lil Satan entertained enough to allow the grands some much-needed bickering time), but the thought of my own kid, a little copy of me, somehow being born onto this planet and then asking me to clean up his or her shit, well, that's just a little unnerving.
You see, my experiences with women have been of the disappointing kind, sometimes I was the instigator of it or she was, but the result was usually the same; something that started off kinda nice devolved because one or both of us was too insecure to really think this might last.
So god forbid that I bring a child into that equation. Also, it doesn't help that, of the various couplings within my family (marriage-wise, I mean; no incest that I know of), only a couple are of the "romantic, isn't it?" variety. What I mean is, marriage and family are not conducive to happiness amongst my family, or if it is, it's aided by the abuse and misuse of alcohol and/or drugs. Depression seems to run in the family, as well as "playful" ball-busting that, for someone as sensitive as me, has sometimes come off as more mean than meaningful (see my thoughts on Thanksgiving).
But I always had an "out": my father's side of the family. Granted, I know next to nothing about them, but that's the point: I can come up with all sorts of identities for the man and his kinfolks. He could have been a hero, and his father before him, and they never spent any major holiday sitting around the table eying each other with mutual suspicion and ill-concieved contempt for some imagined past wrong. Not that my family is Swedish malaise personified, but let's just say Ingmar Bergman could have a field day with them (I've only seen a couple of Bergman films, but really, you see one and you get the idea. Plus, I read both of his autobiographies). But my father's side, the family I didn't know...they could be just about anything.
To this day, my efforts to construct what my father was really like, assuming he's not around anymore (I don't even know if that's the case or not) have failed, or I just haven't pursued them to the best of my ability. It's this lack of closure, maybe, that has something to do with my lack to be the kind of guy I could see having a family, and being there. Maybe, deep down, I fear I'd run away at the first sign of trouble (say, the part where my future girlfriend or wife says "we need to talk" and indicates that yes, my sperm is powerful enough to propogate the species), or I'd just plain suck at it. Maybe I should quit being such a scaredy cat.
Anyway, not to extend all this to my as-yet unborn niece, but I hope she gets none of the weird shit that the rest of my family has; I know I'll try my best to be Uncle Trevor for her, and not "weird Uncle Trevor who lives in the basement and never talks to women." I'll love her no matter when she's born, but I hope for my sister's sake it's before St Patty's day.
Trevor
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Rapists Never Win...Except in the NBA
Wait, did I say that? Too soon?
Anyway, life has been moving along for yours truly, sister is still preggers though her due date is closing in (I'm ready to meet my new niece, Kajagoogoo Wham! Stewart; she doesn't know it yet, but my sister is naming her child after an Eighties pop music princess of the mall circuit so, to protect her identity, I'll refer to her as such here, varying the one-hit wonder or established Eighties act with each update until I become sick of such shenanigans).
Just now, I took the online Jeopardy test, nailing a few ("Camus," "McCall Smith" for the "author of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency") and whiffing on a few ("raining cats and dogs?" Gotta hate the slap-to-the-forehead-after-the-fact realization). This is the fourth year in a row I've taken the test, and I'm missing Glee for this (though to be fair, the recent season arc has been "you gotta be fucking kidding me" in terms of plot consistancy and/or development).
Things are certainly different from the first few times I took it; gone is the arrogant, "I totally got this" of my callow youth, though the rib-kicking I took emotionally and financially last year might have more to do with that than any general lack of information retrieval on my part. I gotta be honest, "Jeopardy" money is and always has been my "realistic plan to pay off student loans" since I started taking this test. Cats and Dogs will be haunting me in my sleep, even if somehow I manage to get through the gauntlet.
But that's the perks of being a smart guy, book-wise; you can't always apply that to the real world. In fact, it's safe to say that, in many ways, an education can be more of a hinderance than a help, considering what kind of education you're talking about. I know all about the French New Wave, the Beatles, the presidents of this here United States (like the author of "Decision Points," George W. Bush...the one and only time I'm glad I know that, thanks again Jeopardy), but applying that to the real world seems harder than I thought. In preperation for the Jeopardy test, I read the Ken Jennings book about his time on the show, and he made some very observant points while also writing a very entertaining book: knowing trivia doesn't necessarily translate as intelligence, though it can.
But hey, I tried, and that's more than I can say for a lot of people. Whether I get anywhere with it this year or the next (because, oh yes, I will try again next year), the fact is I took a chance on something that I might be good at. I'm gonna have to keep that in mind if a job opens up for which I am somehow qualified via my degree, because it's awfully easy to say "nah, they wouldn't give me the job anyway."
Okay, back to home and to catch the last little bit of Glee...though I predict that it will suck.
Anyway, life has been moving along for yours truly, sister is still preggers though her due date is closing in (I'm ready to meet my new niece, Kajagoogoo Wham! Stewart; she doesn't know it yet, but my sister is naming her child after an Eighties pop music princess of the mall circuit so, to protect her identity, I'll refer to her as such here, varying the one-hit wonder or established Eighties act with each update until I become sick of such shenanigans).
Just now, I took the online Jeopardy test, nailing a few ("Camus," "McCall Smith" for the "author of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency") and whiffing on a few ("raining cats and dogs?" Gotta hate the slap-to-the-forehead-after-the-fact realization). This is the fourth year in a row I've taken the test, and I'm missing Glee for this (though to be fair, the recent season arc has been "you gotta be fucking kidding me" in terms of plot consistancy and/or development).
Things are certainly different from the first few times I took it; gone is the arrogant, "I totally got this" of my callow youth, though the rib-kicking I took emotionally and financially last year might have more to do with that than any general lack of information retrieval on my part. I gotta be honest, "Jeopardy" money is and always has been my "realistic plan to pay off student loans" since I started taking this test. Cats and Dogs will be haunting me in my sleep, even if somehow I manage to get through the gauntlet.
But that's the perks of being a smart guy, book-wise; you can't always apply that to the real world. In fact, it's safe to say that, in many ways, an education can be more of a hinderance than a help, considering what kind of education you're talking about. I know all about the French New Wave, the Beatles, the presidents of this here United States (like the author of "Decision Points," George W. Bush...the one and only time I'm glad I know that, thanks again Jeopardy), but applying that to the real world seems harder than I thought. In preperation for the Jeopardy test, I read the Ken Jennings book about his time on the show, and he made some very observant points while also writing a very entertaining book: knowing trivia doesn't necessarily translate as intelligence, though it can.
But hey, I tried, and that's more than I can say for a lot of people. Whether I get anywhere with it this year or the next (because, oh yes, I will try again next year), the fact is I took a chance on something that I might be good at. I'm gonna have to keep that in mind if a job opens up for which I am somehow qualified via my degree, because it's awfully easy to say "nah, they wouldn't give me the job anyway."
Okay, back to home and to catch the last little bit of Glee...though I predict that it will suck.
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