Rising and Advancing Spirit

Alive And Kicking!

2006-04-17T22:41:00.000-05:00

Well...let's see where I am now:

--I got the job working for MobileESPN, which is ESPN's cell phone company. I sell the coolest phone in the world. The service is AWESOME, and I love the phone itself too. So maybe call the toll-free number some night and you might get me!

--I've moved out of Decker's, G-d bless 'em. I'm living with one of my coworkers. I'm working around 60 hours per week, and he is too, se we don't see each other very much. We do like each other, though, and I know we'll both work hard to keep our friendship intact. So now I have a place to live...now I have a place of my own. Well...that I share with a roommate. You know what I mean, dammit.

--I got a 1991 Chevy conversion van this weekend for $600! It is a behemoth to drive, I'm still working on parking it right (i.e., in just one space), but I love it. I can get to work from home in 15 minutes, as opposed to the hour-plus it was taking when I rode the bus. So now I've actually added time to my day that I can spend working...woo-hoo!

--I'm getting published (I think!) in Mental Horizon Press. I submitted a piece, and last I heard it was making it through all the judges. Also check out the bottom of the page...I'll be reading in the show.

--I celebrated my 2-month CoDA birthday last night, 16 April. It was just two months ago I walked out of the Newcomer's Meeting with a pamphlet and a chip. No job, no car, no money, no home. And now I have all those things...I took the Third Step in the meeting, publicly; I have decided to turn my will and my life over to the care of G-d as I understand Him. No power on earth could have gotten me this far--why not just trust Him with the rest of my life? No religion, no church stuff, no "getting saved". Just Him...letting G-d be G-d and me be me.

--More to follow...life is radically different. I am too...I'm having to run to keep up with the blessings!

E-mail From Becky

2006-02-28T10:01:00.000-06:00

I can't take credit for this...it came in an e-mail from Becky Cheek (whose blog is listed right over there on the right side of the page). It is awesome, so I thought I'd share it with you:

15 Things You Probably Never Knew or Thought About
1. At least 5 people in this world love you so much they would die for you.
2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.
3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.
4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.
5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.
6. You mean the world to someone.
7. If not for you, someone may not be living.
8. You are special and unique.
9. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.
10. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.
11. When you think the world has turned its back on you, take a look: you most likely turned your back on the world.
12. When you think you have no chance of getting what you want, you probably won't get it, but if you believe in yourself, probably, sooner or later, you will get it.
13. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
14. Always tell someone how you feel about them; you will feel much better when they know.
15. If you have a great friend, take the time to let them know that they are great.

A Minute:
They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them.

Take the time to live and love.

Isn't this awesome? It was so nice I read it and cried...I've not been feeling very lovely these days, as you can imagine.

Last Night I Dreamed of Karen

2006-02-20T11:13:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning I woke up weeping. I dreamt about Karen, and about how it all went to hell. It was sort of a "clip reel" to catch me up, or remind how far things had gone so fast. I woke up missing her, sore and aching for her, sick and sad. So I went outside and smoked and cried.

I dreamed about her again, last night. Same kind of dream...just sort of a re-hash, a reminder of how crazy and cruel and vicious she was at the end. And I woke up missing her again.

I was talking with Angel yesterday about missing Karen, and she popped me square between the eyes with a question: Did I miss Karen or who I thought was Karen?

Shit...

I talked about this in the meeting last night. I always believed that if I were just loving enough / giving enough / kind enough etc, that we could overcome anything. I stopped looking at so many things about Karen...I ignored or overlooked or just plain denied many, many of the problems she has.

But even then that doesn't excuse everything. I am working on forgiving her...it will be easier when the rest of my things are out of the house (and therefore out of her reach) and stored away safely. When I can stop her ability to cause me grief, I can start forgiving her. And I can start getting back what I'm owed...at least, pursuing it. And I'm not sure how bad I want it, if it means being further enmeshed with her, tied to her. I don't hate her, I don't love her, I just want to be shut of this. I want to stop waking up weeping...although I think I've been crying for me. Maybe that's a good thing...

The Long Blog Silence...

2006-02-20T10:52:00.000-06:00

Well here's what's happened in the last 18 days:

--I've moved in with the Deckers, God bless 'em. Have been eating and sleeping...and ya know what? Things are looking up...in fact, I almost feel a bit guilty. Shouldn't I still be wearing sackcloth and ashes? Answer: FUCK NO!!!!!

--Have started attending CoDA meetings. I live right across the street from the 12-Step House, I see it every time I step outside to smoke, I get it, God, I get it...the meetings are helping, if for no other reason than to know that other people have suffered through the same things I have, and have gone on to grow and change from the experience. My program birthday is 16 Febaruary. After I get one month in, I'm gonna celebrate by getting my ear pierced. :)

--Valentine's Day was rough...of course...I was supposed to go to a church potluck, but then I thought "hmmm...being surrounded by couples and women I can't afford while chatting and pretending I'm not bleeding internally....NAH." So I punted that, and stayed home and really really wrestled with the dark side. Dark fantasies go through your head in a situation like this. I slept, I bawled, I tossed and turned and got over it.

--Now THIS is the really amazing part of it all--and amazing across the board, these days: I haven't taken my anti-depressant in almost two weeks. I've got a lot of behavioral things to work out--I still "act depressed" even when I don't feel depressed--but I think I've been healed. I don't like to talk about it much because it sounds so "thankyaJeezus!", and I haven't had a chance to talk about this at length with Pastor George. I'd like to get his take on whether it's the real deal or me just reacting to friendly surroundings and good food. On the other hand, if He can walk on water and come back from the dead, he can certainly push a few more seratonin molecules through my brain...The thing is this: I never even asked for this, not that I recall. I just forgot to take my meds for a few days, and then started "testing" this, and I've been fine so far. I've still got some meds on hand, a "crash dose" if I start going down...but so far...nothing. If this is a healing, if this is a miracle, then praise G-d, because I certainly didn't cause this and have done nothing to deserve it.

--I got a job out at West Telemarketing. I'll be doing customer service on their ESPN Cell Phone promotion. It's money, it's steady...they need me worse than I need them. It's on the busline...my hours will be evening hours, 1630-0100, so that sort of screws the pooch...Am also looking at a second, part-time sort of gig, but only at some place I'd really want to work. Right now it's a luxury I can afford to do without, but would still like the extra buckage.

--I've got to go outside to smoke, and I never thought I'd say this, but it's a VERY GOOD thing! I'm down to about a pack a day, and since I can only stand at the end of the driveway and smoke for so long before it gets dull, I've started walking. I've lost a layer of blubber off my belly and my stomach muscles are starting to tone up. I ACTUALLY HAVE STOMACH MUSCLES...I'd forgotten I ever did. So I get up at 0430 (before Jeff and Angel...that way I'll be waiting on them to leave, and not them waiting on ME) and spark up and walk. So far have walked down past Maple a bit, and then on the return trip I get a cup of coffee from the Bucky's on the corner of 72 and Maple.

--It's just so sweet to be part of a family. It's nice to figure out the rhythms of the day and to know my place in (or out) of them. I'm friends with all the animals, even Cinnamon (the pit bull...he looks like a shaved buffalo with fangs). The cats and I are getting along together...okay. I hate cats. I really really hate cats. They're furry lizards and selfish bastards and I Just Hate Cats. I've had to *ahem* terrorize the cats a bit to get across to them that I'm the Human and they're Not. We live in an uneasy state of animal-human detente. But the dogs and I are down with each other.

--Went to Barnes & Noble after church the Sunday before last...Jeff was picking up a Valentine's Day present for Angel. So I went up and got a cup of coffee in their cafe (the only thing I could afford in there, I fucking HATE being poor...), and the woman ahead of me--or should I say, the ATTRACTIVE WOMAN WITH THE PEAR-SHAPED BREASTS PRESSED TEASINGLY AGAINST THE TIGHT SWEATER SHE WORE--was carrying a spiral notebook and a pen with a comfort grip.

Comfort grip pen...

Spiral notebook (although not NEARLY as gay as mine)...

Pear-shaped breasts...

Getting coffee at a bookstore...

Gotta be a writer. So I commented on her pen, and she said she used it to write a lot, and I whipped out my Waterman, and we chatted and one thing led to another and we sat and talked some more about writing etc. And exchanged numbers...:)

So:

I'm walking around with this number burning a hole in my packet, and it wasn't until Monday evening I could think of an excuse to call her up. By this point I'd already whacked off to her enough times that we were (technically) legally married. So I called and told her I'd forgotten to tell her about the OmahaWriters website, and blah blah blah, and left my message.

Haven't heard back.

Crap.

*sigh*

Bitch.

--Now that I have a job and I know when I'm getting paid, I can get the rest of my things out of Karen's house. I've got to find a storage bay, which I'll call on this afternoon, and then 25 March is the day. It just seems like that will give me some closure on that end of things...it's one of the very few things holding me back at all, and not much at that. I just want to be done done done. I don't even care about it for her benefit...I just want to end that thing and move on. The more I think about working just for my own benefit--i.e., going to work, working out, practicing To-Shin Do, writing (got some awesome stuff in the pipeline!) and hanging out with friends and at meetings, the more I like the idea. I really do...It's taken me 43 years to say this and mean it...but...it really IS good to be me. :)

Just A Song Before I Go...

2006-02-02T14:34:00.000-06:00

Quick note as I sit here, sweat drying on me, arms and legs shaking with weakness from hunger:

I'm moving out tonight. I can't get storage for my things, so I've packed what I can and I'm leaving it here. I don't know how safe it will be, and I can't help that.

Karen stopped bringing in groceries a couple of weeks ago. When she eats, it's a single serving or take-out for herself. I've been rationing what's left to stay alive till I could find storage without any money or a job so I could move. I finally got it: it was impossible.

I am selling off a few possessions to get some grocery money together, and I'm moving over to the Decker's tonight. I hope I can sleep...mostly I've been sleeping during the day, when Karen isn't home, because I don't feel safe around her. I still have no idea why this is happening, and so I don't know really what she is capable of.

I just heard her pull up. Gotta go.

Flat Broke And Busted...

2006-01-27T10:47:00.000-06:00

Well...not in jail anyway, but busted out, for sure.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to make my next entry...this blog might be going dark for a while. Karen is unrelenting. There's only one way I know of that we could go from planning to get married to this in less than a month: we never were going to get married. I feel like such an ass...I have been so taken in. I believed it all, hook line and sinker. I thought I was an important part of a Family...

I didn't replace my car last year because we were going to do it this year (yeah, say it with me, "sucker!"). I didn't hold any cash back because we were a Family. So I handed over all my paychecks to Karen and now I don't have anything to show for it--no car, no money, just demands that I move out--with no car, job or money. If you can figure out how to do that, Gentle Reader, let me know...

The only things that keep me going now are this:

--Some friends of mine, the hosts of the Writer's Group, have graciously offered me a room at their place to stay for a while. They're on the busline, and I can get to a job from there. If I could just find storage for my stuff, I'll go there...

--I've made a list of all the things I want to do and to have in the next year or so. Assuming I can keep my depression at bay (yes, that's STILL my plan for 2K6: total war on depression. Lately it feels like I'm losing ground...but god damn it, I'm gonna fall face first if I fall!), there's nothing impossible on the list. Well...maybe the HumVee that converts into a super Jet-Ski. But there's nothing on there I can't achieve or have. Now it's just a matter of building it together, piece by piece, and staying alive long enough to do it. Simple, really...:)

--The good and Godly wisdom of Pastor George at 3Rivers. I find myself relying on his faith when mine is weak. And it's been weak a lot lately. At the end of all this, I've asked him to baptize me, to reaffirm my faith in Christ...a thing I never would have believed were I not able to believe in George. If Baptist preachers ever get to be saints in the Catholic Church, I'm nominating him.

--And in the end, Mary. The thought of her smiling face keeps me alive, makes me want to draw the next breath. If I can get everything to work right (and all the thousand other "Ifs"), I'd like to move to Battle Creek, Nebraska, where she lives. Work, switch my degree back to what it should have been--English--and finish up my Associate's at Northeast Community College. See Mary every day...thank her for keeping me alive by living the life I deserve, living that life with her.

And all I have to do is make it through Today and the Day After That...perservere, Shinobi, perservere...

Still Standing

2006-01-12T12:46:00.000-06:00

Well, I haven't gotten an "out!" date yet...don't know if that means Karen hasn't settled on a time frame, or if she's changing her mind, or what, exactly. I've got contingecy plans laid either way--i.e., get out now, get out later or stick around--and I'm staying upstairs in the bedroom out of her way. I listen to the radio, I read, and I pray...I stay in touch with friends on the phone and e-mail. I talk with Pastor George from 3Rivers and that helps tremendously. I breathe in and I breathe out.

This would be so much easier if I didn't love her so much.

One Week

2006-01-06T12:09:00.000-06:00

One week ago today I was fired from Werner. Since then, as well as losing my job, my girlfriend has ordered me out, and is breaking it off with me.

In one week--seven days--I have lost everything.

I was fighting off depression anyway before this...now all I can do is sleep or fantasize about suicide. This is the real beauty of depression: you lose every reason to live, but you keep living anyway.

And so in the midst of all this I'm supposed to find a job and an apartment and move. And all of this goes without saying that I've got to find some way to explain this to Mary, my daughter, who loves Karen and the boys as much as I do, and felt very much "in a family" here.

I feel like I'm trapped in a permanent scream. I'm in so much pain I literally can't feel it anymore. I'm still taking my meds, for what little they're doing...I could actually get worse than this. And my supply is running out...I'll see if I can mooch some samples from my doctor's office.

Both boys got me excellent Christmas gifts (was Christmas really just twelve days ago, we were all laughing and enjoying each other?) that showed how much they do pay attention to me. I don't know what to say to them. For now, I'm saying nothing and routing their questions to their mom.

I feel like if I could just get a handle on my depression...ah, there are famous last words.

I feel like I'm walking in the dark, in a strange place. All my compass points are gone...I would have bet real money that Karen and I would never break up. This is hard enough to do...alone, unwanted and without many resources, it feels impossible.

I keep writing, keep spinning my voice into the blogosphere, just to say I was here, I loved, and I have lost, and I am lost. Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate.

I can't stand up to this tide of Hell...I keep flitting between terror and rage and agony and numb. I can't get my legs under me. All the ground is gone, everything I trusted is gone...

I Couldn't Have Said It Any Better

2006-01-06T12:07:00.000-06:00

Psalms 143
A Psalm of David.

1 Hear my prayer, O LORD, give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness.

2 And enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.

3 For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.

4 Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate.

5 I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works; I muse on the work of thy hands.

6 I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land. Selah.

7 Hear me speedily, O LORD: my spirit faileth: hide not thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.

8 Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee.

9 Deliver me, O LORD, from mine enemies: I flee unto thee to hide me.

10 Teach me to do thy will; for thou art my God: thy spirit is good; lead me into the land of uprightness.

11 Quicken me, O LORD, for thy name's sake: for thy righteousness' sake bring my soul out of trouble.

12 And of thy mercy cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul: for I am thy servant.

G-d Of The Fatherless

2006-01-05T12:43:00.000-06:00

"The LORD preserveth the strangers; he relieveth the fatherless..." Psalm 146:9

Now I'm 43 years old with nowhere to go and no means to get there. Frost said, "Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." And I have no where to be taken in.

A few years ago I was thinking of moving to Florida. My mom lives in Pensacola with her husband, Reb. I called down there and was discussing it with him, and he said, "Well, there aren't any jobs down here, son." I went on to talk about all the things I could do, etc, and then he said it again: "There aren't any jobs down here."

Ah. Got it. No welcome mat there, they won't take me in if I have to go there.

My dad and his wife live in a camper the size of an apartment block. When they had a house, I got the same reaction from my dad...

G-d knows I don't mean to impose myself on anyone. G-d knows I'd rather own my own house and be successful in my work and not be grubbing from one paycheck to the next. Hell, I wouldn't even mind that if the paychecks were good enough.

Now of course I'm kicking myself...I should have seen this crash coming. I should have done something. And now it's costing me everything...

I thought I'd finally found a family in my relationship with Karen. I don't blame her for feeling the way she does...like I said, this is pretty monstrous stuff. And I mismanaged it. This is a solid truth, just as sure as the disease itself: I mismanaged it, by choices I made or didn't make. I just never thought I could lose this love...I trusted it. Hell, this time last week we were still shaking our heads and laughing over what a great Christmas we had.

I don't really know if I can start over again, again. I'm pretty sure I won't last on the streets...I feel like a drop of water in a sizzling pan and I've just about disappeared. I can only hope the Lord truly does relieve the fatherless...I have nowhere to go and no means to get there.

G-d of the fatherless, hear my prayer...

Perhaps I Spoke Too Soon

2006-01-05T08:04:00.000-06:00

I wrote this:

"I have nothing else to lose and all the world to win."

Well...turns out I do have something else to lose.

Lovely Miss Karen went out last night...I asked her if she were going out to get some more trees (she has these awesome bamboo trees all over) so we could play "Lost" (since it wasn't on last night)...and she said something along the lines of "No, I'm just furious, I'm so angry I can't stand to sit here anymore."

And left for a while.

Whaaaaaa....?

Understand this is coming from the proverbial little woman who wouldn't say "shit" if she had a mouthful. She's gotten more outspoken since I've known her--either as a means of self-defense against Yours Truly, who yells at the television screen, or maybe she just trusts me more with what she thinks. This summer she was truly magnificent, working the wires to get a new pair of glasses for one of the kids who lives out of town. She was able to do the whole thing over the phone instead of having to drive out with her health-savings account card when gas was $2.50+ last summer. After seeing her play "Let's Make A Deal", I think we should send her to the Middle East to straighten things out over there.

But otherwise she's quiet, still waters that run deep. And we have never, ever had an argument that lasted more than 30 minutes, or even involved much yelling.

And now, she says, she wants me out...

I understand her anger--G-d knows, this isn't the first time I've funked out and disappointed those I love, and who love me. And I understand her frustration, too...but that's not the same as answering it. G-d knows, no one would willingly get hooked up with a headcase like me...I mean, I told her about depression and how I've struggled with it, but I do understand it's not the same as seeing it up close. The practice is one hell of a lot different than the theory.

I've maxed out on my Effexor. I suppose this means going to another drug--which I can't afford anyway, not having a job or insurance. And it looks like I'm about to become homeless anyway, so the whole thing might be irrelevant.

We're talking with a friend tonight, a pastoral counselor, we'll see what develops and go from there. In the part of my mind that's not immediately concerned with survival, I understand Karen and I maybe even agree with her. I wouldn't wish this version of walking Hell on anyone. I wouldn't wish it on me, either, but here I am...

Total War

2006-01-02T16:41:00.000-06:00

Over the last year, I've wondered if I haven't been running around keeping plates spinning. I've been sort of fractionalizing my life, compartmentalizing issues (job, health, time, etc.). But I haven't ever focused all my strength on the one real problem: Depression.

Job: I take whatever shitty job I can find and then try to work it into some Golden Opportunity to keep distracting myself from how shitty it is. It's a shitty job because I have to take the first thing I can find with insurance, or else I can't get my meds--and I have to take the first thing I can get because I'm usually broke or very close to it. And I wouldn't need a job if I could keep one, without losing it to depression. Depression takes my jobs; depression takes my pride, so I settle for what I can get; depression tells me that I'm worth that shitty job (as my ex-wife phrased it so immortally, "you're not a...quality employee"); depression shames me for being 43 and starting over and over and over.

Health: I'm fat because I get down into the depression and chain-smoke and eat and overeat. I don't do the things I know I should, the things that I want to, because I come home from work and sleep, or I sleep 16-18 hours per day every day on the weekend. And this is while I'm on my Effexor. My grooming goes to hell, I wind up showering and shaving maybe twice a week. I'll wait five minutes for an elevator to avoid climbing two flights of stairs. I love vegetarian food--I could eat Bangkok Curry noodles at Noodles & Company every day!--and it even makes my body feel happy, if that makes sense. Instead I eat crap, junk food, salty snacks, things that don't make my body feel happy or light or joyous. But they do feed the depression...

So I wind up fat and poor. And depressed.

I've been attacking a Hydra, trying to cut off the head closest to me, instead of just killing the beast outright. Instead of coming up with exercise plans, diet plans, time management strategies, job-search strategies, maybe I just need to swing at the beast itself. I mean, instead of addressing each area like it's a different thing, like it exists separate and discrete from any other issue, maybe I need to see it all holistically. It's all depression. Instead of attacking it piecemeal, trying to cut off the closest head (which, remember from the myth, always grows back two more heads, always comes back twice as bad), I need to slay the beast...stop trying to cure symptoms and go after the bastard.

A young friend wrote me last fall about suffering from anxiety and depression...as I recall, I wrote him back some pretty stern advice about taking depression seriously, and it was some good advice too.

Say it with me: Physician, heal thyself...

So this much I can and will do before I go to bed tonight:

--I have already started thinking about making 2006 the year I put depression in it's place, nail it down to what it is: a truly manageable problem. Any and all of my other goals are subsets of this task. So Step 1: I proclaim 2K6 The Year I Rule My Depression.

--As I said, I wrote a pretty good letter to my friend about depression. I'm an inveterate packrat--I save everything--so I know the latter is still somewhere in my Sent box. Step 2: Go get that letter and use it.

--No more piece-mealing. That is depression's finest trick, it's almost like gambling: the belief that if I can just (lose the weight, quit smoking, get a better job) I'll be happy--i.e., depression free. It keeps me chasing my own ass, spinning plates and never ever addressing the real problem. No more of this...this is Total War. Step 3: Every waking moment is an act of war on depression. I may win, I may lose, but if I fall I will fall forward.

I am perseverance...I am Shinobi. I have nothing else to lose and all the world to win.

January Book: "Creative Visualization"

2006-01-02T16:28:00.000-06:00

One of my resolutions / plans for 2006 is to read a good, positive book each month to make the changes I want to make, and reach the goals I want to reach this year.

I picked "Creative Visualization" because it's about actively changing the way you think. It seems to me that if I want to change anything else in my life--my job, my health, my skills--it starts between my ears. So I've started reading through CV today (02 Jan) and I've already learned a few things I can put to work immediately.

It is about changing "old tapes", getting rid of self-limiting beliefs and ideas. It seems to fit in well with some of the inspirational ideas in To-Shin Do, which is another of the reasons I chose this book.

If you, Gentle Reader (I know there are a few of you I've guilted into reading my blog out there!), want to read along and share your thoughts / ideas, please do!

Fired

2005-12-30T08:23:00.000-06:00

Well...chalk up another one for depression.

I stayed home from work yesterday--not really sick, just not feeling like it. A depression thing. I mean, sure, I never really feel like going into work...just sometimes that feeling is overwhelming. Yesterday was one of those days. And it also put me one over on the attendance policy...so today I got hauled into HR and fired.

I feel bad about being out of work...I don't miss what I was doing at Werner, but I REALLY miss the company. I was hoping to be a part of it, to retire from there. But I had racked up enough "don't feel like it" days, days when Depression was stronger than Will, and so here I am blogging from home at 0827 on 30 December 2005, one day before the end of the year.

In some sense, it's a clean break. New year, new job, etc...God, I just can't stand the thought of another entry-level scut job. I can't stand the thought of investing in a company, of caring, and having depression piss it away for me. God, I'd give anything for a brain with enough serotonin...speaking of which, my insurance is up tomorrow as well. I'll get a refill on my meds tonight, and that's that.

So maybe I'll be blogging a bit more frequently...dammit dammit dammit to hell.

Integrity

2005-12-11T18:09:00.000-06:00

Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.--Ralph Waldo Emerson

In a year filled with political wrangling, natural disasters and pop culture curiosities, Americans turned to Merriam-Webster to help define it all. Filibuster. Refugee. Tsunami. Each was among the dictionary publisher's 10 most frequently looked-up words among some 7 million users of its online site.

But topping the list is a word that some say gives insight into the country's collective concern about its values: Integrity.

The noun, formally defined as a "firm adherence to a code" and "incorruptibility," has always been a popular one on the Springfield- based company's Web site, said Merriam-Webster president John Morse. But this year, the true meaning of integrity seemed to be of extraordinary concern. About 200,000 people sought its definition online.

"I think the American people have isolated a very important issue for our society to be dealing with," Morse said. "The entire list gives us an interesting window that opens up into what people are thinking about in their lives."

Ralph Whitehead, a journalism professor at the University of Massachusetts, said it may indicate the continuing discussion about American values and morality, or perhaps that integrity itself is becoming scarce so its definition is unfamiliar.

"You hope integrity is a word everyone understands," he said.

No. 10 on the list is "inept," a word that Morse said was getting a lot of attention in the days after President Bush delivered a live prime time news conference that came to an awkward end when some television networks cut him off to return to their regularly scheduled programs.

Sandwiched between "integrity" and "inept" is a cluster of nouns and an adjective or two obviously plucked from the headlines.

"Tsunami" jumped in popularity after one ravaged countries along the Indian Ocean last December, while "levee" and "refugee" are linked to the Hurricane Katrina disaster. Interest in the definition of the latter word _ "one that flees; especially: a person who flees to a foreign country or power to escape danger or persecution" _ grew after media organizations including The Associated Press were criticized for using it to describe hurricane victims.

"Filibuster" gained in popularity as Democrats threatened to use it to block federal judicial nominees, and "contempt" drew plenty of attention when former New York Times reporter Judith Miller was jailed for refusing to reveal a source in the CIA leak case.

The election of a new pope following the death of John Paul II left thousands wondering exactly what a conclave is, and news about the spread of infectious diseases brought up the term "pandemic."

But the Top 10 list is by no means an indication that Americans were curious or baffled only by weighty topics.

Immediately after Simon Cowell, the acid-tongued host of the popular television show "American Idol," called one aspiring singer "insipid," Merriam-Webster noticed a dramatic spike in the number of lookups for the word, which the dictionary defines as "lacking in qualities that interest, stimulate or challenge: dull, flat."

"This guy hit exactly the right word for the performance and it resonated," Morse said. "People engaged the word, but they asked themselves `what does it exactly mean?'"

Original story here.

C What What?

2005-10-16T08:30:00.000-05:00

Okay...as you know I've been angling for something different at work to get out of appointments. Don't get me wrong: I don't hate it...I loathe it. A friend of mine who works there confirmed it for me: the place is full of people who will bully you, and you have to stand your ground. I've been doing that since day one (i.e., The Fan Incident), and I've had a running war with the Customer Service Managers (CSMs).

When you work in a customer-driven business, the CSMs take that to mean that the business is driven by Customer Service Managers. The level of ego is amazing even to me, who has to hourly repent of my arrogance. They get all queeny and truly truly believe that without them the business would fail entirely. Their self-importance is breath-taking.

For example: when I get a load without a Purchase Order number, I generally can't book the delivery appointment, since the consignee (the folks who ordered the stuff) don't know what's on the truck without their PO number. So I have to send an internal e-mail to the CSM asking for a PO number (or worse, a correct PO number. This is worse because it implies they made a mistake, which Never Never Happens.)

So then--and this is a stone certainty--they'll email back either A) the same PO number that I just identified as wrong, having spoken with the reciever who told me it was wrong or B) they'll e-mail me back asking me why I need the PO number. I kid you not...

When this happens, I respond, asking again for what I need, and cc: the e-mail to my supervisor and department manager. The manager has been known on occassion to take the e-mail up to Customer Service and plant a boot in the appropriate ass, G-d Bless her. Why in the world they can't just correct the situation and move on is beyond me. If I had the time (and I don't, they're reaaaaaaaaaaaalllly insistent that you just call for appointments and Nothing Else), I'd call the shippers myself and get the numbers I need. But I can't, and I'm not supposed to anyway, and what I am supposed to do is send an internal e-mail to the CSM. Since I refuse to take their guff laying down, and since I regularly rat them out, I've got a running war with the CSMs.

If I work in that department till I die, I'll keep fighting them to work as a team and not adversarially. They won't turn me into a punk. I just can't believe how hard you have to fight for your dignity in such a low-paying, mindless job.

*sigh*

Okay. So I've made some friends, I'm building my network there...a friend referred me to a friend, and I did my conversation *ahem* informal interview *ahem* with her, and then she handed me off to her VP last Friday. We talked about my background, and then he said there might be an opening in the Logistics Analysis group. So he calls the hiring manager for that group to come into his office, and we talked for a bit, and encouraged me to apply for the position.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now here's the hitch: there are two tests you have to take, one on C++ and one in SQL. (For those of you non-programmers out there, C++ is the ultimate programming language, and SQL (pronounced "sequel") is a language that lets you ask questions of a database.) I've written some classroom C++, and I've worked with SQL, so I'm not unfamiliar. But I haven't used either on a daily basis for quite a while, and so I'm rusty. The hiring manager did say that if I didn't do well on the exams, they'd take a look at them and let me know what I needed to concentrate on for the next round. (Yeah! He really said that! How cool is that?)

I'm hitting the books hard on these. The exams are 20 questions each, and my goal is to get perfect 20s on both. Will do all the job-filing things tomorrow and go from there. And every time I get freaked out, I take a deep breath and recite the first part of the To-Shin Do student creed:

I believe in myself.
I am confident.
I can achieve my goals.

And then I settle down inside and get back to work.

All I ever wanted from Werner is a chance, an opportunity. I don't mind proving myself and I don't mind earning my way. This, too, is the way of the ninja--exploiting available opportunities. Just the thought of making grown-up money again, of working as a respected part of a team and not just another target in the CSMs outhouse, and working like a pro and advancing...it just doesn't even seem real, it's been so long, but I can do this. I believe in myself. I am confident. I can achieve my goals.

Tikkun Olam, Ninja -Style

2005-10-08T08:15:00.000-05:00

I'm betting that phrase has never before been written...

One of the great things about To-Shin Do is the emphasis on ultimately making the world a safer and better place. It fits so well with the idea of "tikkun olam"--perfecting the world. Sometimes I think that, if we all work to perfect the world, one day we will--and then we'll look up and see that we are the messiah we've been waiting for. TSD is, on one level, a study of power and the application of power to the good of all.

This is what I'm after. Throwing stars, black suits, physical stunts--those are all part of the training method, and yes, they are cool in their own right. The roots of ninjutsu are in a small group of ancient Japanese families who were fighting, literally, for their lives. A rough analogy might be the Native Americans during America's westward expansion. (Another interesting point for this analogy: one of the first non-western students to become shidoshi, a high-level teacher, was someone who understood a literal struggle for a people's survival--an Israeli soldier.) The techniques--and more importantly, the mindset--they developed and employed was all about the preservation of their lives, immediately (self-defense techniques), politically (espionage and infiltration techniques) and lastingly (spiritual and mental techniques). It's not enough to know the kick-punch series, or how to scale a wall, or how to make your own smoke bombs. It is about building a life and a world where that life can be lived. All of ninjutsu--and it's latest incarnation, To-Shin Do--is directed to that end, and all the technique are tools to achieve that end.

Feeling Floaty

2005-10-08T07:55:00.000-05:00

Ah, nothing like getting what you want. :)

Got my To-Shin Do DVDs last week...awesome awesome awesome. They are, at once, nothing like what I expected and infinitely more than I expected. I've written before about attending a different ninjutsu school that was a place to pay dojo fees so you could kiss someone's ass. Stephen K. Hayes is nothing like that...he seems sincere, humble and really looks like he enjoys what he's teaching. I'm already making plans to go to his fall seminar in October '06.

The student handbook, too, is awesome. The whole program is about helping the student succeed. I know, that's a well duh kind of thing to say. My experience of ninjutsu has been limited to bullies in belts or guys who make these cryptic, unfinished comments about their knowledge of the "secret teachings"--i.e., posers. SKH is so the real deal that I'd learn to walk or talk or eat spaghetti from him, if he taught it. Yah, I'm in this for the long haul. Will be building up my DVD teaching library...

What's strange is this: almost nothing in my life goes this well. I never ever hoped to even get this far, to have the "welcome to ninjutsu 101" lessons. I never thought I'd have access or ability--but I wanted it so bad, I even got the thing inked into my skin. Ninjutsu is literally in my skin...I'm not used to dreams coming true. Just owning the manual and the lessons is a huge step. I'm excited at the thought of where this could (and I hope, does) go. Long long ago, before my "fat Elvis" period, all I ever wanted was to open a karate school and work at that. I might still have a shot at it...

I'm feeling floaty because this is a huge thing for me, and so now I'm working on how to integrate it with the rest of my life. Wouldn't be much of a ninja if I were just a one-trick pony. How do I do this and still be an employee, a poet, Miss Karen's sweetie, a father, etc? Balance, that's what I need...

Baby Stepping

2005-10-01T10:43:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I got out of the shower and grabbed my nicotine gum instead of my cigarettes...went 14 hours yesterday without a smoke. Woo-hoo!

My training plans for studying To-Shin Do include going to regional events and weekend seminars at schools close to me (one in North Platte, Nebraska and one in Denver, Colorado). Aside from the obvious health benefits and the need for physical endurance, I just don't want to fail in front of other people because I'm wheezing and can't keep up. Pride is a powerful motivator, and I just baby-stepped my way towards that part of my goals yesterday.

This is where I'm thinking of going with it all: maybe run a couple of schools, teaching TSD and Kenpo...I'm going to need something for retirement, and my own business would be a good place for that.

Lovely Miss Karen and I are looking at going to Hawaii next year for our honeymoon. (Right now all we know is we want to get married, and we want to go somewhere after. We're not real hard on the details yet...:) ) Our choice is Oahu because A) it's BEAUTIFUL, B) "Lost" is filmed there and C) the main school for my kenpo style is there. It would be good to get back into shape and re-establish some connections with the organization, and start teaching again. I'd like to meet with the master and get his vision of kenpo, and perpetuate that back here.

There is a Shaolin kenpo school here in town that's pretty cool, but it's a different kind of thing. CHA-3 Kenpo can be best described as Hawaiian Barfighting--The Art Of The Bouncer. It involves a lot of real-world technique, a lot of classical stuff that has been adapted for the American body-frame and for usability. Even so, there are beautiful classical elements of the art that truly contain the narrative of kenpo, that really have the transmission. There are "hidden teachings" or "secret teachings" in the art itself, but they're not hidden or secret--you just have to look for them. I know that every time I've gone through a training iteration on some of the techniques or katas, I've learned something new.

So I have my education and teaching license in one style, and I'm preparing to take on another one. I think this is going to be awesome...and as long as I keep baby-stepping, every time I go a day without cigs, every time I stretch out and work out, I get closer and closer to my goals.

So THIS is what people do when they're not depressed...!

This Post Is Not About Ninjas

2005-09-30T00:35:00.000-05:00

"Night Stalker" was one of my favorite shows as a kid. I loved it, even when it was predictable, because Kolchak (Darren McGavin's character) was such an Everyman in the face of the boogeyman of the week. I even wrote a script for the show when I was in 8th grade...but alas, I didn't know how to type, so my masterpiece stayed in scrawly pencil form. And was never submitted...:)

Heck, maybe I ought to try it now. The new show was on tonight...it was...eh. Not bad, but not great. It just looked like a warmed-over Fox Mulder instead of Carl Kolchak. I hope the show gets better, but I'm not going to tie up a lot of time in it. I've already got way too much time wrapped up in "Lost". And "Prison Break". And "The Sopranos". And "24".

And I wonder why I'm overweight...

Another Damned Ninja Story

2005-09-28T23:06:00.000-05:00

Gawd, why do these keep popping up in my head?

Okay...about 15-20 years ago, there was a local chain of bookstores called "Read All About It". They had the best magazine selection in the city...special interest, foreign language, even niche porno. So if you wanted a copy of National Geographic or Pissing Maidens or Newsweek in Russian, you could get it there.

Well one day I went in for the latest copy of Black Belt. I loved the magazine, the articles were great, I really learned a lot about the martial arts history and background. As an aside, I also learned about the petty squabbling and provincialism between the different schools, even (or maybe especially) between schools of the same style. It was, for me, a trade rag.

BB magazine was in the martial arts section, which is invariably near the muscle magazines. I was looking over what else was out that month--Inside Kung Fu was another favorite of mine. And then I came across this magazine called "Modern Martial Arts Masters". I was intrigued because of all the martial arts "masters" on the front, not one was Asian.

In fact, they all looked like spoiled kids from the East Coast. So I took a look...

Inside were a series of photo essays that went like this: one of the spoiled kids in a dynamic exchange against an attacker...doing a takedown or counterpunching. Very intense, very climactic, and it wasn't until I was 40 that I realized how homoerotic those pictures are. So: kid doing big-time move on opponent, and splashed over the picture, a title like "The Deadly Hands of Nin-Ju-Ka!"

WTF...?

I read further: seems the kid is a master of "Nin-Ju-Ka", some bullshit amalgam of ninjustu, judo and karate (get it?) that he had put together. Oh, and named himself 10th-degree grandmaster of the style. A few more photos of him decimating his opponents without creasing his unoiform or mussing his hair, and then a head-and-shoulders shot at the end that said "Congratulations Mr. Pittarello".

Seems that these kids were all the senior students in some tournament school (don't EVEN start me on tournament fighters) that got what looked like tae-kwon-do black belts, and then were encouraged to "invent" their own schools. They took some from here and some from there, and presto! Nin-Ju-Ka!

The reason the story stuck (and the common thread through so many of these stories) is this: it's easy to call yourself anything you like. I can buy all kinds of kung-fu master sashes and super-duper karate master belts...being a poser is a breeze. Being the real deal...lots harder. And me being me, and being saved once in my life by a single word--"Integrity"--I've got to do things the hard way. All I ever wanted was to be the real deal.

M. Scott Peck, Rest In Peace

2005-09-28T21:35:00.000-05:00

I read "The Road Less Travelled" years ago, and it changed me. I'd like to say I applied the book perfectly etc etc, but that's not true. I did--and still do--love it, and no other book has meant so much to me.

I got to meet Peck once, when he did a talk here in Omaha. I even got his autograph...I read this morning that he had passed away. I'm so grateful for all the good he left in the world, through his writings and his activism in promoting community. I will miss him.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Mail-Order Ninja

2005-09-27T23:19:00.000-05:00

Okay: one more ninja post.

I DID IT!

I ordered the first set of DVDs and the student handbook tonight. I can't believe I'm doing this...I've only wanted to study under SKH for the last 20 years. And now I can, now I am...I'm on my way!

So these are my goals now:

1) Train through the belts using the DVD Program.

2) Get my shodan (black belt) and instructor's certification.

3) Open a To-Shin Do school.

4) Continue training and becoming part of the TSD organization.

I never thought I'd do this...man oh man. It's funny...all I did was get the school's emblem inked into my arm and the rest was easy...:) So far. As my Navy SEAL heroes are known to say, "The Only Easy Day Was YESTERDAY". Hence my shopping list: Tiger Balm and Tylenol gelcaps...lots and lots of Tylenol.

More than anything else, I've taken the first step to getting something I want. That's been a loooooooooong time coming.

I am so excited...I'm on my way!!!!!!

Chin-Up Ninja

2005-09-25T22:14:00.000-05:00

After my last post ("The Mistake"), I got an e-mail from a friend...we'll call him "Bitch". So Bitch wrote a nice e-mail and ended it by saying "Chin up, Ninja."

It was a sweet thing to say...but then it started this image in my mind: an informercial starring the crazy-looking guy with the ponytail and the roid-rage eyes who screams you into buying with his WWF voice. He's screaming into the camera to sell the latest fitness product: the Chin-Up Ninja.

Brrrrrrrrrrr...maybe I ought to chew my meds and make them kick in faster...

The Mistake

2005-09-22T22:19:00.000-05:00

I hate this when I wake up thinking about it. I'm not awake enough to make my defenses or think the thoughts that get me through the day.

At my core, like an old buddy that I don't really like but never can dog, is this thing, this reminder, that I am alone in this world. Not in the existential, "we all die alone" sort of way. I mean alone in the sense of being a man without a family.

Don't get me wrong--there are people whose last name I share, but not their life. Not their blood. I don't look like anyone. I don't have years of unbroken tradition stringing along behind me. My birthday came and went this year and I didn't hear from my parents. I hate holidays...

A friend of mine had a sword that he wore in Masonic Lodge. He showed me the blade one day...inscribed down the blade, from the handle on down, were six other names. These were his forebears who had owned the sword before him. It went back six generations of men in his family. I was so impressed. I hated him.

I can't trace my heritage back any further than a quick squirt in the back of a car in December 1961.

And yeah, I know all the "live and love and let it go" sort of phrases...my stepdad did the best he could, my life wasn't so bad, others have had it worse, who knows that my own father wouldn't have been the worst thing that had ever happened to me, blah blah blah. Like most sophistries, the ones who speak them to me never had to live them. I do, every day, and sometimes I hate myself just so I can feel like my father and I have at least something in common.

When my doctor asks if my family has a history of "x", I just have to shrug. When I wonder how to put together my retirement (what a fucking joke...I'll have to die working), I have no one close to ask advice from. I've spent my life swinging from one hard-core group of idealists to the other, because at least when you've got some solid rules--no matter how stupid they are--it feels like someone cares for you enough to lay down the law. Whether it's Mass in Latin or voting straight-ticket Republican, I've been a fanatic long enough in life. It never got me the care or the guidance or the life that I needed.

I used to be totally pro-life. Part of this, of course, stemmed from my being a bastard. My grandfather is credited with saving my life because abortions were unsafe and difficult to get in 1962, and so my grandpa pointed out--I swear to G-d this is an accurate quote--to my mom that "you've already made one mistake, don't make two".

The Mistake--that's me.

Now, without any self-pity or melodrama, I have to say I wish she'd done it. I'm 43, I make $8.50 an hour, I've suffered from deadly depression all my life, I don't have a college degree, I will most likely never own a house, I've had I can't tell you how many breakdowns in my life, I'm so far over my head in debt from 25-year-old student loans that I'll never see the light of day...is this a life that was worth saving? Where are the nice pro-life people now, when I could really use some help? A better job? A way out of permadebt? Too busy waving their fucking signs for Jeezus, I guess. Hope he appreciates it...

I live, and I do't know why. I'd rather not. I'm not suicidal, no plans or anything like that, please don't call 911, Gentle Reader. It's not about that. Sometimes it hits me, I feel it before I can stop it, and tonight was one of those nights.

Enter The Ninja Part Deux

2005-09-20T06:54:00.000-05:00

I don't know why these damned ninja stories are falling out of my head lately, but they are...

Okay: when I studied kenpo, my instructor taught us to learn form other schools and other people as well. The more we knew about other approaches, the more we knew about how to defend against them.

I met a guy who was a ninja. I thought "Great! Time to learn!" And so Rick and I made an appointment to work out on Saturday afternoon.

I got to his house, changed up quick and I was ready to go. Rick has his ninja uniform on--i'm thinking "THIS is gonna be AWESOME!" Time for me to learn something...but first, before we could work out, we made three trips each--no kidding--into his house to carry out his weapons. Staffs, nunchakus, sais, sword, everything that could pass for a weapon that didn't have a trigger. So now I'm kind of wondering about this guy, but hey, maybe he really is good with weapons.

To loosen up, we sparred first...and I kept tagging this guy. Now I'm good (better than Rex Kwon Do, not nearly Bruce Lee), but not that good. So I'm thinking "he must be saving it up for some whup-ass ninja attack on me!"

And finally I nailed him but good (we were wearing sparring gloves. Honest.), knocked him down with a shot to the head, really rang his bell. So we stopped and I sat down with him to make sure he was okay. And he looked right at me and said: "Well, I'm actually more into the philosophy of the ninja..."

Ah.

A book-ninja.

Goooooooooooooot ittttttttttttt.

So maybe the reason I'm remembering this is to get my fat ass moving...that there isn't much of a line between me and Mr. Ninja Philosopher right now. I am impressed with the ninja mindset, and I do hope to employ it more in my life...but you only get it when you work the body. You can't think a workout...but you can work out and think.

Oy...

NIMBY

2005-09-19T07:20:00.000-05:00

Whenever someone proposes to build, say, a hotel or a mall or a gas station, the people who live near it will say "Well, yes, it's a good idea--but Not In My Back Yard (NIMBY)".

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach wrote an article recently about how it's time to integrate America. He points out that one of the callers to his radio show said "he did not want poor black families moving into his neighborhood because they were dirty and kept their own neighborhoods slovenly".

And I have to say, I agree with the caller on this one. I don't want neighbors coming and going at all hours of the night, booming rap music and screaming at their kids because they're too damned lazy to get up, parking in the yard, stealing from my home while I'm out, etc.

By the way--this list of complaints about black neighbors is what blacks have told me about their own neighborhoods.

My own experience in this neighborhood comes from when, during the spring, some kids next door were playing outside. I had my windows open, and the black children were amazingly foul-mouthed. My step-dad is a sailor, and these boys were passing him every other word. My daughter was with me at the time, and I finally had to call the police to get the kids out of the yard.

NIMBY? You bet your ass. With one very important caveat: it's not the blacks I don't want next door. It is the lazy ones I don't want next door. If a family from the NOI moved in, I'd help them haul their furniture in. I don't care whether they're black or not--I do care if they're self-sufficient. I don't want them here if they are dedicated to the idea that the world owes them, and any complaint I have about them is "racist".

Chris Rock said it best: "I love the black people, but the niggers got to go."

Enter The Ninja

2005-09-18T08:42:00.000-05:00

The other day I was thinking about a school I used to attend. If you lived in the Midwest and followed the ninjutsu craze, you’d know the school I’m talking about.

Well…I was in ninja school, working out with the other students. We were practicing shuriken-jutsu, or blade throwing. We were throwing stars into a thick pine target board. The way you get them out is to lay the outer edge of your thumb along one side, grasp the back with your other hand and sort of rock them out.

Our instructor, a dickhead who believed in instructing through student intimidation, had whipped his star into the board so hard that no one could get it out. Including him.

Hm.

So Super-Sensei runs to the office to get a tool.

NOW: I’m standing there thinking “Hey, we’re training to be ninjas, if this were a real-life field situation, we coldn’t just run off and get a tool, we’d work with what we had. So WWND (What Would a Ninja Do)?

I took stock of what I had on me…I was wearing a standard karate gi (uniform), no pockets, no tools, no shoes, just a gi and a jock. And of course the uniform was closed with a belt…hmmmmm…

So while the sensei is digging for a tool in the office, I whipped off my belt, stuck it through the hole in the middle of the shuriken and gave it a good yank. And pop it came right out of the wall.

The students were standing around me watching this, not sure whether they should praise me or not. I’d done something right, very right, but the sensei hadn’t thought of it first, so they didn’t want to piss him off. So they waited to see his reaction before they said anything.

He walked up about the time I popped the star out of the board. I pulled my belt out of the hole and handed him the star, still stupidly expecting to get praised for my ingenuity and ablity to problem-solve.

Instead he looked at me like I’d pooped on the Buddha because I had used my belt to pull the star. “Very creative”, he said, “but not the way of the ninja.”

???

Not too long after this I left the school. I knew what I knew…I knew that I was a ninja, mostly because I’d pissed that bully off, and I knew that I was wasting my time waiting for him to approve my skills.

Taking My Own Advice

2005-09-10T11:32:00.000-05:00

Well last night the Lovely Miss Karen and I went to Steam'n Coffee for Open Mic night. I brought three pieces to read. It's been a while since I've done an open mic...I was a bit nervous. So I prayed a quick prayer to Rachel, took a deep breath and dived in.

Karen looked awesome. She wore this pink foofy sheer-ish top, nummy perfume, she was like sexy fruit. Mmmmmmmmmmmm...she listened to my set and watched for audience reaction to see how it was recieved, and gave me some great feedback. We listened to some of the other artists--ranging from another poet (who, it seemed, mostly wrote about whacking off in adult bookstores) to a sort of hippy-family band. Awesome awesome awesome...G-d Bless The First Amendment, for as long as it lasts. (Ask me about My American Dream sometime...:) )

Afterwards we went to Azteca for a late supper. I don't like Mexican food, as a general rule, but I love Azteca. The restaurant isn't anything special--decor is about like your parent's kitchen--but the food...the food is awesome. It transcends cuisine to being Just Damned Good Food, soul food, a true "dining experience".

In my experience, when a restaurant advertises a "dining experience", what they usually mean is that the place is over-decorated so that you've got something to look at while you wait on the execrably slow (and usually bad) service for a mediocre, overpriced meal. Think restaurant created by a group of friends ("Oh my G-d! This will be sooooooooooo fabulous!!!!") who just don't get it when it closes a year later ("The cretins just weren't ready for our fusion-nouveau cooking...").

No, Azteca is just plain good food in a clean, plain atmosphere. The head waiter always greets you as "amigos"...they bring ice water and chips. The chips come with home-made salsa, fantastic pico de gallo and the best bean-dip you'll ever eat. Last night I had (I hope I get this right) Camarones con Partalados--bacon-wrapped prawns that were fried up in this sauce that was almost Chinese, sweet and hot.

But even if I'd had crackers and ice water, I'd have been happy...just having the time to sit and talk with Karen was worth it. *sigh*

So we took my own advice...we got out from in front of the TV and the 'Net and had a great evening out. This is why we fell in love--we're great to hang out with!

Female Survivors Urged To Flash Breasts For Help

2005-09-06T17:42:00.000-05:00

I just don't believe this.

I mean, I do believe it. It's just so far from my comprehension...one thing we learn in martial arts is that you can not base an attacker's motive on your own values. I know the reasons why I might strike someone, but an attacker is a whole other thing.

And so I read this story this morning (this was how I started my day) and I am utterly dumbfounded, in part because I believe--wrongly--that everyone thinks like I do, and that every man would rise to the occasion. An excerpt from the story reads:

"Scott said there was a group of girls standing on the lobby's roof, calling out to passing rescuers for help.

"[The authorities] said to them, 'Well, show us what you've got' – doing signs for them to lift their T-shirts up. The girls said no, and [the rescuers] said 'well fine,' and motored off down the road in their motorboat. That's the sort of help we had from the authorities," he said."

My traidition teaches me that when G-d said "Let us make man in our image", he was speaking to the animals. And so man has the capacity to live like a beast, or to live godly. He always has the choice.

What would make men choose to abandon helpless hurrican victims? How is this any different than driving out into the boonies and turning to a woman, saying "Suck or walk"? How is this not rape?

Un-fucking-believable.

If there were a way to resign from the human race, I would.

(Original story here)

What We Can Do

2005-09-03T11:02:00.000-05:00

1. Donate. Give here. Also the local Baker's supermarkets are doing a "round-up", where they ring up your groceries and then ask if you'd like to round up the total to the next dollar, the difference in the amount going to hurricane Katrina relief.

Tons of people at work (myself included) wondered what we, as a transportation company, could do. Werner is in the process of putting something together--will let you know what we're doing and how you can help.

2. Pray. Doesn't matter how you do it, just pray. Let the universe know your sorrow, your fear, your outrage, your concern for all the victims of Katrina. Maybe go to temple or church or mosque, there might be a special event. There is an interfaith prayer service in Omaha this Sunday at St. Cecelia's Cathedral, I can't find the story, but think about it.

3. Breathe. Things are horrifically bad in New Orleans and surrounding areas...but it won't do anyone there--or in your own life--any good if you're wiped out from all this. Take a walk. Turn off the media for a while. Chase your kids around. Eat some fruit. Talk to your neighbors. Tell a joke. Make love. Toss a Frisbee. Go get some dinner somewhere, have a good conversation. Garden. Walk the dog. Keep yourself alive: there is one life you can save now, and do it so you can save others.

4. Let Someone Know. So many of the victims we've seen have talked about being separated from family. They may not know if family is alive or dead. Or, they may know that someone in their family is dead. I can't help but wonder what they would say if they had one more minute of life with their relatives who have passed away. Don't wait to lose someone to spend that one more minute. Tell them now.

As to you, faithful reader...if you're reading this, I probably know you. Know this: knowing you had made my life better, made this whole curio shop of my life more interesting, more exciting, richer and deeper. The only unhappiness you've ever brought me is your absence, and that is far outweighed by the goodness you bring just by being yourself and being with me. We pray to G-d for blessings, and then we fail to see them around us, waiting for us to catch them with both hands. You are a blessing to me, and know that you have my love.

Big Easy Nuked

2005-09-01T18:29:00.000-05:00

I sat down to watch "Lost" last night, and I was an hour off. The show was on at 8:00, instead of 9:00; at 9:00 ABC ran a special on the damage from Katrina.

Oh my G-d...

I'd been observing the situation peripherally. I'd only thought of it in abstract terms--as a weather situation, or as it affected transportation (I work for a trucking company). I never ever thought of the human face of the tragedy until last night...

I can't even begin to talk about it. It is horrific...the city looks like it'd been nuked. It so big I can't wrap words around it...

Lost

2005-08-31T22:43:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not lost...I mean the show, "Lost".

Yes, I'm a Lost freak. Miss Karen and I started watching it last summer, and it hooked us both. Hard. We were already hooked up on "24", and then "Lost" came in too.

Gawd, where to begin? Every week is some cliffhanger...there are as many mysteries as "X-Files" but there are also just enough resolutions to keep stringing you along like a crack ho. I have this horrible nightmare of meeting J. J. Abrams (the show's creator) and screaming, Chris Rock-style, "Tell me what it means! I got to know! I'll suck yo dick, man! I'll suuuuuuuuuuck yo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!" Whenever we eat at Jimbo's, a diner attached to LaVista Keno, I always watch the end of the game to see if any Hurley numbers (4 8 15 16 23 42) came up. We love the fact that Hurley (Jorge Garcia) was born in Omaha. (By the way, I'm not linking to anything in this entry. I know that if I do, I'll start rabbit-trailing on "Lost" things and never finish this entry. I am truly that pathetic...)

More than anything else, it's just fun to have something Karen and I enjoy. It's like a puzzle we work together...we talk about the different things in the show, and what they might mean. My theory is that they're in Purgatory. Karen has no theory but thinks I'm wrong. Gawd I love her so...

We'll be getting the DVDs on 6 September, of course, and we'll be glued to the TV like Pavlov dogs on 21 September, when the show returns for Season 2. Whoops--only a few more minutes to tonight's "Lost" episode. Gotta get some fresh decaf and pee and get settled in...

PS--one more thing about the Hurley numbers. It occurred to me the other night that, now that I'm 43, I'll never be a Hurley number-old again.

That has to mean something...

Frivolity And Need

2005-08-28T10:58:00.000-05:00

If I'm learning anything these days, it is to feed my soul.

I got to thinking the other night, after I got my tattoo, when was the last time I spent any money or time on something I absolutely didn't need? Something that wasn't a bare minimum to stay alive (i.e., work, paying bills, meds, food, etc)?

Last time I did this was over a year ago, when I got a Navy SEAL watch. Yeah, I know, I could have gotten a watch for 10 bucks, but I went the whole hog, saved up and spent $300 on a watch I wanted and would enjoy having. It rocks...the bezel rotates (so far I've only used it to time pizza, but I could synchronize watches with commandos if I wanted to!), it glows at night, it has a nice heavy feel to it. It's waterproof to 600 feet, the band is a cool stainless steel. And oh yeah--it keeps the time accurately, too.

I'm not a SEAL poser. I just dig their warrior ethic, and I've incorporated some of it in my life, and do more every day. And this watch is as much a symbol and reminder of that high calling as it is a way of keeping time. It's not enough to know what time it is in the day--this reminds me what time it is in my life.

So I fed my soul again by getting my shinobi tattoo. In some larger sense, this is the real recovery from depression: am I doing more than just living because I'm not dead yet? Am I living for something higher? Is there a point to all this?

I do belive there is a point to this. I do believe that, as the old prayer says, that I have "a soul to save" as my top duty. I do believe that there is a unique thing in this world, never seen before, won't be here again, and that unique thing is Me. Whatever contribution I make to this world, whatever I give or withhold, there will never again be anything like this. It is a duty to be as much of myself as I can to give as much of myself as I can. The world is full of McPeople--same damned souls everywhere, people all non-conforming by rebelling in identical ways.

And so ninjutsu, poetry, meditation--these are all tools, both means to the end and the expression of my self, what I have to give. And I'm sure this is not all, this is only what I've found so far. Even as I write this, a voice in my head says "Gee, we're getting narcissistic, aren't we?" And I have to say no. No. NO.

If there is any true purpose in the universe, the closest thing I can name it is the Benevolence of the Universe, then why did it make just one of me if for no other reason than to ultimately express Itself? If I'm not a window to G-d, to that Benevolence of the Universe, then why am I here? To impress the other McPeople? There is only one me, and that thing that is me, that original spark, is a direct reflection of the Benevolence.

Thus, the Spirit Rises and Advances...

Exit The Ninja...

2005-08-27T23:11:00.000-05:00

I was thinking the other day about the last time I trained seriously. It was a long time ago, and I remember now why I stopped.

My first wife was a scam artist and the greediest person I have ever known. And that would make me...a slow learner, I guess. I used to be outraged at the things she would pull, very manipulative and controlling, always thinking three moves ahead. I believed she was who she said she was...and hey, love is blind. And stupid. And...well, you know.

We used to live in these awesome apartments called Eden West, they had a loft bedroom and a skylight. There was a balcony out the front door, we lived on the second floor, it was so pleasant to sit out in the evening and listen to the radio and read.

We also had a detached garage, which was great. I used it for a dojo--a training area. I would pull the car out, put on some sweats and work out in there. I had a target board and shuriken, a cheap-ass sword that was fake, but it was okay to train with, I had an awesome set of nunchaku, a pair of sai, I kept my jump-rope down there, I could work out undisturbed. It was awesome...it was my last dojo.

One night we were going somewhere, and Cathy pulled the car out of the garage. I met her downstairs and we went and did whatever stupid thing we were doing (usually an event with her family, the Most Fucked Up Bunch Ever, but that's an entirely different post. Maybe even a different blog!). Then we came home--and the garage door was open. We each thought the other had shut the garage door. And my stuff was gone.

All of it had been stolen. It hit me on two levels--one, that feeling of violation, that someone took my stuff, things that I had held and treasured, they didn't care, they just took them. And two, responsibility. There were weapons loose in the world that had been my responsibility to care for. Granted, none of the were as easy to use as a gun, but they still had some destructive potential, and I had been careless with them, and so was indirectly responsible for any harm they caused.

We called the police, and they filled out a report. We took our copy of the report and filed it with the insurance...and when the check came--nothing. Cathy took the check and deposited it and spent it before I even knew we had it. We never did replace any of my stuff--by that time I was thoroughly under her thumb financially--and that was the end of my dojo.

Which means, I guess, in terms of Rising and Advancing the Spirit...it's time to build a dojo again. We've got plenty of room in the basement, just need to clear the space and toss some old stuff out. Time to get busy...

(Also posted on 43 Things)

Five-Minute Post

2005-08-26T07:34:00.000-05:00

There are time when I don't post because I think I don't have time...so I'm trying something new: to blog for five minutes, rather than always trying to sit down and write the Great American Blog Entry.

I can't believe some of the news I'm reading this morning--worse, I can believe some of the news, and it could be depressing if I let it. Between a TV preacher calling for a political assassination and the latest on the poor Brazilian guy that got shot to death in England...gawd. Sometimes I hope the slick-haired TV preachers are right and Jeeeeeeeeeeeezus is coming and he'll straighten it all out.

Of course, he'll do that by making us all become Christians or going to hell. Brrrrrrr...

TGIF...it's been a long week and I'm looking forward to seeing Mary this weekend. I'm looking forward to NOT going into work...hell, I might even get to bed at a decent hour tonight (as opposed to the indecent hour last night, when my writer's group went late) .

*ding*

Five minutes are up...

I DID IT!!!!!

2005-08-23T18:59:00.000-05:00

Well I did it…plunked down my money and my design, and I did it! Matt from Villain’s Tattoos ( http://www.villainstattoos.com/ ) did the work from a design I printed off.

Did it hurt? YES. I can’t stand getting shots or having blood drawn—to the point of stopping a phlebotomist once when she went treasure hunting for veins. Brrrrrrrrrrrr…she got half a sample and I told her that was enough. Enough. ENOUGH. And then I always asked for a different bloodsucker when I went in to the doctor’s office.

Don’t like needles at all. So OF COURSE I had to go pay and sit in a chair and get zizzed with needles about a thousand times. Now I see why people do it when they’re drunk…but I wanted to do this one stone cold sober, hard-core. And I did!

I love this tat…20 years ago would have been the wrong time to do this. Now was the perfect time, the perfect tat…I’m so glad I did this!

This Is What My Tat Means...

2005-08-20T10:47:00.000-05:00

From the To-Shin Do site:

"The Japanese written character for nin , of Japan's ninja stealth warriors and their martial art of ninjutsu, can also be pronounced shinobi . It is best translated as "stealth, endurance, perseverance, or 'putting-up-with'". Nin or shinobi communicates the kind of strength required to keep our eyes on the grander goal. We know what we need and we are willing to do whatever it takes to get it. We are not diverted, even when tempted to take on the petty affronts and insults tossed in our path from those who fear or envy us.

The top portion of the Japanese letter character for nin is pronounced toh and means "sword" or "blade." This represents the martial arts technology we study to perfect.

The bottom portion of the character is shin, pronounced sheen , and means "heart". This represents the resolute spirit needed to prevail over the negative forces that attempt to drive us to defeat.

Together as the one single character for nin, the To-Shin ideal reminds us of the miraculous power of knowledge and intention combined to result in spirited intelligence in action."

How's that for a mission statement of life?

(Also posted on 43 Things)

Self-Reliance

2005-08-14T21:21:00.000-05:00

I remember in high school, reading Emerson’s “Self-Reliance”, and it just rang my bell. It may have saved my life at the time (G-d I hated high school! ). Later in life I remembered hearing something similar from Bruce Lee, of all people, who really is quite a philosopher. And so last night I got a small collection of Lee’s writings, and I dug out my Emerson…and I awoke again, for the first time in years. I know my faith now, I can only call it “self-reliance” to give it some sort of label, I have my guides, and I’m working on fiding my community.

I can’t tell you how complete I feel, for the first time in years, how clean, how integral. It's taken me this long to come full circle, and now I have peace in the struggle instead of struggling for peace.

Strange Timing...Or Maybe Not

2005-08-02T11:33:00.000-05:00

I've been fighting (and losing to) a massive depression most of the last week. I took two days off from work last week and two (so far) this week. Am sitting at home with about seven days' whiskers, looking and feeling fat and useless and lost. Just about the time I find my purpose in life again--that's interesting.

I can't tell if it's some sort of self-sabotage manuever I'm doing to myself...or if maybe the two things are just unrelated. I don't know...I just know I don't feel like I can do anything but surf, sleep and occasionally eat.

But if the two are related, this would be my first task: how would a ninja deal with depression?

Well...first off, intelligence. Looking for information on the target, probing for vulnerabilities, ways to reverse situations. Looking for ways of resolution that don't involve direct clashes of confrontation, but preparing for that as well.

Secondly, an assesment of resources to deal with what the information indicates. Tools, people, assets and liabilities. And then finding ways to multiply the assets and downplay or overcome the liabilities.

Under it all, though, is this: the struggle for will. Depression takes your will away...even as I wrote out steps I could take, my feeling was "yeah, but why?" In part, I'm making the mistake people have made all my life--making intelligence out to be something that it isn't. I can think through anything--but I can't create will with intelligence. People seem to think that intelligence is some sort of golden round-trip ticket, that it grants the bearer unlimited powers and abilities. Really, though, I've found it's more an exaggeration of memory retrieval and information manipulation than anything else. And G-d knows, ifI could have out-thought depression, I would have, long long ago.

So maybe start with a realistic assessment of where I am right now, examine this situation...who knows? Maybe start taking a third dose of Effexor per day, I already take it twice a day like it's the Holy Sacrament...I'm at 150 mg, and 225 mg is the highest recommended dosage. Crap...I was on Serzone for a while, and then I burned through that.

So step 1: Get some perspective and some Will back...check with the good Doctor Crouse and go from there.

G-d help me...

On Being A Ninja...

2005-07-31T00:12:00.000-05:00

Being a ninja is sort of like being a Libertarian...if you say you're one, you are, because who would make something like that up? Now, being a big fat slow ninja...well...that's where I'm at now.

On my 43 Things site, being a ninja is on there, along with a lot of prep things to do to get the thing right. I've been playing with the idea for about a year now--Stephen Hayes has a DVD training system I will use--but not really motivated.

Well the other night I had a "G-d thing", where Heaven sort of reaches down and bonks you on the head. I found a copy of "The Octagon", the first chop-socky movie I ever saw. It stars Chuck Norris, and he basically kicks about a hundred ninjas' asses and then kills The Master Ninja, this freak-o in a full-face mask and a sort of crown. Good triumphs, evil falls, all is well in LaVista again.

Except the first time I saw this, I was totally blown away. I had just started taking karate classes, and so I knew the poky-assed 3-step drills and everything. I never saw how beautiful it could be, how awesome it could be. (There's a scene in "Forced Vengeance", I think it is, where Chuck Norris whips off this kick combination that is so literally perfect it makes your heart stop for a few beats.) I also never considered the martial arts as anything so holistic as ninjutsu. Hell, I got into it so I wouldn't sit around drinking beer and getting fat. (Instead I got depressed and got fat, but that's a different story, hm?) And so my scope went from kick-block-punch-kick exercises to seeing it as a way of life.

And then I lost that life...

So I'm standing in Wal-Mart, holding this copy of the DVD looking like I've just gotten struck by lightning. And I knew...it was a sign...get busy and get that life.

I have to start stretching and getting ready to work out. I don't know how long this will take, and I don't care. I've got the rest of my life to do this, to live like a ninja. How well I do it is up to me. I'm on my way...

(Simultaneously posted at 43 Things)

Visiting And Meeting And Everything...

2005-07-20T21:52:00.000-05:00

Have been visiting with my daughter Mary, who's down for one of her 2-week visits. I love her so...love having her around, love waking her up, love saying prayers with her at night. She's playing "Shrek 2" with Karen right now...the girls love the game.

We visited with my dad and his wife Joeanne tonight. They travel the country in their huge apartment block-sized camper, and they're visiting out here before they go to Vegas with the UP Employee club. It's great to see them, and they're enjoying retirement.

Also getting some events together for my writer's group. We've talked about meeting up in October at Vala's Pumpkin Patch, and doing a spooky story type of night. Also want to put together a field trip to her Yers Truly do some poetry at an open mic night...

I've got so many good people in my life, I'm so blessed. And i've been spending time with them instead of here :)

43 Things

2005-07-13T16:31:00.000-05:00

This is so oddly cool...As you can see down the right side of my page (and I know you're out there...it's not just me typing into the emptiness of the blogosphere, is it? Hello? hellohellohellohello...), I've a list of 43 goals. I got hooked up to this at the site named, appropriately enough, 43 Things. Some of these are things I've contemplated for a while, some are things I'm currently working on, others are dreams I've let go.

The thing is this: by writing them on the web, and reviwing them, they're starting to happen. It's weird...I've started drinking more water without even thinking about it. I have a book on yoga and a little practice mat I can work with till I can get to my school. I've located a school where I can start training in natural medicine. And I can at least do kihon--basics--in martial arts until I start with a school again.

Once I start looking at little bites of material like this, it gets into my head and it starts popping out in my behavior. Who knew...? So check it out, e-me if you set up your 43 (or however many) things!

Crippled

2005-07-01T11:55:00.000-05:00

So the other day I'm heading to the "State Of The Company" meeting. I was very interested to go and to hear how things are going, and how they're project to go. With rising oil prices, and the spectre of terrorist threats to the transportation infrastructure, it's an interesting time to work for Werner.

The two in front of me are dragging their feet. I can't stand people who don't move everywhere at full speed. That's just me. I figure that, if you're at work and you're not moving fast enough to make the change in your pocket jingle, you're slacking.

So I cut around them, off the sidewalk and onto the lawn--and step right into a depression in the grass. My left ankle buckled under me, all my weight on top of it. And Mighty Was The Fall Thereof...

I went down hard, flat on my back. People stood around and made sure I was okay, a Safety guy went and got me a wheelchair. I wheeled into the office and called a friend who works there. He took me home, schlepped me in and I collaped into a chair. Then got the Two Essentials For Healing--an icepack and coffee--and I sat for a bit till a friend got home.

Then we went to the local McMedicine. I couldn't get into my regular doctor, Dr. Crouse, as he was out for the afternoon and the rest of the doctors at the clinic were booked up. This was too bad, because I really love Dr. Crouse. He's the first doctor that ever took more than five minutes with me, and he never treats me like a meatbag of symptoms. G-d Bless him...

The emergicare clinic got me in okay, they were thrilled to hear it was Workman's Comp (translation: we're gonna get paid!). After a grueling set of x-rays, the McDoctor determined that it was a serious sprain, hooked me up with crutches and told me I could try going to work today but that was up to me.

Well...

Obviously I didn't go to work. As I said, I hate moving slow. And I am a 100% Crutch Tard, I can't figure out how to work the damned things. This is a deficit in my martial arts training, I think: how does one continue to fight when disabled? This opens up whole new avenues of thought.

So I've spent the day at home, walking as little as possible. The swelling is going down (finally), I can get upstairs (all 14 of them) to the bathroom without grunting in pain much, I had a nummy brunch of frozen bacon-cheese-egg biscuits and vienna sausage, mm-mm. (I just saw "SlingBlade" the other night and about died when I realized I had the same taste in potted ham as the main character. Picked the habit up from my grandpa when I was a sprat, sitting on his knee and eating sardines and crackers with him.)

But--there goes any idea of doing anything for the 4th. Unless I make a miraculous recovery (or fall into a bowl of Darvocet, which would be okay too), I'll be sitting on my ass with an icebag on my foot, instead of going somewhere and doing something. Crap crap crap...

Fuckin' Aaaaaaaaaaaa-men!

2005-06-16T19:11:00.000-05:00

Read:

http://www.newswithviews.com/Roberts/carey69.htm

This Is Why...

2005-06-15T11:40:00.000-05:00

The Fan War illustrates something that's been hanging around in my head for a long time. And, of course, what better place to urp it up than the internet?

Some of you gentle readers may be old enough to remember when women were burning their bras. I remember seeing pictures of it on the evening news when I was a kid. This was at the beginning of the feminist movement, and I don't think it ever occurred to anyone to say this, but I will: We were being asked to take seriously a group of people that thought publicly burning their underwear was a good way to get their message out.

This should have been a sign, but nooooooooo...we were all to scared of being called "male chauvinist pigs" back then. Now we have the crazy screechers in every part of our lives (although not, thank G-d, in Masonic Lodge. This is why men join Lodge and hunt...no women there. Yet. *sheesh*) and their insanity rules the day.

So the other day Betsy is standing there kvetching at my fan because she's cold. She's dressed like a stripper on her day off, and is complaining to me because she's cold. Only a woman could wear nearly nothing and then blame the world around her for being cold.

You've seen this in your office: women huddled in coats or jackets wearing open shoes. Duh...Women wanted to be treated as equals in the beginning. Now they wanted to be superiors. They want to world around then to change to accomodate them, without any compensating change on their parts.

Women are not attached to reality. It's not a matter of a different perception of reality, or a "woman's way of knowing". It's that the crazy bitches live in their heads and believe everything that happens in there is really, really reality. My ex woke up one morning...she had a dream where I'd said or done something terribly wrong. To this day I still don't know what it was...she wouldn't tell me, because she was mad at me. That's right...she was mad at me for something she dreamed I did. Are these really the people we want to hand responsiblity to?

I used to be terrifically pro-life...I've changed on that one. I really have to question the value of a child's life if it's being raised by a woman who had neither the patience nor the character to insist on a condom. If she can't say something as simple as "Rubber, please?", how can she be expected to negotiate the complexities of life with a child? No...I don't think any child deserves a parent that fucking lousy. Abortion is, in the end, mercy killing.

Our society doesn't punish women for committing the act of creating life with no plan for sustaining that life. In fact, they continue the problem, acting as if the only thing mommy needs is more money to solve the problem. We support her stupidity. We reward her for doing something so horrific as creating a life with no intention of sustaining or nurturing that life. The child becomes a token for a government check. As a student at Metro, I can't tell you how many times I've seen the "mommies" with their cell phones and full-nail sets. Hell, there are weeks I can't even afford a haircut, I have to walk around looking like a homeless guy. How can they afford a full set of salon nails? Easy...it comes out of my paycheck and yours.

So we don't expect women to be responsible enough to control their bodies with birth control...and we don't expect them to live with the consequences of that behavior. How does that make them equal to men?

Things like this are why women were treated the way they were. Now we have to take every little emotional squeak and gas bubble seriously, politely applauding every time one of them does anything without tripping over her ridiculous shoes.

Fan War

2005-06-15T10:24:00.000-05:00

You know, if I made a list of things I never thought I'd have to do in this life, going to Human Resources for the right to have a small fan on my desk would be near the top of the list. But I did...

It started like this: Betsy (high strung, anorexic soccer-mom who is my department supervisor) was at her desk when I came in a few weeks ago. I started everything up, like I normally do, including my little desktop fan.

Immediately, Betsy swoops over and says "No. No. That can't be on. It's just too cold." As she says this, she's standing there wearing a short skirt, a thin top and open shoes.

Well hell. I turn my fan off...I reiterate to Bets that I'm in the middle of the row, air doesn't move, hot and drowsy, blah blah blah...no avail. She has spoken. She even shrugs her shoulders and says there's nothing she can do about it.

Soooooooooooooooo she has enough power to demand I turn off my fan but not enough to move me near a vent....?

Well I know this is bullshit, and I think she knows I know, so now we're playing chicken. So after work I dropped by Human Resources and told them I was being discriminated against (I hated using that word, but it was the only way "in" to the situation) because of my fan. I felt just like Milton from Office Space. Fortunately, on the of the HR people I was talking to had a little fan on his desk, so he knew what I meant. Also, I was stinky from having sweated through my shirt (ah, Italians...we can sweat underwater...) so they really believed what I meant about my spot being hot and uncomfortable. So they said they'd look into it and asked me to come by the next morning at 0800 (I start my day at 0630) to follow up.

What I didn't know was this: after I left for the day, HR went through the department like a destchment of Imperial Stormtroopers and found that, yes, I could have a fan on my desk, and that no, Betsy couldn't forbid it, and if the fan were bothering someone they'd have to move me.

And Betsy's been nice as pie ever since...

Viva La Fan!

Ketchup

2005-06-15T00:31:00.000-05:00

Did you know that "ketchup" (also known as "catsup") is from a chinese relish called "ke tsiap", which is served with fish? It's true...

Also ketchup sounds like "catch up", which is what we're about to do...

--I've got a rash, a nasty one, under my right arm. It's icky, it smells funny (worse than my regular Italian-armpit smell) and it's sore. I've been putting Gold Bond powder on it, and that has caused it to retreat, but not to relent. Stay tuned...I may have jungle rot...

--I'm still at Werner. It's okay...getting better at the job...had a huge fan war with Bitchy--er, Betsy--that I won. More to follow...

--I just googled WebMD about underarm rash and got hits for lymphoma. Fuck me...

--This weekend in Father's Day. The ex-wife, Jabba The Cunt, let my daughter get scheduled to be an altar server this weekend. On Father's Day. My day with her. And then reminded me that I'm obligated to get her where she's supposed to be when she's visiting me. In other words, do it my way or I'll toss your ass in jail.

--Still utterly disgusted at the whole Terri Schiavo thing.

--Am quitting smoking. I'm enjoying it so far...getting a bit irritable, but hey, when am I not irritable? Should be off soon, and I'm looking forward to no longer being a damned slot machine for Phillip Morris USA.

--Still haven't gone to yoga class. Stopped biting my nails, though, and they're looking pretty good.

--Again: I am so, so sorry I ever supported Bush for President.

No Apologies

2005-06-15T00:27:00.000-05:00

I enjoy reading blogs. Most of them have a "break" in the action--sort of like mine until recently, i.e., NOW--and the writer apologizes for not having written.

WTF???

This is my blog, I write this or not as I'm moved. I work at writing because I have to...I do this for fun. I'm not a paid correspondent...I'm not obligated to anyone for a regular 250-500 words per day. So no apologies. Shut the fuck up and read.

Burning Mind

2005-05-26T22:17:00.000-05:00

Well I started my long-term project for my writer's group.

The challenge assignment was to bring pieces of a long-term work and work with the group on it. So I brought a piece I want to use in my first collection / CD, tentatively titled "Leo Marks: Burning Mind". (I've already got the CD cover designed, now I just have to do the hard stuff...like create real content...)

I got good a good reaction tonight, and I think that one's in and almost finished. Well..."art is never finished, just abandoned." I think I can get the poem to a stopping point.

The Burning Mind is on it's way!

Body Shame

2005-05-05T22:49:00.000-05:00

It's crazy, but it's true: I'm ashamed of my body.

I skipped yoga tonight. Wasn't feeling sick or anything, had the class fee in my pocket, just didn't go. I feel fat and stupid and clumsy, and I'm ashamed of it...

Don't get me wrong: I'm no anorexic with inaccurate body image. I wear size 50 pants (what's that? A fat guy on the internet? I bet he's got a goatee, too...) and 3X shirts and undies. I know that I'm big...I'm reminded of it every time I pay extra for clothing, or have to shop at the big-and-tall (i.e., freak) store. That doesn't bother me much, as far as looks. When you look like James Gandolfini's little brother, it's pretty cool. It's not even about weight, or size.

It's the mobility, the grace, that I miss. A long time ago I used to work out religiously. I practiced a style of Kenpo Karate, and eventually was promoted to black-belt instructor. I had snap, I had style, I could flow. I never worried about getting into a fight, not just because I was good enough to win, but because I was good enough to get out of it.

And there's another dimension, too, that doesn't get touched on very often: being an instructor, a sensei, is a sacred thing. Falling away is a bit like being a defrocked priest...I don't know how to get that back.

Fast-forward through about 20 years of depression...and you get this.

I guess I never thought of it that way, but in some sense I'm still recovering from the depression. This body, the damage I've wrought to it, is another reminder of what I lost to the disease. It's sort of like being a walking tombstone to one's own potential.

So now when I think about going to yoga class, all I can think is "you're fat, you're stiff, you'll look stupid, don't even try, you'll make a fool of yourself." I'm afraid I'll look as foolish as I feel.

I have told people that ghosts are real, you just don't believe in them till you're over 35. Now I wonder if demons are real, and if this is one more to fight...

Touching Myself

2005-05-04T07:11:00.000-05:00

I woke up early this morning...no big surprise, since I slept most of yesterday since I didn't get any sleep the night before. Well, I got two hours and knew that wasn't going to cut it, so I called in to work and went to sleep...it was heavenly, I love to be caught up on sleep.

So anyway: when I wasn't snoozing yesterday, I was reading The Tree of Yoga. It is a fascinating book, and I'm really looking forward to my first class this Thursday night. The thing that stuck with me from what I read yesterday was body awareness, a kind of kinetic consciousness, if you will.

I sat up this morning about 3:30 and lit a cig and just sat there in the dark, waking up. I was sitting with my hand on my thigh, and I just began to massage the muscles lightly to warm them up (it was 40 degrees last night, not cold but chilly--good sleeping weather). As I did, I noticed the connection of the muscles down my leg, past the knee, into the calf. It was fascinating to me...the way things are strung together, "fearfully and wonderfully made", and it all works despite my total lack of exercise. I got a sense that my body is happy to serve, that it enjoys its work even if it doesn't receive the care and attention that it needs.

This made me feel ashamed, and sort of mean and stingy. Here is this body that's been through everything but daily care, and it still loves its work. It's happy to do it, I think. And I've been treating it so poorly for so long...I don't feed it well, I don't let it do what it wants to do. When I think about working out, I always feel like it's some big pain...but my body just wants to do it, to be challenged and free and stretched. It reminds me of a dog with a careless master: the dog will always want to chase rabbits and mailmen and birds out of the yard, but it will never let that desire cause it to turn on its master.

So, Loyal Body, today you get something back: will take a nice long walk after work tonight, let things get warmed up and treat the body. All this and I haven't even taken my first yoga class yet!

Back To Work

2005-05-01T21:36:00.000-05:00

Ah, back to work tomorrow.

*sigh*

Got paid last week. Ah money...one of the things that makes degradation and boredom worthwhile. Rob't Half says Blue Cross is still looking at resumes. So I'm still in the running there...

Don't get me wrong. Another "I-want" that I'm having lately--besides bourbon chicken for breakfast and this nummy raspberry vodka-rocks I'm sipping right now--is a better job. I've worked beneath my level for years, only occasionally shining as a tech writer, which is the Best Thing Ever--getting paid to write. I do this effing blog for free, people will pay me real spendable money, not the Monopoly kind, and even more than I make chasing trucks at Werner, to write stuff. Is this great or what?

So why, Gentle Reader Asks, aren't you working as a writer?

Well...lack of confidence. Lack of self-esteem. I've gotten my ass kicked in, and I've gotten to believe I deserved it, even though that makes no sense at all. I've had a tough-assed life--living with depression is like being trapped just under the surface of water, and feeling yourself run out of air, all the time. Now I can breathe, and now I'd like to breathe professionally and not put up with ignorant insecure shitheads who fear me. Everything else in my life is sort of clicking along...now I gotta get a good job.

So now the good ship Enterprise is off to it's next voyage into the unknown (what's this? A Star Trek fan on the internet? What next? Amateur porn?): The Mission of Finding Leo a Writing Job. I know they're out there. I know they have to exist, and I know I can do them. I don't deserve the shit I take at work for no other reason than being the next peg in line to get hammered down.

So here's my creative writing assignment for this week: assemble my tech writing resume, update it to show the new software I can use (or fake using, which is almost the same thing), and get three of them out by this time next week. Now that I've written this to the world (i.e., me and a few pity-readers), I've got two assignments: do this resume and get to yoga Basics class this Thursday night.

Now I'll nibble a bit more of this yummy vodka and go to bed...good night, good night, good night...

Post-Christian

2005-05-01T13:18:00.000-05:00

I've been losing my religion for about 5 years now, and it's a painful process. It's like shedding a cocoon, and sometimes not knowing which is the husk of the cocoon and which is healthy flesh that I'm tearing apart in an effort to be free...

About 5 years ago I was a fire-breathing right-winger. I joked I was "just to the right of Genghis Khan". I was a Latin-Mass Catholic, I read only the "right" news nets and "National Review", and listened only to the "right" talk radio. I was pro-business, pro-capitalism, anti-governmental intervention, pro-free markets. I belived liberalism was weakness, that adherence to fundamentalism was the only path to truth, that capitalism was the economic savior of the world.

My ex-wife makes a shit-load of money...we lived very comfortably. And at the end of our marriage, she took that same shitload of money and turned it into ammunition...I lost custody of my daughter to a narcissistic terror because she has more money than I do. I couldn't afford to fight her...it was as simple as that. The best interests of the child, the fact that he schoolwork has been going stedily downhill, as well as her health and her personal skills, mean nothing. She can afford more lawyers longer than I can.

G-d Bless America...

At the time of the divorce, all my pro-family Catholic friends refused to testify on my behalf. This confused me, as they had all raved about my parenting skills before. And so abandoned by those good Christians, I had no one who stand up with us. In the meantime, my ex--who works for a Christian hospital and teaches CCD--lied in court, aided by her therapist who was treating for her Dissasociative Identity Disorder. He lied about her disease and treatment in court documents...and, of course, he's a member of a thankya jeezus church.

In the meantime, Jesus did...nothing.

I can't tell you the number of times I've been passed over for jobs in favor of bouncy cheerleader types with tight boobs and cheerful smiles. I'm a forty-two year old man, I'm not perky or bouncy. I work like an animal, I always bring results, and yet I've almost never won a contest between myself and Barbie. Capitalism rewards those who reinforce it, and one of the great tenets of this capitalistic faith is this: If You Look Good, You Are Good. Beauty is a moral value. I'm saggy, I've got bags under my eyes, crooked teeth, hairy shoulders...I look like James Gandolfini in "The Mexican", only not as cool. But I'm not "good-looking", I couldn't model clothes or star in internet porn, so I'm not as important in this society. I have nothing to sell, and so I am nothing in capitalist America...

Like so many others on the right, I got caught up in this dominionist idea of controlling hte nation by controlling political offices. But after watching this "pro-life" president funnel American lives down the toilet of the Iraqi war, while domestically refusing to protect the helpless (like Terri Shiavo), I finally got it.

The worst part is this: to be a Christian is to sit with one's thumb up one's ass, to just let it go and let G-d.

As one of my favorite authors, Andrew Vacchs, says: "If there is a G-d, someone should sue him for malpractice."

So where am I at?

I certainly don't believe in Christianity anymore. I think that Jesus was a great teacher who got deified by his followers...I certainly don't believe he was the messiah. I'm left with sort of a non-specific, a-denominational understanding of G-d. I love the ethics and culture of Judaism...I study and practice the detachment of Buddhism...and everything in my life is colored by bushido. I am open to the universe...

What I reject:

The idea that we can live any way we want, with eternal impunity, because we're "saved" because we said the Magic Word, Jesus.
That any one faith is better than any other. G-d is the uncreated, the unnamed, the ineffable...religion and all its attachments are man-made, and almost inevitably demand we worship their creation rather than the Creator.
That any one human being is more or less valuable than any other.
By extension, I reject that any one way is better than any other.
That anyone or anything can atone for my "sins". If I am not created with all that I need to come to the feet of G-d, then I must not exist, for it is inconcievable that G-d would create something incapable of seeking him.

Bullet Points

2005-05-01T12:52:00.000-05:00

I can't think of anything that deserves it's own piece, so I've got a lot of little pieces:

I am suuuuuuuuuuuuuuch a whore. Robert Half Technology (the "Beneficial Finance" of contracting, remember?) called me last week and said that Blue Cross is looking for a tech writer for about 6 months. The money would be about twice what I'm making now, I'd be back at BCBS where I could just show up for two meetings a week and spend the rest of the time writing--which, to me, is like getting paid to wank and eat Pop-Tarts. Of course, with contracting, there's no guarantee of the next gig, RHT doesn't pay bench time (i.e., sitting on your ass waiting for a job time) and I've wound up without work for a while after ending an assignment...and I've got a steady gig now at Werner. But...the money is so damned good. And the work. And I'd be free of Betsy. And I'd be in the same building as Linda. I'm such a whore...RHT said that BCBS is reviewing the resumes and will make a decision soon. If I'm not mistaken, I'm the only tech writer that know the company as well as I do, my networks are all still in place there, and I can go from concept to publication faster than anyone else. I want this so bad I'm shivering like a crack-whore...

Did not attend my first yoga class the other night...I came home from work feeling itzy, kind of shaky and very tired. At first I thought I was being a weenie and avoiding the class, but I talked with other people at work the next day and several felt funky the night before as well. Not coincidentally, we had a food day at work that day, so it seems like we all got a mild dose of someone else's cootie. Ick...it's enough to make me OCD about germs. (Today is my day for anagrams. Get used to it or GFY...) It's just as well; the yoga school changed their "intro" level classes to a repeating 8-week cycle, which is just what I need. As a sort of half-measure of attending, I got Iyengar's book "The Tree of Yoga" last night at B&N. It is an interesting series of short articles on yoga, and I am finding the subject fascinating. Can't wait to attend Basics class next Thursday night.

Also reading "The Power of Now" and "A Course In Miracles". Excellent books, really take the hoo-doo joo-doo mysticism off of things...

Got transferred to a different area at work. Now, instead of just booking drivers in early, I'm working on getting them appointments period. It's good to see how the department flows, and the work--even though the quotas are higher--is easier. Plus I don't have Betsy standing behind me blowing her tampon out over everything I do...

This blog is officially linked at Dr. Laura's Worst Nightmare. Woo-hoo! I'm big-time, baby...thanks, Mama Grace.

Mary

2005-04-25T17:23:00.000-05:00

Ah, my Mary.

August 28 1995 was the best day of my life--it was the day Mary was born. She'll be 10 this summer--10! I have a 10-year-old...and soon to be a teen-aged girl. As my friends who have lived through teen-aged daughters keep reassuring me, I ain't seen nothing yet. But I'm excited to see what happens next. Mary is nothing if not the living embodiment of a gift that keeps on giving.

She lives with her mother, near Norfolk Nebraska, in a little town called Battle Creek. Her mother has custody mostly to punish me. She's pulled Mary out of Catholic parochial school, stuck her in public school in BC. This is bad enough--sticking her brilliant intellect in with the public school kiddies. (Yeah, I know, some of you may like public schools, but fuck you, it's my blog...) To pacify Mary--in other words, when Mary does any little child-like thing, like needing attention or affection or reassurance--her mother puts her in front of the TV and feeds her fast-food. So now Mary can quote most of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour , but not the 10 Commandments (which is what she is supposed to be learning in CCD, which she attends once a week, rather than religion class, that she had every day at parochial school). I get this sick image in my mind sometimes of Mary sitting there in front of the TV, in a scene right out of "Clockwork Orange", eyes taped open so she has to keep consuming the open sewer of modern entertainment, a funnel fixed to her mouth so her mother can pacify her hunger for love with mcnuggets and mcburgers and "happy" meals and snacks, giving Mary anything but what she really needs--love and attention. The love and attention are all reserved for mama's job, which she loves more than anything. Mary, of course, now weighs 150 pounds--more than I did when I graduated high school.

Her mother, Laura, is a pharmacist...she works as the director of pharmacy at faith regional hospital. (No, I won't capitalize the name or title...they don't deserve that much from me.) I remember being a SAHD (Stay-At-Home-Dad, there's a whoooooooooole other post) and seeing Laura come home day after day, her best stuff left at work, nothing left for us. And then when she'd decided she needed love and attention, why, she'd just demand it, it was her right, we owed her. We never mattered as much as her boss, we never meant as much as the last medicare scag to walk through the door at the end of the day, we never got the same time and attention that any anonymous customer got.

This is what I'm talking about, and my hand to G-d, I'm not making this up: I suffered, very literally, from crippling depression for years. I mean the get-out-of-bed-and-go-back-to-sleep-in-the-armchair, sleeping 18-20 hours per day, inability to think straight, sure-they're-out-to-get-you kind of depression. The kind where you're not even suicidal, not because life has any value, you just can't get up the energy to kill yourself, not even caring enough to change clothes or bathe regularly. Worse, the insomnia, 2-3 days without sleep, the hallucinations that come from that...I've had my season in Hell.

So: I'm a living walking textbook example of Capital-D Depression. And while I am said living walking textbook example, I am married to a medical professional. A pharmacist. And not just any pharmacist, a Pharm. D., a doctor of pharmacy.

Whose major emphasis was psychopharmacology--the study of using drugs to treat mental illness--and she took specialty training in the field.

Twice.

This whole time she never got me in for treatment, nothing. Just sighed, sometimes told me she missed the man she'd married, but that was it...

It wasn't until I read an article on depression on the dear ol' net and went to my physician myself and said "Hey, gimme something!" that I began to clear up. I woke up in a new world, alive again...it was a literal Exodus for me (seeing how it was Passover last night, that seems right to work in).

And I started being myself, asserting myself...can you guess when the marriage started to go sour for Laura?

And so now my baby girl is trapped with that shithead. I stopped worrying for her long ago, I wasn't doing anything but spinning my wheels, so I do damage control on the weekends when Mary is here. I push fruit for snacks, we play outside, we talk (actually, she talks, I listen, who knew a little girl could talk so damned much?) and I just keep hanging on. My friends all reassure me that the chickens will come home to roost. I just want my baby girl to come home to a decent life. Is that too much to ask?

Write Here, Write Now

2005-04-16T13:52:00.000-05:00

I went to the Writer's Group last Thursday night. We met at the Lion' Den Coffee Shop waaaaaaaay over on the north side of town. Our assignment was to write a short piece on our family, and what we learned from them.

A short Luke-I-Am-Your-Father note is in order here. If I wrote about my family, Montel would cry. I'm the bastard son of an adoptee. My family tree is a weed.

My family defines cohesion by not actually yelling at one another. That's as loving as it gets. My mom lives in Florida with her husband Reb (that's really his name, I suspect all their pillow-cases have eye-holes), my dad (actually step-dad) travels the country in his RV the size of an apartment building. My sister lives--no kidding--in a trailer court in Alabama. Every time I read or hear some story about a yokel getting abducted and probed by aliens I hold my breath.

Since my sister is the "blood child" of them both, of course, she gets all the attention. Forget that she's dumber than a box of rocks, forget that I lived with untreated depression most of my life, forget that "I coulda been a contendah" once (I'll never forget trying to get college money while my dad was putting new gadgets on his recently-purchased Honda Goldwing bike)...nope, Lisa, my sister, gets all the attention. They had a family reunion last Christmas, Mom and Dad and Lisa, and no one invited me. This is my family...

(deep cleansing breath)

So...write about my family? Are you kidding? And of course I didn't because A) even though I know it's nothing to do with me, the way my family acts makes me feel ashamed, like maybe there really is something wrong with me, even though I know that's Crazy Thinking, and B) I really really really fucking hate people who use writer's groups to tell their icky little "this is where my uncle touched me" stories. Gawd I hate that...it's like someone vomiting in my lap. You can't criticize anything they've said, all you can do is smile warmly and be affirming etc. That's all good for a support group. That's the place for it. Writer's groups are for writers...I need to know technical details, honest criticism, ways to improve this tool I've been given, this ability to be a journalist of visions. But no...we have to listen to that drek, and inevitably another paticipant feels forced to share that yes, her uncle touched her there too once. Fucking Please Kill Me...

(deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep cleansing breath...)

So.

So I wrote up about some goofy things I did as a kid, and they really were goofy, and I wrote them with some comedy, and it went well. Will post the draft below. There were some serious writers there, or at least people who seemed serious about writing. Our website is here, and they've taken the time to really cover the writing scene here in town. I'm impressed, and I hope I can keep writing and learning and growing. It got me to kick loose a seed of something that's been rattling around in my head for a while and actually think about starting to get ready to write it.

Next week we're planning on meeting at Mick's for Open Mic Night. I've got a piece I've been working on that I plan to read.

Here's what I wrote for the other night:

On Stupidity

Stupidity might not seem to be a lesson to learn. Maybe it's the lessons I learned from the stupidity, but they've stuck with me forever, especially from the two naughtiest things I ever did as a kid.

Strangely, I did them both to my grandpa. I think he got to be the lucky recipient because I trusted that I could be stupid around him, and he might get mad—in fact, did get mad—but that he wouldn't hate me for it. And in my defense, I never started out to be stupid or naughty or mean. I just knew there was a certain causality to things, that event A led to event B giving result C, and I wanted to know exactly what would happen if I initiated event A.

The second-naughtiest event A I ever initiated was when we were in the car together, grandpa driving, me in the middle and Grandma on the passenger's side. This was back when cars still had bench seats and kids could ride in the front seat without restraint. In recording this event, I wonder if that was such good idea.

We had just gotten done with a birthday dinner, and a rare one at that. It was my 9^th birthday, and we had gone to the mall specifically to get the Cub Scout Magic book for my present. Afterwards we went out for a Chinese dinner. I'd eaten with my grandparents at lunch counters, and on picnics, but going to a restaurant—that was something huge for them. That it was a Chinese restaurant was incredible. I believe it was done mostly to celebrate my birthday, as I recall grandpa muttering something about “yellow bastards” under his breath as we went in.

It was a grand evening. I got a new book of magic tricks, ate Chinese food for the first time and now we were going home. We were leaving the parking lot when I noticed how slowly we were going. We always went slow. Grandpa drove slow, and especially so since we were in his Coca-Cola truck. It was an Official Company Vehicle, it even had a sticker on the passenger window that said “No Riders” but Grandma and I got to ride in there with him. It wasn't even a truck, really. To my grandparents, anything that had more carry space than a backseat—like a station wagon, which is what it really was—was a truck.

So we're going slowly in Grandpa's truck in the empty parking lot. I couldn't figure out why. No other cars were around. Batman was apparently able to handle speed, so why not my Grandpa? Event A: Grandpa's foot lightly on the gas. Event B: My foot stomping on Grandpa's foot. Result C: My Grandpa yelling words I'd never heard before and turning deathly pale.

We sped up for a moment—it seemed to me like we were shooting blue flame out the back, just like the Batmobile. As Grandpa quickly pushed in the clutch and disengaged the transmission, the engine roared. Now we'll really take of, I thought...and we did, but not the way I thought. Grandma and Grandpa both lectured at once, one in either ear, about why we should never, EVER stomp on the gas. Even now when i run a yellow I feel guilty...but it was one hell of a 9^th birthday.

The naughtiest ever, though, was one night at the duck pond. (Don't worry: no animals are harmed in the telling of this story, although Grandpa winds up worse for the wear again.) There was a duck-pond at a local cemetery. I don't know why we went there to feed the ducks, old people do weird things and feeding the ducks in the cemetery was one of them. We'd sit outside after supper and shell hard corn off of the cob into a tin bucket. There was something satisfying about the process; just when it seemed like my thumb would give out from pushing those teeth-hard kernels off the cob, I would have finished an ear and I was ready for another.

After we got the bucket mostly full, Grandpa would set it carefully in the back of his truck, and we would drive—slowly—to the cemetery. The cemetery itself was nothing big, there are thousands like it across the midwest, low gravestones and old graves, occasionally a mausoleum or two so some rich idiot could remind us that we really couldn't take it with us. In the middle of this cemetery was the pond, and that pond was home to a flock of wild ducks.

Since they were wild, they were wary of humans, and we had to toss the corn out to them on the water. They'd flock to where they saw the splashes and dive for the corn. This went on until the bucket was empty—but i wasn't done yet.

I looked at the pond.

I looked at the empty bucket.

I looked at the pond again.

Event A—throwing the empty bucket into the pond—led to Event B—scaring the living hell out of the ducks. Result C was my Grandpa wading out into the pond to retrieve the bucket. Bad enough I threw the bucket at the ducks. Bed enough Grandpa had to wade out and get it while the ducks angrily cursed him. The worst was this: he was still wearing his work clothes, his Coca-Cola uniform. In our house, they may as well have been sacred vestments...and now they were getting soaked with pond-scum and duckshit.

We waited on the stone bench while Grandpa's pants dried enough for him to get into the Official Company Vehicle again. This, of course, gave us plenty of time to lecture me on what a stupid thing that had been to do. And now when I feed the ducks—honestly—it sucks not being able to whip the bucket out into the pond.

What I learned was that kids can be pretty stupid. But I also learned that grown-ups can be stupid too, the stupidity of love that loves a kid who's acting like an unlovely little bastard. And I learned that real love was just that—anger at stupidity while loving the bearer of said stupidity. I know what it's like now...I learned the other side of it when my daughter—whose first act on earth was to pee all over her doctor—decided to use all her mother's lipsticks to create a gorgeous coral pink wall mural. I hope my grandpa was pleased...

Betsy...

2005-04-16T13:23:00.000-05:00

How do I begin...?

Betsy is like this: she has three kids. Two of them may be living in an opium den for all I know. The third used to be a "pom girl" at the local high school. From what I gather, that's sort of an über-cheerleader...not just doing cheerleading, but also planning events, arranging things, etc. Sort of prep-school to be a trophy wife.

Well Betsy is just sooooooooooooo pleased with this girl, not just because she was a pom girl, but because she lives in Arizona and is going to try out to be a Diamondbacks cheerleader.

Yay! Her daughter's trying to be a soft-core porn icon! Woo-hoo!

THIS is why the Muslims hate us...it ain't political, folks.

Having said that: yes, women are lovely. I am rather fond of them (he said, in as understated a way possible). I just can't believe any mother would be proud that her daughter was becoming something so shallow and witless. She's not curing cancer, or even raising children...she just wants to shake her boobies at half-drunk sports fans. This is her goal in life. The other two kids may not even exist for all I know, maybe their pictures just came with the frames.

After meeting Betsy, I can totally believe the story about the Texas woman who killed another woman because that woman (the murderee) was the mother of the girl competing for a cheerleading spot against the daughter of the murderer (murderess? I get so confused in these PC times...). I could see Betsy running someone down with her soccer-mom SUV.

At work, she is a martyr. Every time new works drops into our queue (we get requests from load planners and dispatchers to push driver arrivals earlier if possible at destination. Here endeth the logistics lesson.), she makes a great sigh, as though it's a personal imposition and not job security. She's always so stressed, there's always so much to be done, she's so overworked, and in case you hadn't noticed it, the fate of the universe rides on her shoulders.

So between being an anorexic appearance-obsessed soccer mom (and not the hot kind like soccer-mom MILFs), a clueless supervisor whose only tactics are intimidation and shrieking and a world-class manipulative martyr, there's Betsy in a nutshell. I love it when she berates me for forgetting something (and in our work there's about a zillion details per trip to consider) while calling me "Leroy". No exaggeration: I've worked there 4 weeks now, and she has not given me a single compliment. I know I'm good. At one contracting assignment my manager actually broke down and cried at having to let me go. Bitchy's (the women at work call her "Bitchy" behind her back) inability to recognize that goodness tells me she feels threatened by me too...

So why do I stay? Hey, I used to be a contractor...bad bosses are de riguer. In fact, if most managers had their shit together in the first place they wouldn't need to bring in contractors. As a consultant, you go into every situation knowing someone fucked up big time somewhere, and now it's your problem. So I've learned to tune it out and do my job. The company is very good, they work hard at keeping good people, the work is demanding and interesting. I also need benefits to pay for my meds (mmmmmmmm...Effexor...mmmmmm...), and I need something to do during the day besides cruising amateur porn sites.

Writing In My Undies

2005-04-11T05:06:00.000-05:00

It's not as rique as it sounds; I'm still waking up, inhaling Starbucks (how did I live before Starbucks?) and waking up for the day. I start work at 0630...I work for a trucking company, Werner Enterprises. You may have seen our light blue trucks and trailers on the road. Right now I'm working in Customer Service, booking early arrivals to keep our drivers moving. So I work 0630-1500 (6:30 AM to 3:00 PM for non-24-hour folks) which I like. I'm a morning person, and I like getting off earlier in the day, and this will allow me to take some of the afternoon classes I needed to finish my fershlugginer degree.

About Linda: this, of course, is written on the supposition that she will never, ever read this. So Linda, if you're reading this, it's all a lie written by my evil twin (who is also named Leo).

Where to begin? Redhead, smart, politically savvy...one of the very few women I've worked for that was not intimidated by me in the least. Most women bosses I've had (sexist generalization coming) directed me with a low-grade anger and fear. I've tried as hard as I could to work with their insecurities, I'll wear a Mister Rogers sweater if it makes me seem more non-threatening, but at the end of the day all I can do is survive and transfer out when I can.

Not Linda. She respected herself, and she respected her abilities, and so she respected me. She had absolutely no qualms about directing me to the nearest black hole and telling me to jump in. It was wonderful...I took on so many projects under her just because she wanted them done. I had no idea how I was going to do them or what happened next, but she forced me to find a way and stretched me to new levels of ability. I'd crawl on my belly to work for her again, but BCBS is going through a *ahem* "contraction" right now. Lots and lots of employee deadweight hitting the streets, and no room for me.

The other side, of course, is that Linda is sooooooooooooooo effing hot. She's one of those life-changing women that Billy Joel used to sing about before he hit mid-life. When I fantasize about being stranded on a desert island, it's always Linda I'm stranded with. When I was a kid we had a female dog named Babbette (my mom named her, can you tell?). Her "boyfriend" was a dog from across the street named Hot-Shot. When Babs went into heat, Hot-Shot literally flung himself at our screen door, repeatedly jumping head-high and peeing all the way down. When I see Linda, I understand Hot-Shot perfectly.

But--she's a happily married Lutheran lady with two neat kids. And G-d bless her, I am happy for that, there's enough misery in the world. It doesn't stop me from wanting to scale the side of her building, bash my way through the window and take her right there on her desk...

Well enough of the reverie. Time for me to go shower/shave and get ready for another day of working for Betsy, who's scared to death of me and fears for her job every time I open my mouth.

*sigh*

So This Is What I Did:

2005-04-10T18:25:00.000-05:00

I found a local yoga school, Lighthouse Yoga, that does have some affordable beginner classes. Also their style, Anusara, is legit (at least this article from Beliefnet says so). My first task: to be able to say the name without thinking "anus" and giggling.

Also hooked up with the local writing community again. I did some poetry readings, felt poser-esque, and stopped. So I (serendipitously?) got an e-mail from a local organizer, and they meet this Thursday. The assignment is to write a piece about your family and how they have impacted you even today. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd...for me it's an exercise in writing without sounding like an Oprah client.

I'm on the mailing list for Lighthouse, and I'll make arrangements this week to stop by and look the place over.

I went to Barnes & Noble last night. Bookstores are my temple...ideas are my saints, my boddhisatvas...Starbuck's is my elixir. I ran into a woman I worked with a couple of years ago as a contractor for Robert Half Technologies. I was on a job at the local Blue Cross and Blue Shield...man, did I get Lessons in Contracting on that job.

I learned:

--Sogeti contractors are like cockroaches--if you see one, there are at least three more in the building.

--Working for Rob't Half sucks. A fellow contractor described them (quite accurately) as the "Beneficial Finance of contracting".

--Contractors, by their nature, see the problems in the organization in about thirty minutes. The rest of the time they spend on the job is all devoted to making the client think they saw the problems first.

--Contractors, by their nature, scare the hell out of the regular staff, who fear (rightly) for their jobs. The staff, then, scurries around hiding the very stuff you need to do your job, and then lies about it.

--When contracting, always try to sit as far as possible from the H1-B Indian contractors. They're lovely, super-intelligent people, but when they eat at their desks, the stuff they bring from home smells like feet. Not a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.

--Contracting sucks. It's a way to sell your skills without really getting anything for it. It beats working at Blimpie, but not by much.

But I had a great time working with the good folks at BCBS, and Rita (who I ran into last night) was one of them. We had many happy memories to chat about, the company is going through some much-needed reorganization, it was nice to be so well remembered and respected.

BCBS is also where I met a Management Goddess named Linda...wow. There's a whole other post...

So I did some things. And this morning I did something else: I ate bourbon chicken for breakfast. It wasn't good bourbon chicken--although honestly, bourbon chicken would have to be pretty bad to be bad bourbon chicken--but it was what I wanted for breakfast. So I ate it. Mmmmmmm...

"I want" is a phrase that's showing up in my life again. (WARNING: unveling of a deep, "Luke-I-Am-Your-Father" type of moment ahead.) Suffering from depression as I do, what I want gets buried in all the other functions of will. Want, desire, lust, drive, all get boiled down to a thin, weak covetousness: just wanting to be like other people. It's not that I can't have what I want...it's just that I never wanted it. I never had the "want" in me. Effexor (bless the good people at Wyeth!) lifts me up and gets me to the point of wanting again. And having a new jobs helps too. There's a lot going on in my life...maybe that's why I never liked blogging, there was nothing fun or good to write about. I'm starting to have fun again...enjoying life again. Wanting life again...

Pushed By Grace...

2005-04-09T12:38:00.000-05:00

Well all right...I'll try blogging again.

It's not as if I've had some soul-shattering experience blogging or anything. It's just that when I did it before I came off like a poser...

So this morning I'm chatting with Dr. Laura's Worst Nightmare (aka Grace), and she challenges me to start blogging again. Also challenged me to find a yoga school...

In some ways she challenged me to do the same thing. I'm in a period of rising and advancing of my spirit. I'm in a time of change...don't want to call it "evolving", too monkey-ish...don't want to call it "becoming", too Silence-Of-The-Lambs...I just feel like everything I have done or have been is coming to some sort of fruition. It's time to get honest, to get real, as it were--hence, not posing. (There's a blog idea: an online 12-step group for Posers Anonymous.) Ah, life in my forties is fabulous...

My title, Rising and Advancing Spirit, comes from the name of one of my favorite comic books. The book was "Master of Kung-Fu", and the hero was a fellow named Shang-Chi, whose name translated meant...you guessed it. He was always on this sort of soul-quest, and I never knew until this decade of my life how much I've grown to be like him. Of course, it's easier to be a soul-searcher when you're a scripted comic-book character. And he looked much better with his shirt off than me (as it was invariably ripped off in every fight scene, a la Captain Kirk).

I've become so many things I never thought I would be...I'm a recovering Republican (yeah, boo, hiss, I hear you). I used to have a soul and sensitivity to things. I think I was even a humanist once...of course, defining oneself by categories is how one becomes as distended and compartmentalized as I feel now. I used to be just me, if that makes sense. Maybe it's just some wet dream of lost innocence, a sort of noble savage vision of a youth I never lived. Or maybe I'm just one more angsty fatass with a goatee smogging up the blogosphere, mistaking output for creativity and anger for talent.

I'm been trying to think my way through this--which of course one can't do, endless navel-gazing can get to be...well...endless. So I'll find a yoga class...that much I can do for Mama Grace Yogananda. And practice...work out...live again. It's been a long time, and there's a lot of story behind it, and I promise i'll unfold it all.