How does six months flicker by without a blog entry? Life, I guess.
Here's a list of what I have read in the last six months... Let me know what has made it into your mind and heart.
Reading: Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama. Great exploration of race & class....
Just finished Death's Heretic by James L. Sutter. Great genre fantasy novel with an atheist hero.
11-22-63 by Stephen King. Excellent read as always, but not Roland.
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. Really fun. Never read Gaiman before. I will be doing so now.
Hunt the Space Witch by Robert Silverberg. Book of short stories from the 1950s. They didn't age well.
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Great first book and the version I listened to was narrated by wilwheaton. Great work by both.
The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Interesting Gaiman knock off. Didn't realize that until I read Gaiman though.
Master of Devils by Dave Gross. Run of the mill fantasy novel with interesting characters.
The Last Colony by John Scalzi. decent sci-fi n the tradition of Heinlein.
A History of China by Hilda Hookham. Survey of Chinese history until the cultural revolution.
The Talisman By Stephen King and Peter Straub. Puts some if the Gunslinger books in perspective. There are narrative elements here he explores in that series.
The Deal From Hell: How Moguls and Wall Street Plundered Great American Newspapers by James O'Shea
Object of Beauty by Steve Martin
Ultimate Combat by Paizo. RPG Rule book.
Mythical Monsters Revisited by Paizo. Rethinks classic monsters like the Medusa and places them in Paizo's setting.
The Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power by Jeff Sharlet. Scary. Really Scary.
The Tempest by William Shakespeare. Read one or two Shakespeare plays a year.
The Stand by Stephen King. Second time I read this. I was 15 the last time. It was much better this go round.
World War Z By Max Brooks Brilliant.
Guess I have been reading!
Here's a list of what I have read in the last six months... Let me know what has made it into your mind and heart.
Reading: Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama. Great exploration of race & class....
Just finished Death's Heretic by James L. Sutter. Great genre fantasy novel with an atheist hero.
11-22-63 by Stephen King. Excellent read as always, but not Roland.
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. Really fun. Never read Gaiman before. I will be doing so now.
Hunt the Space Witch by Robert Silverberg. Book of short stories from the 1950s. They didn't age well.
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Great first book and the version I listened to was narrated by wilwheaton. Great work by both.
The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Interesting Gaiman knock off. Didn't realize that until I read Gaiman though.
Master of Devils by Dave Gross. Run of the mill fantasy novel with interesting characters.
The Last Colony by John Scalzi. decent sci-fi n the tradition of Heinlein.
A History of China by Hilda Hookham. Survey of Chinese history until the cultural revolution.
The Talisman By Stephen King and Peter Straub. Puts some if the Gunslinger books in perspective. There are narrative elements here he explores in that series.
The Deal From Hell: How Moguls and Wall Street Plundered Great American Newspapers by James O'Shea
Object of Beauty by Steve Martin
Ultimate Combat by Paizo. RPG Rule book.
Mythical Monsters Revisited by Paizo. Rethinks classic monsters like the Medusa and places them in Paizo's setting.
The Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power by Jeff Sharlet. Scary. Really Scary.
The Tempest by William Shakespeare. Read one or two Shakespeare plays a year.
The Stand by Stephen King. Second time I read this. I was 15 the last time. It was much better this go round.
World War Z By Max Brooks Brilliant.
Guess I have been reading!
I think that life is pretty wonderful all things considered.
I love my job. My sons are overcoming their disabilities and will probably be able to live independently, and fall in love, and live full lives.
My wife is my best friend and understands and nurtures me.
I have finally shrugged off the last vestiges of my religion and consequently all the things that made it easy to hate and fear.
Life is best in small:
fog on the Chattahoochee in the morning coffee my sons' laughter the smell of my wife's hair right after a shower the sound of music I had forgotten the smell of wine fermenting my garden and the joy of growing green things
Life is less than I ever imagined.
Life is more than I ever imagined.
I love my job. My sons are overcoming their disabilities and will probably be able to live independently, and fall in love, and live full lives.
My wife is my best friend and understands and nurtures me.
I have finally shrugged off the last vestiges of my religion and consequently all the things that made it easy to hate and fear.
Life is best in small:
Life is less than I ever imagined.
Life is more than I ever imagined.
This poem gets better the older I get.
T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
So, Fatherhood...
My sons both have asberger's syndrome. This is the mildest form of autism and is generally a hell of a lot easier ride than child hood diabetes, polio, m.s. or a host of other problems. Basically it means that there is a subtle yet absolute twist in the in of their perception and the out of their communication.
They have a disconnect between self and other that makes them sound like little Sarah Palins at times. They are unable to anticipate other's reaction to their observations, and don't always seems to care. Coaching them on compassion is part of my job.
So, if my oldest thinks you are wrong, he will tell you so. He'll also aggressively deconstruct your argument and really not give a damn if you are torn up by this. This hasn't played so well for him in school in the south. He had a science versus religion conversation in science class. He argued with his teacher and classmates that creationism belonged in social studies class where they were learning about "all those religions from the desert." He thought that the main idea behind creationism is unprovable and belongs in social studies as it is "well thought hoping" with no way to test it.
Now, he's about 175 lbs & 5' 11" at 13. When the local cadre of cross burners tried to rough him up, he was able to (rather artlessly) bang them against each other until they reconsidered this approach.
The after action was interesting.
Daddy: Heard you had a fight in school today.
Son: No.
Daddy: Didn't you have an argument after science class.
Son: A bunch of boys said I didn't love Jesus and shoved me.
Daddy: What did you do?
Son: Shoved back. But their there were four of them, so I had to shove harder.
Daddy: Were you mad? Scared?
Son: They hurt me. I cried and they laughed at me.
Daddy: What did you do?
Son: I had to hurt them worse to make them stop. So I kept picking up the closest one and throwing him at the kid next to him. They ended up all falling down.
Daddy: How do you feel?
Son: Fine.
Daddy: Not mad or sad?
Son: They are dumb. They are stuck on an idea.
Daddy: What idea?
Son: The God thing.
Daddy: God is a big idea.
Son: It's not science. It's hopes and wishes and what people believe. They got scared and mad when I out thought them.
Daddy: Religion is really important to people.
Son: If something is important to you, then you should talk about it without getting mean. How can you make the idea better if you are afraid of it changing?
Daddy: Some ideas are so important to people that they get scared if they think the idea is going to change.
Son: They are dumb. Everything changes.
He was completely disconnected from the passion behind religion and also the emotional state of the kids he got into it with. To say he is disrespectful of their beliefs misses the point with him. He doesn't see respect as necessary.
I completely respect his intellectual firepower. Not so much the lack of empathy. More on this later...
My sons both have asberger's syndrome. This is the mildest form of autism and is generally a hell of a lot easier ride than child hood diabetes, polio, m.s. or a host of other problems. Basically it means that there is a subtle yet absolute twist in the in of their perception and the out of their communication.
They have a disconnect between self and other that makes them sound like little Sarah Palins at times. They are unable to anticipate other's reaction to their observations, and don't always seems to care. Coaching them on compassion is part of my job.
So, if my oldest thinks you are wrong, he will tell you so. He'll also aggressively deconstruct your argument and really not give a damn if you are torn up by this. This hasn't played so well for him in school in the south. He had a science versus religion conversation in science class. He argued with his teacher and classmates that creationism belonged in social studies class where they were learning about "all those religions from the desert." He thought that the main idea behind creationism is unprovable and belongs in social studies as it is "well thought hoping" with no way to test it.
Now, he's about 175 lbs & 5' 11" at 13. When the local cadre of cross burners tried to rough him up, he was able to (rather artlessly) bang them against each other until they reconsidered this approach.
The after action was interesting.
Daddy: Heard you had a fight in school today.
Son: No.
Daddy: Didn't you have an argument after science class.
Son: A bunch of boys said I didn't love Jesus and shoved me.
Daddy: What did you do?
Son: Shoved back. But their there were four of them, so I had to shove harder.
Daddy: Were you mad? Scared?
Son: They hurt me. I cried and they laughed at me.
Daddy: What did you do?
Son: I had to hurt them worse to make them stop. So I kept picking up the closest one and throwing him at the kid next to him. They ended up all falling down.
Daddy: How do you feel?
Son: Fine.
Daddy: Not mad or sad?
Son: They are dumb. They are stuck on an idea.
Daddy: What idea?
Son: The God thing.
Daddy: God is a big idea.
Son: It's not science. It's hopes and wishes and what people believe. They got scared and mad when I out thought them.
Daddy: Religion is really important to people.
Son: If something is important to you, then you should talk about it without getting mean. How can you make the idea better if you are afraid of it changing?
Daddy: Some ideas are so important to people that they get scared if they think the idea is going to change.
Son: They are dumb. Everything changes.
He was completely disconnected from the passion behind religion and also the emotional state of the kids he got into it with. To say he is disrespectful of their beliefs misses the point with him. He doesn't see respect as necessary.
I completely respect his intellectual firepower. Not so much the lack of empathy. More on this later...
Somehow Facebook lured me away for awhile and convinced me it was a good community. It's not. This is a much better place to hang my hat. At it's core, I think the reasons for that involve politics.
My FB stream has become an endless tirade of tea party wannabes screaming against the president and all things progressive. The conversation were abusive and discordant. I've had my share of political conversations on SG but I've never felt active malice. Usually I find myself the more conservative voice. Of course, probably the only place I'd feel that would be here. This place lands about three clicks left of MSNBC.
Really, really worried that the right is going to take back both houses and take us right back into of world where church and state are both Christian and science is only useful when it is supports your points. It is getting scary out there.
Well SG. I am back. Hope to stay awhile.
My FB stream has become an endless tirade of tea party wannabes screaming against the president and all things progressive. The conversation were abusive and discordant. I've had my share of political conversations on SG but I've never felt active malice. Usually I find myself the more conservative voice. Of course, probably the only place I'd feel that would be here. This place lands about three clicks left of MSNBC.
Really, really worried that the right is going to take back both houses and take us right back into of world where church and state are both Christian and science is only useful when it is supports your points. It is getting scary out there.
Well SG. I am back. Hope to stay awhile.
Seems mor erlevant every time I read it.
Four Preludes to Playthings of the Wind
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
Smoke and Steel. 1922.
1.
The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.
2.
The doors were cedar
and the panels strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where the golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
3.
It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women
to warble: We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened
... and the only listeners left now
... are ... the rats ... and the lizards.
And there are black crows
crying, "Caw, caw,"
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest
over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The only singers now are crows crying, "Caw, caw,"
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are ... the rats ... and the lizards.
4.
The feet of the rats
scribble on the door sills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.
And the wind shifts
and the dust on a door sill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled: Nothing like us ever was.
Four Preludes to Playthings of the Wind
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
Smoke and Steel. 1922.
1.
The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.
2.
The doors were cedar
and the panels strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where the golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
3.
It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women
to warble: We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened
... and the only listeners left now
... are ... the rats ... and the lizards.
And there are black crows
crying, "Caw, caw,"
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest
over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The only singers now are crows crying, "Caw, caw,"
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are ... the rats ... and the lizards.
4.
The feet of the rats
scribble on the door sills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.
And the wind shifts
and the dust on a door sill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled: Nothing like us ever was.
Georgia just frustrates me and annoys me. Granted, I live in Atlanta, which is not really living in the south, but still... I am surrounded by CROSSBURNERS... my personal name for white, conservative and southern...
My job is at the newspaper here in ATL, working in sales and marketing in circulation. I have to interact with some of the most Christy reason blinded idiots I have ever met on a daily basis.
For example....
I am doing my bit at a United way meeting and have a Dr. lecture me about Health care and if I am a Christian i.e. a good person, then I must agree with her. I just deconstructed her argument and then agreed that we operated from two different perspectives.
One of my managers was complaining about "those" people and how much they hated. A little digging and it was apparent that he was talking about Muslims in generalized and stereotypical ways. I pointed out to him that his favorite research guy , Hesham, was Muslim and a great person and religion only equaled politics in when some one's relative ideology was conservative. Fundamentalist and conservative Christians (i.e. Timothy McVeigh) and fundamentalist and conservative Muslims (KSM) equate the two as the same. Ideological proximity in our country taints the fiscal right with the bias of the moral right. I think he got it. I dunno.
My admin is a very fine looking young woman and has ink. We had a discussion when she can into my command chain on 11/1 about her art. We reviewed the dress code and business casual is the reg. There was no reference to tattoos or piercings. She starts showing the art on her upper arms and occasionally the art on her cleavage winks out. Her dresses are no more revealing than what the average account exec wears on a sales call. Anyhow, I've started taking drive-by shootings from the boomers in my peer group. She, "sends the wrong message" and "doesn't look professional." Fuck them. My admin kicks ass. I taught her contract review and she caught an error from legal that would have cost us $250m annualized. Pretty certain i would have caught it when I reviewed the contract, but I didn't have to... cause she rocks.
So I have had it with white southern cross burning boomer jackasses who wear God as their politics and believe the are anointed and blessed and can say whatever they want as a result.
Looking forward to watching them all fight for jobs at Walmart in 10 years cause they have done nothing to secure retirement and because they don't believe anybody should help anyone else outside of a church. Socialism is baaaaaaaaaaaad you know.
Aahhhhh, that little rant felt so good.
My job is at the newspaper here in ATL, working in sales and marketing in circulation. I have to interact with some of the most Christy reason blinded idiots I have ever met on a daily basis.
For example....
I am doing my bit at a United way meeting and have a Dr. lecture me about Health care and if I am a Christian i.e. a good person, then I must agree with her. I just deconstructed her argument and then agreed that we operated from two different perspectives.
One of my managers was complaining about "those" people and how much they hated. A little digging and it was apparent that he was talking about Muslims in generalized and stereotypical ways. I pointed out to him that his favorite research guy , Hesham, was Muslim and a great person and religion only equaled politics in when some one's relative ideology was conservative. Fundamentalist and conservative Christians (i.e. Timothy McVeigh) and fundamentalist and conservative Muslims (KSM) equate the two as the same. Ideological proximity in our country taints the fiscal right with the bias of the moral right. I think he got it. I dunno.
My admin is a very fine looking young woman and has ink. We had a discussion when she can into my command chain on 11/1 about her art. We reviewed the dress code and business casual is the reg. There was no reference to tattoos or piercings. She starts showing the art on her upper arms and occasionally the art on her cleavage winks out. Her dresses are no more revealing than what the average account exec wears on a sales call. Anyhow, I've started taking drive-by shootings from the boomers in my peer group. She, "sends the wrong message" and "doesn't look professional." Fuck them. My admin kicks ass. I taught her contract review and she caught an error from legal that would have cost us $250m annualized. Pretty certain i would have caught it when I reviewed the contract, but I didn't have to... cause she rocks.
So I have had it with white southern cross burning boomer jackasses who wear God as their politics and believe the are anointed and blessed and can say whatever they want as a result.
Looking forward to watching them all fight for jobs at Walmart in 10 years cause they have done nothing to secure retirement and because they don't believe anybody should help anyone else outside of a church. Socialism is baaaaaaaaaaaad you know.
Aahhhhh, that little rant felt so good.
FEBRUARY 2012
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JANUARY 2012
DECEMBER 2011
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NOVEMBER 2011
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