I look back at how I taught classes when I first began and I compassionately see where I was flawed and what I could have done better. Today, I know I can go up there--even with just a few minutes of preparation at times--and steer the ship where it needs to go. When I facilitate a discussion and others become involved, time seems to fly by. It feels natural and fun.
I like what I do for a living. I know this because I spend my down time thinking about how I can improve or what I can do next, even for things somewhat down the road that may or may not happen (a dangerous tightrope to meander the whole worrying about the future thing). I requested the opportunity to teach a section of English 250--Understaning Lit--because of the freedom I'd have to choose readings. Thinking about this excites me and I'm sure I look like a stupid eager beaver when discussing this, which can't be a bad thing I suppose. I'm sobered by the fact that this will probably not happen this early in my pro career, but here's to hoping.
I haven't written here for some time--shocker, I know!--and it was nice to take advantage of the moment.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Fight or Flight and What’s Inbetween: Living in a State of Constant Precarity in 2014
The world is going to shit—but why
worry? That’s what a surprising percentage of human beings think and let you
know. It hurts my brain so bad, it raises my hackles—I want to beat the stupid
out of them.
Our planet is going to start pushing
back harder than ever at the disrespectful shoving we’ve been doing to it for
the past two-hundred and fifty years. That means a lot of people may die, massive
migrations and human issues, famine, pestilence, all the warfare that can
follow as a result of disruptions to the delicate balance of our world. The
Book of Revelations and dystopian novels come to mind. Cormack McCarthy said it
best when asked about writing “The Road.” To paraphrase: I think we [humans]
will do ourselves in long before the planet does.
A potential future like the
images and text I’ve seen and read could become our reality, and much more
likely for the up and coming generations. This thought becomes a bit of a
stress weight on me thanks to my anxiety issue; I live in a perpetual state of
precarity where I feel the need to fight and spew venom sometimes because I
know the direction we’re headed as a species and I am not okay with that. I
also have to be a kind person who takes shit and doesn’t overreact much, a
professional who looks like he knows what he’s doing, someone who is stoic and
in control—people feel safe around those types. I have to perform to survive.
Yet deep down, I’m not always so happy and serene—there is a rage and a violent
anger that is guttural and mean; if turned inwardly, as is oft the case since I
don’t want to be arrested for beating stupid, inconsiderate people up, this
rage may work to break me down with cancer or some other malady—just a crazy
theory. Negativitiy and negative energy, I believe, has dire consequences over
a person’s wellbeing.
And I don’t rage just at the realistic possibility that this world may become a much harsher and horrible place to live in, but also because I am a recently awoken slave to a system that wants to keep me down financially and in a state of perpetual debt. Yet I am a part of it, and have to participate in consumerism, if anything to soothe the pain of existence at times. I am mad because of my perpetual state of low pay compared to the cost of living and because it was not a simple and or straightforward road to getting health insurance and effective treatment. My chronic ankle condition causes me pain and affects my mobility—my physical and mental health have suffered as a result and I want them back. I want to be able to run again and play softball with friends; I have to make this a goal before I die or before the world as we know it is taken from us by the greedy evil in this world and their zealots wearing blinders.
It’s easier to control people
like me when we’re living a precarious existence. It takes a lot of energy and
creativity to manage living in this world I was born into. People are speaking
out and fighting back, but it’s only a matter of time before the revolution
goes down—a revolution like no other it feels like. Or maybe the asteroid will
get us before that.
I hope it’s somewhat clear by now
why I worry sometimes. I almost feel like someone suffering from PTSD symptoms
when out in public. I sometimes feel like I’m in hostile territory and I often
think about how I would disable an attacker and escape—I have this weird thing
about looking for cameras and exits in places I go to; again, fight or flight—usually
when I’m alone. For some reason, having a friend or loved one near me soothes
my social issues, and so needed for longish driving trips; conversation makes
the time go by so much more pleasantly. Please understand, I’m not equating myself
to someone who has a serious and traumatic condition because I am not a veteran
nor have I experienced that level of violence—I shudder to think what would
happen if I had been exposed given my proclivity for mental illness. I almost
signed up out of high school and would have been sent to Afghanistan or Iraq
before my 4 years would have been up. That wasn’t my fate, which makes me think
I could have died or been severely disabled if I had taken that path. I was meant
for something else, apparently, and I’m still working on that at this moment by
writing, by helping, maybe by inspiring here and there; I like having that be
my purpose.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Irish Twins and Japanese Lunch with an American Citizen
My good friend/brother-in-arms and I had lunch today to celebrate him being a newly minted citizen of the US after having lived, studied and worked in this country for some years now. What better way to celebrate obtaining U.S. citizenship? Why a Japanese lunch of course! He had never tried this kind of food before, so I was worried, and we were trying a place that I had passed by for years and years but never took the time to scout and see if it was any good. Thankfully for us, the gods were smiling on Las Tunas Dr. today, and the place/food turned out to be really good (in addition to the good conversations we had this afternoon... all around good and motivating experience regarding future career and artistic plans). If I have done nothing else productive for these past few weeks since being "seasonally laid off", I have at least been good about reaching out and discussing with my closest and most beloved friends about how I am going to go about applying for PhD programs and how to market myself. Perhaps it's a good thing that I'm not a "self-starter" in the traditional sense, because then I'd be more likely to tackle things alone with no counsel/support system to inform me, reassure me, and just be there with me. Love in abundance the past two days, and I am very grateful to have that; being a lonewolf may seem attractive to and work for some, but I've learned that is not compatible with my true nature--I dig community, and I need it, much like how I need to blog more regularly.
But I digress; so we're having lunch and I am pleased that he is happy with the unscouted choice we made on a whim. He had a hot curry with chicken over rice and some pickled ginger on the side while I had a tonkatsu (breaded pork cutlet) with rice, a salad, and a broth soup--this is what I love about Japanese food: it's very minimalist and simple in both presentation and sometimes flavor, but it works, absolutely. However, this post is not so much about food, although that factored in to what was going on, and I could probably write a whole other post about the merits of Japanese cuisine, culture, aesthetics, etc. Anyhoo, how do Irish twins figure into this whole scenario? Well, first, let me give you a rough definition of what Irish twins means since I'm fairly certain that most people don't get the references or idioms that I make/use, which, as my friend told me, are almost always entertaining and informative (especially for him given that he grew up in Lebanon and spent time in France before moving here, so his cultural touchstones and experiences were different from mine; in a way, I'm his local guide to the area we both live in [it is my hometown after all] and to navigating the waters of now being a citizen [given our talk about jury duty service later on]).
Definition time! Brought to you by Urban Dictionary:
"The roots of the idea behind the term are actually quite old, although no one knows when, exactly, people first began to talk about Irish twins. In both England and the United States, a massive influx of Irish immigration in the 1800s led to a negative connotation with Irish people and society. This often happens when a large immigrant group begins to settle in mass numbers in a new country. The Irish were accused of being backwards and uncultured, and it was assumed that they were uneducated, dirty, and a general pox on society. As a result, the use of the word “Irish” began to be pejorative.
A number of derogatory terms incorporating stereotypes about the Irish began to emerge, including “Irish confetti” for thrown bricks and “Irish kiss” for a slap. Irish twins fits into this vernacular, and is actually insulting on multiple levels.
Firstly, the term pokes fun at the stereotypical fertility of Irish Catholic families, which traditionally do not use birth control. In addition, it implies that the Irish lack the ability to plan ahead or control themselves, having children in quick succession rather than responsibly spacing them. Finally, it suggests that the Irish do not understand the medical definition of twins, which involves two children conceived and born together."
Minimalistically, however, is the way I was using the term, to simply imply closeness of age between siblings, something we were discussing seemingly in passing about before I brought up the term "Irish Twins" as way to describe siblings born 9-12 months apart. The last paragraph of the above definition was kind of the Freudian reasoning by my use of the word, but I didn't mean it to only point at the Irish, but just as an idiom to describe the social phenomenon of siblings being so close in age. Now I remember, it was when my friend was discussing his nephew being 1 year and 4 months older than his soon-to-be-born niece. I used the term in a loving way, but now I realize all the negative connotations that such an idiom implies. Wow, I'm kind of a jerk if you think of it that way! But I am aware and sharing, putting it out there now, so I guess this is some kind of redemption.
Anyhoo, peace and love, peace and love; thanks for reading! :)
But I digress; so we're having lunch and I am pleased that he is happy with the unscouted choice we made on a whim. He had a hot curry with chicken over rice and some pickled ginger on the side while I had a tonkatsu (breaded pork cutlet) with rice, a salad, and a broth soup--this is what I love about Japanese food: it's very minimalist and simple in both presentation and sometimes flavor, but it works, absolutely. However, this post is not so much about food, although that factored in to what was going on, and I could probably write a whole other post about the merits of Japanese cuisine, culture, aesthetics, etc. Anyhoo, how do Irish twins figure into this whole scenario? Well, first, let me give you a rough definition of what Irish twins means since I'm fairly certain that most people don't get the references or idioms that I make/use, which, as my friend told me, are almost always entertaining and informative (especially for him given that he grew up in Lebanon and spent time in France before moving here, so his cultural touchstones and experiences were different from mine; in a way, I'm his local guide to the area we both live in [it is my hometown after all] and to navigating the waters of now being a citizen [given our talk about jury duty service later on]).
Definition time! Brought to you by Urban Dictionary:
"The roots of the idea behind the term are actually quite old, although no one knows when, exactly, people first began to talk about Irish twins. In both England and the United States, a massive influx of Irish immigration in the 1800s led to a negative connotation with Irish people and society. This often happens when a large immigrant group begins to settle in mass numbers in a new country. The Irish were accused of being backwards and uncultured, and it was assumed that they were uneducated, dirty, and a general pox on society. As a result, the use of the word “Irish” began to be pejorative.
A number of derogatory terms incorporating stereotypes about the Irish began to emerge, including “Irish confetti” for thrown bricks and “Irish kiss” for a slap. Irish twins fits into this vernacular, and is actually insulting on multiple levels.
Firstly, the term pokes fun at the stereotypical fertility of Irish Catholic families, which traditionally do not use birth control. In addition, it implies that the Irish lack the ability to plan ahead or control themselves, having children in quick succession rather than responsibly spacing them. Finally, it suggests that the Irish do not understand the medical definition of twins, which involves two children conceived and born together."
Minimalistically, however, is the way I was using the term, to simply imply closeness of age between siblings, something we were discussing seemingly in passing about before I brought up the term "Irish Twins" as way to describe siblings born 9-12 months apart. The last paragraph of the above definition was kind of the Freudian reasoning by my use of the word, but I didn't mean it to only point at the Irish, but just as an idiom to describe the social phenomenon of siblings being so close in age. Now I remember, it was when my friend was discussing his nephew being 1 year and 4 months older than his soon-to-be-born niece. I used the term in a loving way, but now I realize all the negative connotations that such an idiom implies. Wow, I'm kind of a jerk if you think of it that way! But I am aware and sharing, putting it out there now, so I guess this is some kind of redemption.
Anyhoo, peace and love, peace and love; thanks for reading! :)
Monday, April 7, 2014
Travelling through the Dark by William Stafford
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
Monday, February 4, 2013
The Thrill is Gone
Remember when I said I'd blog bi-weekly? Yeah, I shouldn't have promised that. Apologies. Oh well, enough lashing of myself with my proverbial cat o' ninetails.
As a child, I remember a cartoon called Visionaries, about a post-apocalyptic world where machinery no longer functioned and remained only as relics of a bygone era. This world reverted to something of a medieval existence, and knights reemerged as either champions and protectors of the weak or villainous tormentors. Magic returned to the world, and a formidable wizard--something of a cross between Merlin and The Great and Powerful Oz--offered two groups (the Spectral Knights and the Darkling Lords) the power to turn into a mystical-inspired animal (befitting their personality) and wield powers not afforded to other knights of the time, including the power to breathe magical life into certain vehicles of war. Safe to say, it was an eyegasm to a kid with a vivid imagination and a nascent appreciation for the struggle between the light and the dark.
I always remember a scene from one particular episode which dealt with the consequences of wielding powers one is unprepared to manage. The Darkling Lords had somehow managed to trap their powerful wizard-benefactor, Merklin, and send him to the "Wizard's Jail"--charming. Darkstorm, the leader of the baddies, now gained possession of Merklin's magical orb and text. He began with amusingly superficial tricks to practice and demonstrate his new potency, also rewarding his henchmen in the process. One henchman in particular, Cravex, had the tragic flaw of rage and an extremely short fuse, which was often demonstrated throughout the series. What could Darkstorm possibly impress him with? Darkstorm offered him an edenic vision that was absolutely counter to what he was about:
"Now, Cravex, imagine a world without irritation... a world where nothing can make you angry."
(Cravex is seated in a luminous meadow, reminiscent of an Arcadian woodland, surrounded by rainbow butterflies that are obviously products of magical light. He watches as two horses materialize from the same light and are in the midst of a race.)
Cravex: "Ah, it looks like my horse is going to win its four-thousandth straight race... Too bad racing seems to have lost its thrill." (The butterflies dematerialize as if they were fading holograms) "Why has my favorite past time lost its thrill?"
(We get a shot of the horses and the voice of what seems to be a public address announcer before Cravex's horse inexplicably veers off course somewhat) "No, it's nose to nose... but wait! Cravex's horse loses!"
Cravex: (with subdued joy) "Good... the thrill is back!"
This one scene seemed somewhat superfluous in the grand scheme of the episode, which eventually led to Darkstorm thinking that because he controlled the magic that he was the magic, and he eventually summoned one of the sacred, sacred spells and nearly caused yet another apocalypse. Still, this scene of Cravex, for once not being angry, always stuck out in my mind and remains there to this day. Often, in times of melancholia or self-reflection or whatever, I often repeat that line of racing losing its thrill and asking why my favorite past time has lost its thrill? Poor Cravex was probably depressed and, instead of turning his rage inward, let it all out when dealing with people. He was famous for flying into a rage when even the slightest inconvenience annoyed him and was probably the most feared of the Darkling Lords because of his ability to kick everyone's ass around him, friend or foe. This was sometimes used for comic relief, but definitely caused all to fear his wrath.
I suppose I relate to the character of Cravex (voiced by the talented Chris Latta, the voice of Cobra Commander from G.I. Joe and Starscream from the animated Transformers series) because I, too, have a very short fuse and nasty temper that inspires a number of reactions: laughter, disgust, fear, abject terror, pity and disappointment. I loathe this aspect of myself because it runs counter to who I feel I am deep down and what I aspire to become. I hate that I lose control of my composure and let emotions rule me for a time... it makes me feel like an unenlightened brute that Vulcans would scoff at. I have wished for a very long time to be a cool and composed customer, patient in all his dealings and admired for it. Boy, what a fuckin' narcissistic admission. But it's true, I wish I had that kind of temperament because I know the advantages that would come along with it... I'm sure I could really get things done and maybe be in a better position in life than I currently am. This is something I also need to overcome--my unhealthy ability to be okay with who and where I am, regardless. Yes, if I'm in an unhappy place I need to get out of it, but I also feel it important to accept that I have a certain temperament that is challenging to deal with. Hating myself will do me no favors.
But I digress... back to the mystery of lost thrill. I relate to the scene again not because horse racing is my favorite past time (although it was one of my grandfather's) but because writing is. I have never wanted to be anything but one who writes for a living since I was maybe 10 and decided that I'd better aspire to some kind of career. I used to do it often and eagerly and didn't beat myself up when I didn't do it. I now do it less eagerly--except during those magical spurts of productivity and or inspiration--and often beat myself up for not doing my exercise/chore. Why has my favortie past time lost it's thrill? I often blame life and the path it has taken me down. I also blame my growing desire to not think and simply be entertained or distracted as a way of taking me out of myself and the pain. Can I blame anything else? I suppose it's hard to be thrilled about anything, really, when you loathe your own nature. But what an ugly nature... and I know because I see it only a daily basis, something I definitely do not advertise to those I come in contact with in life. My immediate family knows--my mother even once referred to me as "ruthless" in my condemnation and critique of things I dislike--and they suffer having to deal with me at my ugliest; that's enough to embarrass me into not wanting to be around them much at all.
This blog has turned into a collection of my vomit and neurosis. I suppose this is good in some ways, but I'd hate to be the one reading this. I would have abandoned ship a long time ago if I were a reader... there I go again. I won't promise anything else, but I really do want this to be something positive and entertaining, not just a place where I go to figure myself out.
I'm waiting for the thrill to return; comings and goings are always in flux.
As a child, I remember a cartoon called Visionaries, about a post-apocalyptic world where machinery no longer functioned and remained only as relics of a bygone era. This world reverted to something of a medieval existence, and knights reemerged as either champions and protectors of the weak or villainous tormentors. Magic returned to the world, and a formidable wizard--something of a cross between Merlin and The Great and Powerful Oz--offered two groups (the Spectral Knights and the Darkling Lords) the power to turn into a mystical-inspired animal (befitting their personality) and wield powers not afforded to other knights of the time, including the power to breathe magical life into certain vehicles of war. Safe to say, it was an eyegasm to a kid with a vivid imagination and a nascent appreciation for the struggle between the light and the dark.
I always remember a scene from one particular episode which dealt with the consequences of wielding powers one is unprepared to manage. The Darkling Lords had somehow managed to trap their powerful wizard-benefactor, Merklin, and send him to the "Wizard's Jail"--charming. Darkstorm, the leader of the baddies, now gained possession of Merklin's magical orb and text. He began with amusingly superficial tricks to practice and demonstrate his new potency, also rewarding his henchmen in the process. One henchman in particular, Cravex, had the tragic flaw of rage and an extremely short fuse, which was often demonstrated throughout the series. What could Darkstorm possibly impress him with? Darkstorm offered him an edenic vision that was absolutely counter to what he was about:
"Now, Cravex, imagine a world without irritation... a world where nothing can make you angry."
(Cravex is seated in a luminous meadow, reminiscent of an Arcadian woodland, surrounded by rainbow butterflies that are obviously products of magical light. He watches as two horses materialize from the same light and are in the midst of a race.)
Cravex: "Ah, it looks like my horse is going to win its four-thousandth straight race... Too bad racing seems to have lost its thrill." (The butterflies dematerialize as if they were fading holograms) "Why has my favorite past time lost its thrill?"
(We get a shot of the horses and the voice of what seems to be a public address announcer before Cravex's horse inexplicably veers off course somewhat) "No, it's nose to nose... but wait! Cravex's horse loses!"
Cravex: (with subdued joy) "Good... the thrill is back!"
This one scene seemed somewhat superfluous in the grand scheme of the episode, which eventually led to Darkstorm thinking that because he controlled the magic that he was the magic, and he eventually summoned one of the sacred, sacred spells and nearly caused yet another apocalypse. Still, this scene of Cravex, for once not being angry, always stuck out in my mind and remains there to this day. Often, in times of melancholia or self-reflection or whatever, I often repeat that line of racing losing its thrill and asking why my favorite past time has lost its thrill? Poor Cravex was probably depressed and, instead of turning his rage inward, let it all out when dealing with people. He was famous for flying into a rage when even the slightest inconvenience annoyed him and was probably the most feared of the Darkling Lords because of his ability to kick everyone's ass around him, friend or foe. This was sometimes used for comic relief, but definitely caused all to fear his wrath.
I suppose I relate to the character of Cravex (voiced by the talented Chris Latta, the voice of Cobra Commander from G.I. Joe and Starscream from the animated Transformers series) because I, too, have a very short fuse and nasty temper that inspires a number of reactions: laughter, disgust, fear, abject terror, pity and disappointment. I loathe this aspect of myself because it runs counter to who I feel I am deep down and what I aspire to become. I hate that I lose control of my composure and let emotions rule me for a time... it makes me feel like an unenlightened brute that Vulcans would scoff at. I have wished for a very long time to be a cool and composed customer, patient in all his dealings and admired for it. Boy, what a fuckin' narcissistic admission. But it's true, I wish I had that kind of temperament because I know the advantages that would come along with it... I'm sure I could really get things done and maybe be in a better position in life than I currently am. This is something I also need to overcome--my unhealthy ability to be okay with who and where I am, regardless. Yes, if I'm in an unhappy place I need to get out of it, but I also feel it important to accept that I have a certain temperament that is challenging to deal with. Hating myself will do me no favors.
But I digress... back to the mystery of lost thrill. I relate to the scene again not because horse racing is my favorite past time (although it was one of my grandfather's) but because writing is. I have never wanted to be anything but one who writes for a living since I was maybe 10 and decided that I'd better aspire to some kind of career. I used to do it often and eagerly and didn't beat myself up when I didn't do it. I now do it less eagerly--except during those magical spurts of productivity and or inspiration--and often beat myself up for not doing my exercise/chore. Why has my favortie past time lost it's thrill? I often blame life and the path it has taken me down. I also blame my growing desire to not think and simply be entertained or distracted as a way of taking me out of myself and the pain. Can I blame anything else? I suppose it's hard to be thrilled about anything, really, when you loathe your own nature. But what an ugly nature... and I know because I see it only a daily basis, something I definitely do not advertise to those I come in contact with in life. My immediate family knows--my mother even once referred to me as "ruthless" in my condemnation and critique of things I dislike--and they suffer having to deal with me at my ugliest; that's enough to embarrass me into not wanting to be around them much at all.
This blog has turned into a collection of my vomit and neurosis. I suppose this is good in some ways, but I'd hate to be the one reading this. I would have abandoned ship a long time ago if I were a reader... there I go again. I won't promise anything else, but I really do want this to be something positive and entertaining, not just a place where I go to figure myself out.
I'm waiting for the thrill to return; comings and goings are always in flux.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
What the Good Word is, Childhood Beatings, and a Plea
What's the good word today? I have an appointment next week at a place in Pasadena that will sign me up for Healthy Way LA and will hopefully give me what I need in regards to my illness. A big thank you to my good friend Kevin, a true scholar and gentleman when he isn't busy doing his standup routine. ;-)
Other good news: The muse came down and dropkicked me in the face yesterday... it was glorious. I finally got a major piece of the puzzle figured out as far as what was missing from my idea for a story. I seriously want this to be my version of the Great American Novel (note: it will not be anything nearly that good, I can assure you, but it will be good enough [hopefully] that somebody wants to publish it.) I plan on pulling out from several of my trick bags in order to make this something both fun to read and analyze scholarly. That, to me, would be amazing. This is cool. As a caveat, this may take some time--as long as it needs to. I dislike putting this out there, but I have to psyche myself out if I ever want to see myself finishing it. Right now, I just have random paragraphs and a gameplan; now for the creative legwork. By the way, if anyone reading this is a published writer or also aspires to be one, I'd love to hear any advice if you're willing to share, public or private, regarding creating, finishing, finding an agent, getting published, etc.
I really need to read more as well. I will stop short of setting a goal, though, because of a litany of reasons. Terrifying example: a FB friend of mine, a wonderful and talented scholar who works in the hardbound and page industry up north, does a "50 books in any given year" resolution. While not out of the realm of possibility, it terrifies me to no end to commit to something so rewarding. Why is that? What is this neurosis that has set up shop inside my head? I used to love to read so much when I was younger; of course, back then, it was much simpler fare and practically no analysis involved other than what was right on the nose based on what I read. I can't read anymore without dissecting to death (which is both good and bad) or I just get bored and lose interest, depending on the material. Why, oh, why has my former favorite pastime lost its thrill?
Confession session time: I love kids (me being a big one still) and yet I also hate the little buggers sometimes. Depends on the kid, I know. The well-behaved and adjusted ones are like angels living amongst us, bestowing us with blessed, innocent insight and other such gifts of the spirit. Then there are the attitude, out-of-control, dirty/nasty/cruel little boogers who know just exactly which buttons to push. I know we are not supposed to beat kids (and I say beat in the most loving and gentle way, not meaning to decimate them or anything, but just physical discipline) and I agree that the psychological ramifications can perpetuate a never-ending cycle of violence and all, but damn, some kids deserve a good smack for being assholes (as do plenty of adults, but that's already a given and another story.) Maybe it stems from my upbringing; my mom and dad didn't give me the belt or the smack much, but when I got out of line and stepped over said line, I did feel the consequences. My maternal grandma was the infamous beatdown artist of the family, however, and she was the one more likely than anyone to be the sergeant-at-arms who readily metes out corporal punishment. Still, she was pretty old when I was growing up and her chancla (slipper) swing had lost some of its velocity. One time she couldn't find her chancla and instead just hit me with the closest thing at hand: a banana. I felt bad for my brother and older cousins, because they felt the brunt of her wrath when she was still in the tail-end of her prime. I feel even worse for my mother because she felt abuelita's primetime wrath back in the 60s. One thing, though, that a good smack taught me was humility--you are not the center of the universe, there are consequences to your asshole actions. I may be a bit screwy in the head, a lovely genetic trait I inherited from the aforementioned abuelita's side, but I learned how to be respectful toward adults and not get crazy and out of control in public or private like some kids do. Manners and self-control, while not lost completely, is a waning art form in this increasingly isolated and self-serving society. I see too many kids that have never been taught the fear of the chancla and they take advantage like little motherf***ers. Sorry for the rant--in no way am I promoting wholesale beating of kids or hitting them just for the sake of it, because that truly is cruel and can create kids with severe trauma and issues, which is never good. I feel like many others from 1st or 2nd generation immigrant parents will understand me regarding this issue... and if you don't, that's okay, we can agree to disagree; it's kinda painful to watch when you see parents who refuse to effectively discipline their kids and then let them run wild, like little Tazmanian devils spinning themselves into a tornado vortex, all balled-up fists, slobber, and tennis shoes, smacking anything and everything in their path. Please believe me though when I say that I really do like (most) kids (particularly before they can talk back and develop attitudes) and I think they should be treasured, supported, and given any and all means to be happy human beings with good goals and values.
Out of rant mode: I have a feeling that things are going to change for me, for the better. Historically, I've always existed much more contently and have had more fortune in odd numbered years than even years; make what you will of that. I'm still looking for work, but I'm surprisingly not freaking out too much (for the moment) and I have faith that something that needs to happen will happen.
Question to my readers: This is a new thing I want to do; it may or may not suck. What are your views on things like communal living? Benefits outweigh drawbacks or vice-versa? Specific reasons and examples would be great but are not mandatory. Thank you so much, in advance, if you respond to this question--it will help me in some research I am beginning.
See you in two weeks or so, maybe less if the muse decides to uppercut me again.
Other good news: The muse came down and dropkicked me in the face yesterday... it was glorious. I finally got a major piece of the puzzle figured out as far as what was missing from my idea for a story. I seriously want this to be my version of the Great American Novel (note: it will not be anything nearly that good, I can assure you, but it will be good enough [hopefully] that somebody wants to publish it.) I plan on pulling out from several of my trick bags in order to make this something both fun to read and analyze scholarly. That, to me, would be amazing. This is cool. As a caveat, this may take some time--as long as it needs to. I dislike putting this out there, but I have to psyche myself out if I ever want to see myself finishing it. Right now, I just have random paragraphs and a gameplan; now for the creative legwork. By the way, if anyone reading this is a published writer or also aspires to be one, I'd love to hear any advice if you're willing to share, public or private, regarding creating, finishing, finding an agent, getting published, etc.
I really need to read more as well. I will stop short of setting a goal, though, because of a litany of reasons. Terrifying example: a FB friend of mine, a wonderful and talented scholar who works in the hardbound and page industry up north, does a "50 books in any given year" resolution. While not out of the realm of possibility, it terrifies me to no end to commit to something so rewarding. Why is that? What is this neurosis that has set up shop inside my head? I used to love to read so much when I was younger; of course, back then, it was much simpler fare and practically no analysis involved other than what was right on the nose based on what I read. I can't read anymore without dissecting to death (which is both good and bad) or I just get bored and lose interest, depending on the material. Why, oh, why has my former favorite pastime lost its thrill?
Confession session time: I love kids (me being a big one still) and yet I also hate the little buggers sometimes. Depends on the kid, I know. The well-behaved and adjusted ones are like angels living amongst us, bestowing us with blessed, innocent insight and other such gifts of the spirit. Then there are the attitude, out-of-control, dirty/nasty/cruel little boogers who know just exactly which buttons to push. I know we are not supposed to beat kids (and I say beat in the most loving and gentle way, not meaning to decimate them or anything, but just physical discipline) and I agree that the psychological ramifications can perpetuate a never-ending cycle of violence and all, but damn, some kids deserve a good smack for being assholes (as do plenty of adults, but that's already a given and another story.) Maybe it stems from my upbringing; my mom and dad didn't give me the belt or the smack much, but when I got out of line and stepped over said line, I did feel the consequences. My maternal grandma was the infamous beatdown artist of the family, however, and she was the one more likely than anyone to be the sergeant-at-arms who readily metes out corporal punishment. Still, she was pretty old when I was growing up and her chancla (slipper) swing had lost some of its velocity. One time she couldn't find her chancla and instead just hit me with the closest thing at hand: a banana. I felt bad for my brother and older cousins, because they felt the brunt of her wrath when she was still in the tail-end of her prime. I feel even worse for my mother because she felt abuelita's primetime wrath back in the 60s. One thing, though, that a good smack taught me was humility--you are not the center of the universe, there are consequences to your asshole actions. I may be a bit screwy in the head, a lovely genetic trait I inherited from the aforementioned abuelita's side, but I learned how to be respectful toward adults and not get crazy and out of control in public or private like some kids do. Manners and self-control, while not lost completely, is a waning art form in this increasingly isolated and self-serving society. I see too many kids that have never been taught the fear of the chancla and they take advantage like little motherf***ers. Sorry for the rant--in no way am I promoting wholesale beating of kids or hitting them just for the sake of it, because that truly is cruel and can create kids with severe trauma and issues, which is never good. I feel like many others from 1st or 2nd generation immigrant parents will understand me regarding this issue... and if you don't, that's okay, we can agree to disagree; it's kinda painful to watch when you see parents who refuse to effectively discipline their kids and then let them run wild, like little Tazmanian devils spinning themselves into a tornado vortex, all balled-up fists, slobber, and tennis shoes, smacking anything and everything in their path. Please believe me though when I say that I really do like (most) kids (particularly before they can talk back and develop attitudes) and I think they should be treasured, supported, and given any and all means to be happy human beings with good goals and values.
Out of rant mode: I have a feeling that things are going to change for me, for the better. Historically, I've always existed much more contently and have had more fortune in odd numbered years than even years; make what you will of that. I'm still looking for work, but I'm surprisingly not freaking out too much (for the moment) and I have faith that something that needs to happen will happen.
Question to my readers: This is a new thing I want to do; it may or may not suck. What are your views on things like communal living? Benefits outweigh drawbacks or vice-versa? Specific reasons and examples would be great but are not mandatory. Thank you so much, in advance, if you respond to this question--it will help me in some research I am beginning.
See you in two weeks or so, maybe less if the muse decides to uppercut me again.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Seeing Who We Are Today
Been almost two weeks... time to exercise some keeping of one's word.
Well, I can cross two things off my list: I survived x-mas intact and I changed the oil in my car. Literally, that was my one big activity of the day last Wednesday. I'm on a serious vacation-mode bender lately. I still have to see a doctor, but some encouraging news (at least today--every day is different) is that I feel in less pain than I have for some time now. I'm still taking it easy so as not to aggravate the rheumatizz, but there needs to be a balance of that and some self-rehab, where I try to regain some limberness. Seriously, never take your health for granted if you have it... I always did until it was taken from me. I've even taken to using a cane (the days I'm not being vain) for support if I need it when I'm out. I'm also trying to treat it as something of an accessory; got comments about looking Dr. House-like recently, too. Silliness mixed in with gravity and concern about the future unknowns.
In a nutshell, feeling more upbeat and positive. And since I'm in the (sometimes insane) business of "putting it out there" so that it has a better chance of coming true, I need to take advantage of this "energy" to do good things. I'm writing, that's a start, but I'm concern that this is one of the most boring reads in history and nobody gives a crap. Welp, it's gotta be for me and who cares if nobody gives a crap. I like to please people too much because I like attention... the little drama queen within.
I want to write more collaboratively, which is something several friends of mine have proposed. I want to follow through on that and be a creative dynamo. I often draw inspiration from the energy of others, like a vampire, but more of a symbiotic vamp, not a pure leech... at least I hope. I am also in possession of a spice rack full of tricks to give writing a kick. This is cool.
I attribute a lot of my current kick to the works of other artists. Film and music have been my salvation in that regard lately. Classical music does some serious shaking up of my insides and the power of art appreciation takes hold. That's when I want to create most... that's when I can see myself working obsessively, like a beast, to create something I consider noteworthy and powerful. I've been writing some random-ish paragraphs lately that I hope will become somehow coalesce or inspire something bigger and better, something publishable--something that sends me a cheque. Mmmm, money. Sorry, bad habit... sometimes I think I've been so deeply ingrained in capitalistic worship that it will take a monumental effort to change my sometimes greedy habits. But we need money to keep on moving. I like what I read recently about Stanley Kubrick, which talked about how he saw money only as a means to independence, rather than something to stockpile and hoard, so that he and his fellow artist wife could have their space to create and be comfortable. A lot of times I feel like I'm a hot house flower--that I can only thrive under ideal conditions. We'll see if that's true or not. Yes, ideal conditions are nice, but that hasn't often been my experience in this harsh life so far. It could be a lot worse, I know, but I need to create before I die... and the clock is a-tickin'.
Thank you all for the likes and encouragement you've shown me when I did my first posting last week. I will try to do different things with this forum in the future, maybe something scholarly (Zzzz) or some excerpts of writing. Who knows... not like I plan much of anything. Here's to hoping 2013 will be a year of rejuvenation and bon cheer. Auf weidersehen.
P.S. If you want to read a true blog at its most entertaining, informative, and creative, look no further than my good friend Gretta's "Say It With A Smirk"
http://sayitwithasmirk.blogspot.com/
Well, I can cross two things off my list: I survived x-mas intact and I changed the oil in my car. Literally, that was my one big activity of the day last Wednesday. I'm on a serious vacation-mode bender lately. I still have to see a doctor, but some encouraging news (at least today--every day is different) is that I feel in less pain than I have for some time now. I'm still taking it easy so as not to aggravate the rheumatizz, but there needs to be a balance of that and some self-rehab, where I try to regain some limberness. Seriously, never take your health for granted if you have it... I always did until it was taken from me. I've even taken to using a cane (the days I'm not being vain) for support if I need it when I'm out. I'm also trying to treat it as something of an accessory; got comments about looking Dr. House-like recently, too. Silliness mixed in with gravity and concern about the future unknowns.
In a nutshell, feeling more upbeat and positive. And since I'm in the (sometimes insane) business of "putting it out there" so that it has a better chance of coming true, I need to take advantage of this "energy" to do good things. I'm writing, that's a start, but I'm concern that this is one of the most boring reads in history and nobody gives a crap. Welp, it's gotta be for me and who cares if nobody gives a crap. I like to please people too much because I like attention... the little drama queen within.
I want to write more collaboratively, which is something several friends of mine have proposed. I want to follow through on that and be a creative dynamo. I often draw inspiration from the energy of others, like a vampire, but more of a symbiotic vamp, not a pure leech... at least I hope. I am also in possession of a spice rack full of tricks to give writing a kick. This is cool.
I attribute a lot of my current kick to the works of other artists. Film and music have been my salvation in that regard lately. Classical music does some serious shaking up of my insides and the power of art appreciation takes hold. That's when I want to create most... that's when I can see myself working obsessively, like a beast, to create something I consider noteworthy and powerful. I've been writing some random-ish paragraphs lately that I hope will become somehow coalesce or inspire something bigger and better, something publishable--something that sends me a cheque. Mmmm, money. Sorry, bad habit... sometimes I think I've been so deeply ingrained in capitalistic worship that it will take a monumental effort to change my sometimes greedy habits. But we need money to keep on moving. I like what I read recently about Stanley Kubrick, which talked about how he saw money only as a means to independence, rather than something to stockpile and hoard, so that he and his fellow artist wife could have their space to create and be comfortable. A lot of times I feel like I'm a hot house flower--that I can only thrive under ideal conditions. We'll see if that's true or not. Yes, ideal conditions are nice, but that hasn't often been my experience in this harsh life so far. It could be a lot worse, I know, but I need to create before I die... and the clock is a-tickin'.
Thank you all for the likes and encouragement you've shown me when I did my first posting last week. I will try to do different things with this forum in the future, maybe something scholarly (Zzzz) or some excerpts of writing. Who knows... not like I plan much of anything. Here's to hoping 2013 will be a year of rejuvenation and bon cheer. Auf weidersehen.
P.S. If you want to read a true blog at its most entertaining, informative, and creative, look no further than my good friend Gretta's "Say It With A Smirk"
http://sayitwithasmirk.blogspot.com/
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