More unnecessary dress code nagging.
Apparently, Mr. Stern doesn't undertand the usefulness of theraputic compression.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
School Loans
are a horrible and unnatural beast ( as is credit in general), and they should be avoided if at all feasible.
But we are told "you need an education"! (an education which has roots in the tradition of training the children of the rich on the finer points of being properly rich)
we're also told we need a car loan, a home loan, a loan to cover the purchase of the engagement ring (that you need) and the wedding ring (that you need) the church, the dress, etc.
If you believe you need it, perhaps you do.
I have my doubts.
But we are told "you need an education"! (an education which has roots in the tradition of training the children of the rich on the finer points of being properly rich)
we're also told we need a car loan, a home loan, a loan to cover the purchase of the engagement ring (that you need) and the wedding ring (that you need) the church, the dress, etc.
If you believe you need it, perhaps you do.
I have my doubts.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Wow
What a month.
For a while I thought it was just 1995,
Then I thought it was years that end in 5,
For a second I thought it might be March,
Now, I just don't know,
Never take the path for granted.
For a while I thought it was just 1995,
Then I thought it was years that end in 5,
For a second I thought it might be March,
Now, I just don't know,
Never take the path for granted.
UCLA needs to hire better writers
 UCLA Student Section pregame cheer; leading The Den in the "is this a basketball?" chant before the elite 8 game versus Memphis. UCLA won and is headed to the final four! | |||
Mardi Grad Indians
I just emailed somebody about whether the Indians masked in NO this year. Then it occurred to me to use Google. Found the below. I really respect the Times-Picayune now. Anderson Cooper has been gettnig all the credit for covering K-Trina, but the T-P has really been the responsible for the best reporting (so say I).
read:
Indian tradition marches on in devastated neighborhoods
Spiritual songs embody resilience of city's tribes
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
By Trymaine Lee
Staff writer
In the heart of the Lower 9th Ward, in the now-lifeless streets of the neighborhood torn asunder, the sacred Mardi Gras Indian hymn "My Indian Red" wafted over the hallowed stomping ground of the Red Hawk Hunters on Tuesday.
Tambourines rattled, occasionally booming beneath the hands of tribesmen -- black men masked as Native American warriors -- who were draped in lavish greens, blues and whites. Their feathers and plumes danced and shook upon a backdrop of flood debris: crumbled homes, abandoned vehicles coated in the grime of receded floodwaters and the other assorted detritus Hurricane Katrina left in its wake.
Decimated primarily black neighborhoods in New Orleans were once home to hundreds of such warriors, but after Katrina, many are now far from their flooded homes and are unsure whether they'll ever return to the city, much less mask on Mardi Gras.
But in the Lower 9th Ward, Uptown and downtown around the Treme neighborhood Tuesday, Mardi Gras Indians from cross-city tribes made a clear statement: The back of the city's black tribal community is weary but not yet broken.
"God's people will always stand strong," said Nelson Burke, big chief of the Red Hawk Hunters. Nelson led his tribe in soulful chants and cries, surrounded by his spy boy, flag boy and wild man just yards from where the levee broke, causing the flooding that drowned so many.
Walk through history
The tribe's members masked harder than ever, one onlooker said Tuesday. And they danced in the footsteps of those who came before them. And they chanted, the sun bouncing from bejeweled patterns and story boards embroidered into their suits. The history in jeweled landscapes across their chests and backs, legs and arms told the tale of the "red man" fighting off the "white man" on his own land.
History teaches that black Mardi Gras Indians mask to honor the Native American communities that accepted runaway slaves into their tribes, said Cherice Nelson, Mardi Gras Indians historian and council queen of the Guardians of the Flame tribe. They honor the people who never allowed the white man to enslave them. Long ago, Nelson said, white people wouldn't dare go onto Native American land to retrieve slaves.
"My Indian Red" and its hundred-year-old rhythms is more of a prayer than a song, a call and response pitched to God to ensure that those who mask as Indians on Mardi Gras return home safely, according to the Indians' history. In times long past, old scores were settled on Mardi Gras, man to man and often bloody.
But now the song means so much more, some said Tuesday. It embodies all that the Indians stand for, tribesmen said, all the past and present warriors who use the spirit of their African, Native American and African-American ancestors to see them through the tough times -- through the storms.
"After all Katrina destroyed, she couldn't destroy our spirit," said Ronald Young, spy boy for the Red Hawk Hunters. Like many Indians who lost everything they owned in the storm, including the materials they use to construct the suits they wear only once a year, Young didn't mask this Mardi Gras. He said he has too much on his plate. So he donated the supplies he was able to salvage to another tribesman so he could mask.
"That's the hardest part about it," Young said. "We work on the suits year round, and when we lost our homes, a lot of us lost everything in them. So it hurts."
Steeped in tradition
Downtown, along St. Bernard Avenue near North Villere Street, members of the Trouble Nation tribe gathered. Some sipped beers while others tweaked their suits or helped younger members hoist massive headdresses on their heads or shoulders.
They marched down North Villere, chanting the solemn words of "My Indian Red." The spy boy stepped blocks ahead of the flag boy and chief, keeping a keen eye out for any other tribes in the neighborhood. There was none in sight. But three blocks over, members of an almost totally unmasked tribe, the Creole Osceolas of the flooded Gentilly neighborhood, marched to their drummers' beat wearing T-shirts proclaiming what tribe they represent.
"We wanted to show our presence," said Creole Osceolas Big Chief Clarence Dalcour. Tuesday was the first Mardi Gras in more than 36 years that he didn't mask. While the future is unclear about how black New Orleans will be reshaped in its post-Katrina social landscape, Dalcour said the people and their traditions are resilient enough to be maintained if not recast.
"Though so many of us lost so much, it means a lot to be able to continue this legacy. The black culture is a creative culture, and it's here to stay," he said.
Uptown, at the corner of Washington Avenue and South Saratoga Street, tradition continued as members of the Creole Wildwest honored the big chief of another tribe, the venerable Bo Dollis of the Wild Magnolias. The Creole Wildwest spy boy, dressed in a suit of turquoise feathers, with red and yellow gems dashed throughout, cleared a path through a small crowd that had gathered around longtime Big Chief Dollis. The spy boy led the way for the Creole Wildwest's Big Chief Walter Cook Jr., introducing the two patriarchs in a commanding voice that silenced the crowd of about 30 onlookers.
"Big chief of the Wild Magnolias," the spy boy's voice boomed. "Big chief of the Creole Wildwest. . . . Old-time chief," the spy boy said, pointing toward Dollis. Dollis sat smiling. His perfectly white grin and matching suit welcomed the younger chief. They shook hands, Dollis never leaving his post. Cook bowed slightly, speaking to the elder official in a tone just above a whisper, then quickly walking away with his spy boy.
"Everybody here needs us to be here," said Queen Rita, Dollis' wife and queen of the Wild Magnolias. "It's what you call tradition. And like those two chiefs meeting here, and one honoring his elder, it's tradition."
. . . . . . .
Trymaine Lee can be reached tlee@timespicayune.com or (504) 826-3301.
read:
Indian tradition marches on in devastated neighborhoods
Spiritual songs embody resilience of city's tribes
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
By Trymaine Lee
Staff writer
In the heart of the Lower 9th Ward, in the now-lifeless streets of the neighborhood torn asunder, the sacred Mardi Gras Indian hymn "My Indian Red" wafted over the hallowed stomping ground of the Red Hawk Hunters on Tuesday.
Tambourines rattled, occasionally booming beneath the hands of tribesmen -- black men masked as Native American warriors -- who were draped in lavish greens, blues and whites. Their feathers and plumes danced and shook upon a backdrop of flood debris: crumbled homes, abandoned vehicles coated in the grime of receded floodwaters and the other assorted detritus Hurricane Katrina left in its wake.
Decimated primarily black neighborhoods in New Orleans were once home to hundreds of such warriors, but after Katrina, many are now far from their flooded homes and are unsure whether they'll ever return to the city, much less mask on Mardi Gras.
But in the Lower 9th Ward, Uptown and downtown around the Treme neighborhood Tuesday, Mardi Gras Indians from cross-city tribes made a clear statement: The back of the city's black tribal community is weary but not yet broken.
"God's people will always stand strong," said Nelson Burke, big chief of the Red Hawk Hunters. Nelson led his tribe in soulful chants and cries, surrounded by his spy boy, flag boy and wild man just yards from where the levee broke, causing the flooding that drowned so many.
Walk through history
The tribe's members masked harder than ever, one onlooker said Tuesday. And they danced in the footsteps of those who came before them. And they chanted, the sun bouncing from bejeweled patterns and story boards embroidered into their suits. The history in jeweled landscapes across their chests and backs, legs and arms told the tale of the "red man" fighting off the "white man" on his own land.
History teaches that black Mardi Gras Indians mask to honor the Native American communities that accepted runaway slaves into their tribes, said Cherice Nelson, Mardi Gras Indians historian and council queen of the Guardians of the Flame tribe. They honor the people who never allowed the white man to enslave them. Long ago, Nelson said, white people wouldn't dare go onto Native American land to retrieve slaves.
"My Indian Red" and its hundred-year-old rhythms is more of a prayer than a song, a call and response pitched to God to ensure that those who mask as Indians on Mardi Gras return home safely, according to the Indians' history. In times long past, old scores were settled on Mardi Gras, man to man and often bloody.
But now the song means so much more, some said Tuesday. It embodies all that the Indians stand for, tribesmen said, all the past and present warriors who use the spirit of their African, Native American and African-American ancestors to see them through the tough times -- through the storms.
"After all Katrina destroyed, she couldn't destroy our spirit," said Ronald Young, spy boy for the Red Hawk Hunters. Like many Indians who lost everything they owned in the storm, including the materials they use to construct the suits they wear only once a year, Young didn't mask this Mardi Gras. He said he has too much on his plate. So he donated the supplies he was able to salvage to another tribesman so he could mask.
"That's the hardest part about it," Young said. "We work on the suits year round, and when we lost our homes, a lot of us lost everything in them. So it hurts."
Steeped in tradition
Downtown, along St. Bernard Avenue near North Villere Street, members of the Trouble Nation tribe gathered. Some sipped beers while others tweaked their suits or helped younger members hoist massive headdresses on their heads or shoulders.
They marched down North Villere, chanting the solemn words of "My Indian Red." The spy boy stepped blocks ahead of the flag boy and chief, keeping a keen eye out for any other tribes in the neighborhood. There was none in sight. But three blocks over, members of an almost totally unmasked tribe, the Creole Osceolas of the flooded Gentilly neighborhood, marched to their drummers' beat wearing T-shirts proclaiming what tribe they represent.
"We wanted to show our presence," said Creole Osceolas Big Chief Clarence Dalcour. Tuesday was the first Mardi Gras in more than 36 years that he didn't mask. While the future is unclear about how black New Orleans will be reshaped in its post-Katrina social landscape, Dalcour said the people and their traditions are resilient enough to be maintained if not recast.
"Though so many of us lost so much, it means a lot to be able to continue this legacy. The black culture is a creative culture, and it's here to stay," he said.
Uptown, at the corner of Washington Avenue and South Saratoga Street, tradition continued as members of the Creole Wildwest honored the big chief of another tribe, the venerable Bo Dollis of the Wild Magnolias. The Creole Wildwest spy boy, dressed in a suit of turquoise feathers, with red and yellow gems dashed throughout, cleared a path through a small crowd that had gathered around longtime Big Chief Dollis. The spy boy led the way for the Creole Wildwest's Big Chief Walter Cook Jr., introducing the two patriarchs in a commanding voice that silenced the crowd of about 30 onlookers.
"Big chief of the Wild Magnolias," the spy boy's voice boomed. "Big chief of the Creole Wildwest. . . . Old-time chief," the spy boy said, pointing toward Dollis. Dollis sat smiling. His perfectly white grin and matching suit welcomed the younger chief. They shook hands, Dollis never leaving his post. Cook bowed slightly, speaking to the elder official in a tone just above a whisper, then quickly walking away with his spy boy.
"Everybody here needs us to be here," said Queen Rita, Dollis' wife and queen of the Wild Magnolias. "It's what you call tradition. And like those two chiefs meeting here, and one honoring his elder, it's tradition."
. . . . . . .
Trymaine Lee can be reached tlee@timespicayune.com or (504) 826-3301.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
There are two syllables in my name
Two syllables each, in fact in my given name and surname.
Please,
Please,
use both of them.
Please,
Please,
use both of them.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Various notes written on my PDA while in the city...
If I ever meet someone and I can pray with them in the room the same as I do when I'm alone, I'll know it may be time to get married.
Inshallah
______
I spit like Jesus spit in the dirt and rubbed it in a blind man's eyes so he could regain his sight.
But
I spit into a mike and rub the resulting electronic representation of sound into your ears so you can regain ur freedom - AKA: your life
______
I love your hair.
"I want to to touch it".
My response: "Yeah, most people do."
Wow...
______
There's a lady on the back of the 9:00p boat that's been getting her salsa boogie on - on high gear - since I got on the boat.
Ok, she just stopped.
______
Missed pic op:
Hasidic in all black w/long coat sitting on other end of car from Muslim wearing kufi & white tunic (?).
Then they both got onto the 6 @ Union Square.
I wonder what they were thinking...
______
Went to a talk on african lit today. Of course, the audience was only sparsely african...
4/19/05
______
Went to a wage job in New Jersey last night - all minorities. UPS job "interview" right now - ALL BROWN FACES (though it is in Bkln).
Damn if we ain't tryin' to work
Last minute correction: 2 white dudes came in @ the end.
12/8/04
______
I just walked through Chinatown for the first time...
Found Little Italy for the first time...
I just walked past Savion Glover...
And 3 kids on the the train asked me about my hair...
an interesting Sunday it has been indeed.
9/20/04
______
I'm headed to see WTC.
In the Staten Island terminal. 3 knuckleheads draped in flags. Seems tacky to me, but what do I know - guess I ain't patriotic.
My head hurts.
From the boat:
The lights are a lot more impressive on a clearer night. The ride on the ferry makes you feel like you're headed straight for them.
In the event I've not mentioned it before, built-in flash doesn't help you take a picture (of something) 1 mile away. It actually probably makes the picture a little worse.
9/12/04
______
Too much of anything is more than what you need. More than what you need of anything is too much.
______
I just had my first unisex public restroom experience.
& It wasn't one of those small, single-toilet, lock-the-door type joints either.
U couldn't lock the door. There were two stalls: the handicapped stall & another with a sign on its door that read "MEN".
Fortunately, I was able to get in and out before anyone else came in.
5/5/05
______
I was in Penn Station today and there was a woman w/an amp and background music singing spirituals.
I believe she counts a subway performer...
______
On the train just now, the drummer cats got on & at Lafayette, (played) took a collection, & jumped back off @ 2nd Ave.
Hustle, baby.
Hustle.
______
Inshallah
______
I spit like Jesus spit in the dirt and rubbed it in a blind man's eyes so he could regain his sight.
But
I spit into a mike and rub the resulting electronic representation of sound into your ears so you can regain ur freedom - AKA: your life
______
I love your hair.
"I want to to touch it".
My response: "Yeah, most people do."
Wow...
______
There's a lady on the back of the 9:00p boat that's been getting her salsa boogie on - on high gear - since I got on the boat.
Ok, she just stopped.
______
Missed pic op:
Hasidic in all black w/long coat sitting on other end of car from Muslim wearing kufi & white tunic (?).
Then they both got onto the 6 @ Union Square.
I wonder what they were thinking...
______
Went to a talk on african lit today. Of course, the audience was only sparsely african...
4/19/05
______
Went to a wage job in New Jersey last night - all minorities. UPS job "interview" right now - ALL BROWN FACES (though it is in Bkln).
Damn if we ain't tryin' to work
Last minute correction: 2 white dudes came in @ the end.
12/8/04
______
I just walked through Chinatown for the first time...
Found Little Italy for the first time...
I just walked past Savion Glover...
And 3 kids on the the train asked me about my hair...
an interesting Sunday it has been indeed.
9/20/04
______
I'm headed to see WTC.
In the Staten Island terminal. 3 knuckleheads draped in flags. Seems tacky to me, but what do I know - guess I ain't patriotic.
My head hurts.
From the boat:
The lights are a lot more impressive on a clearer night. The ride on the ferry makes you feel like you're headed straight for them.
In the event I've not mentioned it before, built-in flash doesn't help you take a picture (of something) 1 mile away. It actually probably makes the picture a little worse.
9/12/04
______
Too much of anything is more than what you need. More than what you need of anything is too much.
______
I just had my first unisex public restroom experience.
& It wasn't one of those small, single-toilet, lock-the-door type joints either.
U couldn't lock the door. There were two stalls: the handicapped stall & another with a sign on its door that read "MEN".
Fortunately, I was able to get in and out before anyone else came in.
5/5/05
______
I was in Penn Station today and there was a woman w/an amp and background music singing spirituals.
I believe she counts a subway performer...
______
On the train just now, the drummer cats got on & at Lafayette, (played) took a collection, & jumped back off @ 2nd Ave.
Hustle, baby.
Hustle.
______
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
When I was about 13 or fourteen,
maybe 15, my mother and I went to my grandmother's house in Louisiana's northwestern urban center. At the time my aunt and her three kids were staying with her. We walked in and two of those kids, both girls and older than me, were there. For some reason, it seems like I was wearing something that garnered the following comment - I cannot remember what led to this, but one of them said,"yeah, you gonna be a heartbreaker when you grow up,".
It was one of those things you hear a kid say that sounds like a saying that they've picked up from their parents. It didn't quite fit the body it was coming from, you know?
Anyway, it was one of those things that there will never be enough time between me and it to forget. I know she meant it as a compliment, and it may not sound that important, but those words have always stuck with me...a little bit like the first time you hear that you're dark, or light, or skinny or fat, or poor. Now I was about to say that there was a time when I took some pride in that, but I don't think there actually was.... It feels like, from early on, I thought to myself, "heartbreaker? Who wants to break hearts? That don't feel good,".
And I remember feeling good in that realization. That, at an early age, I'd already figured out that I didn't want to be a player or whatever. There's aggressive game and passive aggressive. I sorta just ended up with passive...
So they told me that I would be a heartbreaker. And, lo and behold, despite all that early wisdom, that is exactly what I've turned out to be. I am a heartbreaker. I break hearts. Not even on purpose. And that shit hurts. I actually prefer being on the receiving end of pain. I'd rather feel it seven times than deal it. Nevertheless, I break somebody's heart. And not cute, high school, "I'm sorry, but I just don't feel the way you do," heart break - although that DID happen. I mean making people cry, beg, plead, wrestle with their own emotions heartache. And it's not from cheating. It's not physical abuse. It's just somebody wanting to be there for you, submit to you.... I mean, how the hell do I or anybody else have the nerve to say no to someone offering their whole self to you? And I know that shit is painful, embarrassing, dehumanizing. Still, I would rather be that one than the one saying no. But I continually am.
Why couldn't they tell me, "______, you are going to be a healer when you grow up,"? "You are going to build bridges and join hands and heal wounds and stop wars and nurture families,"?
Why couldn't they say, "you will be a vessel - when people look at you they will see God/Truth/Light/Infinity and know that their pain is nothing...".
Though, I guess that might have been a little much to ask a couple of teenage girls.
Do me a favor. The next time you're around an infant (and you don't have a communicable illness) lean down into their ear and whisper to them that contained within their bodies are the necessary elements to make fire*, and that means they will give light, produce warmth and radiate energy.
So people will know they have a fighting chance against me.
*I'm not making this up. We contain fuel (fat, aka: stored energy), oxygen and an ignition source (nerve pulses=electricity). See. You're a walking reactor and didn't even know it. Now go inhale some pain and burn bright for the needy.
It was one of those things you hear a kid say that sounds like a saying that they've picked up from their parents. It didn't quite fit the body it was coming from, you know?
Anyway, it was one of those things that there will never be enough time between me and it to forget. I know she meant it as a compliment, and it may not sound that important, but those words have always stuck with me...a little bit like the first time you hear that you're dark, or light, or skinny or fat, or poor. Now I was about to say that there was a time when I took some pride in that, but I don't think there actually was.... It feels like, from early on, I thought to myself, "heartbreaker? Who wants to break hearts? That don't feel good,".
And I remember feeling good in that realization. That, at an early age, I'd already figured out that I didn't want to be a player or whatever. There's aggressive game and passive aggressive. I sorta just ended up with passive...
So they told me that I would be a heartbreaker. And, lo and behold, despite all that early wisdom, that is exactly what I've turned out to be. I am a heartbreaker. I break hearts. Not even on purpose. And that shit hurts. I actually prefer being on the receiving end of pain. I'd rather feel it seven times than deal it. Nevertheless, I break somebody's heart. And not cute, high school, "I'm sorry, but I just don't feel the way you do," heart break - although that DID happen. I mean making people cry, beg, plead, wrestle with their own emotions heartache. And it's not from cheating. It's not physical abuse. It's just somebody wanting to be there for you, submit to you.... I mean, how the hell do I or anybody else have the nerve to say no to someone offering their whole self to you? And I know that shit is painful, embarrassing, dehumanizing. Still, I would rather be that one than the one saying no. But I continually am.
Why couldn't they tell me, "______, you are going to be a healer when you grow up,"? "You are going to build bridges and join hands and heal wounds and stop wars and nurture families,"?
Why couldn't they say, "you will be a vessel - when people look at you they will see God/Truth/Light/Infinity and know that their pain is nothing...".
Though, I guess that might have been a little much to ask a couple of teenage girls.
Do me a favor. The next time you're around an infant (and you don't have a communicable illness) lean down into their ear and whisper to them that contained within their bodies are the necessary elements to make fire*, and that means they will give light, produce warmth and radiate energy.
So people will know they have a fighting chance against me.
*I'm not making this up. We contain fuel (fat, aka: stored energy), oxygen and an ignition source (nerve pulses=electricity). See. You're a walking reactor and didn't even know it. Now go inhale some pain and burn bright for the needy.
Monday, March 20, 2006
So close, so close...
Got up this morning @ 10a despite have gone to bed at 5a.
@ 11a started labeling envelopes to do a mailing (with the intent to start a database of people mailed/what they do/when mailed).
@ 1p got hungry and decided to go down the street and get food 'cuz I was hungry (uh oh)
@ 1:30p changed mind and decided to just eat something here (ok, not bad; stay focused)
@ 2p decided to take a 1 hour nap and get back to it (bad sign)
@ 2:40p alarm goes off and I hit snooze ({sigh} it's over)
@ 5:59p finally got up, felt like crap, saw e-mail from dreaded source, realized another one has gotten away
Currently fighting urge to play Thief 2 until 5a.
my blog, dammit. my blog
(snore)
@ 11a started labeling envelopes to do a mailing (with the intent to start a database of people mailed/what they do/when mailed).
@ 1p got hungry and decided to go down the street and get food 'cuz I was hungry (uh oh)
@ 1:30p changed mind and decided to just eat something here (ok, not bad; stay focused)
@ 2p decided to take a 1 hour nap and get back to it (bad sign)
@ 2:40p alarm goes off and I hit snooze ({sigh} it's over)
@ 5:59p finally got up, felt like crap, saw e-mail from dreaded source, realized another one has gotten away
Currently fighting urge to play Thief 2 until 5a.
my blog, dammit. my blog
(snore)
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Freedom to be offended (final draft)
(Ed. previous post edited for conciseness)
I rant here. I write things that I think are important for me to get out of the confines of my head. Save your cells and don't take it personal.
(In the event Ed. determines this still not succinct enough, the below will be the final version)
?#(* it.
I rant here. I write things that I think are important for me to get out of the confines of my head. Save your cells and don't take it personal.
(In the event Ed. determines this still not succinct enough, the below will be the final version)
?#(* it.
Freedom to be offended (1st Draft)
A week ago I disabled comments on the O-Fishul. I became bothered by commentary from posters about other people's posts, and decided to make a change.
When I first turned the comments on, I wanted it to be an uncensored forum for responses: ideas, contributions, refutations, general comedy.
I came to look for responses after certain posts.
Then one day those who frequented the comments section were referred to (by a non-poster) as "my groupies".
I thought about whether I was still posting for the sake of truth, or posting to be praised.
Hmmm....
Then posters began remarking about other posters. And the target posters would, remark about those posters.
These people, each without knowing or speaking about the other, making assumptions about the nature of each others posts.
Sound vague... convoluted...silly? Exactly.
The assertion always made was that "others" on the blog were jocking the editor. There is no need to present other arguments, because there were no other arguments. Everybody, according to everybody else, was jocking yours truly.
Interestingly, Fearless Blogger was never accused of soliciting the jock-ularity. Well, there was the original non-poster who said everybody here was a groupie.
Irony? Karma? Infinite circularity (<-redundant phrase)?
I've been disappointed that some who I consider generally intelligent do not take to time to consider that the comments by others could are as tongue-in-cheek as their own.
But disappointed isn't really grounds for divorce, is it?
I'm turning the comments back on. There will be posts that have the comments turned off, but that usually means what I'm saying is scary and probably a little closer to the truth. If you have something to contribute, feel free. If not, don't. Have an inside joke? E-mail me directly. If you are grown, act like it; if you are not, don't.
Consider content rather than style.
One day I'll not be afraid to speak my mind. Of course, it'll prolly be the day after I lose my ability to speak...
When I first turned the comments on, I wanted it to be an uncensored forum for responses: ideas, contributions, refutations, general comedy.
I came to look for responses after certain posts.
Then one day those who frequented the comments section were referred to (by a non-poster) as "my groupies".
I thought about whether I was still posting for the sake of truth, or posting to be praised.
Hmmm....
Then posters began remarking about other posters. And the target posters would, remark about those posters.
These people, each without knowing or speaking about the other, making assumptions about the nature of each others posts.
Sound vague... convoluted...silly? Exactly.
The assertion always made was that "others" on the blog were jocking the editor. There is no need to present other arguments, because there were no other arguments. Everybody, according to everybody else, was jocking yours truly.
Interestingly, Fearless Blogger was never accused of soliciting the jock-ularity. Well, there was the original non-poster who said everybody here was a groupie.
Irony? Karma? Infinite circularity (<-redundant phrase)?
I've been disappointed that some who I consider generally intelligent do not take to time to consider that the comments by others could are as tongue-in-cheek as their own.
But disappointed isn't really grounds for divorce, is it?
I'm turning the comments back on. There will be posts that have the comments turned off, but that usually means what I'm saying is scary and probably a little closer to the truth. If you have something to contribute, feel free. If not, don't. Have an inside joke? E-mail me directly. If you are grown, act like it; if you are not, don't.
Consider content rather than style.
One day I'll not be afraid to speak my mind. Of course, it'll prolly be the day after I lose my ability to speak...
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Pro Lacrosse
I had no idea that a professional lacrosse league was currently in existence (prolly set up by rich Northeasterners so those Ivy League athletes have something to do during grad school) . Perhaps more surprising is that I was watching it....and I liked it.
It's not so much hockey without the ice as a combination of football/rugby and field hockey. Since one runs with the ball instead of pushing like ice/field hockey, it has a mobility that's reminiscent of a tail/halfback.
Barry Sanders would have been CRAZY as a lacrosse player.
I don't know how excited you could get the "urban" youth about a game where you run around carrying a stick.
I think we tend to view that more as political expression.
It's not so much hockey without the ice as a combination of football/rugby and field hockey. Since one runs with the ball instead of pushing like ice/field hockey, it has a mobility that's reminiscent of a tail/halfback.
Barry Sanders would have been CRAZY as a lacrosse player.
I don't know how excited you could get the "urban" youth about a game where you run around carrying a stick.
I think we tend to view that more as political expression.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
To reitterate
I hate working in a job that makes me feel stupid because I'm put in a postition to answer questions that I don't have the answers to.
I don't like to be asked to give answers in situations were people could be held legally/financially responsible for actions based on said answer.
If you want me to do these things, train me specifically to do so.
I don't like to be asked to give answers in situations were people could be held legally/financially responsible for actions based on said answer.
If you want me to do these things, train me specifically to do so.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
I don't work for YOU...
For the past few and the next couple weeks I'm working in a construction office in lower Manhattan. This is the same construction co. that I worked for this past Summer/Fall, but not the same personnel. This time there's only one guy in the office, he pretty much answers the phone himself the whole time. I'm not traveling all the way to the last stop in the Bronx for 8am - generally I get there at 9a.
Better situation altogether, right?
Of course not....
Dude's ability to explain could be better; for some reason, I am generally not in the mood to receive explanations while on this job. He gives me tasks that I could easily do in 30 minutes (boring) and I take as long as possible to do them so as to reduce the amount of time I have to spend getting instruction on how to perform tasks (lazy/poor attitude). He also has me calling people to send in documents so he can complete this project. This is scarily reminiscent of cold-calling. I hate cold-calling. My father used to make me cold-call for him. I've worked several jobs where I had to cold-call. I'd rather sweep a large room with small broom than cold-call. Don't know what it is? Ask four people you know. One of them is either currently doing it or hating that they once did it.
When I first started this assignment, dude asked me for my e-mail addy. I assumed this was so he could send me messages about when he'd like me to come in and whatnot.
But no, dude likes to cc messages about the job. Or call me to see where a document is.
????
Money apparently don't get this whole temp thang. I come in complete tasks (or as much as I can in the amount of time you're willing to pay for) and scram until the next time. Once I leave, I don't think about what goes on in this office. If you can't remember where something is, I DAMN sure can't remember where something is. Need to ask somebody to fax something back that I shouldn't have? Go for it, but don't cc me in the email.
I don't care. I don't work for you.
I work for the place whose name is on my checks, and I've noticed several times that that name is not ****** Construction Company.
This is what it's like to go back to the office world after spending 6 weeks in the arts world.
I'm still suffering residual pissyness from dropping well over $1K on this V/O reel. I'm flip-flopping about how to go about finding new representation.
I also NEED to get out of this country.
Then there's the school loan deferment form that I need to retrieve from the homestead.
And the junky-ass room.
And such
and such
and sucH
(edit)
I hate this post and this post hates me.
Better situation altogether, right?
Of course not....
Dude's ability to explain could be better; for some reason, I am generally not in the mood to receive explanations while on this job. He gives me tasks that I could easily do in 30 minutes (boring) and I take as long as possible to do them so as to reduce the amount of time I have to spend getting instruction on how to perform tasks (lazy/poor attitude). He also has me calling people to send in documents so he can complete this project. This is scarily reminiscent of cold-calling. I hate cold-calling. My father used to make me cold-call for him. I've worked several jobs where I had to cold-call. I'd rather sweep a large room with small broom than cold-call. Don't know what it is? Ask four people you know. One of them is either currently doing it or hating that they once did it.
When I first started this assignment, dude asked me for my e-mail addy. I assumed this was so he could send me messages about when he'd like me to come in and whatnot.
But no, dude likes to cc messages about the job. Or call me to see where a document is.
????
Money apparently don't get this whole temp thang. I come in complete tasks (or as much as I can in the amount of time you're willing to pay for) and scram until the next time. Once I leave, I don't think about what goes on in this office. If you can't remember where something is, I DAMN sure can't remember where something is. Need to ask somebody to fax something back that I shouldn't have? Go for it, but don't cc me in the email.
I don't care. I don't work for you.
I work for the place whose name is on my checks, and I've noticed several times that that name is not ****** Construction Company.
This is what it's like to go back to the office world after spending 6 weeks in the arts world.
I'm still suffering residual pissyness from dropping well over $1K on this V/O reel. I'm flip-flopping about how to go about finding new representation.
I also NEED to get out of this country.
Then there's the school loan deferment form that I need to retrieve from the homestead.
And the junky-ass room.
And such
and such
and sucH
(edit)
I hate this post and this post hates me.
Friday, March 10, 2006
One step closer to rolling for the summer...
Before my shower just now, I spent about 1.75 hour practicing
rollerblading in the living room. I started off shaky, and my feet were
starting to cramp as they always seem to when I practice. However, about
30 minutes into it I started getting the feel of it. I'm now to the
point were I can roll upright fairly smoothly, jump stops, rolling
backwards...
It felt just like it did when I was little and Brenda took us to Crystal
Palace and I taught myself to roller skate. I basically did the same
thing as then - rolled around 'until I got the feeling of it. And, just
like then, stopping is the hard part. It was strangely gratifying. I
needed to feel some accomplishment after today (more later) I actually
had to make myself stop (got work in the morning - it's 2:45a now).
Amazing how your body can tell you what you need to feel better - even if it's your mental/emotional/spirit that needs to improve.
Listen to your body when it urges you to move.
Even if it tells you to move naked.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Hammer Blogs??!!?
Stanley really does have his own blog. Apparently he's brought back the MC (in letters only).
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Cartoon Network is THE JAWN
I just noticed that the episode of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends about the squeaky elephant toy is called:
SQUEAKERBOXXX
I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. I'm not embellishing.
I love being old enough to get all the jokes.
Cartoon Network is, with a few exceptions, the jawn.
SQUEAKERBOXXX
I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. I'm not embellishing.
I love being old enough to get all the jokes.
Cartoon Network is, with a few exceptions, the jawn.
Monday, March 06, 2006
SW TF's
I had no idea that there were ever Star Wars TransFormers...
kids today are so spoiled.
Vader actually look pretty acceptable as a TF
kids today are so spoiled.
Vader actually look pretty acceptable as a TF
More than meets the eye....IN YOUR PANTS!!!!
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Mu Shu Vegetable
Should I? Prolly not.
Will I? It's almost certain.
Unless I get Mu Shu chicken.
Did I menti0n I'm going to be broke come this Thursday? Yeah. I'm gonna be broke come this Thursday.
Well, let me call Sun Hing House 'fore they close.
Will I? It's almost certain.
Unless I get Mu Shu chicken.
Did I menti0n I'm going to be broke come this Thursday? Yeah. I'm gonna be broke come this Thursday.
Well, let me call Sun Hing House 'fore they close.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)