No - I'm not talking Scrooge-level, pinched-up meanness; I'm just sick to death of the ballyhoo and self-destructiveness of the perversions of "the holidays"...have been for years now.
Yep, I was a guy who, years ago, got out with the consuming masses and wandered about the malls, zombie-like, spending money I didn't have, all for something called "Christmas spirit."
I learned - late - that it's a scam, a ruse to separate one from even more of one's money and, despite the shril protestations of staunch "defenders" of "Christmas," it's more about fattening retailers' bottom lines than it is about any religious observances.
Yes, I still like seeing the old movies, and will ride around town tonight trailing a group of kids belting out horribly off-key carols on a tour of "Christmas Tree Lane" (I'll be swilling Irish whiskey and smoking cigars wif my kid brother the cop). Those are the things that matter, the family gatherings and such, where you can share time, the most precious gift of all.
So don't accuse me of being a Scrooge when I wax less than enthusiastic about the bulk of these "holiday" trappings; it's just that I don't care for a lot of what goes on this time of year.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What a Year...
Yeah, so I've been out of touch a while.
We've elected the first black President, suffered the worst economic metdown since the Great Depression, seen the rise of the Looney-Toon Right, and lost Michael Jackson.
Me, I matriculated at an online college; nearing the end of my third eight-week "semester," I'm carrying a 3.7-something GPA, and hope to make the Dean's list with my kid brother the cop. We'll frame it and present it to our Mother as further proof of the errancy of dire predictions made by others long ago.
I have a three-week break coming up. It would probably be a good time to keep my intellectual engine tuned up by visiting here and ranting a bit.
Boy, are you ever in for it.
We've elected the first black President, suffered the worst economic metdown since the Great Depression, seen the rise of the Looney-Toon Right, and lost Michael Jackson.
Me, I matriculated at an online college; nearing the end of my third eight-week "semester," I'm carrying a 3.7-something GPA, and hope to make the Dean's list with my kid brother the cop. We'll frame it and present it to our Mother as further proof of the errancy of dire predictions made by others long ago.
I have a three-week break coming up. It would probably be a good time to keep my intellectual engine tuned up by visiting here and ranting a bit.
Boy, are you ever in for it.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Why I Vote...With A Lump In My Throat
Yesterday, as we gathered ourselves for a dash to City Hall to vote early, I was casually rooting about in my wallet for my voter registration card.
I found it and, to my abject horror, realized it was the old one.
A genuine wave of panic overcame me in that instant; what if they won't let me vote?
As careful as I've always been, getting my registration updated as I've moved about, making sure to keep track of any precinct changes, staying current on anything pertaining to voting issues - and there I was, just a few days from Election Day, holding an invalid card.
Oy.
---
I recall the first Presidential Debates I ever paid attention to as an adult - Jimmy Carter was sparring with Gerald Ford in the fall of 1976, and I was watching it on the teevee in a bar in Groton, Connecticut. Of course, being a young sailor I was only half-interested, but I did watch closely enough to understand that these people were talking about Very Important Things and, being the product of a good civics education and parents who stayed informed by watching the news and discussing things that were going on in the world, it was somewhat of an obligation for me to pay attention.
I've voted in every Presidential and mid-term Congressional election since, with a few exceptions, always with a sense of solemn duty; this is what citizenship is all about, and a citizen in a representative democracy must participate in its governance. This is what I grew up believing, and this is what I impressed upon my own children by taking them to the polls with me, by letting them "push the big green button" to record my choices, by talking about my impressions of the issues and insisting that they develop their own ideas and not simply mimic their parents' take on things.
Now, both of my daughters are more serious about politics than I was at their age - my eldest actually works for a lobbying outfit, in a building a block from the White House, and her younger sister is involved in campus activities of a political bent. Neither are zealots by any stretch, but they do seem to have picked up a good bit of not-so-quiet passion that I apply to my beliefs, and they have both been very active in learning as much as they can about the current candidates for President, and are very excited about their chance to participate in a truly historical event - election of the first black President of The United States.
I couldn't be more proud of my girls.
---
My wife and I get to City Hall, and I'm nearly breathless; it keeps going through my mind: what if I can't cast a "normal" vote? What if they make me vote a "provisional" ballot - how can I be sure my vote will count?
All I'd thought about, all the studying, all the reading, all the late-night gnashing of teeth and screaming at spectres of things-we-don't-want-our-country-to-be - and my vote could be left aside, like so many others these past few cycles.
We wait outside in a mercifully short line, then inside for even less time; heart in my throat - literally - I approach the check-in desk and proffer my driver's license (my wife had told me she'd heard from a co-worker that this is the only form of ID that had been required of her; you swipe it in a reader, and your address info is verified against the voter database) with a shaking hand.
Swipe.
Verify.
"Here's your ballot!"
Eureka...
For all who have gone before - I voted.
For all who have sacrificed - soldiers, patriots, civil-rights marchers, workers - I voted.
For the downtrodden, the poor, the abused, those cast aside - I voted.
Not least, for my daughters, for my step-children, for my nieces and nephews, for all the young people who are ourselves, projected into an uncertain future, and to whom we owe this - I voted.
Now, we wait.
I found it and, to my abject horror, realized it was the old one.
A genuine wave of panic overcame me in that instant; what if they won't let me vote?
As careful as I've always been, getting my registration updated as I've moved about, making sure to keep track of any precinct changes, staying current on anything pertaining to voting issues - and there I was, just a few days from Election Day, holding an invalid card.
Oy.
---
I recall the first Presidential Debates I ever paid attention to as an adult - Jimmy Carter was sparring with Gerald Ford in the fall of 1976, and I was watching it on the teevee in a bar in Groton, Connecticut. Of course, being a young sailor I was only half-interested, but I did watch closely enough to understand that these people were talking about Very Important Things and, being the product of a good civics education and parents who stayed informed by watching the news and discussing things that were going on in the world, it was somewhat of an obligation for me to pay attention.
I've voted in every Presidential and mid-term Congressional election since, with a few exceptions, always with a sense of solemn duty; this is what citizenship is all about, and a citizen in a representative democracy must participate in its governance. This is what I grew up believing, and this is what I impressed upon my own children by taking them to the polls with me, by letting them "push the big green button" to record my choices, by talking about my impressions of the issues and insisting that they develop their own ideas and not simply mimic their parents' take on things.
Now, both of my daughters are more serious about politics than I was at their age - my eldest actually works for a lobbying outfit, in a building a block from the White House, and her younger sister is involved in campus activities of a political bent. Neither are zealots by any stretch, but they do seem to have picked up a good bit of not-so-quiet passion that I apply to my beliefs, and they have both been very active in learning as much as they can about the current candidates for President, and are very excited about their chance to participate in a truly historical event - election of the first black President of The United States.
I couldn't be more proud of my girls.
---
My wife and I get to City Hall, and I'm nearly breathless; it keeps going through my mind: what if I can't cast a "normal" vote? What if they make me vote a "provisional" ballot - how can I be sure my vote will count?
All I'd thought about, all the studying, all the reading, all the late-night gnashing of teeth and screaming at spectres of things-we-don't-want-our-country-to-be - and my vote could be left aside, like so many others these past few cycles.
We wait outside in a mercifully short line, then inside for even less time; heart in my throat - literally - I approach the check-in desk and proffer my driver's license (my wife had told me she'd heard from a co-worker that this is the only form of ID that had been required of her; you swipe it in a reader, and your address info is verified against the voter database) with a shaking hand.
Swipe.
Verify.
"Here's your ballot!"
Eureka...
For all who have gone before - I voted.
For all who have sacrificed - soldiers, patriots, civil-rights marchers, workers - I voted.
For the downtrodden, the poor, the abused, those cast aside - I voted.
Not least, for my daughters, for my step-children, for my nieces and nephews, for all the young people who are ourselves, projected into an uncertain future, and to whom we owe this - I voted.
Now, we wait.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The Bliss of the Curmudgeon...
...or, Please Put A Bullet Through Your Happy Face.
Okay, so I'm not really all that sour a sourpuss, nor am I always followed about by a dark cloud; I do, however, seem to have ever-shorter patience for people who always present an "upbeat" appearance, those for whom there are no rainy days, folks who always seem to have sugar and ice cubes at the ready to make lemonade from the truckloads of lemons dumped on them every day.
I find nothing particularly wrong with such expressions of a "positive attitude" (gah - there goes the creepy-gooseflesh again), but what galls sometimes is the propensity of many such Dr. Feelgoods for on-the-spot analyses of persons who don't reflect their own sunny outlooks - namely, me.
Loosely put, I have no framework familiar to such armchair Freudians with which to conduct such a dialogue; I'm as far removed from popular culture as I can make myself, and therefore have few shared experiences by which to be gauged.
My language is even different; I find myself constantly on the periphery of discussions, puzzled, and then suffer various queries from participants who are almost always veritably dumbfounded that I have no idea what they're talking about, be it sports, "American Idol," whatever.
Sorry folks - that world is pretty much foreign to me, of some mild amusement at times, and almost certainly a curiousity I'm mostly happy to let go by.
Okay, so I'm not really all that sour a sourpuss, nor am I always followed about by a dark cloud; I do, however, seem to have ever-shorter patience for people who always present an "upbeat" appearance, those for whom there are no rainy days, folks who always seem to have sugar and ice cubes at the ready to make lemonade from the truckloads of lemons dumped on them every day.
I find nothing particularly wrong with such expressions of a "positive attitude" (gah - there goes the creepy-gooseflesh again), but what galls sometimes is the propensity of many such Dr. Feelgoods for on-the-spot analyses of persons who don't reflect their own sunny outlooks - namely, me.
Loosely put, I have no framework familiar to such armchair Freudians with which to conduct such a dialogue; I'm as far removed from popular culture as I can make myself, and therefore have few shared experiences by which to be gauged.
My language is even different; I find myself constantly on the periphery of discussions, puzzled, and then suffer various queries from participants who are almost always veritably dumbfounded that I have no idea what they're talking about, be it sports, "American Idol," whatever.
Sorry folks - that world is pretty much foreign to me, of some mild amusement at times, and almost certainly a curiousity I'm mostly happy to let go by.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
I'm Tired
...of a political system that survives by convincing the people it's supposed to be of, by, and for that there's really nothing for them to be concerned about, that as long as they simply trust their government all is well; that their government does everything it can to protect them and that they should be satisfied that everything it does is aboveboard and morally proper; that anyone who questions how and why the government does what it does is at best naive and misguided and at worst seriously in need of correction; that, because we are the United States of America, the entire world owes us whatever we want to take from them.
We are victims of a sick, twisted confidence game, foisted upon us by people with money and power - and too many of us are simply unaware that the tables are rigged, the cards marked, and the dice loaded; we are having our soul, as a Nation, sucked from us by the most nefarious of vampires...and a lot of us don't even care.
We are victims of a sick, twisted confidence game, foisted upon us by people with money and power - and too many of us are simply unaware that the tables are rigged, the cards marked, and the dice loaded; we are having our soul, as a Nation, sucked from us by the most nefarious of vampires...and a lot of us don't even care.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Red Wings win Game One
One added benefit to being stuck in a hotel room for the next three weeks is that I get to watch the entire Stanley Cup finals. Game One was tonight, with the Detroit Red Wings humiliating the Pittsburgh Penguins 4-0.
I grew up in central Florida, so didn't know anything at all about hockey. I watched the American hockey club smash the vaunted Red Army team in the '80 Olympics, but didn't have a clue what was going on; all I knew was that we'd whipped them dang Rooskies at sumpin', and caught myself all het up with "U-S-A" fervor.
It was a bit of an embarrassment, especially since I didn't know a defenseman from a linesman, and couldn't for the life of me figure out what "offside" was.
Fast-forward a bit over a decade, and there I am getting crazy with ten thousand other Southern folk at a hockey game - in North Charleston, South Carolina. Bunches of 'em, matter of fact, as we managed to hold on for six whole seasons as season ticket holders for the South Carolina Stingrays, of the East Coast Hockey League. We'd gotten the bug at a few exhibition games, and were nuts about it after. I watched every game I could lay eyeballs on, and followed a few teams pretty closely - cheered the Rangers to their championship in '94, rooted hard for the Red Wings (especially against the Avalanche and the hated Claude Lemieux), and just loved the game in general.
Oh, yeah...
I grew up in central Florida, so didn't know anything at all about hockey. I watched the American hockey club smash the vaunted Red Army team in the '80 Olympics, but didn't have a clue what was going on; all I knew was that we'd whipped them dang Rooskies at sumpin', and caught myself all het up with "U-S-A" fervor.
It was a bit of an embarrassment, especially since I didn't know a defenseman from a linesman, and couldn't for the life of me figure out what "offside" was.
Fast-forward a bit over a decade, and there I am getting crazy with ten thousand other Southern folk at a hockey game - in North Charleston, South Carolina. Bunches of 'em, matter of fact, as we managed to hold on for six whole seasons as season ticket holders for the South Carolina Stingrays, of the East Coast Hockey League. We'd gotten the bug at a few exhibition games, and were nuts about it after. I watched every game I could lay eyeballs on, and followed a few teams pretty closely - cheered the Rangers to their championship in '94, rooted hard for the Red Wings (especially against the Avalanche and the hated Claude Lemieux), and just loved the game in general.
Oh, yeah...
Everytown, USA
So, I'm stuck in Clarksville, Tennessee for another three weeks, and my primary observation to this point is that this burg - from this particular vantage, anyway - looks exactly like any other I've seen in the past twenty years or so; as I've described it to several people already, the main drag, from my hotel window, could be Rivers Ave., in N. Charleston, SC, or Dale Mabry Blvd., in Tampa, or Adamo Dr., in Brandon. Same long, straight stretch of fast-food joints and strip malls and Wal-Marts, all the detritus of sprawled-urban America.
Bleah.
Oh - the reason I'm in "the Gateway to The New South?" I'm working, part of a team training Army men on a new system; came up a week ago to inventory and power-up the gear, and will stay for the training gig. Twenty-eight days in yer Standard Suburban Setting, interspersed with forays into yer Standard Military Enclave.
More on impressions of the Standard Army Town later...
Bleah.
Oh - the reason I'm in "the Gateway to The New South?" I'm working, part of a team training Army men on a new system; came up a week ago to inventory and power-up the gear, and will stay for the training gig. Twenty-eight days in yer Standard Suburban Setting, interspersed with forays into yer Standard Military Enclave.
More on impressions of the Standard Army Town later...
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