Ramblings Post #58
There are some days I wake up, and struggle to remember what day of the week it is. I have to concentrate for a few minutes where I need to be, what I need to do, what do I need to do to get to the whatever. And then there are special days. Days where you rise with a purpose and passion and from there things only get better. That second set of days would for the most part be imaginary.
Let's see, Friday night I went home...and what did I do? Oh yeah, I called and cussed out my bank, because I stopped for gas and damned if my debit card didn't get rejected like three times. I don't have a whole lot of money, but I know I had enough to buy gas! So after paying cash for my fuel, I went home and called the bank. Nothing like bank customer service...which ultimately blamed the gas station after 15 minutes of rabble and "can I place you hold?" I was so heated by the end of the conversation, I just curled up and watched some TV before falling asleep on the couch.
Saturday, was full of excitement. I lie, Saturday was halfway boring. After studying a bit I went and got my eyes looked at. The dock dilated me so he could check the back of my retinas. It was like being on something while being fully cognizant. The effect lasts for about 4 hours, and they claim you can drive - but what they need to suggest is that you drive straight home. I'm hoping the new frames I picked out while squib eyed look okay. I got new glasses, because the one's I've had I got about 4 years ago. That's like 14 in dog years.
Then, because I hadn't realized I was blind, I decided to go look for a TV stand. My TV has been sitting on what I think is a coffee table from the American Original Really Rustic collection that if I remember correctly I got from older brother's used college furniture stash, making the table at least 20 years old. And after an exhaustive search - online - the one perfect stand I wanted, Walmart just stopped selling. Yes, I was willing to head back to that blight of the American Economy, Walmart. I would have begged off, but everybody else who'd even heard of this particular TV stand wanted $100 more than Sam's gang. Only Sam had stopped selling it, so I was stuck. But as I got to the exit, on a humbug I got off and pulled into the Walmart parking lot.
A moment aside here, I haven't been out and about in a while. I haven't been to a mall in ages. I visited a mall and Walmart on Saturday. There are some nice looking women in Atlanta. Real real nice. Even with squib eyes.
So, back to the quest. I entered Walmart, walked past the toiletries, jewelry, men's wear, baby clothes, shoes, home decor, curtains, small appliances, crossed the chasm of Asomoth, mirrors, art and there on the home furniture aisle, halfway down...there was the stand they said they didn't sell anymore! For less than they claimed to have been selling it for when they did have it! Ain't this about a....
So I got my stand.
I met Spanky for lunch, and we got a floor show, as a young brother - unfamiliar with how a restaurant works - asked for his order special, then proceeded to instruct the chef how to cook it. Hey, man put some peppa' on it. I like mine on it while it's cooking. If I had owned the place, halfway through I would have opened the register and gave him his money back, plus $5, and told him to leave. He got on my nerves and he wasn't even talking to me. For his little $7, I don't think he realized what he was paying for was the right to eat and not have to clean up. Spanky regaled me with a story of yet another questionable man...but I think she's already sent him the showers.
Saturday night...I put together my stand. Although the instructions said two people, I'm just that good.
Sunday was more reading, the studying I'd halfway been begging off the whole weekend. But I did it. Then I watched football. For quite possibly the last time this season. And the Cowboys beat the Bucs handily. So I got that going for me.
Sporty hollered at me a little later, but that's a different tale.
Not a bad weekend. Well, not a horrible weekend.
Barkeep...What do you have that's say...good?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Bar Chatter
Bar Chatter #4
When it's not enough to make a post, but deserves to go out to the world... it's just Bar Chatter.
That thing that Kanye did at the VMAs (which I did not watch) was not cool.
It's called Youtube people.
Had he said what he said in a little interview piece thirty seconds later, it would have been one thing. A little snide perhaps, but perfectly acceptable given the catty nature of the music industry. But to walk up on stage and break into her time... if I was that little girl's brother they'd be bailing me out of jail this morning.
Why did he act like that little girl didn't work just as hard at her craft as his favorite did? One of the idiots in my office - one of the black idiots - called it a powerful statement. I personally think it was a powerful statement of ignorance.
[gratuitous comment to justify Amber Rose photo post]
Photo from Complex.com
Damn she got a look I like...
When it's not enough to make a post, but deserves to go out to the world... it's just Bar Chatter.
That thing that Kanye did at the VMAs (which I did not watch) was not cool.
It's called Youtube people.
Had he said what he said in a little interview piece thirty seconds later, it would have been one thing. A little snide perhaps, but perfectly acceptable given the catty nature of the music industry. But to walk up on stage and break into her time... if I was that little girl's brother they'd be bailing me out of jail this morning.
Why did he act like that little girl didn't work just as hard at her craft as his favorite did? One of the idiots in my office - one of the black idiots - called it a powerful statement. I personally think it was a powerful statement of ignorance.
Damn Kanye? Ain't it enough that you "theoretically" getting you some Amber Rose?
[gratuitous comment to justify Amber Rose photo post]
Photo from Complex.comDamn she got a look I like...
Friday, September 11, 2009
9/11
on Sept 11, 2001 ...I was unemployed and at home. I had no interviews scheduled, not a whole lot of money and I was a little depressed. When I awoke, the sun was shining, and the world seemed okay. I got some cereal, sat down and turned on the TV...
.... and the message "Due to the events that occurred in New York this morning, we have suspended programming" looked back at me silently. From like 10 channels.
What the hell had happened in New York, I thought, that would shut down half of cable television?
In a book I read as a kid, the British sci- fi author Douglas Adams described an attack in one of his books as akin to "a man getting mugged in a meadow." I've often thought of that phrase when I think of sudden occurrences with what look like no warning.
I turned to one of the network stations. I watched the Twin Towers on fire.
Picture from the Huffington Post. I don't know where they got it.
I lived in Jersey for a brief period in early 1992. I was twenty minutes from New York on the Skyway, and World Trade Center was a fixture I could see across the river I drove. Because I was living there and not just visiting, I deigned to absolutely none of the "tourist" things while in town. No visit to the Statue of Liberty, no Guggenheim, and no trip to the World Trade Center. I found out comedian Sam Kinison died from the ticker in Times Square. I ate at a corner delis and bought silk ties for $5 on street corners. I was (temporarily) a New Yorker. Who lived in Jersey. But everytime I rode into NY, I saw the Towers.
I watched the replay of the second plane hitting the tower, over and over. I listened as the play the raw unedited footage and heard people curse on live network television as American icons were attacked. My cereal went uneaten. I couldn't feel for a little while. Something had hit the Pentagon. The motherfucking Pentagon! More planes were supposedly headed for Washington. There were supposed to be car bombs.
The phone rang and this girl I barely knew was on the phone. If I was in the dark, she was underground. She asked me what the hell was going on. As I talked to her on the phone the first tower fell. Even thinking about it now I feel strange. It's a sadness mixed with a little outrage. We stayed on the phone until the second one went.
When I told her the World Trade Center was gone, the very idea was impossible.
"What do you mean gone?" She asked me.
"I mean like not there no more. As in the buildings are gone."
I don't even remember how the call ended. I watched TV all day listening to every rumor, every bit of insanity that we were all to willing to believe in the moment. I remember my homeboy calling from DC. He's career military. The very idea that they had to fly cover over the nation's capital disturbed him. I didn't sleep right for week.
That was eight years ago.
And last night...I dreamed I was on the street on New York. Looking up at the first Tower on fire. Watching the second plane slam into and feeling the impact in my shoes, feeling the heat from the flames. And running, waiting for the debris to come raining down around me. I have no idea why...that's never happened to me before.
there are nightmares, and then...there are nightmares.
.... and the message "Due to the events that occurred in New York this morning, we have suspended programming" looked back at me silently. From like 10 channels.
What the hell had happened in New York, I thought, that would shut down half of cable television?
In a book I read as a kid, the British sci- fi author Douglas Adams described an attack in one of his books as akin to "a man getting mugged in a meadow." I've often thought of that phrase when I think of sudden occurrences with what look like no warning.
I turned to one of the network stations. I watched the Twin Towers on fire.
Picture from the Huffington Post. I don't know where they got it.I lived in Jersey for a brief period in early 1992. I was twenty minutes from New York on the Skyway, and World Trade Center was a fixture I could see across the river I drove. Because I was living there and not just visiting, I deigned to absolutely none of the "tourist" things while in town. No visit to the Statue of Liberty, no Guggenheim, and no trip to the World Trade Center. I found out comedian Sam Kinison died from the ticker in Times Square. I ate at a corner delis and bought silk ties for $5 on street corners. I was (temporarily) a New Yorker. Who lived in Jersey. But everytime I rode into NY, I saw the Towers.
I watched the replay of the second plane hitting the tower, over and over. I listened as the play the raw unedited footage and heard people curse on live network television as American icons were attacked. My cereal went uneaten. I couldn't feel for a little while. Something had hit the Pentagon. The motherfucking Pentagon! More planes were supposedly headed for Washington. There were supposed to be car bombs.
The phone rang and this girl I barely knew was on the phone. If I was in the dark, she was underground. She asked me what the hell was going on. As I talked to her on the phone the first tower fell. Even thinking about it now I feel strange. It's a sadness mixed with a little outrage. We stayed on the phone until the second one went.
When I told her the World Trade Center was gone, the very idea was impossible.
"What do you mean gone?" She asked me.
"I mean like not there no more. As in the buildings are gone."
I don't even remember how the call ended. I watched TV all day listening to every rumor, every bit of insanity that we were all to willing to believe in the moment. I remember my homeboy calling from DC. He's career military. The very idea that they had to fly cover over the nation's capital disturbed him. I didn't sleep right for week.
That was eight years ago.
And last night...I dreamed I was on the street on New York. Looking up at the first Tower on fire. Watching the second plane slam into and feeling the impact in my shoes, feeling the heat from the flames. And running, waiting for the debris to come raining down around me. I have no idea why...that's never happened to me before.
there are nightmares, and then...there are nightmares.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
And the Weekend...The Recap.
Ramblings Post #57
Life is about being true to yourself. Every so often we all need to stop, take a deep breath and take a long and hard look at ourselves and be honest with the results. Not what you plan to do, what you hope to do or anything like that, but where you are right now, right this second. None of those self perpetuating lies or little embellishments we like to give ourselves. Because of nothing bad is ever said, nobody ever tries to be better.
I don't normally get long weekends. Even when I'm not working it seems like I'm working, in that although my RP is the draw, I'm the one in the background making all the little things happen. But not this weekend. This weekend I veged out, I did my readings, I typed up my notes, I apparently lost my mind at one point and went "gasp" shopping and generally tried to relax for a hot second.
After getting fleeced by the auto repair franchise Just Brakes on Friday - I would go into it but it's not worth getting that worked up again - I should have stopped at the grocery store and got me a box or two of cereal and pretended I was back at my momma's house reading comic books at the kitchen counter. But instead I took a shot, because it was the start of the three day weekend, and slid by one of my many running partner's promotions.
It's a new little drop in over by the dome at a spot called 595 North. It has the trappings of a nice spot, with lounging overtones. From 6pm to 9pm or somewhere thereabouts, it's free entry and free drinks. That is not a misprint. But if you're over thirty, or read this blog, you know that free drinks means well liquor only. And for the young and slow, well liquor is the liquor they pour if you don't have a particular brand in mind. It costs about $4 a fifth. It is rotgut. There was a singularly funny moment when standing at the bar I ordered an actual drink and the bartender told me the price. I gave him that blank stare that said the price wasn't about to change my mind, and he hurriedly filled my order. We had not issues the rest of the evening, he knew what I was drinking.
The promotion itself reminded my of babysitting someone else's children. My RP was the scene, and after a while we finally just had to stop someone and ask how old she was. The reply that she was barely past the legal drinking age sent a chill down my spine. It's one thing to think you're getting up there, it's another to actually be the "old man in the club". I have a personal prohibition of gettng drunk in front of other people's children, and that what the vast majority of these people were to me: children. I bid my promoter a quick adieu as soon as it was socially appropriate.
Saturday was slow, although Spanky did invite me over for breakfast, which consisted of eggs, bacon and Cinnamon toast. Her Martha Stewart has been slacking as late. And although she lobbied hard, I didn't attend the day party with the free bbq, or go to the joint at the Royal later on that night, or the house party on the other side of town. I stayed home and read casework. This is odd, because I sent out my usual holiday listing with what must be 10 or 12 little spots to hit, and myself went to none of them. But I see the photos on line...and boy can i pick'em.
Sunday was another day of reading casework. It wasn't that much to read considering how much time I put into it, but the cases get pretty dense and apparently my indoctrination is still a little ways off because i really don't understand why legal opinions are not in plain English. Or at least even clear English. The fact that most of the older law has to be interpreted is half the problem I think. But I'm still technically a first year, so what do I know?
Sunday night around 6pm however, my RP hit me with me with the last minute party invite. It was late and I had actually done the reading, it was around the corner and if it was busted I could slide back to the house in less than twenty minutes. But when I got there they had someone monitoring parking, security, a tent set up in the backyard and two bars served by four pretty cute bartenders. And the crowd was chock full of talent. Chock full. Talent my age.
And yet at 9:45pm, six feet from the dance floor where I worked out a sweat and "boogie'd down" with four or five women despite the horrible DJ, I whipped out my phone and found myself sending a text to Sporty on the spur of the moment. Yeah, despite all the talent in the room, I was thinking of her. I sent a quick quip and figured she'd get it in the morning.
She hit me back almost immediately, which I found odd for a holiday weekend. She complained she was lonely. I imagined her at home on the couch watching TV trying not be bored to tears. I wanted to cry. I assured her that while she might be lonely, she's never alone.
(I could write for a soap opera)
In any case that precipitated my Monday outing, picking up the little tidbits that will comprise her birthday present. It's not much, a few odds and ends I know she'll like, a bit here or there to surprise her. I don't know why, but the idea of her sad kills me. I do love her.
So here we are. Life, despite our best hopes and dreams, goes on with or without us.
Barkeep. The good brown liquor. No, not cognac, that smooth sipping whiskey.
Life is about being true to yourself. Every so often we all need to stop, take a deep breath and take a long and hard look at ourselves and be honest with the results. Not what you plan to do, what you hope to do or anything like that, but where you are right now, right this second. None of those self perpetuating lies or little embellishments we like to give ourselves. Because of nothing bad is ever said, nobody ever tries to be better.
I don't normally get long weekends. Even when I'm not working it seems like I'm working, in that although my RP is the draw, I'm the one in the background making all the little things happen. But not this weekend. This weekend I veged out, I did my readings, I typed up my notes, I apparently lost my mind at one point and went "gasp" shopping and generally tried to relax for a hot second.
After getting fleeced by the auto repair franchise Just Brakes on Friday - I would go into it but it's not worth getting that worked up again - I should have stopped at the grocery store and got me a box or two of cereal and pretended I was back at my momma's house reading comic books at the kitchen counter. But instead I took a shot, because it was the start of the three day weekend, and slid by one of my many running partner's promotions.
It's a new little drop in over by the dome at a spot called 595 North. It has the trappings of a nice spot, with lounging overtones. From 6pm to 9pm or somewhere thereabouts, it's free entry and free drinks. That is not a misprint. But if you're over thirty, or read this blog, you know that free drinks means well liquor only. And for the young and slow, well liquor is the liquor they pour if you don't have a particular brand in mind. It costs about $4 a fifth. It is rotgut. There was a singularly funny moment when standing at the bar I ordered an actual drink and the bartender told me the price. I gave him that blank stare that said the price wasn't about to change my mind, and he hurriedly filled my order. We had not issues the rest of the evening, he knew what I was drinking.
The promotion itself reminded my of babysitting someone else's children. My RP was the scene, and after a while we finally just had to stop someone and ask how old she was. The reply that she was barely past the legal drinking age sent a chill down my spine. It's one thing to think you're getting up there, it's another to actually be the "old man in the club". I have a personal prohibition of gettng drunk in front of other people's children, and that what the vast majority of these people were to me: children. I bid my promoter a quick adieu as soon as it was socially appropriate.
Saturday was slow, although Spanky did invite me over for breakfast, which consisted of eggs, bacon and Cinnamon toast. Her Martha Stewart has been slacking as late. And although she lobbied hard, I didn't attend the day party with the free bbq, or go to the joint at the Royal later on that night, or the house party on the other side of town. I stayed home and read casework. This is odd, because I sent out my usual holiday listing with what must be 10 or 12 little spots to hit, and myself went to none of them. But I see the photos on line...and boy can i pick'em.
Sunday was another day of reading casework. It wasn't that much to read considering how much time I put into it, but the cases get pretty dense and apparently my indoctrination is still a little ways off because i really don't understand why legal opinions are not in plain English. Or at least even clear English. The fact that most of the older law has to be interpreted is half the problem I think. But I'm still technically a first year, so what do I know?
Sunday night around 6pm however, my RP hit me with me with the last minute party invite. It was late and I had actually done the reading, it was around the corner and if it was busted I could slide back to the house in less than twenty minutes. But when I got there they had someone monitoring parking, security, a tent set up in the backyard and two bars served by four pretty cute bartenders. And the crowd was chock full of talent. Chock full. Talent my age.
And yet at 9:45pm, six feet from the dance floor where I worked out a sweat and "boogie'd down" with four or five women despite the horrible DJ, I whipped out my phone and found myself sending a text to Sporty on the spur of the moment. Yeah, despite all the talent in the room, I was thinking of her. I sent a quick quip and figured she'd get it in the morning.
She hit me back almost immediately, which I found odd for a holiday weekend. She complained she was lonely. I imagined her at home on the couch watching TV trying not be bored to tears. I wanted to cry. I assured her that while she might be lonely, she's never alone.
(I could write for a soap opera)
In any case that precipitated my Monday outing, picking up the little tidbits that will comprise her birthday present. It's not much, a few odds and ends I know she'll like, a bit here or there to surprise her. I don't know why, but the idea of her sad kills me. I do love her.
So here we are. Life, despite our best hopes and dreams, goes on with or without us.
Barkeep. The good brown liquor. No, not cognac, that smooth sipping whiskey.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The Spanky Chronicles
Ramblings Post #56
I am for the most part an observer of people. To be a creative, someone who is creative, you have to be an observer of something. Something has to inspire you, move you, motivate you. What I do is see people. My brother once said a talent I have that few seem to possess is that I actually listen to people when they talk. Well, I don't just listen, I look too. And when you look...not just see, but LOOK... some things become real clear, real fast.
Spanky, my erstwhile female chum, had another of "why is this happening to me?" jags just recently. It was the regular roller coaster of fun and excitement that only someone who really needs a hug can provide. I'm not perfect, but my girl needs work.
Let me give you the background. Spanky is a few years younger than me, and apparently we went to school together, although undergrad was a bit an alcohol infused blur so I quite honestly don't remember her, although we know a bunch of the same folks. I moved to Atlanta sometime later and coming up to speed, about eight or nine years ago I ran into her at a party - I was trying to holla at her friend - and we've been row dogs ever since. She's bright and got money (engineering degree & engineering job) cute with a nice body (spent a little time modeling after college) and very social. She likes to get her Martha Stewart on from time to time, cooking and decorating and all in all is a fairly cool chick.
But she's called me in tears on more than a few occasions after Guy X has finally gone too far. She has a tendency to end up with guys who ask her to pay their rent, settle their debts, pay for their trips and buy them gifts. Not guys going through a rough patch or two, but losers. In my humble opinion, I'm starting to think her cute is working against her, in that she has a look that still gets the guy looking for the quick come up... to holla at her because she is a quick come up girl-wise. I mean after all she's working with a full package.
Art by Mosskat
So why haven't I hollered? The phrase "know too much" springs to mind.
But as I said, she's just a few years younger than me, so she too is approaching that threshold where your game HAS to change. Where the clubs all start to look the same, the faces are a lot younger than you remember, and everything just generally used to be better.
Side note - Everything really did used to be better. Really.
We have a really long Bberry instant message convo about how she just wants to change. We go though a list of her exes, some of the insanity they've asked of her, before she finally resigns herself to ending up with selfish guys for the rest of her life. Her resignation just irked me. She seemed to believe that since the guys approached her, it was ultimately their fault they were selfish or users in her life. I tried to explain to her that basic concept that she was complaining about her own draft picks, that she was complaining about the guys SHE CHOSE!!!. Lot's of guys are interested in her, the ones she goes out with are the ones she interested in. The idea that she had some choice in the matter did not occur to her.
What she really needs is a minor readjustment of her filter, i.e, what is it in a man that she looks for, that makes her want to go out with them.
I have an old theory that I may have shared on here before, but bears repeating (I'm almost too lazy to go look). The average woman tends to date the same man over and over again. He may have different names, and be different people, but its usually the same guy. In other words, whatever it was that attracted her to the first guy is the same thing that attracted her to the next and so on and so on. There is an unseen commonality.
Photo liberated from Askmen.com
I saw this in college with a young friend of mine ( I swear I've told this story before) who when she finally had the police called on her ( long story ) we sat down and looked at her track record. All her men had been same height, same build, dressed in the same style - and thus would have had common experiences and have common attitudes that all related to the break ups. It was easy for her to fashion a new archetype to look for, and get a fresh perspective on men. With Spanky it's not so clear, but there is some commonality, I'm sure of it. A brief look at her history suggests to me she find a man with a regular job instead of the entrepreneurs and men still chasing young boy dreams she's seems to end up with. I'm certain there are more characteristics but I'm not looking that hard.
Listen me, like I'm some kind of healer or shaman. No, I don't know everything, but I've seen this a time or two. And I know usually what the problem is. You can't keep eating the shellfish once you've found out you're allergic, then ask yourself why you keep getting sick. It's illogical.
The problem, as par usual with a cute chick, is she'll meet the next guy next week and all will be right with the world, until he screws the pooch. Then we're right back here again.
Barkeep, just lemme have some of that brown liquor in the back.
I am for the most part an observer of people. To be a creative, someone who is creative, you have to be an observer of something. Something has to inspire you, move you, motivate you. What I do is see people. My brother once said a talent I have that few seem to possess is that I actually listen to people when they talk. Well, I don't just listen, I look too. And when you look...not just see, but LOOK... some things become real clear, real fast.
Spanky, my erstwhile female chum, had another of "why is this happening to me?" jags just recently. It was the regular roller coaster of fun and excitement that only someone who really needs a hug can provide. I'm not perfect, but my girl needs work.
Let me give you the background. Spanky is a few years younger than me, and apparently we went to school together, although undergrad was a bit an alcohol infused blur so I quite honestly don't remember her, although we know a bunch of the same folks. I moved to Atlanta sometime later and coming up to speed, about eight or nine years ago I ran into her at a party - I was trying to holla at her friend - and we've been row dogs ever since. She's bright and got money (engineering degree & engineering job) cute with a nice body (spent a little time modeling after college) and very social. She likes to get her Martha Stewart on from time to time, cooking and decorating and all in all is a fairly cool chick.
But she's called me in tears on more than a few occasions after Guy X has finally gone too far. She has a tendency to end up with guys who ask her to pay their rent, settle their debts, pay for their trips and buy them gifts. Not guys going through a rough patch or two, but losers. In my humble opinion, I'm starting to think her cute is working against her, in that she has a look that still gets the guy looking for the quick come up... to holla at her because she is a quick come up girl-wise. I mean after all she's working with a full package.
Art by MosskatSo why haven't I hollered? The phrase "know too much" springs to mind.
But as I said, she's just a few years younger than me, so she too is approaching that threshold where your game HAS to change. Where the clubs all start to look the same, the faces are a lot younger than you remember, and everything just generally used to be better.
Side note - Everything really did used to be better. Really.
We have a really long Bberry instant message convo about how she just wants to change. We go though a list of her exes, some of the insanity they've asked of her, before she finally resigns herself to ending up with selfish guys for the rest of her life. Her resignation just irked me. She seemed to believe that since the guys approached her, it was ultimately their fault they were selfish or users in her life. I tried to explain to her that basic concept that she was complaining about her own draft picks, that she was complaining about the guys SHE CHOSE!!!. Lot's of guys are interested in her, the ones she goes out with are the ones she interested in. The idea that she had some choice in the matter did not occur to her.
What she really needs is a minor readjustment of her filter, i.e, what is it in a man that she looks for, that makes her want to go out with them.
I have an old theory that I may have shared on here before, but bears repeating (I'm almost too lazy to go look). The average woman tends to date the same man over and over again. He may have different names, and be different people, but its usually the same guy. In other words, whatever it was that attracted her to the first guy is the same thing that attracted her to the next and so on and so on. There is an unseen commonality.
Photo liberated from Askmen.comI saw this in college with a young friend of mine ( I swear I've told this story before) who when she finally had the police called on her ( long story ) we sat down and looked at her track record. All her men had been same height, same build, dressed in the same style - and thus would have had common experiences and have common attitudes that all related to the break ups. It was easy for her to fashion a new archetype to look for, and get a fresh perspective on men. With Spanky it's not so clear, but there is some commonality, I'm sure of it. A brief look at her history suggests to me she find a man with a regular job instead of the entrepreneurs and men still chasing young boy dreams she's seems to end up with. I'm certain there are more characteristics but I'm not looking that hard.
Listen me, like I'm some kind of healer or shaman. No, I don't know everything, but I've seen this a time or two. And I know usually what the problem is. You can't keep eating the shellfish once you've found out you're allergic, then ask yourself why you keep getting sick. It's illogical.
The problem, as par usual with a cute chick, is she'll meet the next guy next week and all will be right with the world, until he screws the pooch. Then we're right back here again.
Barkeep, just lemme have some of that brown liquor in the back.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Points in the Dark
Ramblings Post #55
It is a long strange trip into the unknown that each of us embarks upon as we wake each morning. We make great effort to minimize that as we go through life, getting and adorning our home, maintain the same employment, excluding certain things from our diet, limiting our travel to our home city except for special occasions. And then we change. And we decide what we hath wrought isn't sufficient, and we change. That's where I am. In the midst of change.
It's been three weeks since I started this semester of law school, but it feels like only two. That's because of two of the classes, I've only actually had two sessions. Only in the last one have we actually had, or rather after tomorrow will have had, three classes.
I'm taking the standard three card monte the school induces upon you for the finish of your first year in the part time program: Tort law, Constitutional Law and Civil Procedure.
Tort is quickly becoming exasperating. Our teacher is a talker, which kinda puts me in the hole because in class I become a talker. I'm the person not afraid to be wrong in their comment and am more than willing to speak up during class on various issues. But after the first class, where I thought it was an aberration, I find her theatrical bent less a warm up shtick and more how she's gonna do this whole thing. And she likes to float her questions around the room picking on targets ( I had my hand up like five times!) this class is one in which I better learn how to be okay with just taking notes!
Constitutional Law is on the other hand kinda engaging. Our professor is more than willing to let me and my row buddy 'Drew talk our freaking heads off. 'Drew is a character in and of himself, that unbelievably smart little guy who is able to quote cases from memory (he brings neither book nor paper to class) and connects the dots in legal theory on the fly with frightening ability. I just like to be heard. Yeah, I guess I'm kinda of an egotist.
Civil Procedure is tricky. The prof is both engaging as well as boring. He's my Property professor minus the Hawaiian shirts and adding a Southern twang. And he knows his stuff. I'm still finding my footing there, but I'm fairly certain once I do I'll want to show-off the meager bit of legal knowledge I'll acquire straight away.
I figured out this week as you need 90 hours to be a graduate the program and we average about 9 hours a semester, it's a 10 semester deal. This is my fourth semester, so I'm about halfway through. I figure though since it's part time and all the classes I'll need won't be offered quite when I need them, a couple of extra semesters isn't out of the question.
Provided I make it that far. We'll see.
Barkeep. A nice Riesling and some crackers..
It is a long strange trip into the unknown that each of us embarks upon as we wake each morning. We make great effort to minimize that as we go through life, getting and adorning our home, maintain the same employment, excluding certain things from our diet, limiting our travel to our home city except for special occasions. And then we change. And we decide what we hath wrought isn't sufficient, and we change. That's where I am. In the midst of change.
It's been three weeks since I started this semester of law school, but it feels like only two. That's because of two of the classes, I've only actually had two sessions. Only in the last one have we actually had, or rather after tomorrow will have had, three classes.
I'm taking the standard three card monte the school induces upon you for the finish of your first year in the part time program: Tort law, Constitutional Law and Civil Procedure.
Tort is quickly becoming exasperating. Our teacher is a talker, which kinda puts me in the hole because in class I become a talker. I'm the person not afraid to be wrong in their comment and am more than willing to speak up during class on various issues. But after the first class, where I thought it was an aberration, I find her theatrical bent less a warm up shtick and more how she's gonna do this whole thing. And she likes to float her questions around the room picking on targets ( I had my hand up like five times!) this class is one in which I better learn how to be okay with just taking notes!
Constitutional Law is on the other hand kinda engaging. Our professor is more than willing to let me and my row buddy 'Drew talk our freaking heads off. 'Drew is a character in and of himself, that unbelievably smart little guy who is able to quote cases from memory (he brings neither book nor paper to class) and connects the dots in legal theory on the fly with frightening ability. I just like to be heard. Yeah, I guess I'm kinda of an egotist.
Civil Procedure is tricky. The prof is both engaging as well as boring. He's my Property professor minus the Hawaiian shirts and adding a Southern twang. And he knows his stuff. I'm still finding my footing there, but I'm fairly certain once I do I'll want to show-off the meager bit of legal knowledge I'll acquire straight away.
I figured out this week as you need 90 hours to be a graduate the program and we average about 9 hours a semester, it's a 10 semester deal. This is my fourth semester, so I'm about halfway through. I figure though since it's part time and all the classes I'll need won't be offered quite when I need them, a couple of extra semesters isn't out of the question.
Provided I make it that far. We'll see.
Barkeep. A nice Riesling and some crackers..
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