Ugly Is...

I am working my way up to a simmer...

Why do so many people have an inherent need to destroy and dissemble every view point that is not their own?

I have been a member of a community group for nearly three years that is somewhat grass-roots.

And they have just sent out their latest newsletter with an article lambasting (word?) another local organization for supporting the Boy Scouts - or in actuality, permitting the Scouts to meet.

Supporting the Scouts is discrimination.

Tearing the Scouts out by the root is apparently not.

A witch hunt is a witch hunt. Even if it is a bunch of frustrated members of a minority group performing the task.

Ugly is.

More on this later...

---

~10:50pm

I'm starting to think more about all of it - and sometimes it makes my head hurt.

1) The operators of the community center make a space available to those who pay for their time - there are rules, I am sure - still, the BSA are welcome, the GLBT (gay-lesbian-bi-trans) group is welcome.

2) The GLBT group I belong to is attacking the community center for making the space available to the BSA. The BSA doesn't protest the GLBT group using the space. The GLBT group is not going to stop using the space and find a new home. They suddenly want the community center to eject the BSA (both have been there for a number of years).

3) The BSA believes a certain thing. The GLBT believes a certain thing. They don't believe the same thing. GLBT is encouraging a public pressure on the community center.

4) Does anybody get to win?

I don't like hate/exclusion/archery or its propagation. I spent my time in the Navy and don't understand the hooplah about Gays in the military. I don't get what the BSA thinks its ban on gays accomplishes. If they're there, they're there. Some of the young scouts are about the age where they will just be coming aware of their sexual yen.

I am just curious what others think, too. My initial reaction to the letter was, "My GLBT group is a bunch of Plugs."

However, what others have said to me today resonates on a different plane than I was thinking on - so I am stepping back and thinking about it...

I guess the pressure thing is what it is - it works, it fails, it frustrates.

---

~ 08.12.01

I believe in a way I am glad that someone is choosing this battle -

But it took me off guard to find that a group I have identified with very well, and seen eye-to-eye with on so many issues is the group raising the battle cry.

And I find myself suddenly feeling outside the group.

My people. My tribe.

I think that writing this out has helped me see it is that really from which my initial reaction comes.

TMI Filter

A TMI filter is desperately needed in the world:

I work in a company that is all about customers and their personal issues and the things they will confide in over the phone, in their anonymity.

Some of my favorites phone calls:

1) My husband is having an affair and if I don't lose weight he will leave me for good.

2) I like large women, and there are two I am in a relationship with. There is nothing better than being in bed with them together, but I am concerned for their health. What would you consider too large?

3) I have Syndrome X and Disease Y and because of the medication I am on, I can't eat certain foods because they give me the runs. Oh, and sometimes my urine burns.

4) Yes, I am looking to start a diet plan of some kind and, oh, hold on a moment - [person then takes the phone away from their mouth and begins screaming BLOODY murder and all kind of heinous threats and inappropriate things at her child in the other room and then returns, sweet as candy to the phone] - sorry about that, sometimes that kid makes me --- Goddamnit you little bastard!!! *click*

That last call made me wish I could have gotten her address and called the authorities in quickly. I watched the news for her for a few days.

And their are always assorted nose blowings, chunky burps, and toilet flushings that have always made me glad to be on the other end of the phone. Urp, indeed.

End of Work Day Ramblings.

Just wanted to type some random thoughts... my diary was getting lonely. Feeling neglected.

It's Friday the 13th.

- ooo ooo ooo -

Be very afraid.

I haven't noticed anything too peculiar about today. Traffic was hideous. I drove all over hell and creation with jobs today, returned to the office, and my reminder popped up on my calendar (that I snoozed this morning) - I didn't do the ONE most important thing I was supposed to do on my drive around the Beltway.

duh.

Dinner with friends this evening, and maybe a movie. Nice party to go to tomorrow evening.

The weekend is here.

Mr. Manners

Rudeness, it's not just directed at ladies anymore. It happens to us little guys, too.

Returning from Key West, in Miami SubSpace Station and Airport, Mr. Ireland and I decided a coffee was needed. I spied a Starbucks and scooted over to join the line. Mr. Ireland tells me what he wants and turns to go sit down.

As I am standing there, tall-white-haired-tweed-coat-corduroy-patches-with-glasses authoritatively takes a haughty stance in FRONT of me, joining the line ahead of me, and making no eye contact with me.

I said, "Excuse me, sir."

No response, no turning, no blinking.

I said, "Excuse me, sir."

No response, no turning, no blinking.

I pick up my carry-on bag, squeeze into the spare inches between him and the person who was in front of me before he came along.

I take my own authoritative, slightly shaking stance facing him, back to the line.

He continues to look up at the menu board, looks down at his watch, yawns, and then walks away from the Starbucks and me, heading off as if to find a faster coffeeplace somewhere else.

Seconds later, he reappears around the corner, money in hand, sees me in line, looks at his watch and goes to sit in a chair at one of the gates, reading a newspaper.

I wanted justice.

But really what peeved me is that he never even acknowledged my award-winning performance as a waiting-in-line-person done wrong.

Is society really growing increasingly selfish and rude, or is it just a coincidence that more and more of these types of things seem to happen everyday?

Conscience: Hey, is that a rhetorical question?

Akethan: Hmmm, you may be on to something.

Tip.

Tips.

What a good idea that can go so very bad. Pay a person just enough that they will show up for work, and then allow the customer to determine what the service was worth - good if the customer isn't a cheap bastard and good if the waitstaff isn't as dumb as a post.

No offense to posts intended.

I tip 20% in almost every case. But my litmus for service is typically the closing of the meal, namely the delivery and retrieval of the bill with payment.

Restaurants use one of two methods, the open plate on which rests the receipt (face down is best), or the secretive bill-fold in which hides the bill. This is a little more distinctive, but tends to lend itself to a question I cannot abide, "Would you like change?"

WOULD I LIKE CHANGE?

Don't ever ask me this. Tip goes directly to ZERO and cannot be resuscitated, no matter how sweet you may have been during the entire meal. DOA.

Such an ignorant question - so presumptuous and rude. How about, "I will be right back with your receipt/change/what-have-you."? How about that? That gives me the option to say, "That would be nice, thank you," or perhaps, "No change, thank you." That is my option to exercise, not the waitstaff to assume.

Have you met the victims of assumptions? Always the last to know.

WOULD I LIKE CHANGE?

Grrrr... that question burns me. Bad question. Bad.

Then, let's just say we have survived this test, here's the second part which you must be clever enough to dodge: You are bringing me change, this change will be used to make a tip, don't make me have to ask you to break the change in to smaller change so that I may tip appropriately.

If the change is fifty bucks from one hundred, don't bring me a ten and two twenties. That is an assumption that you are due a 20% tip. It irks me. It makes me want to leave you the metal coins and a handwritten note to your parents about their rearing techniques. Maybe even the need to finally wean you.

How about a twenty, two tens, a five, and five ones. That is respactable and earns you your 20% for not being an ass.umer.

Have you met the victims of assumptions? Always the last to know.

I guess this is really asking a lot of a wait person. I really am good for the 20%. I know a lot of people I eat with are clueless and tip poorly; I attempt to educate where I can. I was educated by a friend who waits tables for a living. And MAKES a living at it. I understand it better, though I only waited tables for one evening in my life. That one evening was all it took to convince me not to do it again. And that a wait person, even some of the worst, work very hard to keep it all together and not plunge a steak knife in the heart of an aggressive diner.

WARNING: Aggressive diner imaging in use.

Put the fork down, step out of the booth, sir.

The Ownership of Prayer

Hot. Sticky. Bleh.

Feeling angry last night and today. No reason in particular. Just angry. Then I get angry because I feel angry.

Came directly home from work and soaked in the hottest tub o' bubbles. Then did a whole scrub and mud mask thing trying to purge the mood. Alleviated it just a mite.

Up at 5:30am today - laundry, library, etc.

Thinking things - reading THE CONFESSIONS OF NAT TURNER. It's moving my mind, a little. The whole slavery thing repulses me - a feeling like turning inside-out. The reasoning logics laid by the white characters in the book as to why this institution was noble, and should remain intact, are amazing. How thoroughly we delude ourselves with the things that surround us. Comfort and laziness easily domineer a sense of right.

I have reached a point in the book at which the author points directly at Christianity as the base cause of so much that mangles society's best and brightest. It's a thought that is in my mind frequently - how much blind acceptance, and some words in a very thick, very old book written by mere men leads to so many of the most hateful acts against other people. Even others who believe in these doctrines just the same.

It boggles my mind. And then I was attacked the other day for saying to someone who is in a tough strait, "I'll keep you in my prayers."

You see, sirs, I am no Christian. Not even of the lowest demeanor.

And apparently there is a patent application longstanding that is pending to place the term "PRAYER" safely under the protection of its inventors: Christians.

I await the receipt of my cease & desist order. Until then I pray as I please.

And in Nat Turner, the character Gray brought this to a fine point to me this morning. He has been Nat's confessor prior to the trial. Nat's faith in the Bible gave him the conviction to begin his rebellion and uprising. He illustrates the galaxy, which is truly bigger than most minds can really wrap themselves around.

"Fancy that! Millions and even billions of stars all floatin' around in the vastness of space, separated by distances the mind can't even conceive of. Why, Reverend, the light we see from some of these stars must of left years before man hisself ever dwelt on earth! A millions years before Jesus Christ! How do you square that with your Christianity? How do you square that with God?"

Careful now, think before you answer.

Wishlist (ef)

This is the wishlist
I never wrote,
You never saw:
my crystalline complacency
restored
my frosted permanence
thawed.

You never smiled
and made me smile.
You never came
and stayed with me a while.

I wished for nothing
and have so much more.

You’ve asked for nothing.

This is the wishlist
I never wrote,
You never saw:
the hope of my faith
healed.
Within the ink unwritten
on the paper,
an unheard prayer
revealed.

Offstage (ef)

Every-so-often
a light comes on – it’s a brief success
in the history of illumination,
but its brilliance is unscalable
and when a light comes on
every-so-often
everything that is Past is burned.

• • •

The sweet chastity of the flowerless
fades when exposed to constant bloom
as birds cavort in seedy baths
as pistils & stamens let bees impale –
fungi set their spores asail, wide-eyed,
the unflowering sisterhood observes
in shocked silence.

But the expressions on their sweet faces
and the gleam in their eyes sparkles
like a pure Christmas morning
as initiates presented
Nature’s sexy violence.

• • •

Nervously, she looks offstage
and asks,
“How am I doing for time?”

Migration (ef)

Immense globe
heedless curve
catches the eye
as it rests on
the backs of
sleeping cats
a ball borne
by the swimming
circus seal clouds
a pandering iguanadon
drops its spin
with squeals
now the screen
of a gypsy’s
spangled curtain
perfumed with smoke
the migration
of every lost tribe
fixed to follow
the wild globe
unbreak the broken.

Sunset, Madagascar (ef)

Under the coming promise of velvet night
Reality lets cautiously loose
As sunset's frail wings
Neatly clasp to the ocean's, firm
In union, perfection, collaboration
As if any old sunset would do.

Rival evenings, lost from memory
If either eye saw more beauty
Pale now, paler still
Holding soft hand to strong
At sunset's iridescent cue
Every star lets its dance begin
Under the looming curfew of dawn
Stand beside me, dance with me, too.

History (ef)

History finds safety in
the color of a mirror -
maintaining every image,
every passing scene in silver.
As compared to the originals,
it’s near-match perfection
avoids detection.
But there’s a mocking turn
and a pervasive ripple
in each offering, each
reflection.
When pushed into a corner,
so defensive it becomes!
It repeats itself
as far as the eye can section,
a possible infinity in each direction.

Rocks (ef)

So, I am just a grain of sand
washing away at the feet of space
and time
and softened and fading more with
each turn of the tide -
Is that it?

You push your foot down
and my little sketches,
and my secret language become as
shadowed
as the seas on the moon -

There’s a big, empty glass -
it’s not half-full -
I said it is a big, empty glass -
and you have to put the big rocks in
first or they will never, ever fit when
all the smaller debris starts to fall in
place -

It was only supposed to be a
dissertation on time management
but it led to deeper, more disturbing
thoughts of life management -
where life equals crisis and satisfying
moments,
Where I equal the sand that slips in
between those first-come, first-served
rocks that pushed their way into the
big, empty glass...

But, it is important to remember
that sand was once one of these big
rocks that takes the space up now
and in time
(managed or unmanaged)
the rocks will come to know this
humbleness
as their newfound tiny-ness has them
sink and tumble
between their former peers
and settle on the bottom of the glass
to keep me company.

Meantime, in the sand,
inside your footprints
unimaginably smaller things
make their way
inside my little sketches
and learn my secret language.

The First One Fell (ef)

The first one fell without remorse
a hint of smile on its facet
it was never alone
even on impact
its undirected course
the only felony incurred:
the stealing of the autumn lawn and the untintended ankle
sprained at indelicate landfall
askew, but only the first one knew
the exhilaration, the acceleration.
If one will do it the others will too,
that for all the friends who jump off bridges
because the other friend, too, knew-
it takes an eon to reach the ground...
as if each tiny hand to another’s hand was sewn,
then blown
from that high cloudy precipice
to precipitate.
The first one fell
and the million followers, too
small white crystal lemmings
so close, their bodies on the autumn lawn-
not a peak was left,
just white and on
they lay so close together
as if each tiny hand to another’s hand was sewn.

Concomitants (ef)

I will die of many things
long before I’d die of loneliness.
I will die one million times before
solitude will be the infection, that raging sore-
I have reached out
and perhaps over-defined
nevermind-
It is the foil to unaccompaniment:
this soul never feels alone,
without music to support the principal voice.
Will death diminish this
impact or effectiveness?
I would die before I’d see this so-
and never know
nevermind, let it go.
Sometimes high-
I see over all these things and into the pure heart
of the matter-
so that when low and the crowd of things grows
thick and fatter,
keep at the top of memory
the finer oils, the lighter things afloat.
Easy to find, familiar haunts-
Will I be born a million times and still
find these concomitants?

Snaps (ef)

When the finger snapped off-
it was clearly too cold-
we should know better
than to walk
into the wind-
but - its the only way
to hear it sing.
Walking away from anything
is safe, but silent.
There's no song in retreat,
not even a hum.
So, with fingers tingling
we lay them on
the panel of the wind
and mightily play its keys-
'til the finger snaps, again.