Planning and Executing

It doesn’t happen as much any more, but still sometimes when I pull up to the office early in the morning I wonder why I’m doing it; more specifically I pose the question to my interlocuter, but do not wait for an answer. This is the game I play, a mental set of ping-pong. The question I’ve presented is a lazy serve, a set-up to the other side: now I’m waiting for the slam return. It comes as it always does when I walk the hallways and see the other humans doing their busy things. I look at them and I see a projection of a future I’m moving towards; home ownership, mortages, middle-class life. The funny thing is, my interlocuter plays this return slam the same every time whereas I on the other hand am changing, learning, and progressing in my thinking and desires. The shock value isn’t there like it used to be; the existential arguments I would have pushed on myself 4 years ago do not pack the same knock-out power they once did. Life is an adventure, money is not the key to happiness, we all make our own destiny… I used to say these things as if they were arguments unto themselves without an understanding that they are only useful within certain contexts.

These days I see slightly differently. My wife and I have been working for a while now and we’d like something to show for it and home ownership seems a good start. I’ve come to the realization that sure, money doesn’t buy happiness, but if you don’t have any you’re most certainly miserable. It’s a reality we didn’t choose, the system imposes it on us, but I think it’s the best possible way to live given the alternatives.

These days my decisions are more calculated, I see my employment as purpose driven and my goals for the future are focused. My wife shares these visions with me and we are on track for accomplishing them.

Algebra

Friends, drop whatever you are doing and relax with me for a moment. Its story time, and I'm going to take you back to the fall of 1998. The setting is Skyview Highschool, a place where I would spend four of the weirdest years of my life. But for now everything is fresh and new: I had my first girlfriend, my first locker, my first portable CD player and my first 'F' in Algebra.

I remember the strange feeling I had in my stomach even now. I cracked the seal on the report card envelope that I was supposed to deliver to my parents and started scanning the list of classes; English "A", Body Sculpting "A", two more A's, and then Algebra, a big fat "F". Now keep in mind that I had been homeschooled through Junior High so the only grade system I was familiar with was that of Elementary School (O = excellent, V = very good, S = satisfactory, NE = parents didn't love you enough). I had to ask around before I found out that "F" didn't actually stand for fantastic, no, it meant "Fun", the first feeling that comes to mind when you realize that you get to take Mr. Spark's Algebra class again.

Naturally, I panicked. The parents weren't going to be happy about this and I needed a quick out so I did about the only thing I know how to do, I started writing... in this case, an email:

"Dear Dad:

It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you.

I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice.

But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercings, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it's not only the passion...Dad she's pregnant.

Stacy said that we will be very happy.

She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood to last the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.

Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy.

In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it.

Don't worry Dad. I'm 15 and I know how to take care of myself.

Someday I'm sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.

Love,
Your Son Joel

PS. Dad, none of the above is true. I'm over at Ely’s house.


I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than a report card – it’s in my center desk drawer. I love you.

Call me when it's safe to come home."

The problem with being a smart-ass is that it only works once before the charm is gone. I don't remember my excuse for failing Algebra 2 my junior year, but undoubtedly it wasn't as cheeky. I do remember talking with my councellor a number of times; she never even once mentioned college application packets or scholarships or future education prospects. Nope, I was an Algebra flunky, surely destined to beat the dents out of 1993 Honda Accords in some lowly Soldotna body shop. Fortunatley highschool isn't the end all experience of life.

Public Radio

I like Public Radio. I like the concept and I like the content and I'm secure enough to say it.

But why oh WHY does every reporter and host have to sound like they have a mouth full of marbles? You know what I mean? Take a listen to "This American Life" or "Fresh Air" and let the dolset tones of smacking saliva and patchy vocal cords wash over you. If you like to hear people whistle every time they speak a word with "S" then Public Radio is for you my friend.

Ira Flato, the host of "This American Life" is a smart person but he sounds like an old Jewish lesbian. Seriously, I'm just waiting for him to start complaining about bunyons and yeast infections one of these days. Teri Gross is also a good host, but she needs speech classes almost more than Ira does. She has only one inflection - it starts high and ends low; "Hi, this is Fresh Air, and I'm Teri Gross". Say it in your head with a downward inflection and you'll see what I mean.

NPR, good content, horrible voices.

I Hate Twitter

I don't usually complain about things I don't like, but this one is just too much to hold in. I don't, nor do I want to understand what would compel people to write down their every action and thought during the day. Or perhaps even worse, read what other people are "twittering" about. I dare not hypothesize what this says about our future, but I have a feeling the words genius, wise, knowledgeable and prosperous would not be included.

I think this must be our current generations lazy way of making themselves feel important in the world. I am not naive enough to think that the world is centered around me and my every action. At least not since I was two years old, and even then I was well aware that most people weren't listening to what I was saying. I guess that comes with being number four in a family of five kids, but I digress.

I don't know anything about how this twitter thing works, but if you can write comments I would be tempted to respond with something like "who cares?", or "I have better things to do with my life then read this", or "Why don't you put away your computer and get up and doing something you fatso (or other not so nice adjectives). What gets me even more is that people don't seem to realize their insanity. It seems we are surrounded by a bunch of self-centered, lazy, mundane people with nothing better to do than talk about themselves. Last I checked, that's the type of person we all hate and who ends up with their head being flushed down the toilet and spit balls being shot at their head.

It makes me ashamed to live in this society and gives me a strong urge to huck this computer our the window, pack up a few belongings, my bike and my family, and go retreat to a cabin in the woods. Let the rest of society twitter away until their brains and bodies turn to mush. But then again I'm sitting here blogging, so maybe I'm just a bit of a hypocrite.