Thursday I went to a bunch of information sessions and what not at school. Turns out, there is a very, very good chance I'll be able to 1) get my first quarter tuition, fees, books and etc paid by the Worker Retraining program, and 2) draw almost 500 dollars a week unemployment benefits for the duration of my time in school. So that's effing awesome. Nearly too good to be true. I will know more next week.
Then, yesterday, just before Carlos left work, he was pulled into his boss' office to let him know he's been promoted to Regional Vending Manager for the Midwest region (Texas, and everything above it) at their company. So... that's freakin awesome. And timely. :)
And so, as they say, what goes around comes around. Looks like *I* get to be the one taken care of for a while, and Carlos is the one to make the big money and keep us sailing. Woooo!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Declaration of Intent
Well, since September 26th, I've been wondering what would be next for me. As I've sought work (which really, really doesn't exist) I've had to open up my mind to ideas about what comes next, just to be able to send out a few resumes. Arguably, this has been a good thing.
I've come face to face with more realities about Who I Am in the last few months than ever before. I am not, or at least, I have not been, a happy person. I have not been happy doing what I've done. I would rather be a happy person. (Which stands in infinite contrast to where I was half my life, 16 years ago.)
So then, even if I'm oversimplifying, it seems almost a foregone conclusion that given Who I Am (and here, "I" refers to my worldly ego) is equal to the story of What I've Done, then I must do (in the way of my worldly, doing-obligations) what I I enjoy, if my goal is to be a happy person. Because to be happy, for me, would require that I enjoy most of my time. For me to be happy, my time must be filled with joy, and it must be so precisely because the things I do add enjoyment to the sum of my life story.
So then, naturally, in this time I've been asking myself, daily, what would I enjoy doing, daily, as a means of being productive and self-sufficient? More simply, what do I enjoy doing daily? I daily enjoy smoking pot, playing video games, and cooking delicious food.
Smoking pot doesn't make anybody any money. Selling it might, but at the moment it comes with certain liabilities I'm not willing to accept. So that's out.
Playing video games is great, but it doesn't make you any money, either. Like pot, it's creating and selling it that makes the money. Consuming it costs money. I could go to school to learn programming, especially video game programming, and if I got to be strictly the creative force behind the games, that would be fine by me. But that's not the reality. The reality is that for a very long time I would be doing hard coding. And that's all. Much as I love computers, sitting in front of one both at work AND at home is not enjoyable. So scratch that, as well.
Food. The mystical, magical alchemy of the culinary master. I'm good in the kitchen, but only Carlos ever enjoys this fact. But every day, as long as I'm not battling some horrible depression or something, I enjoy cooking, even when I discover how NOT to cook. I could enjoy working in a kitchen. I have been told by maybe eight or ten people in my life that I should open a restaurant; I would be an excellent chef. Second only to being told I should be dead. I prefer the former.
So, now you know how I came to the conclusion today that I am going to go to Seattle Central again, and enroll in the Culinary Arts program.
Usually, when I come up with an idea (like my recent idea to become an Unitarian Universalist minister) I can come up with not only answers to why it appeals, but also, and much more importantly, why it does not. So I might say "I could see myself doing well at X" but ultimately it never becomes more than a thought. Because I can also see what I would have to overcome in order to do well at X, and I decide that it isn't right for me. This is almost always because I don't feel passionately enough about it to be willing to overcome the obstacles.
The difference in how I feel about this is that "I see myself doing very well with this." This is what I want to do. I used to think what I wanted to do was to be a psychologist, because I spent all my time trying to understand others' psyches, and indeed my own. Of course, what I found was not what I realized I had been looking for, but there it was, and there it is. And once found, it didn't take long for me to realize that in fact, I don't have a fraction of the patience necessary to listen to people complain about their problems week after week after week.
As a therapist, I would be brutal. I would have no clients, and those whom had endured my practice for any length of time would most likely find their "closure" in the name of a lawsuit. I tell it exclusively like I see it, and that tends to be something most people don't like, because I tend to see what's wrong with things. I tend to see the "why not's." It doesn't really matter why, it's just a part of who I am. Unfortunately, this is not the kind of careful consideration other people deserve when coming to terms with their own "issues."
Imagine if a chef took a couple of still-shelled-eggs, three strips of bacon, and some pancake batter, threw it all in a skillet, gave it no heat, and demanded, DEMANDED, that upon turning it out of the pan, the result be a beautiful Denny's breakfast, ready to be served to the Chairman of the Board for Denny's Restaurants shareholders. That chef works at the Denny's near my home to this very day. And I'm sure you can see, he's nuts.
So insisting that anyone be able to instantly do anything useful with the ugliness within them, which I can point out so easily, isn't helpful. Reading someone doesn't usually lead them to greater enlightenment.
My numerology report says that I am an "antenna for other people's emotions." Too true. So it seemed for a while that perhaps this gift was meant to be used in a therapeutic way, but even if so, my therapy isn't going to be served on a couch in an office. If you want a smile on your face, sweetie, I can help, but it probably has a day's worth of calories, and a week's worth of cholesterol in it.
So, that would probably be why my husband has gained fifty pounds since we first met, when he was a tender-young 17 years old. I can't help it. In my family, we feed those we love. And we feed them grease or cheese. Or both... on a good day.
Because the program at SCCC has 2 options, the Culinary Arts degree, or the Breads and Desserts specialist, when asked, I said I probably wanted the CA program. I thought Carlos would probably prefer that, since he's now going to the gym to fix what I've done to his body. If I get education in international cuisine, professional education around food, perhaps I can learn how to make healthy food that doesn't come out of a cast iron skillet, fried in bacon fat.
But who knows. Perhaps I'll get into the breads and desserts program, as I did end up reconsidering and asking to be put on both waiting lists. We'll see what the fates have lined up for me there. I know this, though: I feel excited about my future at this moment, for the first time in a long time.
For the first time ever I see a future for my (worldly, ego-)self that stretches beyond the next six to twelve months. This is not another temporary thing until I figure out what I want. I've had sixteen years of those jobs, and they make me miserable. I have seen how awful that is.
When I look ahead, I see myself doing well with this. I see myself going far with this. I am happy doing this.
Yes, of course, I am aware that there will be trials and tribulations along the way. It will be HARD work. But I like a challenge.
In fact, that's mostly why I like video games. I like a challenge, and I like overcoming it. But I like selecting my challenges, and I definitely DO NOT LIKE the challenges I've faced these 32 years of my life, especially the last 16 years, my working life. Mostly, the challenges I've faced have been not only unnecessary, but worse, totally useless. Rarely has overcoming any challenge in the business/corporate world resulted in greater enjoyment. Challenges overcome have only led to more challenges of the same, detestable kind. The challenges facing the average worker these days are Sysiphean. With no control of ones destiny, and no hope for a brighter, or indeed even a different future, life becomes grim. That has been my life story.
But like all things, I evolve. And no doubt, I am within an envelope of transformation at this time. That is not the end of my story, nor is it anything other than a prologue to what comes next. And I want to do this. I want this. I am eager to meet this experience. Because for me, it's not a challenge. It's a joy.
I've come face to face with more realities about Who I Am in the last few months than ever before. I am not, or at least, I have not been, a happy person. I have not been happy doing what I've done. I would rather be a happy person. (Which stands in infinite contrast to where I was half my life, 16 years ago.)
So then, even if I'm oversimplifying, it seems almost a foregone conclusion that given Who I Am (and here, "I" refers to my worldly ego) is equal to the story of What I've Done, then I must do (in the way of my worldly, doing-obligations) what I I enjoy, if my goal is to be a happy person. Because to be happy, for me, would require that I enjoy most of my time. For me to be happy, my time must be filled with joy, and it must be so precisely because the things I do add enjoyment to the sum of my life story.
So then, naturally, in this time I've been asking myself, daily, what would I enjoy doing, daily, as a means of being productive and self-sufficient? More simply, what do I enjoy doing daily? I daily enjoy smoking pot, playing video games, and cooking delicious food.
Smoking pot doesn't make anybody any money. Selling it might, but at the moment it comes with certain liabilities I'm not willing to accept. So that's out.
Playing video games is great, but it doesn't make you any money, either. Like pot, it's creating and selling it that makes the money. Consuming it costs money. I could go to school to learn programming, especially video game programming, and if I got to be strictly the creative force behind the games, that would be fine by me. But that's not the reality. The reality is that for a very long time I would be doing hard coding. And that's all. Much as I love computers, sitting in front of one both at work AND at home is not enjoyable. So scratch that, as well.
Food. The mystical, magical alchemy of the culinary master. I'm good in the kitchen, but only Carlos ever enjoys this fact. But every day, as long as I'm not battling some horrible depression or something, I enjoy cooking, even when I discover how NOT to cook. I could enjoy working in a kitchen. I have been told by maybe eight or ten people in my life that I should open a restaurant; I would be an excellent chef. Second only to being told I should be dead. I prefer the former.
So, now you know how I came to the conclusion today that I am going to go to Seattle Central again, and enroll in the Culinary Arts program.
Usually, when I come up with an idea (like my recent idea to become an Unitarian Universalist minister) I can come up with not only answers to why it appeals, but also, and much more importantly, why it does not. So I might say "I could see myself doing well at X" but ultimately it never becomes more than a thought. Because I can also see what I would have to overcome in order to do well at X, and I decide that it isn't right for me. This is almost always because I don't feel passionately enough about it to be willing to overcome the obstacles.
The difference in how I feel about this is that "I see myself doing very well with this." This is what I want to do. I used to think what I wanted to do was to be a psychologist, because I spent all my time trying to understand others' psyches, and indeed my own. Of course, what I found was not what I realized I had been looking for, but there it was, and there it is. And once found, it didn't take long for me to realize that in fact, I don't have a fraction of the patience necessary to listen to people complain about their problems week after week after week.
As a therapist, I would be brutal. I would have no clients, and those whom had endured my practice for any length of time would most likely find their "closure" in the name of a lawsuit. I tell it exclusively like I see it, and that tends to be something most people don't like, because I tend to see what's wrong with things. I tend to see the "why not's." It doesn't really matter why, it's just a part of who I am. Unfortunately, this is not the kind of careful consideration other people deserve when coming to terms with their own "issues."
Imagine if a chef took a couple of still-shelled-eggs, three strips of bacon, and some pancake batter, threw it all in a skillet, gave it no heat, and demanded, DEMANDED, that upon turning it out of the pan, the result be a beautiful Denny's breakfast, ready to be served to the Chairman of the Board for Denny's Restaurants shareholders. That chef works at the Denny's near my home to this very day. And I'm sure you can see, he's nuts.
So insisting that anyone be able to instantly do anything useful with the ugliness within them, which I can point out so easily, isn't helpful. Reading someone doesn't usually lead them to greater enlightenment.
My numerology report says that I am an "antenna for other people's emotions." Too true. So it seemed for a while that perhaps this gift was meant to be used in a therapeutic way, but even if so, my therapy isn't going to be served on a couch in an office. If you want a smile on your face, sweetie, I can help, but it probably has a day's worth of calories, and a week's worth of cholesterol in it.
So, that would probably be why my husband has gained fifty pounds since we first met, when he was a tender-young 17 years old. I can't help it. In my family, we feed those we love. And we feed them grease or cheese. Or both... on a good day.
Because the program at SCCC has 2 options, the Culinary Arts degree, or the Breads and Desserts specialist, when asked, I said I probably wanted the CA program. I thought Carlos would probably prefer that, since he's now going to the gym to fix what I've done to his body. If I get education in international cuisine, professional education around food, perhaps I can learn how to make healthy food that doesn't come out of a cast iron skillet, fried in bacon fat.
But who knows. Perhaps I'll get into the breads and desserts program, as I did end up reconsidering and asking to be put on both waiting lists. We'll see what the fates have lined up for me there. I know this, though: I feel excited about my future at this moment, for the first time in a long time.
For the first time ever I see a future for my (worldly, ego-)self that stretches beyond the next six to twelve months. This is not another temporary thing until I figure out what I want. I've had sixteen years of those jobs, and they make me miserable. I have seen how awful that is.
When I look ahead, I see myself doing well with this. I see myself going far with this. I am happy doing this.
Yes, of course, I am aware that there will be trials and tribulations along the way. It will be HARD work. But I like a challenge.
In fact, that's mostly why I like video games. I like a challenge, and I like overcoming it. But I like selecting my challenges, and I definitely DO NOT LIKE the challenges I've faced these 32 years of my life, especially the last 16 years, my working life. Mostly, the challenges I've faced have been not only unnecessary, but worse, totally useless. Rarely has overcoming any challenge in the business/corporate world resulted in greater enjoyment. Challenges overcome have only led to more challenges of the same, detestable kind. The challenges facing the average worker these days are Sysiphean. With no control of ones destiny, and no hope for a brighter, or indeed even a different future, life becomes grim. That has been my life story.
But like all things, I evolve. And no doubt, I am within an envelope of transformation at this time. That is not the end of my story, nor is it anything other than a prologue to what comes next. And I want to do this. I want this. I am eager to meet this experience. Because for me, it's not a challenge. It's a joy.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Open Letter to Mitch McConnell
Dear Mr. McConnell:
Your silly chin-wagging about "honeybee insurance" is indeed the very kind of politics the American People so overwhelmingly voted to change in November, 2008.
I am unemployed, and I need the jobs created by that bill to ensure that I have a future for my own family. There is just NOTHING out there right now, Mr. Well-Paid Senator, so if you don't mind shutting the fuck up right now, that would be great. I really, really need you to get out of the way of those of us who want to do the work of The American People.
"Shut the fuck up" may seem harsh, but please. Let's just get down to brass tacks, shall we?
You are posturing about H.R. 6124 (Food, Conservation, and Energy Act of 2008) described on the Senate's Legislation & Records website as "A bill to provide for the continuation of agricultural and other programs of the Department of Agriculture through fiscal year 2012, and for other purposes." The record shows that you not only voted for it once last year, but twice, overriding the Governor's veto.
Flip flopper.
Shut. Your. Mouth. Sir!
We really, really have millions (MILLIONS!) of people who need work - and you are now changing your position on this program, for what? FOR WHAT?
During Obama's first week in office, especially the first few days, most politicians, including yourself, seemed to largely be behind the new President, even if cautiously so. But it sure was a short honeymoon, wasn't it? Because it certainly didn't take long for you old white men to start fighting that nigger, tooth and nail. [Full disclosure: I am a young white man.]
Well would you please, please, please, shut the fuck up, so I can get a job? Seriously. I have a lot of free time right now. Perhaps I will spend it finding ways to help get you fired from your very, very comfortable job.
You are unethical, and corrupt. Your hubris exceeds your viability. Let this go, please, so I can have a future that is at least a FRACTION of what you, yourself, enjoy.
Thanks!
Matthew Conquergood
American Citizen
PS - Special thanks to Michael Hiltzik at the LA Times for the heads up.
Your silly chin-wagging about "honeybee insurance" is indeed the very kind of politics the American People so overwhelmingly voted to change in November, 2008.
I am unemployed, and I need the jobs created by that bill to ensure that I have a future for my own family. There is just NOTHING out there right now, Mr. Well-Paid Senator, so if you don't mind shutting the fuck up right now, that would be great. I really, really need you to get out of the way of those of us who want to do the work of The American People.
"Shut the fuck up" may seem harsh, but please. Let's just get down to brass tacks, shall we?
You are posturing about H.R. 6124 (Food, Conservation, and Energy Act of 2008) described on the Senate's Legislation & Records website as "A bill to provide for the continuation of agricultural and other programs of the Department of Agriculture through fiscal year 2012, and for other purposes." The record shows that you not only voted for it once last year, but twice, overriding the Governor's veto.
Flip flopper.
Shut. Your. Mouth. Sir!
We really, really have millions (MILLIONS!) of people who need work - and you are now changing your position on this program, for what? FOR WHAT?
During Obama's first week in office, especially the first few days, most politicians, including yourself, seemed to largely be behind the new President, even if cautiously so. But it sure was a short honeymoon, wasn't it? Because it certainly didn't take long for you old white men to start fighting that nigger, tooth and nail. [Full disclosure: I am a young white man.]
Well would you please, please, please, shut the fuck up, so I can get a job? Seriously. I have a lot of free time right now. Perhaps I will spend it finding ways to help get you fired from your very, very comfortable job.
You are unethical, and corrupt. Your hubris exceeds your viability. Let this go, please, so I can have a future that is at least a FRACTION of what you, yourself, enjoy.
Thanks!
Matthew Conquergood
American Citizen
PS - Special thanks to Michael Hiltzik at the LA Times for the heads up.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Twitter this.
Just got yelled at as Carlos went out the door, because I apparently was keeping him too long. He wants me to *twitter* with him and I've agreed but only from the perspective it would keep him and I more connected to each other throughout the day, but I don't actually agree with that concept. I think it separates us more than it connects us.
Yesterday I was thinking about how nobody asks anyone how their day was, anymore. When I was growing up, in the eighties and nineties, my [admittedly wildly dysfunctional] family would generally discuss their days with each other, around the dinner table. "How was your day?" or "What did you do today?" we would ask. Sometimes the stories were great to hear. A sense of anticipation hung in the air at times, because the stories had been allowed some time to simmer and stew, their flavors had mellowed and combined, and the resulting dinner table story was all the better for it.
I don't even own a dinner table. My one-time dinner table is now in the second bedroom, which we call the art or project room. It is where we work on various projects, and a table is a handy thing to have in there.
I live in a typical small two bedroom apartment, and the dining area and living room are one big space. The dining area is where we have our two gaming PC's. The living room end of the space is where we have a couch, chair, and two bookshelves.
Our main bedroom is, naturally, the bedroom. No tv anywhere in the house, but we do watch netflix and hulu on the PC's a lot. And we always eat at our desks. I wonder how many people are living this way? Probably not a lot, but I bet a lot more than I would imagine. Of course we'll never know, because anyone who really lives like I do doesn't respond to surveys very often.
Okay, so in my house, we couldn't really sit around the dinner table having dinner and ask about each other's day. But of course, we never ask. Not because we don't care, but because we pretty much already know. We chat online while he's at work, and I look for work. We talk on the phone a couple times a day. We look forward to spending time together smoking pot, playing video games, and watching cool shit.
But I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to turn my PC off for 48 hours at a time. Say, noon on Tuesday through noon on Wednesday. What would it be like to actually LOOK at Carlos instead of just listen to him 99% of my life. Hell, even when we're having sex, it's usually at night, in the dark. What would it be like to not know what his day was like, and to ask, that evening, over dinner? Perhaps even while eating without watching something.
My parents seemed to look foward to each other coming home when I was young, mostly because unless someone got interrupted at their desk at work, there was little opportunity for immediate communication then. Without cell phones or email, regular interruptions for an employee at work taking too many personal calls at their desk usually meant punishment - up to and including termination. The idea twenty years ago was that when you were at work, you worked, and worked on work, and only on work, and that was that. For most of the day, anyway. You got your breaks, and most managers would look the other way if there was an occasional conversation that didn't last more than 90 seconds or so. But outside that, communication was meant to be about business only.
Seems rather totalitarian now, but it's really not long ago. I am 32, and started working 16 years ago. Yes, that's half my life, but for crying in the rain I hope I have at least two, if not three more 16-year-chunks ahead of me. But given my lifestyle, it's probably closer to two.
So it wasn't that long ago. And now it's practically unheard of, no pun intended. And I think that while this evolution allows us to communicate more quickly, I think the intimacy and quality of our communication and interaction is drastically reduced. I think of it sort of fractally... where the smaller the measurement, the greater the distance produced. I think this follows. The tighter, shorter, and faster our communication becomes, especially when those evolutions are catalyzed by the introduction of a layer of technology as our conscious focus (as opposed to the human beings using that technology), the greater the distance between us.
I mean to say that if we were two primitives who spoke totally different languages standing on opposite sides of the grand canyon, looking through a glass to see each other standing on the other side looking back, having our first consciousness of the other - ever - we would be several orders of magnitude closer to each other than two people on opposite ends of the crosstown bus sending each other twitters about what so and so was wearing such and such event last night.
I love technology and I always have. I love buttons, and I love pushing them. I love getting the results, analyzing them, and punching more buttons. I love machines, especially electronics, and I love playing with them. I love tinkering with them, taking them apart, and putting them back together. I love using things in ways they were not intended to make something I think is way cooler and better than the sum of its parts.
But I do not love the increased sense of isolation I have felt in the world, as these things have grown. I do not love being alone or lonely, and I do not love fearing that one day I will look up and discover, much to my surprise, that I didn't realize Carlos looked like that.
All I'm saying is that if I really want to be hyper-connected, perhaps the connection I should be making is one that can't be made with a machine.
Yesterday I was thinking about how nobody asks anyone how their day was, anymore. When I was growing up, in the eighties and nineties, my [admittedly wildly dysfunctional] family would generally discuss their days with each other, around the dinner table. "How was your day?" or "What did you do today?" we would ask. Sometimes the stories were great to hear. A sense of anticipation hung in the air at times, because the stories had been allowed some time to simmer and stew, their flavors had mellowed and combined, and the resulting dinner table story was all the better for it.
I don't even own a dinner table. My one-time dinner table is now in the second bedroom, which we call the art or project room. It is where we work on various projects, and a table is a handy thing to have in there.
I live in a typical small two bedroom apartment, and the dining area and living room are one big space. The dining area is where we have our two gaming PC's. The living room end of the space is where we have a couch, chair, and two bookshelves.
Our main bedroom is, naturally, the bedroom. No tv anywhere in the house, but we do watch netflix and hulu on the PC's a lot. And we always eat at our desks. I wonder how many people are living this way? Probably not a lot, but I bet a lot more than I would imagine. Of course we'll never know, because anyone who really lives like I do doesn't respond to surveys very often.
Okay, so in my house, we couldn't really sit around the dinner table having dinner and ask about each other's day. But of course, we never ask. Not because we don't care, but because we pretty much already know. We chat online while he's at work, and I look for work. We talk on the phone a couple times a day. We look forward to spending time together smoking pot, playing video games, and watching cool shit.
But I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to turn my PC off for 48 hours at a time. Say, noon on Tuesday through noon on Wednesday. What would it be like to actually LOOK at Carlos instead of just listen to him 99% of my life. Hell, even when we're having sex, it's usually at night, in the dark. What would it be like to not know what his day was like, and to ask, that evening, over dinner? Perhaps even while eating without watching something.
My parents seemed to look foward to each other coming home when I was young, mostly because unless someone got interrupted at their desk at work, there was little opportunity for immediate communication then. Without cell phones or email, regular interruptions for an employee at work taking too many personal calls at their desk usually meant punishment - up to and including termination. The idea twenty years ago was that when you were at work, you worked, and worked on work, and only on work, and that was that. For most of the day, anyway. You got your breaks, and most managers would look the other way if there was an occasional conversation that didn't last more than 90 seconds or so. But outside that, communication was meant to be about business only.
Seems rather totalitarian now, but it's really not long ago. I am 32, and started working 16 years ago. Yes, that's half my life, but for crying in the rain I hope I have at least two, if not three more 16-year-chunks ahead of me. But given my lifestyle, it's probably closer to two.
So it wasn't that long ago. And now it's practically unheard of, no pun intended. And I think that while this evolution allows us to communicate more quickly, I think the intimacy and quality of our communication and interaction is drastically reduced. I think of it sort of fractally... where the smaller the measurement, the greater the distance produced. I think this follows. The tighter, shorter, and faster our communication becomes, especially when those evolutions are catalyzed by the introduction of a layer of technology as our conscious focus (as opposed to the human beings using that technology), the greater the distance between us.
I mean to say that if we were two primitives who spoke totally different languages standing on opposite sides of the grand canyon, looking through a glass to see each other standing on the other side looking back, having our first consciousness of the other - ever - we would be several orders of magnitude closer to each other than two people on opposite ends of the crosstown bus sending each other twitters about what so and so was wearing such and such event last night.
I love technology and I always have. I love buttons, and I love pushing them. I love getting the results, analyzing them, and punching more buttons. I love machines, especially electronics, and I love playing with them. I love tinkering with them, taking them apart, and putting them back together. I love using things in ways they were not intended to make something I think is way cooler and better than the sum of its parts.
But I do not love the increased sense of isolation I have felt in the world, as these things have grown. I do not love being alone or lonely, and I do not love fearing that one day I will look up and discover, much to my surprise, that I didn't realize Carlos looked like that.
All I'm saying is that if I really want to be hyper-connected, perhaps the connection I should be making is one that can't be made with a machine.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Fluttering
My heart is fluttering and I'm wishing I could dead head to the conclusion of this thing with my former employer. I could cry.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
An humble request.
Okay. Here, precisely, is one thing I want the new Obama Administration to do for me:
Anyone who wishes to vote on, petition, lobby, or debate about immigration, naturalization, citizenship, or who is allowed to be "in" and who is "out" MUST SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETE an oral examination of up to 100 questions. Successful completion means 60 out of the 100 questions. The questions can be found at http://www.uscis.gov/files/nativedocuments/100q.pdf.
This is the list of 100 questions that every person must answer who wishes to become a US citizen. Although they will only be asked up to ten in the exam, and must correctly answer six, if you wish to dominate others, you must be expected to perform at a level above what you suggest theirs must be before you will consider them an equal human being.
Although I am not demanding that you get 70 or 80 percent correct, I want to see that there TRULY is AT LEAST 60 percent correct answers in your head before you start spouting your ignorant, racist, CRACKER ASS BULLSHIT. So, up to 100 questions must be asked, and the applicant for human domination must successfully perform in the exam.
If you can, fine. Take your ugly stars and stripes and go sit in the corner and wave. Your kind is on its way out. You can't keep everyone ignorant forever, even if you, yourself, choose to be an utter fucking fool.
Oh, also, my sister is a fucking ignorant CRACKER.
Anyone who wishes to vote on, petition, lobby, or debate about immigration, naturalization, citizenship, or who is allowed to be "in" and who is "out" MUST SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETE an oral examination of up to 100 questions. Successful completion means 60 out of the 100 questions. The questions can be found at http://www.uscis.gov/files/nativedocuments/100q.pdf.
This is the list of 100 questions that every person must answer who wishes to become a US citizen. Although they will only be asked up to ten in the exam, and must correctly answer six, if you wish to dominate others, you must be expected to perform at a level above what you suggest theirs must be before you will consider them an equal human being.
Although I am not demanding that you get 70 or 80 percent correct, I want to see that there TRULY is AT LEAST 60 percent correct answers in your head before you start spouting your ignorant, racist, CRACKER ASS BULLSHIT. So, up to 100 questions must be asked, and the applicant for human domination must successfully perform in the exam.
If you can, fine. Take your ugly stars and stripes and go sit in the corner and wave. Your kind is on its way out. You can't keep everyone ignorant forever, even if you, yourself, choose to be an utter fucking fool.
Oh, also, my sister is a fucking ignorant CRACKER.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Noisy Asshole Neighbors
It's 2:15 am and I'm awakened, once again, by my noisy asshole neighbors, this time, coming home drunk.
When the landlord expressed her "disappointment" that I would not sit down to discuss the "olive branch" being offered by my neighbors who, she said, wanted to tell us how sincerely sorry they were that they had been disruptive to us, I explained that the only "olive branch" I needed was for our neighbors to adhere to what we had previously agreed would be our "extended quiet hours."
Building quiet hours are from 11p to 6a. Since we go to bed at 9pm every day (even on New Years Eve) and get up at 5, it's really helpful for us to not be disrupted and awakened every night an hour or two after we go to bed. (Our neighbors have made it a habit to also do wonderful things like laundry at 2am.) They also sleep until 9am, and asked that we keep our quiet time going until 9am to help them. Seemed like a good, mutually beneficial and respectful plan.
So after we made this agreement, the very next week our sleep was disrupted on four separate nights. Each time, with an excuse the landlord felt was adequate to explain four separate nights of exceptions to the rule.
After the last time, when I got up on Monday morning at 5, like I do, and then at 6:01 began playing "Woke Up This Morning," the theme song for "The Sopranos" (full version, which is really, really good) at high volume, remarkably, my landlord, who has the luxury of living below ME, sent me an email expressing her "disappointment" that I had acted so childishly.
She said she had had a conversation with the assholes, and that they wanted to sit down for this excuses-for-bad-behavior-disguised-as-an-apology thing, to tell us just how sorry they were. They also asserted that their washing machine is off balance *every single time* they do a load, which is not true, or they've only done about ten loads of laundry since July.
So I said that the only olive branch necessary was to play nice, and we would, too. Why, goddamnit, is this so fucking hard for people sometimes? And why am I always left holding the asshole-bag when *I* respond to assholes in an explosive, assholeish way? Normally, I'm a very peace loving fellow. When I am repeatedly disrespected, I get angry. When I get angry in the middle of the night, when I should be sleeping, I get very angry, and don't mind saying so to whoever is responsible.
Well, I went upstairs, to discuss the olive branch, and to ask these really sorry fucks just how their present behavior coincides with the olive branch they are said to be extending. From behind the closed door, you can hear every single word being said in any kitchen in our building. It's awful.
So the girlfriend says about my knock at the door "What is that?" I replied "It's your neighbor you've woken up at 2:30 in the morning!" "Oh..." she said. "I'm sorry." She didn't mean it. "So am I!" "Fuck you, bitch," replied one of the actual tenants.
"Fuck you, bitch. Got it." I said, and walked down to the 2nd floor, where I knocked on the landlord's door at least long and loud enough to have woken them up. They didn't answer. Imagine that. I've emailed them, and explained that any complaints going forward about noise from my apartment will receive the same response, and encouraged them to get earplugs.
I suppose that's childish. It's certainly not as polite as say, the Duke of Kent would be in expressing his deep concern over repeated displays of a similar degree of disrespectful behavior, but neither is "Fuck you, bitch" the linguistic equivalent to a call for peaceful, mature, respectful conversation. It doesn't really come off as totally adult.
When the landlord expressed her "disappointment" that I would not sit down to discuss the "olive branch" being offered by my neighbors who, she said, wanted to tell us how sincerely sorry they were that they had been disruptive to us, I explained that the only "olive branch" I needed was for our neighbors to adhere to what we had previously agreed would be our "extended quiet hours."
Building quiet hours are from 11p to 6a. Since we go to bed at 9pm every day (even on New Years Eve) and get up at 5, it's really helpful for us to not be disrupted and awakened every night an hour or two after we go to bed. (Our neighbors have made it a habit to also do wonderful things like laundry at 2am.) They also sleep until 9am, and asked that we keep our quiet time going until 9am to help them. Seemed like a good, mutually beneficial and respectful plan.
So after we made this agreement, the very next week our sleep was disrupted on four separate nights. Each time, with an excuse the landlord felt was adequate to explain four separate nights of exceptions to the rule.
After the last time, when I got up on Monday morning at 5, like I do, and then at 6:01 began playing "Woke Up This Morning," the theme song for "The Sopranos" (full version, which is really, really good) at high volume, remarkably, my landlord, who has the luxury of living below ME, sent me an email expressing her "disappointment" that I had acted so childishly.
She said she had had a conversation with the assholes, and that they wanted to sit down for this excuses-for-bad-behavior-disguised-as-an-apology thing, to tell us just how sorry they were. They also asserted that their washing machine is off balance *every single time* they do a load, which is not true, or they've only done about ten loads of laundry since July.
So I said that the only olive branch necessary was to play nice, and we would, too. Why, goddamnit, is this so fucking hard for people sometimes? And why am I always left holding the asshole-bag when *I* respond to assholes in an explosive, assholeish way? Normally, I'm a very peace loving fellow. When I am repeatedly disrespected, I get angry. When I get angry in the middle of the night, when I should be sleeping, I get very angry, and don't mind saying so to whoever is responsible.
Well, I went upstairs, to discuss the olive branch, and to ask these really sorry fucks just how their present behavior coincides with the olive branch they are said to be extending. From behind the closed door, you can hear every single word being said in any kitchen in our building. It's awful.
So the girlfriend says about my knock at the door "What is that?" I replied "It's your neighbor you've woken up at 2:30 in the morning!" "Oh..." she said. "I'm sorry." She didn't mean it. "So am I!" "Fuck you, bitch," replied one of the actual tenants.
"Fuck you, bitch. Got it." I said, and walked down to the 2nd floor, where I knocked on the landlord's door at least long and loud enough to have woken them up. They didn't answer. Imagine that. I've emailed them, and explained that any complaints going forward about noise from my apartment will receive the same response, and encouraged them to get earplugs.
I suppose that's childish. It's certainly not as polite as say, the Duke of Kent would be in expressing his deep concern over repeated displays of a similar degree of disrespectful behavior, but neither is "Fuck you, bitch" the linguistic equivalent to a call for peaceful, mature, respectful conversation. It doesn't really come off as totally adult.
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