"Way down low where the streets are littered"

The Spirit has been sending music my way for a day or two. In the midst of a lot of worry about who was going to help me out with a recent problem, I got in the car, and, when I started it, heard "I'll be there for you" by Bon Jovi. Someone stepped up and took care of my problem shortly after.

Without thinking about it, I threw in a tape of XTC's "Skylarking," and was met with a number of songs relevant to my current state of life, the last of which was had me singing "Ballad for a Rainy Day." It poured soon after.

But most recently, it was this littel piece, which took me to a very different time:

Way down low where the streets are littered
I find my fun with the freaks and the niggers
I dont want much man give me a little
Or I'm gonna take my chances if i get 'em

I love them whores they never judge you
What can you say when your a whore?
They cast that pearl and it don't upset 'em
They take their chances if they get 'em
[Jane's Addiction "Whores"]

There was a point when things were pretty srung out, in the "2-hours-of-sleep" days in school, and I used to drink wine (out of a coffee cup, both for symbolic reasons, and, well, because my roomies and I had no wine glasses), and I would get a nice buzz going, and lie on my bed in the dark, and listen to Jane's for hours. Sometimes I did that instead of sleep.

Jane's nailed it right with those first two lines. I had some friends that, to be discreet about it, bent the rules. Mostly little rules. A couple of them, big rules. Sometimes they offered to bend the rules for me. I never had them do it, but just the knowledge that I could made me feel better. They offered to actually do something, when other people offered fake smiles and trite sayings. My friends ranged from drunks, to drug users, to people that... well, people that did some interesting things. They were, literally, "the freaks and the niggers." Literally and figuratively, they were the "whores."

I remember putting up letters on a theater marquee one night, and two very drunk, very giggly guys in half drag came dacing down the street. I started to lift the pole I was using out of the way, and one of them yelled, "Wait! Wait! Limbo!" So I held it for these two really nutty half-queen guys so they could limbo. One of them thanked me and called me "sister." It was very surreal, but also very cool. One of my managers, a gay man, didn't seem to have any issues with me. The woman that worked with me who was renound for her very hairy legs used to walk home with me, and once, cut my hair for me in the middle of a movie. (And that is definitely another story.) None of these "odd" people seemed to find me to be, well, odd.

I found that "freaky people" didn't care if I wore orange plaid shorts and workboots, had long hair, painted my toe nails. In their world, there wasn't anything weird about me; in fact, I was kind of normal, even a little dull. They didn't think my ideas were weird, and sometimes, they encouraged me. They thought my stories were cool. They thought the poetry was cool. They thought all the "odd" things I did were cool.

One friend became very distraught because he knew I was distraught. I was having a really rough time, and he finally said, "I wish I could give you a hug. I mean, if it wouldn't freak you out." It didn't. I knew what he meant.

Something marginalizes some people. Sometimes it's sexuality, sometimes it substance abuse, and sometimes it's just their ideas and rantings. The beauty of the marginalized is that, sometimes, at their best, they remember not to judge, since they themselves live so far out on the edge.

"Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you." [Matthew, 21:31]

Hey, he is my patron saint, who am I to disagree?

Looking for a cure for stress?

Or, the perfect thing to leave looping on your office computer to induce a little stress in those who deserve it? (And you know who they are!).

Dr. Micah prescribes the Llama song.

Guaranteed to please.

Happy Sort of Surprise

A colleague of mine is a Me'Shell Ndegeocello fan, and had never heard the cover of "Wild Night" that she played on with John Mellencamp. Knowing I had it, I looked it up on my laptop, only to realize that (gasp!) I had forgotten to load it. So, when I ran home at lunch, I grabbed my copy of it to take back and play for her, and to add to my iTunes collection. Then, the surprise: I had forgotten that I had a whole drawer, about 2 feet wide and a foot deep, filled with CDs that I had not added to my collection yet. John Mellencamp, Harry Connick, Jr., plus some great, less popular stuff, like Shadowy Men On A Shadowy Planet (they did the theme to Kid's in the Hall), Dick Dale, some classical compilations... Well, like I said, a whole freakin' drawer of stuff. Sometimes I get so busy, I forget to enjoy some of the things I worked to have. This was just the kind of surprise that a day like this needed.

Also, for those that might care, Moose have a logo now. Our manager tells me jerseys will be here in about 4 weeks, and they did have a real goalie cut jersey for me!

5 Words I Never Expected to Say

And those 5 words are: Bush_did_the_right_thing.

The President has, for once, acted like the President, and accepted responsibility for the Federal part of the screwup surrounding the response to Katrina. While it won't take away all the bitter feelings people have, it was the right thing to do.

Here's hoping he can focus his born-again zeal on reforming the federal emergency response system before we have to suffer through another disastrous response to disaster.

Working Man's Blues

A week ago, there were little cards on a table, and they said "What is your occupation? How do you describe what you do? Can you draw a picture of it?" Or something like that.

"I am a high-tech mechanic. I make it possible for other people to do their jobs, play, etc." Then I drew a little series of boxes connected by lines, that anyone in my profession would understand: a basic network diagram. Backbone, WAN, LAN, servers and workstations.

That's what I am. A blue collar man. I may have a college degree and all sorts of knowledge, but what I am is an old fashioned mechanic. A very old fashioned one, since I usually go to where the broken system is, instead of making it come to me.

I work in a very nice place. Really. I like my coworkers, I like my boss, I like my boss's boss. They are nice people. We chat, they accomodate requests for odd schedules, give me lots of leeway in what I do and how I do it. I even like my customers, or at least most of them. They know what it's like to be the mechanic, I know what it's like to be the first line of contact. We try to take it easy on each other.

After my run in with Mr. Executive Guy on Friday, I came back to finish up some work. It was late, about 6pm, and most of the folks in that office had left by 4:30. One person was left, though, which was odd. She was there and hour and a half late on Friday night? I made a joke and asked what had her there so late, and she just dumped. Her boss, her co-workers, the cutomers... she was tying up loose ends, and leaving. She was taking a medical leave, for stress. Maybe she'd come back, maybe she wouldn't. She didn't sound "all right," but I don't know her very well, so I let her talk. She said something about a therapist, so I know she's getting help, or at least, I hope that's true. She has a very sharp sense of humor, and I'll miss that while she's gone. She seemed very sad, stuck in an empty office after 6pm on a Friday. I certainly know that feeling.

Somewhere out there, Mr. Executive Guy goes home, to his big house in his insulated community. I know, I know... He doesn't know she's there, or that something's wrong. He barely knows I'm there when we pass within feet of each other, how could he know she's there?

And that's my point.

Tell me it's not about the money, and that we can all be anything we want. Tell me that if the poor can't raise themselves up, then that's just the market, it's not an injustice. Accuse me of promoting "class warfare."

Tell me whatever you want. I don't believe it any more. It's all about the money. It's easy to say, "Don't worry about the future," when your retirement's secured. It's easy to say "forgive" when you're the winner, and "team work," when you're in control. It's easy to preach when the rules don't apply to you. It's a lot harder to listen to it, when you're working late on Friday night, and watching someone fall apart.

It was the best of days... It was the worst of days...

So, one of my favorite co-workers offered to take my early shift today because she heard I had a late hockey game last night. I got to get some much needed sleep after the first ever Michigan Moose hockey game, came to work well rested, just in time for our meeting with our new boss. He was pleasant and chatty, and told me durring the meeting that some of our customers were extolling my virtues in a managers' meeting, with both my boss and his boss present. Yeah for me, I got to pat myself on the back.

So, full of good work-related feelings, I quickly volunteered to help with another issue. It's annoying and trivial, and really not the kind of thing guys like me should be doing with our college degree and years of experience, but what the hell, I like to be helpful, and it was an excuse to get out.

So I went down to central campus, rigged a cart from a small hand dolly and a carboard box, along with some tape, part of a bungee cord... well, you get the picture. So with my McGuivered contraption, I walk part way accross campus and retrieve a computer and monitor that need to be moved. Oh, it's not exactly brain-work, but what the hell. So, there I am, good naturedly walking this stupid computer accross campus, squinting into the sun, watching the kiddies with mixed emotion. As I'm thinking, that time was good, but there's good to come, yes I'm getting older, but I've come a long way... well, that sort of useless bullshit... as I'm thinking this, I look up, and see someone I know from church.

Now, this person is wayyy up the corporate ladder from me, but we've met more than once, and I'm not exactly easy to confuse for other people, and I figure, he knows who I am, and he knows that I work for people, that work for people... well, he knows I work somewhere down the line.

So I smile, and say, "Hi, how ya doin'?" in my best it's-a-sunny-Friday-afternoon voice.

He grimaces, says "Hi." and hurries by.

What the hell? I'm not a very outgoing person. It takes effort for me to talk to the various people up the ladder from me. Would it be too much trouble to treat me like a person?

The Case of the Mysterious Visitor in the Night

Well, it's been an interesting evening. I'm not a twitchy person (ok, I'm not that twitchy of a person), but something has had me on edge all night.

Part of it is that the dog has been on edge all night too. She's been pacing and circling, and had her nose tipped up in the air and ears turning like radar dishes. Unlike me, she is pretty well equipped to detect the dangers that make her hair bristle. I'm no dummy; if she's twitchy, I'm twitchy.

A few times, she started to whine, as she often does if she needs to go out. Lulabelle leashed her up and took her out before bed time. Still, the dog was restless. After Lulabelle went to bed, I had to take the dog out again because she was so insistent. We did a good check of the yard, but found no one and nothing. She wanted to stay out and hunt, but I was having none of that.

We came in, and I, a little irritated, told my 4 legged comrade to go lie down. She went, and positioned herself in the hall, the center of the house and closer to Lulabelle, and laid down, with her head still up, nose and ears working.

At a few minutes before 1am, as I was about to find out if the kid on "Build or Bust" would complete and win his motorcycle or not, I heard something rip into the back porch door. Whatever it was shook the old aluminum door in it's frame, and there was a sound of ripping screen.

It took me seconds to call the dog, grab the biggest knife in the kitchen, and go out the door.

Whatever it was ran. Which is smart. There aren't animals in this area big enough to fight her. I knew from the dog's tone that it wasn't a person - she uses one voice for "hunting and scaring off critters," and a whole different one for having to defend against a person. One voice asks me for help catching things, the other warns strangers and calls me to battle. She's that clear about what we're doing, or, at least, what she thinks we should be doing.

She did exactly what she is supposed to, staying near me when commanded to, and following the scent, so I let her search the yard long enough to determine that whatever it was had run out of our yard, if not further. Then I examined the screen. It looks like it was something in the raccoon/opossum/skunk family of critters. Big enough to yank out a bunch of screen and rattle the door, certainly not a two legged threat, which would have easily opened the unlocked storm door. I'll have to fix the screen, and maybe have Lulabelle move her bird and squirrel foods out of the porch.

The dog's distant ancestors are a legend in Asia. Known for being able to take independent action, being smart enough to even disobey an order so that they can fulfill their primary objective in life, which is to guard people. With her ability for judgment, language, and team work, she's really very impressive.

There was a lot of hugging and petting when we came in, along with some unsalted, baked French fries (a favorite of hers). The mysterious visitor seems to be gone, and my hairy partner is once again snoozing.

Life on the bike

I rode in to work today, a ride of about 35 minutes, almost all uphill. (That's ok, the ride home is about 20 minutes, almost all down hill.) On the return trip into town, I was thinking, "I'll write about what it's like on the bike." I see and hear all sorts of things as I ride, and at least some of them are interesting. Here's a few observations. Others are coming...

- The most dangerous place to ride is near a school, most especially an elemetary school in the morning. The average soccer mom gets 4 hours of sleep, has 2.5 kids she loves more once they are out of site, and has not had enough coffee to be aware yet (assuming she ever will be) at 8am. She will gladly trade in the traffic laws, and thus your life, to get junior to whatever part of his over-booked schedule she is rushing to while yammering away on her cell phone. I deal with this every time I ride, since I live around the corner from an elementary school. And before anyone complains about the "soccer mom" comment, know this: I assume soccer dads would be just as bad, but I never even see them bothering to drop off their kids in the morning. It's almost all women in mini-vans doing it. But that's another rant.

- Young men in groups in cars are evil and should be banned. They are, collectively, a dangerous combination of immoral, amoral, and idiot. They will fuck with you just because you are that "fag on a bike." They would reconsider if they ever saw the great Lion King, Mario Cipollini, a cyclist who rarely appeared in public without a horde of scantily dressed ladies, who made more per year on a bike than most American men will ever make in their lives. Unfortunately, young American men live by stupid stereotypes and insecurity, and have been taught that mindless aggression is akin to manliness.

- Many other cyclists are idiots, and probably deserve to become hood ornaments. I watch the stupid things other people on bikes do (running stop signs in front of cars, riding on the wrong side of the street, riding down sidewalks that are not bike paths), and I totally understand why many drivers, and lots of pedestrians, hate us. Pedestrians, of course, are also stupid, as evidenced by the fact that they are walking, not biking, but they are better protected by the law then cyclinsts.

- Middle aged men will act very macho while in a car, and will then wet themselves like little kids if a large bike rider follows them and starts a conversation with the magic words, "Hey motherfucker!" as they are getting out of their car. Funny how tough people are when they don't think you can catch them.

- Ok, seriously: No matter how tough you are, unless you're willing to go for the full-on Mad Max, Mac-10 in your saddle bag routine, it really is best to ignore people, try not to get hit, and remember the magic words of my friend, who once said,"Hey, think of it like this: you only have to deal with them for a minute, but they have to live with being an asshole for their whole life." And, besides, you really can find anyone once you have their license plate number.

Too busy to think...

I saw a fellow blogger on Sunday, who, for some unknown reason, continues to check out my blog. This despite my, uhmmm, infrequent and irregular posting. I was duly chastised for my lack of public writing lately, both in digital and print formats, so I will now attempt to catch up with all due haste.

I have been writing, just not online. I'm working on various pieces of long fiction, some just starting, some that I'm editing. Some day, when I drop over from one too many hockey pucks to my mellon, someone can publish them and get rich on me. I haven't been able to write any one character for long lately. Probably a sign of how conflicted I feel about the world around me. I don't have the patience for trying to find a publisher right now, and part of me just doesn't care if the world gets to read my work anyway.

My group has been reassigned, so that we are now a sub-group of a larger group, within our organization, within our larger employer. The change so far is neither good nor bad. I will miss working for my outgoing boss, who is a friendly and straight-forward woman. She has never surprised me with bad news or criticism. I always knew where I stood with her, and I appreciate that, and her patience, more than she'll ever know. The new boss has the intriguing habit of carrying a large, hardcover, journal everywhere, in which he notes everything. He seems honest and decent, and has said all the right things to try and make the change easier. I've been working on projects with some of his other people already, so working as parts of the same team isn't too big a shock. Long term, it might even be good for me personally and professionally to be around people that will push me harder. Some of my new colleagues are very bright people, and, as a friend once observed, I consider all things to be competition. I just hope that the new boss, and my new colleagues, think we're worth having in their group.

I have joined a new hockey team for the fall, to be known as the Michigan Moose. We are hoping to get a logo and jerseys together this week. I'll be blogging the Moose games on the hockey blog Hockey Goalie.

I've been fairly overwhelmed with bitterness over the situation down south. I've got a few things I wrote, but they've remained drafts and not been published yet. I'm not sure how much good it does for me to share my bitterness with the world. I will say this: if the voters of this country don't hold Bush and his people accountable for slashing the Army Corps of Engineers budget for maintaining levees, which Bush called "pork," then the people of this country deserve what they get. Even the Romans never actually voted for Nero.

I rode my bike to work today (about 35 minutes of up hill riding with loaded panniers). I listened to two songs, repeatedly, the whole time. Between that and a thermos full of hot coffee, I'm managing to get through the day. After I ride back in to town, maybe I'll even feel a little less bitter.