Not Perfect Yet

I noticed today that there are a few habits I have that I need to change.

The first bad habit is that I constantly carry my keys in my right hand when I'm walking. I throw them or swing them or do something else with them. I have them in my hand, and I play with them.

The second bad habit is that I keep my glasses pretty loose on my head for comfort. As a result, they're allowed to slip down on my nose. Once they go too far, I have to push them back up. I tend to use my right hand for that task, too (I use the nearly useless right hand for the minor tasks it's supposed to be able to handle. The left hand would never cause trouble).

Ok, now these may seem a little innocuous to you. And separately, they are. But when you combine them, number three happens.

Number three. Because I always have my keys in my right hand when I push my glasses up with that same hand, my hand is in sort of an odd position. I'm having to keep holding the keys, and so I tend to push the glasses up using my middle finger. After years of going through these motions, I've sort of trained myself to only push my glasses up using that finger.

This is a bad thing. This means that whenever I walk anywhere, my glasses keep slipping down, and I keep pusshing them up and, in the process, giving everybody the bird.

I realized this little problem today while leaving the mall. There were some littlish kids sitting on a bench being silly. They were waving at everyone who left the mall exaggeratedly and yelling hello. They waved at me and said, "Hi!" I was trying to be friendly, and I said "Hello" back, very cheerfully. But at the same time, of course, I was pushing my glasses back up.

The kids, old enough to have an idea of what that finger meant, were immediately sort of subdued. They seemed a little confused by the rather mixed message I had just sent. Those poor kids will likely be confused for the rest of their lives.

So anyway, I need to learn to stop flipping everyone off I guess.

A Girl's Life...Installment Two

So, I went to the bridal luncheon. I was determined to perform adequately, so I wore my nice pants for the second time in like the last year (the other time was to a job interview). I also wore my nice Wal-Mart shoes that I'm not a fan of but that my fans seem to enjoy.

We arrived at the nice house, and the door was opened by the hostess's two perfect little blonde grandaughters in their princess dresses. We walked into the fantasy land.

We were given "mimosas" (a.k.a. orange juice), and I guess we were expected to walk around the house and admire everything. This was the crucial thing, seemingly. I know that this was the part my mom coached me on anyway. I was supposed to really, really express how I loved everything about the house. Anyway, the hostess walked us around the house, and pretty much everybody oohed and ahed.

Except me, of course. I tried, sort of. I just don't really have the ability to do that when I don't really care.

For instance, we were standing around immediately after getting in the door. The hostess yelled excitedly, "Ooohh, do y'all want to see my grandmother's furniture!!!" Some of the girls squeeled politely, and they all started walking briskly to the bedroom. I stood there while they all passed me. I guess I wasn't particularly interested. I was supposed to be, though, and so Allie (the last in the line of girls headed to the bedroom) whispered, "Come on." We went.

The hostess's grandparents were giants, evidently. The furniture was enormous. Then, the hostess pointed out the grease stain on the headboard that her grandfather has left. The girls made their "oh-that's-so-cute" sound: "Awwwwwwwwww" (or something like that). I thought the grease stain was gross, so I just sort of nodded.

Basically, that's how I responded to everything. My own feelings about the things I was being shown were evidently not going to be appropriate, so I figured it would be best for me to just keep nodding so that I was just agreeing with whatever utterance the girls who knew what they were doing mere making. They knew the language. I would have to trust them.

We then saw the bathroom which was as large as my apartment (I'm serious) and the creek that they built in their backyard. Yeah.

Eventually, it was time to eat; this was a luncheon after all. This was the part I was looking forward to, and I was starving. We lined up, and from the line, I couldn't really see the food since it was a round table and most of the food was on the other side of some sort of table decoration.

Once I reached the table, I started fixing the plate. I figured I'd take a little of everything and force down just a little. Unfortunately, I'm not overly adept with large utensils. The first dish was some sort of disgusting-looking white salad, and I accidentally got myself a heaping spoonful. You're not allowed to put food back. I paid dearly for this mistake when I started trying to eat all of the (still unidentifiable) stuff. Then, I went on. I got a spoonful of a second salad. Then, I got some of the third salad and a little more of the fourth salad. By this point, I getting around the table, and at each step, I expected that I would reach the actual food. I found myself at some tiny quiches. I got a couple and took another step. And there was nothing else. I was sad.

Lunch was funny to me. I was amused at how everyone at the table was so intent on eating quite properly. Everyone kept glancing furtively at the people next to them to make sure that they weren't doing something that the next girl wasn't doing. It was funny to me, especially, since all of the people from Abilene were seated together at the table. Everyone at our table was so intent on performing each step correctly, and yet, were were only performing for each other. The only two non-Abilineans at the table were under the age of seven.

The cake was good.

Then, Kalyn gave us our gifts. They were nice.

And we left.

I was surprisingly tired, but I had survived.

A Girl's Life...Installment One

I hadn't realized, you know, that Cary Gay's little get together for Kalyn's bridesmaids was this weekend, so I hadn't asked off from work. Mom and Kalyn said, though, that Cary Gay would be devastated if I didn't show up. So, in their opinion, I had to go.

So, I had to go.

So it goes.

So anyway, I asked off from work: "I had a little thing that I was supposed to go to this weekend that I didn't know about, so I was wondering if you thought somebody could cover for my shift on Saturday." To which the manager replied, "Maybe." So, I had to explain further. I briefly thought of telling a bit of a story like my grandmother having surgery, but I'm a horrible liar, so I figured the truth would have to do. "My sister's getting married this summer, and Saturday's a little event getting ready for it that I'm supposed to be at, and I thought it was next week." He looked at me, quite unpersuaded. "It's the bridal luncheon. It's a little tea partyish thing that all of the bridesmaids have to be at, and I'm supposed to be standing on my sister's side at the wedding, and so I'm sort of a bridesmaid, or man, and so they all say I'm supposed to go, and..."

That's when my manager's sense of humor kicked in. Had it been another grandmother having a surgery, I probably would have gotten to go. The idea of me having to go to a dress-up luncheon with only women and try survive in an atmosphere with toxic levels of estrogen saturating the air, however, is (I have to agree with him) funny.

So, I had to go.

So it goes.

My friend KM has a really nice post on keeping the Sabbath over at her blog. It's, of course, well worth checking out.

News

I got a pretty nice scholarship from ACU today. It's about as high as they'll go at least. So officially for the fall, I'll be schooling at ACU and teaching at HSU. I'll be busy.

At least I do get to park in the faculty parking lot from now on.

This afternoon, I was driving home from work. I was going 70 mph which is the speed limit.

I looked ahead of me on the road, just as you are supposed to do when you are driving, and I saw a bunch a flashing lights.

I was not being stopped by cops or anything.

And no UFOs were in sight.

Or flaming chariots.

Instead, it was a firetruck up in front of me. I sort of slowed down and checked around me to make sure there were none behind me coming that I would need to pull over for. There weren't; there was just the one up in front of me.

I kept driving slowly, around 60 mph. We were on the highway.

And I kept gaining on it. I kept going 60 mph, and I pulled up right behind it. And it was going somewhere, you know. It's sirens were blaring, and the lights were flashing. And the dude was going like 45 mph on the highway. I thought about passing the truck, just so that I could say that I passed a firetruck on its way rushing to some sort of fire, or wreck or terrorist attack or something. But I'm chicken and am not too, too stupid.

So I just followed the truck for several miles until they finally took an exit. Then, I sped up about thirty miles per hour and got home pretty quickly.

Another Great Passage from Wendell Berry

from his novel Jayber Crow

"You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out--perhaps a little at a time."

"And how long is that going to take?"

"I don't know. As long as you live, perhaps."

"That could be a long time."

"I will tell you a further mystery," he said. "It may take longer."

I want to remember this.

This was Howard Zinn's answer to a question from David Barsamian. I tend to like Howard Zinn.

You're sometimes described as an anarchist and/or a democratic socialist. Are you comfortable with those terms? And what do they mean to you?

How comfortable I am with those terms depends on who's using them. I'm not uncomfortable when you use them. But if somebody is using them who I suspect does not really know what those terms mean, then I feel uncomfortable because I feel they need clarification. After all, the term anarchist to so many people means somebody who throws bombs, who commits terrorist acts, who believes in violence. Oddly enough, the term anarchist has always applied to individuals who have used violence, but not to governments that use violence. Since I do not believe in throwing bombs or terrorism or violence, I don't want that definition of anarchism to apply to me.

Anarchism is also misrepresented as being a society in which there is no organization, no responsibility, just a kind of chaos, again, not realizing the irony of a world that is very chaotic, but to which the word anarchism is not applied.

Anarchism to me means a society in which you have a democratic organization of society-decision making, the economy-and in which the authority of the capitalist is no longer there, the authority of the police and the courts and all of the instruments of control that we have in modern society, in which they do not operate to control the actions of people, and in which people have a say in their own destinies, in which they're not forced to choose between two political parties, neither of which represents their interests. So I see anarchism as meaning both political and economic democracy, in the best sense of the term.

I see socialism, which is another term that I would accept comfortably, as meaning not the police state of the Soviet Union. After all, the word socialism has been commandeered by too many people who, in my opinion, are not socialists but totalitarians. To me, socialism means a society that is egalitarian and in which the economy is geared to human needs instead of business profits.

Every four years, the World Cup of Soccer comes around, and I get hooked. During the 47 months in between World Cups, I won't watch a full minute of soccer (though I'm not sure when I'd get a chance to), but during this upcoming month, I'll watch just about everything that's on tv.

I can see why Americans don't like it much. We tend to like, you know, instant gratification. Short bursts of action, and lots of them. A lot of scoring. Hence the popularity of basketball and football (and the homerun). Hence the declining popularity of baseball, and the utter lack for soccer.

I think that's what I like about soccer and baseball though. They're both largely about finess and patience. I like how the anticipation builds more and more because the scoring is often so slow in developing. I like how the players will work and strategize so hard in order to earn themselves a remote chance at scoring.

Plus, I'm convinced that soccer players are tougher than football players any day. I saw three guys taken out on a stretcher on the first day of competition.

The fans are sort of cool, too.

Plus, there's that whole underdog thing. Ecuador beat Poland. Trinidad & Tobago tied Sweden (Poland and Sweden are near powerhouses).

So anyway, I guess I like soccer. That's my point.

Books!!!!!

Well, I knew that the Abilene Public Library was having its big used-book sale this week, and I knew that they were having it in the Abilene Convention Center. What I didn't realize is that they were going to fill up that convention center with books. I knew that I was in trouble as soon as I walked in the room.

But I was a pretty good boy still. I promised myself, once I saw the number of books in the room, that I would keep myself under $20. I spent $21.75, and I put several books back (that I may get on Sunday when you can buy bags of books for like $5 a piece). That's not too bad.

Here's what I got.

1. The Sparrow - Maria Doria Russell (I've read it, and it's great.)
2. The Monkey Wrench Gang - Edward Abbey (I've heard a lot about it, and the back cover promised that the book will make me "want to go out and blow up a dam." I'm intrigued.)
3. The Little Drummer Girl - John LeCarre (I'm on a LeCarre kick recently.)
4. A Perfect Spy - John LeCarre (Ditto.)
5. The Human Factor - Graham Greene (I've read his religious novels, but I haven't tried the thrillers yet.)
6. Unnatural Death - Dorothy Sayers (I've always heard good things about her.)
7. Ronia, The Robber's Daughter - Astrid Lindgren (By the writer of Pippi Longstocking. It has to be good.)
8. Living by Fiction - Annie Dillard (My favorite essayist.)
9. Writing Without Teachers - Peter Elbow (My favorite pedagogical philosopher.)
10. The Alexandria Quartet (Justine, Clea, Mountolive, Balthazar) - Lawrence Durrell (Modern Library List series. I'm stuck reading at least part of it.)
11. Writer's Market 2003 (Who knows. This may be useful someday. They're usually pretty expensive, and this one's not too old.)
12. Foucault's Pendulum - Umberto Eco (I loved The Name of the Rose. This one's supposed to be better.)
13. Jayber Crow - Wendell Berry (My second favorite essayist and one of my favorite poets. The one novel I've read of his, Hannah Coulter, was amazing.)
14. Atticus - Ron Hansen (Probably the premier literary Christian novelist out there. Mariette in Ecstasy was great.)
15. The Second Coming - Walker Percy (One of my favorite novels by my favorite novelist. I'm glad I finally own this.)
16. Markings - Dag Hammarskjold (This collection of religion meditations and poems by a Nobel Peace Prize Winner is a Christian spiritual classic. I nearly bought a pbk last week for $7. Now, I got a hb for $1.)

I got it.

I'll be teaching two sections of freshman literature at Hardin-Simmons University in the fall. MWF at 9:00 and 11:00. I'm definitely excited, even though it's too late for me to choose my own textbooks to use (they couldn't order them in time evidently--thankfully, the chosen anthology is not bad at all and I can copy extra stuff for the class if I want).

If you have any cool ideas for a freshman literature and writing class, feel free to share.

An eight-year-old boy had a younger sister who was dying of leukemia, and he was told that without a blood transfusion, she would die. His parents explained to him that his blood was probably compatible with hers, and if so, he could be the blood donor. They asked him if they could test his blood. He said sure. So they did and it was a good match. Then they asked if he would give his sister a pint of blod, that it could be her only chance of living. He said he would have to think about it overnight.

The next day, he went to his parents and said he was willing to donate the blood, so they took him to the hospital where he was put on a gurney beside his six-year-old sister. Both of them were hooked up to IVs. A nurse withdrew a pint of blood from the boy, which was then put in the girl's IV. The boy lay on his gurney in silence, while the blood dripped into his sister, until the doctor came over to see how he was doing. Then the boy opened his eyes and asked, "How soon until I start to die?"

--Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

Short Update, Reminder #24, Arch Enemy #5, and a Recommendation or Two

Kirkland's doesn't look like it's going to be that bad. I enjoyed it today. It wouldn't matter, though, if I didn't like it. For the time being, I'm stuck with it.

By the way, Reminder #24

Don't quit at Hastings after two days (even if everybody you worked with there hates the job and thought anyone is crazy to keep working there and even if the management had no interest in training you) if you don't want people to be rude to you. (Now, I didn't blame them too much for being angry at me, but a little less rudeness would have been nice.

By the way, they're Arch Enemy #5, too.

Ok, and if you like spiritual, meditative poetry, go find something by Thomas Traherne. He's an old guy, but his Centuries (basically a bunch of metaphysical prose poems) is quite the read.

Oh yeah, and here's a (very) little something to see.

OMG

I don't know what to say about this. It's almost too crazy to be believed. Sadly, it's quite real.

Interesting Link

...or so I thought.