regret

Despite a vow to live a life sans regret, I wish I hadn't vented as I did last time. While I remain incredibly critical of my writing, this forum is not a place I planned to engage in polemic.

So, what does any of that mean?

I vented, I was frustrated, I let things get to me, and that is not who/what I intend to be. I have found that anger is a pretty wasteful emotion. It is bad for me, and bad for others. I have been working on putting anger aside. Venting about the bad decisions made by politicians is a waste of time and effort. Remember, I don't proselytize. I don't think anyone is going to change because I ranted about their bad behavior. At work, I have let a few situations affect me, my day, my attitude, and that has been counterproductive as well. I love my work, I enjoy what I do, I cannot let small things ruin that for me, and it is always the small things...

If you are someone who reads this, or someone who just happened upon it, I don't want you to draw any conclusions from the last post. That guy obviously has some issues.

wondering just who I am...

I know that the polite advice I was given as a child was to never discuss politics or religion, and for years I tried to observe that sage advice with about a 50% success rate. I have never been big on religion, and proselytizing was not in my blood, but I'd argue politics with anyone, convinced, like any true believer, in the rightness of my position.

I am a Democrat. For years, I believed that I was also a liberal. I still feel that way, but recent events have caused me to examine my self-concept. I am quickly coming to the realization that I am a fiscal conservative and a social liberal.

My brand of fiscal conservatism is, surprisingly to me, more aligned with Ron Paul than the Tea Party. The kool-aid drinking Tea Partiers don't seem to see that corporations are every bit part of the welfare state as the underprivileged for whom they would like to slash benefits. Big Oil, Big Agriculture, Big Pharma, all receive a pretty significant pay-out from the public trough, to say nothing of the manufacturers who benefit from defense contracts that are wildly out of control.

Let these firms compete in a true free market. Let's see how they hold up when they can no longer purchase legislators who guarantee them a return on their investment.

Socially liberal...I have always believed in equal rights. For a long time I had myself convinced of an American meritocracy. I was a kid born in the '50s who believed. I drank that kool aid...long draughts of it. I know better now, but I still believe that talented people will rise to the top, if we don't limit them. I believe that a family is people who love and care for one another. It doesn't matter if there are two dads, or two moms, it is about love and support. I believe a woman has a right to determine her reproductive future. I believe that freedom OF religion includes freedom FROM religion. I believe that the minute a preacher of any faith exhorts a congregation to vote a certain way, or presses a legislative agenda, it has ceased to be a church and is now a Political Action Committee and should be taxed. Matters of faith are matters of faith, political action is protected speech, but the organization taking a position should not be tax free.

I am venting. And starting to feel like an old man yelling at kids to "stay the hell off my yard."

I'll stop now.

Things that make you ask "why?"

Not long ago I participated in a writing workshop. These are always sobering experiences for me when I realize how little talent I have developed so far, and how beautifully some others can express themselves. This was no different. The workshop was an opportunity for self-examination, and upon reflection I decided to focus on a small, good thing I had once done. My writing was pedestrian and in looking back, unduly self-laudatory, but it made me write, and reflect, and that made me think about why....

Why is it that I can remember everything I have ever done wrong, but can't remember anything I have done right?

Why can I always conjure up the times I have hurt someone, failed someone (or myself), or otherwise come up short?

Why does my memory edit out joy for sorrow? Laughter for tears? Pleasure for pain?

When I mentioned that I could remember everything I have done wrong, one of the other participants in the workshop nodded in agreement, but as much as misery loves company it was of little solace.

Lately I have been back to my old school, to places I haven't visited in years, seen people I haven't seen in a while, and much as I want to remember "the good times" I find myself revisiting old mistakes, old hurts, ghosts I am loathe to face. and yet I welcome them, why?

life, love, and stages of the moon...

I have used the above phrase as a quasi-philosophical response to certain questions. As I recall, it was a snippet from a song or book I had read long ago. If that is the case, my reference hasn't made it to google yet, because I found no mention of it there.

So, so what? The reason I find it a good response is that these are mysteries to me. I suppose I understand the moon better than the other two, and oddly enough, the moon is the only place among the three that I have not gone. But what about life? Do we all have some broader purpose here? What about love? Why is it we find it with someone and not someone else? Does it change? Does it evolve?

Where does the wind go?...

...with a nod to Brooke...

One of my great passions is music. I have always loved music, despite my limited ability. I played the trumpet as a kid, but didn't stay with it. If only I had seen the coming of disco, and the re-emergence of horn bands, I might have stuck it out. (I hate disco, by the way).

As I have gotten older I realize how much of my feeling about music has actually focused on lyrics, on singer/songwriters, not on what is popular, but on what appeals to me. I have a strong contrarian streak when it comes to music. Recently I posted George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today" on my facebook page, with the note that it is undeniably the greatest song ever written. (OK, I can engage in contrarian hyperbole...it's my blog...) In response my friend Brooke posted that the greatest song was "Night Rider's Lament", an old Jerry Jeff Walker song I happen to have on vinyl. While I'd still argue the merits of the Ol'Possum vs, Jerry Jeff, I had to go back and listen to "Ridin' High"...on vinyl.

The truth is, there is something very comforting about vinyl. The sound is warmer, even with the inevitable crackles and pops, vinyl is analog, and live performance is...analog. Digital music doesn't require us to move, doesn't require us to flip the record over, we never touch our music anymore. I miss that. I know that digital recording removes the imperfections, but the compression also removes the warmth, it moves music from a gritty, snapping, crackling experience to a clean, clinical, almost surgically precise place.

As much as I love music, I have never written about it here. I need to devote some time to my musical interests as well as my other, more esoteric interests. Just to complicate things, here are some of the artists and genres I enjoy:
Tango, Vallenata, Zydeco, Ray LaMontagne, Richard Buckner, John Hiatt, Steve Earle, alt.country, Americana, Alejandro Escovedo, Ryan Adams, Ryan Bingham, Hayes Carll, bagpipe bands, bag-rock, jazz fusion, Robert Earl Keen, Pete Yorn, Buddy Miller, Vigilantes of Love, Steely Dan, Cajun, Drive-By Truckers....did I mention my tastes were eclectic?

reasons to be cheerful, part 1

I'm not sure why Ian Drury and the Blockheads skipped to part three, so I'll start at 1.

1. I am feeling very blessed. I am not a religious person, so saying that is a little uncomfortable, but I have to admit that I am feeling more than a little fortunate.
I have a job I like very much.
I feel as though my work is meaningful.
I like and respect the people I work with.
I truly believe that when we do our work well, we make a difference in people's lives.

Last night I spent some time with students who could not articulate what they wanted to pursue, or what their ideal work would look like. This was more than a little dismaying to me. Perhaps I am a bit of a "rose-colored glasses" type, but life is pretty good.

It is hard for me to tell "my story" without being a bit self-conscious. I was trying to describe for these students how I did NOT want to work in a steel mill as my father, uncles, and grandfather had. I worked Summers as a Laborer, Bricklayer's Helper, and Hot Bed Inspector (greatest...job title...ever) and I knew that I could use my head, or use my back.

The work was quintessentially industrial; dirty, dark and dangerous. I almost was burned severely my first Summer when a scaffold I was working on caught fire in the Steelworks. I DID get a mild burn from hot scale while working under the soaking pits in the Blooming Mill. But maybe worst of all, the only reason I was working was for money. My work held no meaning for me beyond payday.

In sharing this with the students, I told them that I felt that my decision to work in higher education was no happy accident. I found an environment where I could; feel good about my work, like and respect my colleagues, and feel as though somehow, what I did made a difference.

truly mental lint....

One of my great frustrations with myself is my lack of follow through on so many personal projects. My children will regale you with stories of how it took me over 18 months to replace our powder room, or how the desk I started to refinish sits in the basement waiting for further attention. I know I have a tendency to procrastinate on the mundane and unpleasant tasks, why do I avoid finishing things I'd enjoy?
I once owned three accordions...couldn't play a damned one, but I had them. One was actually a concertina which now has a much better home at FLCC's Honors House. One has disappeared, and one I gave to a friend. I never learned to play, passionate as I was about Cajun music and Zydeco.
I now have a practice chanter and "green book" for the day I decide to get serious about bagpiping...
Sometimes I think my procrastinating is a form of self-defense against mortality...I can't die! I have all this stuff to do!

I have always wanted to write something others would read, not a blog or a facebook posting, but a novel or collection of short stories that were meaningful and deep. I have come up with great titles..my first collection of short stories is titled "Personal Ghosts" and will be published to significant praise and media buzz as the "next Ray Carver" is introduced, a "talent unseen since 'What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.'" The subsequent novel is a roman a clef' titled "The Somnambulist" and follows its protagonist on a journey to self discovery and enlightenment. But...

Don't hold your breath.