I haven't been blogging or commenting much because I've been really busy and really exhausted getting ready for some new and different challenges in life (related to joining the Navy.)
I'll let you know more when I have more concrete information.
Until then, just know that I have only slightly more information than you do.
Later on,
~seaotter
16 February 2008
01 February 2008
Git along, little blogies...
My blog is moving here, possibly on a permanent basis, depending upon a number of different issues. For those who were/are fans of my myspace blog, have no fear. Many of the entries that I have posted on myspace over the past year will be transferred to this blog. Some of those entries won't survive the transfer, but that's the way things go sometimes. Following the transfer, new entries will be made on this blog.
Thanks for your time and patience,
~Yankee
Thanks for your time and patience,
~Yankee
Some of the "why" behind my decision (January '08)
In the past 12 hours, I have gotten a TON of feedback about my decision, and while 98% of this feedback has been positive, most people have asked me "why?" in one way or another.
I'll try to avoid being as verbose as usual, and instead aim for some rare brevity.
Of course there is the usual sense of duty to my fellow man and the honor of service and all of that, but most of my reasons were more personal.
My family has been represented in the US military in some form almost since my various ancestors arrived in this country. My great uncle has a Navy pilot who had a destroyer named after him (Ohio State football fans might be interested in knowing that the first commander of this vessel was Woody Hayes!) My great aunt was an Air Force surgical nurse who helped develop an open heart surgery procedure that radically increased the survival rates of surgical patients (a procedure still in use today.) Another great uncle was a UDT, and I believe at least one of his sons became a SEAL. One set of grandparents and one set of great grandparents worked on The Manhattan Project. My father was a career Navy officer (he enlisted, but mustanged), and two of his brothers were in the Navy. My generation is the first generation that was not represented in the military (until now.)
I have grown up with great health care, banking, and insurance benefits because my father was in the Navy. I would like to make those same benefits available to my wife and (if we have them one day) children. I could sit here and type out all the details, but I'll summarize by saying that the Navy takes very good care of its people and their families. In this case, the Navy can provide what I could not otherwise provide.
As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there is also the issue of long term-joblessness and the hopelessness that comes with having a degree that nobody takes very seriously. I tried a lot of things out before I went with this option, from bouncing to work with a television program that will be aired this year. Nothing panned out as a viable long term option. I needed stable employment, or the education to get it. The military has always represented a path to education and employment for people that would otherwise be out of luck. I looked into other avenues for education, but when all was said and done, nothing came even close to what I could get by joining up. The education I will be getting in the Navy translates directly to a rapidly growing civilian job field. That's a good feeling.
Finally, there is the fact that I've always wanted to go into the medical field. I dig helping people, and what more tangible way to help people than healing them? There is also the fact that helping wounded people is pretty morally unambiguous, even in the most heinous of conflicts (and I'm not making any political statements here, I'm just saying that helping people is good stuff no matter what.)
I'm a little scattered at the moment, as I think of all that I have to do in the next couple of months before I leave (sell a car, return some things, see some folks, etc.,) but if you have any questions, just ask away...
I'll try to avoid being as verbose as usual, and instead aim for some rare brevity.
Of course there is the usual sense of duty to my fellow man and the honor of service and all of that, but most of my reasons were more personal.
My family has been represented in the US military in some form almost since my various ancestors arrived in this country. My great uncle has a Navy pilot who had a destroyer named after him (Ohio State football fans might be interested in knowing that the first commander of this vessel was Woody Hayes!) My great aunt was an Air Force surgical nurse who helped develop an open heart surgery procedure that radically increased the survival rates of surgical patients (a procedure still in use today.) Another great uncle was a UDT, and I believe at least one of his sons became a SEAL. One set of grandparents and one set of great grandparents worked on The Manhattan Project. My father was a career Navy officer (he enlisted, but mustanged), and two of his brothers were in the Navy. My generation is the first generation that was not represented in the military (until now.)
I have grown up with great health care, banking, and insurance benefits because my father was in the Navy. I would like to make those same benefits available to my wife and (if we have them one day) children. I could sit here and type out all the details, but I'll summarize by saying that the Navy takes very good care of its people and their families. In this case, the Navy can provide what I could not otherwise provide.
As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there is also the issue of long term-joblessness and the hopelessness that comes with having a degree that nobody takes very seriously. I tried a lot of things out before I went with this option, from bouncing to work with a television program that will be aired this year. Nothing panned out as a viable long term option. I needed stable employment, or the education to get it. The military has always represented a path to education and employment for people that would otherwise be out of luck. I looked into other avenues for education, but when all was said and done, nothing came even close to what I could get by joining up. The education I will be getting in the Navy translates directly to a rapidly growing civilian job field. That's a good feeling.
Finally, there is the fact that I've always wanted to go into the medical field. I dig helping people, and what more tangible way to help people than healing them? There is also the fact that helping wounded people is pretty morally unambiguous, even in the most heinous of conflicts (and I'm not making any political statements here, I'm just saying that helping people is good stuff no matter what.)
I'm a little scattered at the moment, as I think of all that I have to do in the next couple of months before I leave (sell a car, return some things, see some folks, etc.,) but if you have any questions, just ask away...
My "Big News" finally came through. (January '08)
After years of being poor, broke, and having a hard time finding a job, I finally decided to do what poor, broke, people who can't find jobs have done for centuries.
Today, I signed the final papers to join the military.
I joined the Navy, to be exact, and I leave for boot camp in March.
I'm tired right now, so there may be more details tomorrow when I'm feeling more chatty, or perhaps not.
So there you have it. The Big News.
Thanks for dropping by.
Today, I signed the final papers to join the military.
I joined the Navy, to be exact, and I leave for boot camp in March.
I'm tired right now, so there may be more details tomorrow when I'm feeling more chatty, or perhaps not.
So there you have it. The Big News.
Thanks for dropping by.
I think you should hear these (January '08)
Music is a REALLY big deal to the Yankee. I have always cared more about music than most people I know, and I have always remained fairly open-minded about music, despite being a stickler for quality. Music can evoke, arouse, soothe, or attend emotion in a way that other stimuli are hard pressed to match.
So with that as a brief intro., I'd like to share a few albums with everyone. I've actually put more thought and time into this blog than almost any blog I've ever written. Music is that important to me, and my recommendations are not made lightly. I understand that not all music is for everybody, and you may well hate everything I suggest here. That's fine with me.
A lot of what I listen to (though very little of what I will mention here) is what my friend Cam calls "music for musicians." There's a lot of stuff out there that is written for people who like to sit down and listen to every nuance of a tune and will be really excited by the flow, artistry, and performance of a really well crafted piece. Some of us love to lose ourselves in every bend of a string, every confluence of rhythms, every emergence of harmony. On the other hand, most people out there (including most of you, I'd wager) think that listening to a nineteen minute funk song with six minutes of singing and eight separate instrumental solos would be an interminable and mind-bending type of torture.
I say all of this to clarify that what I recommend here will not be what Mrs Yankee likes to call my "music snob" music. There is some really amazing musicianship represented in these albums, but every one of these albums is eminently listenable for even the casual music fan.
These are not "my favorite" albums, although each of them is certainly among my favorites. This is not a "top ___" list, because such lists are silly and shortsighted. Most of these albums are albums I have listened to for years, over and over, from front to back. They have stood the test of time, and are as powerful and meaningful today as they have ever been.These are some albums I'd like to share with you, for one reason or another, and I hope you like them.
Believe it or not, that was the briefest intro I could compose on that topic.
Now on to the albums, in no particular order...
"TRUTH AND SOUL" by Fishbone.
I could have easily made a list comprised entirely of Fishbone albums and been thrilled with the result, but that wouldn't look as unbiased as I intend this list to be.
There is no such thing as a "typical" Fishbone album, nor can one readily define "the Fishbone sound" in an offhand or pithy way. Through every lineup, Fishbone has been comprised of really stellar musicians who have worked very hard to turn out the best product that they can possibly produce. Every album is different, and some quite radically so.
When I am introducing someone to Fishbone for the first time, this is the album I usually give them. "Truth and Soul" is one of their earlier albums, but it captures much of what is great about the band in a brief and readily accessible package. Soaring, soulful vocals, tight horns, powerful, moving rhythms, and incisive lyrics are just some of the foundational elements that you will find in every Fishbone album and "Truth and Soul" has them all in a stripped-down, unvarnished, bare-bones pakage. From the raw emotion of "Freddie's Dead" (a cover of the Curtis Mayfield classic) to the wry wit of "Slow Bus Movin'," from the haunting beauty of "Pouring Rain" to the irrepressible dancing energy of "Bonin' in the Boneyard," Truth and Soul is quite simply one of the greatest albums ever made.
As I noted above, I could list several more Fishbone albums of equal quality and depth (including the most recent album, "Still Stuck in Your Throat,") but if you want a first-time-listener-friendly introduction to a band that would place among the greatest bands of our day, "Truth and Soul" is it.
"Gift Horse" by The Lost Dogs
The Lost Dogs are a band that in many ways defy description. Each of the members of the band are members of other bands, and they get together to make something very special in The Lost Dogs. I could (and probably will) write an entire blog telling you about this band and their history, but if you've made it this far through this blog, you deserve all of the brevity I can muster.
The Lost Dogs don't fit into any musical box very well, but I might try describing them as Appalachian-influenced southern folk-rock from California. Their music is simple, and pleasant in the way that only truly great musicians can produce. Any journeyman who works hard enough can compose and play a pleasing or impressive piece, but only a truly great musician can play something simple, something familiar, and make it really come alive. The Lost Dogs are members of that elite group of musicians who can play the simplest music in a way that cannot be duplicated merely by reproducing the notes. Among the fans of the Lost Dogs are The Kentucky Headhunters, a supergroup comprised of studio musicians who are very widely renowned as some of the best at their craft. I think that says quite a bit.
Even so, what makes The Lost Dogs worthy of this list is how that music works with the lyrics of their songs. These guys have experienced much of the worst that life has to offer, over and over again. They've been through divorce, abandonment, the deaths of loved ones, ostracism, severe poverty, etc. They don't shy from these issues, and they don't sugar coat a damned word of it. Perhaps more impressively, neither do they lie unmoving in misery. The hope that comes from pain is one of the purest and most enduring of emotions, and every Lost Dogs album has that in spades. This is one of the only albums ever that has, in hard times, moved me quite literally to tears. "Gift Horse" is perhaps the most raw, honest, moving, and ultimately comforting album, I've ever heard. If you have really, honestly ever been down in the vicinity of rock bottom for any length of time, this is the album you should at least give one listen. This is only one of several great albums by The Lost Dogs, but it is honestly an American classic.
"Future Classic" by Surreal and DJ Balance
While I'm on the topic of classics, I have to mention the aptly named "Future Classic" by Surreal, working on this album with DJ Balance (among others.) I could (and again, probably will) write an entire blog entry about Surreal, but I'll summarize by saying that he ahs almost single-handedly restored my faith in hip-hop. Surreal has defied every current trend in popular music by producing an album that is strong from start to finish, with great lyircs, fantastic timing, tremendous beats, and elite production. I haven't truly enjoyed a rap album this much since 1995, to be honest. Surreal knows that even the best of emcees is only a novelty act without truly amazing beats, and he consistently works with the best DJs available on the underground scene to craft true works of art. One of my favorite tracks on the album is "Car and a Job," a track he did with Ohmega Watts providing the beats wherein he describes what the true goals of the aspiring rapper should be. This album is not easy to find in stores, but it is available on Napster and online.
By the way, this album only edged out "True Indeed," his collaboration with The Sound Providers, by the narrowest of margins. If you have ever been a hip-hop fan, and you've been mostly disappointed with what the last decade or so has had to offer, you owe it to yourself to check out these albums.
"How to Live with a Curse" by Stavesacre
Stavesacre is the band the LA Times called "the best band you've never heard."
I've been a fan since the mid-nineties. I pre-ordered the very first album, and I've been a loyal fan ever since. Stavesacre is the only band I've seen as many times as I've seen Fishbone. I adored the first two albums, was not quite as impressed by the EP or their next two albums, and was completetly and utterly blown away (in a good way) by the final album. That final album is the album I mention here.
"How to Live with a Curse" is quite simply an amazing album. Lead singer Mark Saloman is one of the few rock vocalists who really sings from the diaphragm (like a soul singer) instead of the throat. The result is that Mark can convey power and emotion in a way that most pure rock singers simply can't match. He doesn't have the skill or range of a Rob Halford or a Bruce Dickinson or a Freddie Mercury, but I'd put Mark Salomon right up there with Stevie Wonder or Bill Withers on his ability to convey raw emotion through song.
Stavesacre has always had the best lyrics of any rock band I can name. It's not even close. Poetic, emotive, and powerful don't really do justcie to the lyrical content of most of their songs, and when really blasted out by the man who wrote them (Saloman,) the lyrics take on depth and meaning rarely if ever matched in popular music. If I sound like I'm gushing, it's because I am. This album is that fucking good. Get a copy. Listen to it from start to finish. Listen to it again. Listen to it one more time. If you still don't think it's a truly great album, I'll be amazed.
One of the saddest moments of 2007 was when the band announced that they were dissolving after more than a decade of great music. No drama or tragedy precipitated the breakup. The sad fact is that most bands can't afford to do what they do just for the love of the music, and as the members of Stavesacre got married and had kids, they just couldn't pay the bills as a full-time band.
Still, they are supposedly working on one final album, which will include the return of original guitarist Jeff Bellew, and there may be one final, very limited tour.
You Orange County people could meet some of the members of Stavesacre when you look for any of these albums. Two members of the band went in with another partner to by OC landmark Greene Records, in Santa Ana. Support small business and a keep part of OC history alive by checking out Greene before you buy on line.
I could write a blog a day just about music, and I could easily extend this list with entries like "Blue Light, Red Light," by Harry Connick, Jr., "Farewell: Live from the Universal Amphitheatre," by Oingo Boingo, "Vex," by Steel Pulse, "Mecca and the Soul Brother" by Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth, "The Roots Come Alive" by The Roots, "In Light Syrup," by Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Songs in the Key of Life," by Stevie Wonder, "Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome," by Parliament, and so on, with explanatory entries for every one.
For now, just give those offerings a listen, and let me know what you think. Love 'em or hate 'em, I'd love to know either way. Oh, and if you have any suggestions that have already stood the test of time, and that you think a really critical music nerd who is picky about both music and lyrics might dig, feel free to offer suggestions. I'll be more than happy to check them out.
Thanks for your time, y'all.
~The Yankee
So with that as a brief intro., I'd like to share a few albums with everyone. I've actually put more thought and time into this blog than almost any blog I've ever written. Music is that important to me, and my recommendations are not made lightly. I understand that not all music is for everybody, and you may well hate everything I suggest here. That's fine with me.
A lot of what I listen to (though very little of what I will mention here) is what my friend Cam calls "music for musicians." There's a lot of stuff out there that is written for people who like to sit down and listen to every nuance of a tune and will be really excited by the flow, artistry, and performance of a really well crafted piece. Some of us love to lose ourselves in every bend of a string, every confluence of rhythms, every emergence of harmony. On the other hand, most people out there (including most of you, I'd wager) think that listening to a nineteen minute funk song with six minutes of singing and eight separate instrumental solos would be an interminable and mind-bending type of torture.
I say all of this to clarify that what I recommend here will not be what Mrs Yankee likes to call my "music snob" music. There is some really amazing musicianship represented in these albums, but every one of these albums is eminently listenable for even the casual music fan.
These are not "my favorite" albums, although each of them is certainly among my favorites. This is not a "top ___" list, because such lists are silly and shortsighted. Most of these albums are albums I have listened to for years, over and over, from front to back. They have stood the test of time, and are as powerful and meaningful today as they have ever been.These are some albums I'd like to share with you, for one reason or another, and I hope you like them.
Believe it or not, that was the briefest intro I could compose on that topic.
Now on to the albums, in no particular order...
"TRUTH AND SOUL" by Fishbone.
I could have easily made a list comprised entirely of Fishbone albums and been thrilled with the result, but that wouldn't look as unbiased as I intend this list to be.
There is no such thing as a "typical" Fishbone album, nor can one readily define "the Fishbone sound" in an offhand or pithy way. Through every lineup, Fishbone has been comprised of really stellar musicians who have worked very hard to turn out the best product that they can possibly produce. Every album is different, and some quite radically so.
When I am introducing someone to Fishbone for the first time, this is the album I usually give them. "Truth and Soul" is one of their earlier albums, but it captures much of what is great about the band in a brief and readily accessible package. Soaring, soulful vocals, tight horns, powerful, moving rhythms, and incisive lyrics are just some of the foundational elements that you will find in every Fishbone album and "Truth and Soul" has them all in a stripped-down, unvarnished, bare-bones pakage. From the raw emotion of "Freddie's Dead" (a cover of the Curtis Mayfield classic) to the wry wit of "Slow Bus Movin'," from the haunting beauty of "Pouring Rain" to the irrepressible dancing energy of "Bonin' in the Boneyard," Truth and Soul is quite simply one of the greatest albums ever made.
As I noted above, I could list several more Fishbone albums of equal quality and depth (including the most recent album, "Still Stuck in Your Throat,") but if you want a first-time-listener-friendly introduction to a band that would place among the greatest bands of our day, "Truth and Soul" is it.
"Gift Horse" by The Lost Dogs
The Lost Dogs are a band that in many ways defy description. Each of the members of the band are members of other bands, and they get together to make something very special in The Lost Dogs. I could (and probably will) write an entire blog telling you about this band and their history, but if you've made it this far through this blog, you deserve all of the brevity I can muster.
The Lost Dogs don't fit into any musical box very well, but I might try describing them as Appalachian-influenced southern folk-rock from California. Their music is simple, and pleasant in the way that only truly great musicians can produce. Any journeyman who works hard enough can compose and play a pleasing or impressive piece, but only a truly great musician can play something simple, something familiar, and make it really come alive. The Lost Dogs are members of that elite group of musicians who can play the simplest music in a way that cannot be duplicated merely by reproducing the notes. Among the fans of the Lost Dogs are The Kentucky Headhunters, a supergroup comprised of studio musicians who are very widely renowned as some of the best at their craft. I think that says quite a bit.
Even so, what makes The Lost Dogs worthy of this list is how that music works with the lyrics of their songs. These guys have experienced much of the worst that life has to offer, over and over again. They've been through divorce, abandonment, the deaths of loved ones, ostracism, severe poverty, etc. They don't shy from these issues, and they don't sugar coat a damned word of it. Perhaps more impressively, neither do they lie unmoving in misery. The hope that comes from pain is one of the purest and most enduring of emotions, and every Lost Dogs album has that in spades. This is one of the only albums ever that has, in hard times, moved me quite literally to tears. "Gift Horse" is perhaps the most raw, honest, moving, and ultimately comforting album, I've ever heard. If you have really, honestly ever been down in the vicinity of rock bottom for any length of time, this is the album you should at least give one listen. This is only one of several great albums by The Lost Dogs, but it is honestly an American classic.
"Future Classic" by Surreal and DJ Balance
While I'm on the topic of classics, I have to mention the aptly named "Future Classic" by Surreal, working on this album with DJ Balance (among others.) I could (and again, probably will) write an entire blog entry about Surreal, but I'll summarize by saying that he ahs almost single-handedly restored my faith in hip-hop. Surreal has defied every current trend in popular music by producing an album that is strong from start to finish, with great lyircs, fantastic timing, tremendous beats, and elite production. I haven't truly enjoyed a rap album this much since 1995, to be honest. Surreal knows that even the best of emcees is only a novelty act without truly amazing beats, and he consistently works with the best DJs available on the underground scene to craft true works of art. One of my favorite tracks on the album is "Car and a Job," a track he did with Ohmega Watts providing the beats wherein he describes what the true goals of the aspiring rapper should be. This album is not easy to find in stores, but it is available on Napster and online.
By the way, this album only edged out "True Indeed," his collaboration with The Sound Providers, by the narrowest of margins. If you have ever been a hip-hop fan, and you've been mostly disappointed with what the last decade or so has had to offer, you owe it to yourself to check out these albums.
"How to Live with a Curse" by Stavesacre
Stavesacre is the band the LA Times called "the best band you've never heard."
I've been a fan since the mid-nineties. I pre-ordered the very first album, and I've been a loyal fan ever since. Stavesacre is the only band I've seen as many times as I've seen Fishbone. I adored the first two albums, was not quite as impressed by the EP or their next two albums, and was completetly and utterly blown away (in a good way) by the final album. That final album is the album I mention here.
"How to Live with a Curse" is quite simply an amazing album. Lead singer Mark Saloman is one of the few rock vocalists who really sings from the diaphragm (like a soul singer) instead of the throat. The result is that Mark can convey power and emotion in a way that most pure rock singers simply can't match. He doesn't have the skill or range of a Rob Halford or a Bruce Dickinson or a Freddie Mercury, but I'd put Mark Salomon right up there with Stevie Wonder or Bill Withers on his ability to convey raw emotion through song.
Stavesacre has always had the best lyrics of any rock band I can name. It's not even close. Poetic, emotive, and powerful don't really do justcie to the lyrical content of most of their songs, and when really blasted out by the man who wrote them (Saloman,) the lyrics take on depth and meaning rarely if ever matched in popular music. If I sound like I'm gushing, it's because I am. This album is that fucking good. Get a copy. Listen to it from start to finish. Listen to it again. Listen to it one more time. If you still don't think it's a truly great album, I'll be amazed.
One of the saddest moments of 2007 was when the band announced that they were dissolving after more than a decade of great music. No drama or tragedy precipitated the breakup. The sad fact is that most bands can't afford to do what they do just for the love of the music, and as the members of Stavesacre got married and had kids, they just couldn't pay the bills as a full-time band.
Still, they are supposedly working on one final album, which will include the return of original guitarist Jeff Bellew, and there may be one final, very limited tour.
You Orange County people could meet some of the members of Stavesacre when you look for any of these albums. Two members of the band went in with another partner to by OC landmark Greene Records, in Santa Ana. Support small business and a keep part of OC history alive by checking out Greene before you buy on line.
I could write a blog a day just about music, and I could easily extend this list with entries like "Blue Light, Red Light," by Harry Connick, Jr., "Farewell: Live from the Universal Amphitheatre," by Oingo Boingo, "Vex," by Steel Pulse, "Mecca and the Soul Brother" by Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth, "The Roots Come Alive" by The Roots, "In Light Syrup," by Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Songs in the Key of Life," by Stevie Wonder, "Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome," by Parliament, and so on, with explanatory entries for every one.
For now, just give those offerings a listen, and let me know what you think. Love 'em or hate 'em, I'd love to know either way. Oh, and if you have any suggestions that have already stood the test of time, and that you think a really critical music nerd who is picky about both music and lyrics might dig, feel free to offer suggestions. I'll be more than happy to check them out.
Thanks for your time, y'all.
~The Yankee
Hope is a powerful narcotic. (December '07)
2007 was not an easy year for the Yankee.
I will spare you the specifics, because you may well have had an even more difficult and/or painful year. The problem with retrospectives is that they invite comparison, which inevitably distracts from the point.
Another problem with retrospectives is that they are almost always an exercise in self-centeredness. When things have been hard, we wallow in our misery. When things have been positive, we tend to gloat (I know I'm not the only one who has received Christmas letters that detail all of the triumphs of the _________ household each year.)
So with all of that in mind, I'm going to try and avoid the wallowing (trust me, there is little enough to gloat about this year) while I try to explain my current mindset, and from whence it cometh.
There is a big difference between dreaming and hoping. The two are not entirely separate, but neither are they synonymous by any means.
For most of my life, I've been a dreamer. I've had ideas that sprung forth from the well of possibility, and no matter how remote that possibility, I would shape that dream and calculate how it might become reality. I would line up the steps like dominoes in my mind. If this happens, and then this comes through, then I can do this, and that will naturally follow...and then it will all fall into place.
When I started out on my own, those dreams were relatively grand. As time passed, they became somewhat more grounded by reality, but never tempered by pessimism. For you see, despite all of my crankiness and curmudgeonly ways, I have always been optimistic at heart. The Yankee cannot abandon the inner belief that, one way or another, everything will be okay--even if things don't quite work out as we'd hoped.
The past few years have put this belief to a serious test. One by one those dreams I dreamed were smashed to pieces. One by one the possibilities and imaginings were transformed into the shattered reminders of failure and lost opportunity. Slowly, but inexorably, the dreams became smaller and smaller. The dreams became less and less the stuff of wonder, and more and more the stuff of desperation. Eventually, the dreams even seemed to die out altogether.
As I said before, I won't list the various circumstances, but I will say that every time it seemed that I had a chance to get back on my feet, life lined up and tried to kick a field goal with my testicles. Then, as I'd collapse to my hands and knees, life would deliver a soccer kick to the face for good measure, and as I'd go fetal, life would work over my ribs and kidneys with Thai kicks. I kept 90% of it out of my blog, but it has not been a fun few months.
And yet, for all of that, I was never without hope. Even though most of the dreams have died altogether, hope remains vigorous and unbowed.
My life may not turn out as I'd wanted it to. I may not be able to provide for my wife in the way that I've always imagined I would. I will probably never impress anyone with my academic achievements, my income, or earned accolades of any sort. I am unlikely to leave any mark on this world within my own lifetime--much less after I'm gone.
All of which is just fine.
Those are dreams. The dreams are gone, and I shan't waste time chasing them.
My hopes remain. I hope that I can find gainful employment such that I can once again contribute meaningfully to the finances. I hope that we can bring our bank balance back up to zero. I hope that we can once again live on our own, free of external assistance. I hope that we remain relatively healthy, and that the injuries and pains we can't afford to have treated will eventually heal. I hope that tomorrow will have a glimmer of hope for the problems of today, and that tomorrow might come and go with no further problems having made themselves known.
The difference as I see it is that the dreams are goals, fleshed out and detailed, and founded upon the vanities and desires of the flesh (I mean this in the classical sense, not the carnal sense--a statement amusing enough in its own right, come to think of it.) Hope lacks these details. Hope lacks the substance and grandeur of a dream. Hope is not founded upon particular scenarios or specific outcomes.
Hope is the idea that, somehow, someway, things will be just a little bit easier around the bend. There may be no evidence to support your optimism. Things may seem as bleak as they could possibly be. Hope is what will just not let you slide into despair. Hope knows that it really is darkest before the dawn. Hope will not give you up to that dark night. Hope will not fail, for as long as there is a breath within us, hope will flourish, for with each breath hope may yet deliver a reprieve.
Paying off a credit card is a dream. Making it through one more month of payments--however that may happen--is a hope. Being healed from a debilitating ailment is a dream. Waking up tomorrow and making it through the day is a hope. Never again wanting for food is a dream. Having enough to make it through tomorrow is a hope.
Circumstances might be grim. Life's woes may assail you without mercy. Dreams may seem beyond your ken.
Yet and still, I implore you to never, ever, ever give up hope.
Dum Spiro, Spero.
When I breathe, I hope.
I will spare you the specifics, because you may well have had an even more difficult and/or painful year. The problem with retrospectives is that they invite comparison, which inevitably distracts from the point.
Another problem with retrospectives is that they are almost always an exercise in self-centeredness. When things have been hard, we wallow in our misery. When things have been positive, we tend to gloat (I know I'm not the only one who has received Christmas letters that detail all of the triumphs of the _________ household each year.)
So with all of that in mind, I'm going to try and avoid the wallowing (trust me, there is little enough to gloat about this year) while I try to explain my current mindset, and from whence it cometh.
There is a big difference between dreaming and hoping. The two are not entirely separate, but neither are they synonymous by any means.
For most of my life, I've been a dreamer. I've had ideas that sprung forth from the well of possibility, and no matter how remote that possibility, I would shape that dream and calculate how it might become reality. I would line up the steps like dominoes in my mind. If this happens, and then this comes through, then I can do this, and that will naturally follow...and then it will all fall into place.
When I started out on my own, those dreams were relatively grand. As time passed, they became somewhat more grounded by reality, but never tempered by pessimism. For you see, despite all of my crankiness and curmudgeonly ways, I have always been optimistic at heart. The Yankee cannot abandon the inner belief that, one way or another, everything will be okay--even if things don't quite work out as we'd hoped.
The past few years have put this belief to a serious test. One by one those dreams I dreamed were smashed to pieces. One by one the possibilities and imaginings were transformed into the shattered reminders of failure and lost opportunity. Slowly, but inexorably, the dreams became smaller and smaller. The dreams became less and less the stuff of wonder, and more and more the stuff of desperation. Eventually, the dreams even seemed to die out altogether.
As I said before, I won't list the various circumstances, but I will say that every time it seemed that I had a chance to get back on my feet, life lined up and tried to kick a field goal with my testicles. Then, as I'd collapse to my hands and knees, life would deliver a soccer kick to the face for good measure, and as I'd go fetal, life would work over my ribs and kidneys with Thai kicks. I kept 90% of it out of my blog, but it has not been a fun few months.
And yet, for all of that, I was never without hope. Even though most of the dreams have died altogether, hope remains vigorous and unbowed.
My life may not turn out as I'd wanted it to. I may not be able to provide for my wife in the way that I've always imagined I would. I will probably never impress anyone with my academic achievements, my income, or earned accolades of any sort. I am unlikely to leave any mark on this world within my own lifetime--much less after I'm gone.
All of which is just fine.
Those are dreams. The dreams are gone, and I shan't waste time chasing them.
My hopes remain. I hope that I can find gainful employment such that I can once again contribute meaningfully to the finances. I hope that we can bring our bank balance back up to zero. I hope that we can once again live on our own, free of external assistance. I hope that we remain relatively healthy, and that the injuries and pains we can't afford to have treated will eventually heal. I hope that tomorrow will have a glimmer of hope for the problems of today, and that tomorrow might come and go with no further problems having made themselves known.
The difference as I see it is that the dreams are goals, fleshed out and detailed, and founded upon the vanities and desires of the flesh (I mean this in the classical sense, not the carnal sense--a statement amusing enough in its own right, come to think of it.) Hope lacks these details. Hope lacks the substance and grandeur of a dream. Hope is not founded upon particular scenarios or specific outcomes.
Hope is the idea that, somehow, someway, things will be just a little bit easier around the bend. There may be no evidence to support your optimism. Things may seem as bleak as they could possibly be. Hope is what will just not let you slide into despair. Hope knows that it really is darkest before the dawn. Hope will not give you up to that dark night. Hope will not fail, for as long as there is a breath within us, hope will flourish, for with each breath hope may yet deliver a reprieve.
Paying off a credit card is a dream. Making it through one more month of payments--however that may happen--is a hope. Being healed from a debilitating ailment is a dream. Waking up tomorrow and making it through the day is a hope. Never again wanting for food is a dream. Having enough to make it through tomorrow is a hope.
Circumstances might be grim. Life's woes may assail you without mercy. Dreams may seem beyond your ken.
Yet and still, I implore you to never, ever, ever give up hope.
Dum Spiro, Spero.
When I breathe, I hope.
So you've finally become a regular (December '07)
I've got you fooled. It's the same thing, week in and week out, and the really pathetic thing is that I don't have to say or do a damned thing. You fool yourself. You fool yourself about me, you fool yourself about your friends, you fool yourself about the opposite sex, and you live your life in a pitiful little bubble of self-delusion. But you know the saddest part of all? Even on your best day (which you probably think is your worst,) even on the day when life has smacked you upside your sorry little head and forced its way into your egocentric fairyland, even on the day when you see your sorry shell of a life for what it really is, you still think you've got the rest of us fooled.
You walk up to me and smile and shake my hand and you tell yourself that I'm your friend. You introduce your friends to me as if I'm going to have even the remotest interest in the human detritus that voluntarily associates with you. You tell them that I'm the man. You tell them that I've got your back. You tell them that I'll take care of them, just like I take care of you.
Sure I will. I'll give them the same wan, sarcastic smile that I give you. You know, that smile that you think is a sign of my genuine delight at your presence and concern for your well being. I'll shake their hands and pat them on the back and tell them to go enjoy themselves, just like I do with you. Then I'll think the same thoughts about them that I think about you. I'll think about how sorry your life must be when I see you night after night. I'll think about what a joke it is that I actually know your name, despite every effort to avoid even that much interaction with you. I'll think about how my smarmy, disingenuous smile will put you more at ease and make you feel like coming back again.
In a way, I really do want you to come back again, because watching you dance your way through your personal waltz of failure time and time again is what lines my pockets and keeps me warm. Even so, your money is only barely enough incentive to stand there and watch you mindwarp yourself night after night after night.
Down a few shots. Sure, your life isn't so bad... Drink a few beers. Maybe going to the same boring grind every day has a point. This isn't what your life has come to, this is just a speed bump. Just a little detour on your road to success. Order another shot. These people are really fascinated by what you have to say. Order another beer. The bartender really seems to be digging on your vibe.
I'm sure she's just fascinated by everything you have to say.
I'm sure he's never encountered a patron quite like you before.
You've gotten to know each other.
You have a rapport.
She really cares about you.
He's your friend.
This is like your own little Cheers. Everybody knows your name. Everybody cares...
Order one more shot to keep this buzz going. The girl at the next barstool is really digging you.
Maybe have a quick refill. That guy on the dance floor is just entranced by your moves.
Maybe you should buy her a drink, you know, just to get her attention.
If she really got to know you she'd be all over you. Once you get her listening, she'll be into you for something more than the free booze.
Down another martini. Grind your hips against that guy on the dance floor. You don't look like those other girls. You're not just some drunken slut dry humping a pathetic loser to make yourself feel worthwhile and lovable. No, you're using your smooth moves and the raw power of your personal sexuality as a tool to empower yourself and arouse this masculine creature now gyrating between your thighs. You've snagged a real winner. He can tell that you're not like the rest of these shallow bitches.
Drink another beer. She is totally into you. She's putting her hand on your arm and laughing at your jokes. You have a real connection. You're not just chatting up another tipsy lush. You're taking the first step on that road to finding your soulmate. You just needed to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe we should have one more shot for the road.
Last call. Time to go. I usher you out and stroke your ego because you're drunk enough to think I'm sincere and I'm sober enough to know that if I say something nice you'll do whatever I say, right now. You make cocky, arrogant comments and I laugh and reassure you that you're the man. The truth is that I want nothing more than to shove your pearly white teeth so far down your throat that your gag reflex will start at your kidneys. Not that you'd ever believe that. I've got your back. I'm your pal.
You tell me in a too loud voice that you really think you might be getting laid tonight. She rolls her eyes. Not that she has any moral high ground to stand on. Maybe she won't go home with you tonight, but I've seen her go home with other guys more than a few times. Maybe they just dropped her off at the doorstep. Maybe that hollow smile backed by eyes full of shame and regret comes from some other sad tragedy in her life. Or maybe she's just another bar slut who knows that if she laughs and jokes and flirts and smiles, she won't have to pay for her own intoxication. I suppose that's only fair, because you know that if you pay for those drinks and smile and flirt and laugh at her jokes and tell her how special she is, she'll hop on her back and validate your pathetic existence for one more empty, meaningless night.
It's really nothing different from what she tells herself. Maybe she thinks that if she only goes home with somebody every few months she's somehow more discerning than the girl who picks a new guy every few nights. Maybe she thinks that she's better than the ones who've quit trying to pretend that they're something special. Maybe they're just the honest ones. Maybe someday you'll come to an understanding. Maybe someday you'll work it out and find that connection.
Not tonight though. Tonight you both mess it up. You misread the verbal and the nonverbal cues and go home alone to whatever shell of life you still lead. You go home to the place that made you want to come here in the first place. You go back to a life so wasted and meaningless that you'd rather spend time with life's flotsam and jetsam than actually face what your life--and by extension you--has become...but not before you stagger over to me and try to get a hug and coax a friendly smile. After all...I'm your friend, right?
Keep telling yourself that I'm your friend. Do everything you can to avoid facing the reality that you're nothing to me besides a source of income and case study in the depressing lifestyle of the pitifully self-deluded. Tell yourself that my smile is sincere and not sarcastic. Tell yourself that I really do care about you as a person. Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself to make it through until closing. Then give me your money and get your shame-soaked, ignorant, despicable carcass the hell out of my bar.
Oh, and I'll see you tomorrow... friend. :)
You walk up to me and smile and shake my hand and you tell yourself that I'm your friend. You introduce your friends to me as if I'm going to have even the remotest interest in the human detritus that voluntarily associates with you. You tell them that I'm the man. You tell them that I've got your back. You tell them that I'll take care of them, just like I take care of you.
Sure I will. I'll give them the same wan, sarcastic smile that I give you. You know, that smile that you think is a sign of my genuine delight at your presence and concern for your well being. I'll shake their hands and pat them on the back and tell them to go enjoy themselves, just like I do with you. Then I'll think the same thoughts about them that I think about you. I'll think about how sorry your life must be when I see you night after night. I'll think about what a joke it is that I actually know your name, despite every effort to avoid even that much interaction with you. I'll think about how my smarmy, disingenuous smile will put you more at ease and make you feel like coming back again.
In a way, I really do want you to come back again, because watching you dance your way through your personal waltz of failure time and time again is what lines my pockets and keeps me warm. Even so, your money is only barely enough incentive to stand there and watch you mindwarp yourself night after night after night.
Down a few shots. Sure, your life isn't so bad... Drink a few beers. Maybe going to the same boring grind every day has a point. This isn't what your life has come to, this is just a speed bump. Just a little detour on your road to success. Order another shot. These people are really fascinated by what you have to say. Order another beer. The bartender really seems to be digging on your vibe.
I'm sure she's just fascinated by everything you have to say.
I'm sure he's never encountered a patron quite like you before.
You've gotten to know each other.
You have a rapport.
She really cares about you.
He's your friend.
This is like your own little Cheers. Everybody knows your name. Everybody cares...
Order one more shot to keep this buzz going. The girl at the next barstool is really digging you.
Maybe have a quick refill. That guy on the dance floor is just entranced by your moves.
Maybe you should buy her a drink, you know, just to get her attention.
If she really got to know you she'd be all over you. Once you get her listening, she'll be into you for something more than the free booze.
Down another martini. Grind your hips against that guy on the dance floor. You don't look like those other girls. You're not just some drunken slut dry humping a pathetic loser to make yourself feel worthwhile and lovable. No, you're using your smooth moves and the raw power of your personal sexuality as a tool to empower yourself and arouse this masculine creature now gyrating between your thighs. You've snagged a real winner. He can tell that you're not like the rest of these shallow bitches.
Drink another beer. She is totally into you. She's putting her hand on your arm and laughing at your jokes. You have a real connection. You're not just chatting up another tipsy lush. You're taking the first step on that road to finding your soulmate. You just needed to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe we should have one more shot for the road.
Last call. Time to go. I usher you out and stroke your ego because you're drunk enough to think I'm sincere and I'm sober enough to know that if I say something nice you'll do whatever I say, right now. You make cocky, arrogant comments and I laugh and reassure you that you're the man. The truth is that I want nothing more than to shove your pearly white teeth so far down your throat that your gag reflex will start at your kidneys. Not that you'd ever believe that. I've got your back. I'm your pal.
You tell me in a too loud voice that you really think you might be getting laid tonight. She rolls her eyes. Not that she has any moral high ground to stand on. Maybe she won't go home with you tonight, but I've seen her go home with other guys more than a few times. Maybe they just dropped her off at the doorstep. Maybe that hollow smile backed by eyes full of shame and regret comes from some other sad tragedy in her life. Or maybe she's just another bar slut who knows that if she laughs and jokes and flirts and smiles, she won't have to pay for her own intoxication. I suppose that's only fair, because you know that if you pay for those drinks and smile and flirt and laugh at her jokes and tell her how special she is, she'll hop on her back and validate your pathetic existence for one more empty, meaningless night.
It's really nothing different from what she tells herself. Maybe she thinks that if she only goes home with somebody every few months she's somehow more discerning than the girl who picks a new guy every few nights. Maybe she thinks that she's better than the ones who've quit trying to pretend that they're something special. Maybe they're just the honest ones. Maybe someday you'll come to an understanding. Maybe someday you'll work it out and find that connection.
Not tonight though. Tonight you both mess it up. You misread the verbal and the nonverbal cues and go home alone to whatever shell of life you still lead. You go home to the place that made you want to come here in the first place. You go back to a life so wasted and meaningless that you'd rather spend time with life's flotsam and jetsam than actually face what your life--and by extension you--has become...but not before you stagger over to me and try to get a hug and coax a friendly smile. After all...I'm your friend, right?
Keep telling yourself that I'm your friend. Do everything you can to avoid facing the reality that you're nothing to me besides a source of income and case study in the depressing lifestyle of the pitifully self-deluded. Tell yourself that my smile is sincere and not sarcastic. Tell yourself that I really do care about you as a person. Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself to make it through until closing. Then give me your money and get your shame-soaked, ignorant, despicable carcass the hell out of my bar.
Oh, and I'll see you tomorrow... friend. :)
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