I've done too many flowcharts this week. I'm starting to think of everything in flowcharts. It unnecessarily complicates things that should be simple. Things that I normally do without thinking now have all kinds of "if, then" statements clogging up the works.
-A.W.C.
This whole Professor Gates thing in Chicago has gotten way out of hand, but here's my take on the situation.
Gates should have been glad that a police officer was doing his job properly and just showed ID without acting like a lunatic.
The cops should have taken into consideration that an exhausted person that had just returned home from China could be a little irritated at the situation and just left the house once Gates had identified himself.
Obama should not have opened his mouth to say anything other than, "I have no comment."
-A.W.C.
Got a new boss last week. He's keeping me busy. Probably going to have to lay off the blogging during the day for a little while.
You know what's inconvenient? Parenthood. Not that I wouldn't want to be a parent. I love it. I love my daughter and everything thing about her. What's inconvenient is the timing of your required duties you have as a parent. Like 2:30 AM when your daughter is throwing up in her bed.
-A.W.C.
I started reading the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. Excellent books, by the way. I have read the first four books and have started the fifth all in about a month.
I realized yesterday that the writing style of Stephen King has actually affected my ability to write emails. The overtly courteous manner of speech between the characters set in a world that is sort of like the Old West meets King Arthur in the Twilight Zone has caused me to type some really odd things to coworkers and supervisors.
Luckily, I am the type of person that reads an email about fifty times before I send it. So far I have been able to change any phrases that would be completely out of place in our modern society, but, as I continue reading the final three books, I hope that nothing slips through that might make people look at me funny.
I hope that this finds you well.
-A.W.C.
Ziggy: So, I rear ended some one on the way to work.
A.W.C: How'd that happen?
Ziggy: When I took out the trash this morning, I got nasty trash water on my jeans. While I was driving work, I was trying to get the A/C vents to point at my leg to dry it off, and I bumped the guy in front of me.
A.W.C.: Wait...You didn't change your nasty trash water stained pants before your went to work?
-A.W.C.
Disclaimer: this is not an article in support of or against the Obama administration. It is an article about the absurd things that people will believe in spite of the evidence to the contrary.
Barack Obama has provided a Hawaiian birth certificate. It shows that he was born in Hawaii and is a citizen of the United Sates of American and this means that he is eligible to hold the office of President of the United States. That is all the proof that is necessary by law.
None of those facts, however, seem to dissuade some groups from claiming that his is not a citizen and therfore not eligible to hold this office. If you believe that, then think about this: The entire RNC, John McCain, the FEC, Rush Limbaugh, and thousands of other people were not able to find one shred of proof for this accusation. If there was any proof that Obama was not a citizen, don't you think that his political opponents would have found it and publicized it? It would have been a boon for for the RNC to wait until a week or two before the election and provide the proof that would have sent the Democrats into a tailspin that they could not have recovered from in time. There is NO eveidence anywhere that has been produced by anyone that Obama is ineligible to serve as President of the United States.
The goal of those that spread these rumors is to plant the seed of doubt in the minds of those that disagree. It casts a shadow on this administration and the Democrats. It is only there to put a false perception in people's minds, so that in the next election, they hope that people will remember this and think that there is a reason to vote for a Republican instead. Buck the system and vote for a different party if you don't like this.
Think for yourself, and analyze the physical evidence that is available. Or you come up with some physical evidence that can be confirmed that supports your accusations. The burden of proof in this country is on the ones making accusations, not on the accused.
-A.W.C.
So, we had a storm that blew some siding away from our house and damaged some shingles. We called the company that holds our home owners insurance, and they happily sent out an adjuster. He was a nice guy. He looked at everything, told us what he had found and left.
Two weeks go by, and we finally call to check on the claim. They say that they can't see all the details yet, but that a check has been requested to be sent. We get no further contact from them for weeks, and finally we call again today. This is the response that we get: "You were approved for $1,036, and your deductible is $1,038. So, you will not be getting a check from us. Thanks, and have a nice day."
Wow, what stellar service. No contact unless it was initiated by us, and what an amazing coincidence that the amount we were approved for was $2 less than our deductible. I think something smells fishy.
-A.W.C.
I am afraid. I'm afraid of just repeating what I hear. I am afraid of it because I see so many other people do it. I see people that just repeat whatever Fox News, MSNBC, or CNN tells them. I see people repeat whatever their spouses, friends, or coworkers tell them. It makes me wonder how many times it was repeated before it ever got to me.
There are very few left in this world that think for themselves. I hope that I am one of them, and if I'm not, then I hope to be able become one of them. I think it is something we should all strive to do. When we all just repeat what we hear and act as if we agree with it, what are we really agreeing to? If we think for ourselves, and we agree, then I think the solutions could be that much better. And if we don't agree? Then maybe we should rethink who we run around with.
-A.W.C.
I was pretty busy today, but something significant did happen.
We went to my sister-in-law's house today. On the way there, an SUV passed us. He was one of those jack asses that weaves in out of various lines risking people's lives just so he can be ahead of one more car before he gets to the red light.
My wife was driving, and a few miles down the road, she stopped at a red light. I was reading a book and suddenly heard the sound of crunching metal, heard my wife say, "They ran the red light!", and then I saw this SUV flip onto its roof.
I got out of the car and ran to the SUV. and my wife got our car off the road. By this time, about 10-15 other people had gotten out of their cars too. We all realize that the woman in the passenger side of the SUV is bleeding, but she is also screaming, "My babies, my babies! Get my babies!" It was then that we realized there were two children in the back seat, each in a car seat. Someone opened the back window of the SUV, and we started yanking stuff out. An infant bouncer, a small bicycle, the speaker box, and other junk. Someone got into the SUV and got the youngest one out of the car. By this time, someone had helped the driver and the passenger out of the front seat. Eventually they got the other car seat out of the SUV.
The car that hit the SUV was parked close by. The front end was completely smashed, and the airbags had all gone off. The driver of that car was actually helping us with the people in the SUV. Two nurses happened to be among those of us that were helping, so anyone that was injured received immediate attention. Luckily, everyone seemed to have been wearing their seat belts as far as I could tell. No one was unconscious, and I only saw one person bleeding from some cuts on their arms.
It's things like this that make me wonder why people drive like that. Why do they need to risk their own life, those lives in the care with them, and/or the lives in the cars around them just to make that turn, or get in a different lane, or to pass one more person before they exit the freeway?
I am happy that everyone was alive when I left, but I'm angry that someone can be so reckless with their wife and two children in the car. They ran a read light and got T-Boned; for what? I don't think there is a satisfactory answer to that question. Ever.
-A.W.C.
So, I have seen all of the Harry Potter films....this week. Wife wanted to catch up on it since she has slept through most of them in the first place. Gonna go see this new one in the theater tonight.
They aren't bad stories; they are fun to watch, but the next person that tells me that Harry Potter is the Lord of the Rings of our time is going to get a karate chop to the adams apple.
-A.W.C.
It has come to my attention that people that are much smarter than I am occasionally stumble on to or are led to my blog. I welcome all opinions.
Please feel free to point out any flaws or complement the blog as you see fit in the comments section below. I will only correct horrible grammar mistakes when noticed; my message, however, will stay the same.
Today, I removed the restriction for needing to be a member to comment. Comments are moderated, however, because the point of comments is not belittle other users, but to comment on the content of the blog.
-A.W.C.
I think there should be a level of the civil court system that does nothing but review cases prior to going to court. They should be in place solely to weed out the frivolous crap.
When someone tries to sue a dry cleaner for $67 million because they lost his pants, this court should throw out the case and order the plaintiff to pay any court costs that were incurred by the state, county, city or defendant during this process. In this case, the pants were actually found about a week after they were lost, but the plaintiff in the case refused to accept the pants or any other offers to pay for the pants. In my opinion, he was someone that thought he could work the system because he works in the system; he was a judge himself. Luckily, the cleaners and common sense won in the end, but the cleaners and the courts incurred costs in the process.
In many states, the losing party of civil suits must pay court costs and legal fees, but this is not done everywhere, and this is done after someone has had to go through heart ache and expense. I propose that an arbitration of some sort must be implemented prior to the civil suit reaching a court room. Just like a grand jury decides whether or not someone should be charged with a crime in the criminal courts. If someone's suit is found to be frivolous, they should be required to pay all costs associated with both sides of the suit. If not, they can move forward, and to determine who is at fault in a real courtroom. I'm no legal expert, and I don't know how many laws would have to change in order to even do something like this, but I think I am on the bandwagon for reform on this stuff.
Too many people see every little perceived slight as an opportunity for a lottery jackpot, and too many lawyers realize that they get a big cut of it. It's time we stopped treating life like we are playing one big game of BINGO and just waiting for that last square to get filled in by someone stepping on our toes.
-A.W.C.
P.S. - Or just send all civil suits to Judge Judy and her ilk. Put all civil suits on TV and privatize the process. Frivolous cases last about 10 minutes there and taxpayers don't have to be on the hook for any of it.
You know, I spent three or four years working for the largest retailer in the world. I and the people I worked with hated most of the customers, but at least we put on a fake smile and did whatever we needed to do to get you out of the store as fast as possible.
Here is the list of things that I not only did, but was trained to do the first day I started working as a cashier and was called out in front of my peers if I wasn't doing it properly.
1) Standard locations of UPC's: Lower backs of packages or on the bottom.
I watch in amazement as these people today don't even know the first place to look. They have to stop and look at every product before they try to scan it.
2) How to bag products without damaging others and to assist in the stacking of filled bags in a cart.
If another cashier puts three small items into individual bags instead of taking one extra second to make them fit properly, or tries to shove 23 boxes randomly into a bag, then I am going to scream.
3) How to MOVE like you have a purpose.
When I worked there, we got a bonus for being the fastest cashier of the month. They based this on rings per minute. I don't think I ever won, but I certainly tried every day. I was close to the top every month. I rang people up as fast as I possibly could. Today, you are lucky if you can get someone that can scan products faster than you at the Self-Checkout.
4) Open more lanes when there are too many people in line.
Wal-Mart used to have signs on all of their cash registers. It said something like, "When there are more than three people in any line, we will open a new register." You won't see these anymore. They took them down years ago. We would call up people from the sales floor to help check people out. I even saw managers get on a register when it was necessary. Now, you can stand in the only open line behind ten other people, while a gaggle of other employees stand around a little desk twelve feet away from you.
5) Find a customer to check out.
When you didn't have someone in your line, you were expected to go get someone else from another line to check them out. Or, at the least, go stand out by the main aisle and make sure when a customer is ready to check out they can see you. Admittedly, this does happen from time to time, but not often. Most often, they are standing behind their registers or even at other registers chatting with other cashiers.
6) When you have a customer in front of you, they are the only person that exists in your world.
The next time a cashier that is ringing up my purchase is spending their time talking to the cashier at the next register about the party they were at last night, who so-and-so is dating, or when their next break is, instead of exchanging pleasantries with me, I don't know exactly how I am going to respond, but someone is going to cry before I leave the store. It might be me, but someone is crying.
7) How to hand people their change and count it back.
You put the coins in their hand FIRST, and THEN you hand the bills to them. No one likes to balance 77 cents on top of a stack of paper.
And this is how you count back change to ensure the honesty of everyone involved with the transaction:
The total is $12.23
I give you a $20 bill
Your register tells you that the change is $7.77
You take the $7.77 out of the cash drawer
As you hand the coins to me, you say, "Your total is $12.23. 77 cents makes 13."
As you hand me the bills ONE AT A TIME, (the 5, then the 1, then the last 1) you count and say, "that makes 18, 19, and 20."
My cat started pissing blood yesterday, so I spent about three or four hours in the emergency vet's office last night. Looked like all the classic signs of a UTI. Just needed some anti-biotics, and I'd be on my way.
Nope.
Unfortunately, when getting a urine sample, the vet realized that she passed two little stones.
Now I am exhausted and staring at the vet telling me that they may have to operate. Emergency vets are EXPENSIVE.
Fortunately, they let me take her home. They gave her some meds, and told me to get her to the regular vet first thing in the morning.
Wife took her to the vet today, and this vet thinks that they can do something about this with diet. So, YAY, no surgery. But, BOO, the cat is still a little sick.
They decided that it was crystals in her urine, and it looks like diet may solve this problem.
Happy thoughts for her, please?!?!
-A.W.C.
An open letter to humanity:
Over six billion people and countless billions of other life forms inhabit this planet we call Earth.
Yet, this planet is a smallish one. It revolves around a medium sized star we call the Sun.
(Yes, these are all galaxies!)
Here it is, people. One of the most brilliant minds on earth today debunking the voodoo doodoo that is the 2012 apocalypse scenario.
-A.W.C.
So, I just spent the last four hours walking around the mall with my wife and daughter. Well, my daughter wasn't walking; she can't yet. I am not a fan of the mall. Don't get me wrong, I like spending time with my wife. It is all the ignorant, self centered, oblivious-to-the-rest-of-the-world-around-them fuck ups at the mall that bug me. They get in your way, don't look where they are going, allow their sticky fingered children to run wild, and generally act like they are entitled to do so. We all have a right to be there, but, come on people, we also have a responsibility to act like we weren't born in a barn...yesterday. If another one of you step in front of me without looking while I am pushing my daughter's stroller down a main aisle in a store, then I am going to run your ass over. This is your last warning.
-A.W.C.
By the time my senior year of high school rolled around, I wasn't trying to set myself up for a good college. I showed up to class, did my work, and made good grades, but I didn't have any goals associated with it. As a result, I put forth a lot more effort at working for the largest retailer in the world.
Jessica was one of my supervisors while I was a cashier. Later she moved on to the associate management program, and I moved to the sales floor to work in the pet department. I was still seventeen at the time, and Jessica was twenty years older than me. She wasn't the most beautiful person, but she had that attitude that attracted people to her. She was a flirt and a tease, and she enjoyed that role. All the men wanted her, and all the women wanted to be her. A few of the women wanted her too, but that's not my story to tell. Being seventeen and not really educated in the ways of seduction, I didn't always recognize it, but it eventually became clear that I was the target of her flirtations.
One day in particular, she was acting strangely around me, and I couldn't put my finger on why. After the store had closed that night I finally asked what was going on with her. She walked up to me, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and climbed on to my body. She put her arms around my neck, wrapped her legs around my waist, put her mouth right up to my ear, and slowly, with a heavy and hot breath said, "I am very horny." She then loosened her legs slightly, slid down my body to the floor, and stood up slowly. As she walked away from me, she looked back and gave me a wink.
This incident initially scared the hell out of me. Mainly because the most important word that described Jessica was "married". I had heard all kinds of stories about her husband. He had been arrested for drunk driving and shooting guns in the air while drunk. He was a dick and a drunk. He also owned multiple guns, and intimidated the piss out of me. Unfortunately, the blood left my brain pretty quickly, and those thoughts left my mind completely.
For the next couple of weeks nothing happened, but that changed soon enough. Usually on the weekends, five or six of us would gather at the local IHOP or Waffle House after the store closed. We would use that time to wind down and tell our "stupid customer" stories we had experienced during the week. Ultimately, we would disperse around 2 or 3 in the morning and go home. This night, however, was going a little differently. Jessica managed to sit next to me in the booth, and she spent the entire time rubbing her hand on my thigh and crotch. After everyone else had left, she led me straight to her car. She drove us to a random neighborhood, and we had sex that night for the first time.
This affair continued for several months. I was on the work program at school which meant I only had to be at school for 3 hours every day. She and I would sometimes rendezvous for lunch time "activities" at my house. We would sneak kisses at work, and play grab ass in the back room; it was exciting, forbidden, and, now that I am telling this story, really stupid.
After several months of this, we got bolder. We would convince groups of people to go out dancing or to a bar (I had a fake ID that I used quite often.) We would hang out until everyone else had left, and we'd have the rest of the night together. One or two of our coworkers put two and two together and realized what was going on, but they actually helped us keep it hidden.
One night that we worked together she caught me in the back room by the manager's office while we were on break and planted a steamy kiss on me. The next day, at her request, I skipped school. I picked her up from her house, and we went back to mine. We were naked on the living room floor when I heard a car door shut. I looked up and realized that my mom was home. I didn't know it at the time, but she had missed work because of a jury summons. She wasn't chosen, so she came home.
Jessica and I jumped up and ran, and I grabbed our clothes. I thought I saw Jessica run into the bathroom, and I threw her clothes into it as I ran by. I went to the bathroom in the back of the house and got dressed. When I came back around the corner, I saw my mom standing at the end of the hallway looking extremely pissed and disappointed. I also saw Jessica's clothes laying on the floor to my left and her head sticking out of my bedroom on the right. I had to pick up her clothes and carry them past my mom to take them to Jessica. When my mom asked what was going on, I just responded with, "Don't ask stupid questions." By her stance and voice, it was evident that she had seen two naked butts running down the hall, and I didn't have a chance at convincing her otherwise. Jessica got dressed, and we left. Although I didn't know it. This was going to be the last time I spoke with Jessica.
That night, my dad called me. Apparently, my mom had apprised him of the situation. Because he also worked a couple nights a week at the same store, he had heard rumors of Jessica's affair with someone, but until he heard from my mom, he didn't know it was me. In no uncertain terms, he made it clear that I needed to end this relationship, or her husband was going to slit my throat while I slept. He thoroughly convinced me, and I agreed to end it the next day. I was fully aware that this relationship was wrong from the beginning, but, as long as I was having fun, I wasn't prepared to end it. It wasn't fun anymore.
The following day I went to the store after school, and waited for Jessica to come to work. It was my day off, but if I didn't end it that day, I didn't know if my resolve would last. After a few hours, one of the assistant managers came up to me and asked to have a talk with me. She confronted me about the rumors that were going around, and told me that she knew it was me. She wanted to know what I was doing there on my day off. I told her the truth, and I told her that I was there to tell Jessica that it was over. She believed me and let me go back out to wait for Jessica.
Eventually, it looked like Jessica wasn't going to come in as scheduled. They needed some help greeting people at the front door, and I was asked to clock in. After a couple of hours of working, I saw one of the other associate managers, Cindy, come in the store. She wasn't dressed for work, and she looked angry and confused. She went straight to one of the customer service managers, and they immediately told me to clock out. Cindy waited for me to return and dragged me outside.
Cindy proceeded to tell me about a new camera pointed at the manager's office. My heart skipped a beat when I remembered the last kiss Jessica had given me at work. I felt the color start to drain from my face as Cindy reminded me that our loss prevention manager was also a very good friend of Jessica's husband. He had reviewed the tape and told Jessica's husband what he had seen. The night that my father was telling me to end this was the night that her husband confronted her about it. When he picked her up from work that night, Jessica's husband asked her about what he had learned. She admitted to everything. Apparently, and understandably, this sent him into a rage. He stomped on the accelerator and rammed into a light pole. My nightmare had come true. He knew his wife was having an affair with someone, and he knew that someone was me.
While Cindy was telling me what had happened, Jessica and her husband were both in the hospital, on a lot of medication, and probably wouldn't be getting out any time soon. That didn't stop me from panicking, however. I called my dad, and he let me stay at his house that night. We were afraid that if her husband knew where I lived, then he would come looking for me or send someone to look for me. I was learning from people that knew him that he could be that crazy. The next day at school, I went straight to the principal's office and told him what had happened. He agreed that there was enough reason to think I was in danger, and he gave me an open-ended pass to leave school. He said he would fill in the return date when I came back.
I went home, packed some things, and got in my truck. I drove for about thirty minutes when I realized that I had NO money, and no where to go. What did I think I was going to do? Drive until I ran out of gas? And then what? I realized that I had no choice but to continue living my life, and deal with whatever happened. I returned to school and work the next day.
When I returned to work, I talked with one of the managers; they all assured me that her husband was going to be in the hospital for at least a couple of weeks. Some friends of Jessica and her husband approached me later that day too. They told me that this wasn't Jessica's first ride on the infidelity train. They also told me that her husband didn't blame me. He understood that I was just a dumb kid that got duped into something by woman with a history of this type of activity. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't going to come after me. It was a big relief, but I wasn't comfortable for weeks.
I think I saw Jessica one more time after she got out of the hospital. It was the day she came to pick up her last check. We didn't say a word to one another. I don't know if she left voluntarily or not. I never heard from or saw Jessica again.
All the school I skipped that year actually hurt me. I missed graduating with honors by a slight margin, because I let a few grades slip to low B's. I had to attend Saturday school for six weeks to make up for the time I had missed, or I wouldn't have graduated at all.
My job was never the same again. I stayed there for another year or so, but people looked at me differently. There were some very understanding people that stuck by me no matter what, but they were few. Of those that I didn't call friends some admired me, some were jealous, but mostly people just pitied me. I had gained a reputation from all the whispering going on behind me. Some of it was actually good from what I understand, but it wasn't worth the negative rumors that were mentioned too. No one ever said anything to my face.
When I learned about Jessica's other indiscretions, I realized that I might be at risk for STD's. I was tested, and, luckily, I am clean.
It wasn't as expensive as it could have been, but I paid a price for my actions.
The lessons I learned that year were some that you can never learn in a class room...unless, of course, you are banging your married high school teacher.
-A.W.C.
When is a memorial service not a memorial service? When it is an effort at rebranding.
This week's memorial service for Michael Jackson was over the top. It wasn't a religious service meant to ease the suffering of the family. It was a free concert to people that won a lottery, and an opportunity for the Jackson family to brand Michael as a saint. I am not going to talk about guilt or innocence here. Today is about perception. The only real truth is our perception of reality.
When Michael Jackson came under fire for what many have called inappropriate dealings with children, his career spiraled out of control and out of sight in America. Although no criminal prosecution ever resulted in a conviction, his arrest and the subsequent trial put a lot of doubt in people's minds. Just because the state can't put you in jail doesn't mean that the public has to agree with it. (Just ask O.J.) The public perception of Michael Jackson by anyone but the most loyal fans was at best, very weird, and and worst, a pedophile. The "King of Pop" stayed out of the limelight as much as possible, and he spent most of his time outside of America after this. He was more welcome overseas; the perception that fans in Europe and Asia had of him rises to the level of "God of Pop" in some places.
After Michael Jackson died, fans didn't want to hear about the legal struggles he had while he was alive. They wanted to celebrate his accomplishments. That's understandable; who wants to dwell on the negatives after someone has died? The memorial service, however, became something different to me. Magic Johnson mentioning Kentucky Fried Chicken like it was a corporate sponsor seemed ludicrous to me. Parading the children in front of the microphone was the last straw for me. Taking children to a funeral is one of the toughest decisions anyone can make, but then bringing them on stage to speak to the crowd in the Staples Center was just uncalled for. I don't believe Michael would have asked them to do that. He probably would have forbidden it. He did his absolute best to keep these children away from the media their entire lives. I believe that this last act was their trump card, their ace in the hole, to pull on the heartstrings of anybody else that still believed the accusations that Michael faced in the past.
This rebranding was the family's final effort to prep the world for buying even more Michael Jackson merchandise over the next few decades. Rumors of hundreds of unreleased songs and a recently finished video probably has them salivating at the thought of the potential income. This memorial service was an investment in future sales, in my opinion. I think that they wanted this memorial service to do for them, what Michael thought his come back tour was going to do for him.
On to the crowd:
When have you EVER been excited about going to a funeral? Personally, I have never enjoyed myself while attending a funeral. Millions of people all over the country, however, became ecstatic when they realized that they could enter a drawing for a chance to win tickets to see this macabre circus in L.A. People that had no way of getting to L.A. during the service won tickets. What do you suppose happened to those? People attempted to sell them on Ebay and Craigslist. Even the public wanted a piece of this pie. At least, ID was required to claim and use the tickets. Only the second ticket could actually be sold. Some people were respectful enough to give them to people that could go, but there were plenty that didn't. People that could go and did win were jumping up and down with joy over their luck.
At this memorial service, people didn't sit silently to listen to the tribute; they cheered as their favorite celebrities walked on stage to do a version of a Michael Jackson song. Cheering? Really? To those lottery winners, they didn't get an opportunity to show their respect. They won tickets to a free concert, and they acted like it. I think some of them expected MJ to jump out of his coffin and give them one final encore."I'm in shock that it has happened," said Deka Motanya, 27, of San Francisco. "It's surreal." She received an e-mail message at 4:35 p.m. notifying her, "Congratulations, your application was successful."
She immediately Twittered: "OMG OMG OMG OMG i got tickets to the michael jackson memorial service!!!"
I am so sick of the media and politicians trying to lump everyone into a conservative or liberal label. The reality is that most of us fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum if we based our political alignments on our personal beliefs. If you don't use your own personal beliefs, I would find it a little disconcerting.
Republicans have created a brand for themselves by telling the same story of family values, and anyone that doesn't subscribe to "traditional family values" is evil. Democrats have created their brand by telling the same story about victims all over the country that deserve to have social programs funded by tax payers, and that anyone that doesn't agree is intolerant. People that hear these same two messages over and over and over again begin to align themselves with one or the other. Unfortunately, most don't even have a clue about the broader issues that each side deals with.
I challenge you to take this quiz: The world's shortest political quiz. Before you do, however, take a moment to think about your position on the political scale. Where do you think that you fit in? When you do take the quiz, answer the way you truly believe, not the way you think your political party of choice would answer.
If you find yourself occupying a different portion of the scale than you expected, I challenge you to do more research on the party you currently identify with and the other available groups for you to choose from.
Here is a list of the major parties along with some others that have been active in the recent past. This is by no means a complete list and you should do your own research into what is available to you. Research not only the candidates we have to choose from but what party they belong to.
Republican Party
Democratic Party
Libertarian Party
Constitution Party
Green Party
American Party
America First Party
America's Independent Party
Independence Party of America
Jefferson Republican Party
Moderate Party
Objectivist Party
Reform Party of the United States of America
Working Families Party
-A.W.C.
All right, here it is. This is my hypothesis on why Metallica sucks now.
When Metallica first began, these guys were fueled by angst and youth. The fed on a menu of hardcore punk and metal. They practically invented thrash metal.
With angst fueled albums such as Master of Puppets, Ride the Lightning, and And Justice For All... these guys, and other bands of their ilk, used their music to express their rage, frustration, passion and down right anger. And they impressed the fuck out of most of us.
Unfortunately, music acts as a stress release. They began working through their emotional problems by writing and performing some of the best music every produced in their genre. They got married, made house payments, had kids, and learned to love life. Then one day after a few years out of the music scene, they are barely recognizable because they cut all their hair off.
Now, Metallica wants to continue making music. But the rage that fueled their unique thrash metal sound is GONE. FOREVER. It isn't coming back. They can try all they want. They can go through the motions, and sounds come out of the amps, but their muse, angst ridden youth, isn't there anymore.
Metallica died in 1996 when I saw them on MTV Unplugged: Alice in Chains. They were sitting on the front row with all their hair cut off. It inspired the bassist to write on his guitar something like "Friends don't let friends get haircuts..." This zombie that has been walking around since Load (of shit) was released in '96 should be shot in the head and put out of our misery.
I may be wrong; maybe this new album has some strength. Unfortunately, it took so long for them to come out with it, that I, too, have worked through my angst. I don't need to hear it.
-A.W.C.
You are full of shit if you think that you aren't judgmental.
We all judge each other. You may be polite enough to keep it to yourself. You may be cowardly and only announce your judgments when you are among those that agree with you. Your judgments may not be negative. But you judge people every day.
You don't have a choice in the matter. It is human nature, a survival instinct, to look at another person, place, or situation and make some sort of initial judgment about it. Some of our judgments are based on stereotypes that we have heard or been taught (whether they are correct or not). Some are based on our own personal experiences. You may judge others on their hair style, skin color, clothing, the way they walk, their accent, their choice of words, or even their smell. People use other words to describe what they are doing, but it is still a judgment: assumption, opinion, assessment, being cautious, getting a vibe, comfortability, etc.
Let me give you a couple scenarios:
Scenario 1:
You are in your car alone and lost in a strange neighborhood or town. A person you don't know walks by smiling at you with a spring in their step as they pass your car. You automatically feel at ease and comfortable. You don't know this person at all, but you would be willing to get out of your car, tell them that you are lost, and ask for their advice on what to do next. You don't know if this person is the most congenial person on the planet, or just plain bat shit crazy with a smile narcotically plastered on their face, but you use the visual information available to you to make a judgment.
Scenario 2:
You are in your car alone and lost in a strange neighborhood or town. A person you don't know walks by with a scowl on their face, shuffling and dragging their feet while staring at you as they pass by. You automatically feel uncomfortable, and maybe even feel as if you are in danger. At this point, there probably isn't anything that would convince you to get out of your car and tell this person that you are lost and in need of help. As a matter of fact, you probably would push on the gas pedal a little more to get out of there faster. You don't know if this person just broke up with their significant other and is feeling down, or if he is looking to beat the crap out of the next person that talks to him, but you make a judgment based on what you see.
Just a quick word. Real blog to appear later today.
So, I tried again to cook a pork butt on the smoker on Saturday, the 4th. It was one of the most melt-in-your mouth cuts of meat I have ever prepared. I used a rub that my wife made, so I don't really know all the ingredients, and I smoked it with a combination of apple and cherry woods. It was my second attempt, and I must say that it was D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S!
So, in closing....MMMMMM....Pork
- A.W.C.
I am going to try to write every day, but I think I am going to give myself a day off. From now on, I will be taking Sundays off from writing a full blog entry, but will instead leave you with a quote, a link, or just something for you to ponder. Feel free to comment about it.
Give me liberty or give me death! -- Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775
-A.W.C.
Two houses down from me lived a man named Nick. Nick was close to twenty years older than me and my friends. He was married, and had two children at the time. Nick went to church every Sunday. He let us play football in his yard and would play quarterback for us. Nick was a good guy to us and a father figure to more than one of us.
When my friends and I started getting old enough to ask neighbors for odd jobs so that we could have some pocket money, Nick saw an opportunity to help us out. Nick was in route sales for a major potato chip distributor. Which is a fancy way of saying that he delivered chips to grocery stores in the area. He offered me and a couple of my friends, Ben and Higgs, the chance to earn eight bucks an hour working with him. It was a windfall for us. There was no way we could turn it down.
It started during the school year on Saturdays. He would pick us up at four in the morning, we would pick up product at the warehouse, and delivery it to the grocery stores. We would usually be done by noon every day. Nick would buy us breakfast and lunch, and he often took us bowling after work. He would deduct the cost of those things from our pay. We didn't mind because we probably would have used the money to eat and go bowling anyway.
When summer rolled around, we began working with Nick more often. I was there almost every day and worked hard. I was making a good bit of money, and used it for books, bowling, the movies, cigarettes, and whatever else I could get away with.
After a couple of months of working with Nick, we stopped at a beer store one day. This wasn't unusual. It was one of his "cash stops". Instead of an account with the distributor, they would pay him cash for the product that he brought in. It's where he got most, if not all, of the cash he paid us with. This time, however, he took his mini cooler in with him. I stayed outside to smoke because I wasn't allowed in the beer store. I was barely allowed in the grocery stores to work because I was so young. Nick came back out and we went on our way.
At the end of the day, Nick says, "Hey, I got something for you in the cooler."
I took a look in it and saw four wine coolers sitting in ice. I closed it and asked him to take me home.
Nick took me home. I only told the couple of friends that worked with Nick about it. They thought it was the coolest thing ever. They saw it as an opportunity, and there were mad at me for refusing to drink it. You see, after he dropped me off, Nick didn't come around anymore. He had already moved to an apartment across town, and he stopped returning our calls. I assume he was afraid that I had told my mom, and that he was going to be in some trouble. My friends were afraid that the opportunity had been lost.
Eventually, one of my friends got in touch with Nick. We convinced him that we hadn't told anyone, and we wanted to work again. The next time he showed up, all three of us were waiting for him. Ben was on a mission; he wanted to drink some alcohol. Higgs was just a follower; whoever he talked to last had the most power over him, and that was Ben today. I was really confused and didn't know what to think or expect.
After work that day, Ben spoke up and asked Nick to buy us some wine coolers. Nick gave me a sideways glance and asked if we were sure. Ben and Higgs were sure, but I wasn't sure. I said I was, but I really just didn't know anything about alcohol. Nick agreed and bought some wine coolers. Now, at the time, he only needed to by a four pack as that was all that was needed to get a few thirteen year old first timers a little too tipsy. Nick realized that he wasn't going to be able to do this after work anymore; he couldn't take us home drunk.
It turned into a thing where we would stay the weekends at his house under the pretense of getting an early start in the mornings, and he would bring us home on Sunday afternoons. So our Friday & Saturday night benders began at the age of thirteen or fourteen.
As you can imagine, that time of my life is a little blurry. I began drinking pretty regularly. I didn't go to school drunk, but some of my friends did. I didn't drink at home, but I did at my friend's homes when their parents were out.
It went from drinking a few wine coolers to drinking Mad Dog 20/20 and Magnum 44 beer. Eventually we were making milk shakes and spiking them with vodka and/or rum from a parent's liquor cabinet. This went on for a couple of years, I think. It was a big blur.
Nick never did anything to any of us other than supply us with alcohol. It wasn't a good thing for him to do, but he NEVER did anything else. All of this activity, however, opened me up to a new world around me. Because of the alcohol I didn't always make the right choices.
I guess my point is that parents need to really know the people their children are around. Just knowing that a person attends church and has a family doesn't mean that hes's a great person for your children to be around. This doesn't mean that you should shelter them from everyone and never let them be themselves, it means that you need to spend time in their home, have their family spend time in yours, and really learn who your children are with. I turned out OK, I think. But I know many that didn't.
We lose some of our innocence too soon when parents don't watch out for us properly.
Like most children my age, my first encounter with books came in the form of my parents reading to me at night. I loved it.
I remember one book in particular. It was one in a set of children's books. Each book in the set had a different color on the binding. This one was purple. It had some fantastic stories in. I remember the Teeny-Tiny Woman and a poem about a Crooked Man. Those are the only stories I can remember from it today, but I do remember that I only wanted to be read stories from the "Purple Book", as my sister and I called it. Thus began my love affair with books.
I remember my mother taking me to the library around the time I turned four or five, and getting my first library card. I would check out as many books as I could carry. When I got home, I would sit down and read every single one of them that very day. I would then reread them until it was time to return the books, and I would repeat the process all over again.
By the time I was in the first grade, I was a reading fool.
(I should mention here that I repeated the first grade because of my age. I started school a year early and my new school didn't like the age difference.)
At the second private school I attended we would have reading contests where we would list all the books we read on a piece of paper that our parents would sign. At the end of the grading period, whoever read the most books would get a coupon for a free pizza from Pizza Hut.
They would give the child a piece of paper that had three, maybe five, lines for you to list books that you read. Most kids looked at it and thought, "I only have to read enough books to fill this up." I, however, needed a piece of notebook paper to staple to it every week. Of course, most books a first grader would read probably didn't have more than twenty pages in them and had a lot of pictures too. In the end, I got a free personal pan pizza from the Hut every nine weeks.
I couldn't stop reading...until the day that I realized I was going to be required to read a specific book for school whether I wanted to or not. It was probably in the fifth grade when that kicked in. Suddenly, my love for reading was being stifled because I was being forced to read something whether it was interesting or not. It was no longer fun; it was work. I had to take an analytical approach to what the story meant, instead of just enjoying what the story was.
This completely destroyed my desire to read. I became rebellious about reading. Most of the stories we read in the private school had some sort of religious overtones to it. Those were pretty easy to interpret when you have four church services, and five Bible classes every week. I did actually get to read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe there, but that was the ONLY fantasy type story they allowed in a Baptist private school. Somewhere in the next few years, I was able to get my hands on the rest of the Chronicles of Narnia.
My eighth grade year we could no longer afford the private school, and I entered the realm of the public school system. I found that the public schools weren't as strict as a private school about what you read, but I was still being forced to read something just because it was on list of "Great Novels" that some snooty people put together fifty years ago, not because it was relevant to our generation.
I dealt with it; I read what I had to read, took my quizzes, and passed my classes. I did not, however, read for enjoyment anymore. No one told me I could still read what I wanted outside of class.
The ninth grade is where I met my first real battle with the required reading system. This teacher was hell bent on making us read books that seemed to be a hundred years old just because they were on the state approved list, and she liked them. Probably because it was published when she was still a teenager.
Jane Eyre was the first book. It was my nemesis. I couldn't get three pages into that drivel without wanting to shove an ice pick in my temple. I finally decided I had had enough. I refused to read that book. Every day, we'd come to class and have a multiple choice quiz on the section we were to have read the night before. Every day I guessed on every question. I don't think I ever scored above 40% on any of them.
The book was to have been read in about three weeks or so, and we had one final test on it. I failed miserably. At the three week mark, I had a grade of 32 in that class and was failing. At the end of the grading period, I had a 72 and passed. To this day, I don't know how I pulled that off, but I must have done a hell of a lot of extra work and read whatever the next book was. After that, I went back to dealing with it instead of narrowly passing.
Sometime between my freshman and junior years in high school was where my love for reading was rekindled. Not because my teacher made me read that piece of crap The Great Gatsby (her favorite book), but because I found some new stories that inspired me to read again.
One day, at my neighbor's house, I noticed some books that he had and showed an interest in them. He let me borrow them, and some of them he outright gave to me. I began reading Piers Anthony, Isaac Asimov, and Steven Donaldson. I couldn't get enough. Suddenly, I found myself caught up in the love of reading again.
I met a few people at school that also read books other than what was required by a teacher. It soon became clear to me that very few people did this. You were a nerd, geek, or dork if you read because you like to read. They introduced me to the likes of Douglas Adams, Margaret Weis, and Tracy Hickman.
At one point, my father asked me to live with him, but when he discovered what I was reading, he told me that I would have to quit. (Religious folk.) Although, it was not the reason I stayed with my mom, it certainly wasn't something I was going to give up.
I bought and borrowed books as fast as I could read them. Science Fiction and Fantasy became my favorite genre. I slowed down on books when I discovered comic books. Soon, comic books became too expensive (another story for another day), and I let that drop off.
The real world started encroaching on me at some point. I was reading Lord of the Rings when I met the woman of my dreams. I think it took me 5 years to finish those books. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; I was just otherwise preoccupied.
Life happens, and things change. Sometimes we get caught up in those things, and we lose sight of what really makes us happy. Recently, I realized how happy I can be, and one of the many things that makes me happy is reading. I am again reading at a pace I haven't matched in almost ten years, about 300-400 pages a week. I recently began reading Stephen King for the first time. I am excited about where this will take me again.
In the end, my point is that reading doesn't have to be a chore. It's all about finding something that you or your children want to read. I feel that reading is an extremely important part of a child's life. Unfortunately, not enough parents encourage it. They don't have time to go the library, they take their kids to the video game store instead of the book store, they put them in front of the TV instead of putting a book in front of them, and they don't make time to read to their children at night.
We have to let people find their own passion when it comes to reading. I don't care if it is trashy romance novels, crime novels, history books, science books, comic books or even Jane Eyre. When your children tell you that they want to hear a story out of the "Purple Book", listen to them. Let your child and yourself find your "Purple Book" and start reading. You may light a spark that will burn for the rest of their (or your) lives.
-A.W.C.
Today, I was going to begin a series on the Bill of Rights. I wanted to talk about what rights we have, why we are in danger of losing some of them, and why it isn't one single presidential administration that is at fault for the erosion of our rights.
I have been arrested three times in my life. None of the stories are very cool, and at least two of them are pretty damn stupid. Who am I kidding, all three are damned retarded on my part.
Eleven years ago, some poor choices I made culminated in my last arrest. What started as an argument between an exhausted me and a drunk bitch at 7 AM ended with me in jail for 2 things. One I did do, and one I didn't do. (maybe that story will be told later...maybe not. Probably not.)
The thing I was actually guilty of was possession of marijuana under 2 ounces. Thank goodness I was ripped off by my dealer the night before, or I would have been looking at possession over 2 ounces, which would have drastically reduced my chances of making bail.
In the end, I pleaded guilty so that I could get probation (again). This time I was determined to stay out of trouble, however. I paid my fines, court costs, and paid my lawyer and went home. I stayed clean for maybe a month, and then I realized that I wasn't going to be clean while I continued to hang out with my friends. Then I realized that I didn't want to leave these people. So....I started getting high again.
I wasn't addicted to the high; I was addicted to getting high with my friends. Hell, at that time in my life I didn't make friends with someone unless they were willing to get high with me. I was addicted to the laughter, the camaraderie, the philosophical discussions, and the activities around smoking weed. You hear heroin addicts described as being addicted the needle and spoon as much as they are to the smack. Pot heads are addicted to the process of smoking weed too. The buying it, the breaking it up, the separating the seeds and stems, the rolling it in a joint, the making of a bong, the lighting it, the munchies, and especially the people you do all of these things with. That was a bigger part of the addiction for me than the high was.
I was required to meet my probation officer every month for the next nine months. I knew I was flirting with disaster if I continued to get high every freaking day, but I did it anyway. I'd show up to the probation office sober and fooled myself into thinking it was going to be a breeze to get through it.
I would show up, and the conversation went something like this:
PO: You have your administration fee?
AWC: Yeah.
PO: You have any wild parties this month?
AWC: No.
PO: OK, we'll see you next month.
AWC: OK, bye.
Until about the fourth month.
That fourth meeting, my normal probation officer wasn't in town. Some other guy was taking his cases for the week. And he decided it was time for me to take a drug test. SHIT!
I pissed in a cup and left that day assuming that I failed that test, and the next time I showed up would be my next trip to jail. So, I never went back.
I spent the next 10 years wondering when the other shoe was going to drop, wondering when I was going to have to go back and settle this debt. My driver's license had been suspended. I couldn't fly anymore because my ID had expired. I couldn't even get carded at a bar without fear of being turned away.
I can't even really describe all of the issues one deals with by not having current valid identification in the U.S. I probably told the same lie a thousand times: "Uh..I lost my ID last week, but I have an old expired one....It's still me." I only had one establishment tell me that they wouldn't accept it, and that happened in front of my in-laws. Luckily, no one really questioned me about it.
Now in 2009, I am clean, and rarely not sober. I am married, I have a beautiful daughter, have had a steady job for 8 years, and still couldn't figure out where my life was headed.
Finally, I became fed up with my job, and decided I wanted to quit. Unfortunately, it's kinda hard to get a new job without a way to identify yourself. It's also hard to get identification when you are wanted by the police. My wife & I finally decided it was time. It was time to get this monkey off of my back once and for all. I was going to have to turn myself in, and serve my time.
I called a lawyer that next day. I gave her the specifics of my case and my personal information. She asked that I give her a few days to check it out before I do anything else. No problem. I wanted this done, but I wasn't in a big hurry to go to county jail.
Three days later, my lawyer calls me back. She proceeds to tell me that she has never seen this before, but I do NOT have a warrant out for my arrest. As far as she can see there was a request to revoke my probation after I quit going, but a full twelve months later, the judge denied the request. I had been discharged from probation without a warrant for almost nine years! Apparently, judges like to brag about how much money in fines they collect, not how many people they send to jail. Since I had paid all my fines and court costs the day my sentence was given, he didn't care if I completed the terms of my probation. That was my lawyer's theory, anyway.
Don't get me wrong... I know how lucky I am. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn't have gone down like this. I should have had to spend 90 days in jail, and spent the next few years struggling to make ends meet on the only jobs I could find in this crappy economy, but I didn't. I guess it's times like this that an agnostic can start to lean away from the atheist point of view a little bit. (Just a little.)
I guess, at the end of all of this, I learned a couple of things:
1) Take care of problems when they come up. The consequences might not be as hard to deal with as it is to attempt to avoid them. I could have been done with this in 3 months in 1999, or known the facts about my case in 2000, but I spent 10 years running from something that never existed in the first place.
2) Pay your fines and court costs first. Judges like it more when you don't owe them any money.
-A.W.C.
I don't really know where to begin with this. I suppose I have some things to say. Some days more than others.
Today, I'd like to thank a few people that inspired me to do this, or at least inspired me to do SOMETHING.
My Wife - you are my rock, and thanks for putting up with me.
V of Violent Acres - you made me realize that I am the only one that can tell my story.
My therapist - you made me realize that my story does not have to be hidden.
Logan - you were my best friend, and I loved you. You were the brother I never had and didn't deserve. Your final fuck-up is the one that sent me to the edge. Without it, I never would have turned back around and realized what I was missing.
"What is the purpose of this blog?" you may be asking yourself. Hopefully, to entertain you in some way, make you reflect on your own life and the choices you've made, but mostly to do something creative. Even if you don't like it. Even if no one ever reads it.
-A.W.C.
*P.S. - The names and places of people have been changed to protect those I speak of and/or their family members.
