Last night, LP and I planned a great evening out: dinner at the Last Resort and then off to a grand holiday concert. Preface to the dinner... I had heard that there would be a Christmas parade in downtown (Clayton Street to be exact) and that it would begin at 5pm. Ok. Fine. We'll just grab dinner at 6 or 6:10, something like that, because surely all the parade craziness will be over by then. I mean what's the big deal, a few wagons and big trucks with frat guys and Santa on top, come on. When I turned onto Clayton, there was an officer standing outside his car with the lights on, but we both thought, hum, must be the after-parade-crowd-control-cop. Fast forward: after a great dinner we come out of lr to find people on both sides of the street marking what looks to be a parade route. It was 7:04pm, and the concert was scheduled to begin at 8pm, sharp.
We had no options...get in the car and drive, down Clayton, hoping no officer would stop us. It was as if we were the grand marshals (and I ain't talkin' about Tommy and John). We were riding along in the center lane as the huge crowds had already starting taking over the right and left lanes...cruising along, waving to the crowds, listening to a Charlie Brown Christmas cd, what a time! All was great, almost surreal, but all I could think was: please don't give me a ticket, please don't give me a ticket. When we got to the end of the street (it is a one way street, we had NO other option!) a great big bear of a man stood squarely in the the right-turn lane shaking his head left to right. I was puzzled, what does he mean, "no"? I briskly shook my head up and down as LP said ok, ok, hurry it up, no need to get in a fight with this guy.
At the end of our personal holiday parade, we both laughed and I thought: this has to make it on the blog. So if any of you yahoo readers out there thought you saw LP and I riding along in my non-US made sedan, you were right! And if anyone from Athens City council is reading this, you can schedule us again next year as the main attraction; I mean TCH and LP as warm up...I think most people left after we passed by.
Happy Holidays, people.
TCH
Friday, December 5, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
P.S. Where have all my followers gone?
I know I haven't been blogging much lately, but come on gang; where's the follower love? Thanks to that clever friend who will always be #1 follower on this blog (he may well be the only follower ever for this blog).
TCH
TCH
An arm full of books equals a street full of looks...
After a delightful lunch with a colleague today at one of our favorite haunts here in Athens, I made my way to the third, fourth, and finally fifth floor of the main library. Collecting a variety books that will all (hopefully) be (somewhat) helpful in the ongoing dissertation, I then descended to the line of patrons trying to get their books checked out (side note: I was reminded of what the long lings used to look like at BestBuy and Target during this time of year before the Bushcession hit).
As many of you know, I have a thing for books; I cannot get enough of them. Now I know that this disease paralyzes a number of graduate students early on in their careers and develops into a chronic illness that persists until death; however, my illness began as an undergraduate who preferred to purchase his outside readings rather than fight for them at the university and/or public library. Well, as a graduate student I have had to give up on purchasing every item that I have read or would like to read...I don't have that much space or money right now but am determined to one day catch up. So I retrieved my approximately 26 books from the main library, checked them out, and was faced with a decision of not-so-epic proportions: should I try to find a great friend with office space to stash the books until I can go get my car OR dare to put my life at risk and take the monstrous buses here at UGA OR take it like a woman or man and hike back to my house on south campus? Well, being the scarf-wearing man that I am, I opted for the walk. "Forced into" may be the more accurate descriptors. No friend to be found and I really don't care for those buses, so, off I went with a brave spirit about me, and 7 books in hand, 6 in a bag over the shoulder, and 13 inside a pair of Kroger's plastic bags.
Unlike what you might be thinking, the roughly 1.2 mile (I'm guessing here) trek went rather smoothly: no plastic bag rips or dropped books from the arms. Let me add that it started snowing on the way...I felt like I was the personification of the whole "walked both ways to school, up hill, in the snow..." Well, what peaked my interest, and thus the blog entry, was the looks, stares, and smirks I received from fellow sidewalk-walkers. I passed probably 20 or so people on my way back to my house and almost every one of them (if not all) checked the stack of books and then checked my face as if to be gauging the level of my sanity. By the time I got half the way here, I knew I would blog about this! What is wrong with these people, I pondered, have you never seen someone carrying books in the freezing cold weather? Then it struck me. These people may be startled by the fact that someone actually reads...what a novelty! Someone actually goes to the library, not to buy a coffee or take a gameday piss or try to pick up some woman with the lamo line: hey what cha' readin' that there buuk fer?
You might think that I am being way too bookish/snobbish or perhaps a bit too judgmental of my non-reading, goofish-grinning, sidewalk-walkers. A final example to help prove my point: my last encounter was with a group of three younger gentlemen. One, as he saw me approaching, decided to utter the most brilliant statement to dribble from human lips: "well look at all those books." His compatriots weren't equally remarkable in their assessments. The second of the three commentators, replied, "yeah." Not to be outdone, the third, and most insightful of this motley crew offered me a new expression that I can't wait to try out at my next dinner party: "hey bro, where's your elevator." My elevator? What? What has an elevator got to do with this situation, I wondered. With no real reply that seemed to make sense (what was I going to say, "at home?"), I simply shrugged as best I could and made my way to the house.
Once home, I settled in for a nice cup of white tea after placing my holiday wreath outside while having to control my inner struggle as to whether or not it gives off too much of a bourgeois appearance. It stays, I decided, but tomorrow I'll take an extra bag with me to the library so my excess of books doesn't draw attention or more questions about the location of my elevator.
TCH
As many of you know, I have a thing for books; I cannot get enough of them. Now I know that this disease paralyzes a number of graduate students early on in their careers and develops into a chronic illness that persists until death; however, my illness began as an undergraduate who preferred to purchase his outside readings rather than fight for them at the university and/or public library. Well, as a graduate student I have had to give up on purchasing every item that I have read or would like to read...I don't have that much space or money right now but am determined to one day catch up. So I retrieved my approximately 26 books from the main library, checked them out, and was faced with a decision of not-so-epic proportions: should I try to find a great friend with office space to stash the books until I can go get my car OR dare to put my life at risk and take the monstrous buses here at UGA OR take it like a woman or man and hike back to my house on south campus? Well, being the scarf-wearing man that I am, I opted for the walk. "Forced into" may be the more accurate descriptors. No friend to be found and I really don't care for those buses, so, off I went with a brave spirit about me, and 7 books in hand, 6 in a bag over the shoulder, and 13 inside a pair of Kroger's plastic bags.
Unlike what you might be thinking, the roughly 1.2 mile (I'm guessing here) trek went rather smoothly: no plastic bag rips or dropped books from the arms. Let me add that it started snowing on the way...I felt like I was the personification of the whole "walked both ways to school, up hill, in the snow..." Well, what peaked my interest, and thus the blog entry, was the looks, stares, and smirks I received from fellow sidewalk-walkers. I passed probably 20 or so people on my way back to my house and almost every one of them (if not all) checked the stack of books and then checked my face as if to be gauging the level of my sanity. By the time I got half the way here, I knew I would blog about this! What is wrong with these people, I pondered, have you never seen someone carrying books in the freezing cold weather? Then it struck me. These people may be startled by the fact that someone actually reads...what a novelty! Someone actually goes to the library, not to buy a coffee or take a gameday piss or try to pick up some woman with the lamo line: hey what cha' readin' that there buuk fer?
You might think that I am being way too bookish/snobbish or perhaps a bit too judgmental of my non-reading, goofish-grinning, sidewalk-walkers. A final example to help prove my point: my last encounter was with a group of three younger gentlemen. One, as he saw me approaching, decided to utter the most brilliant statement to dribble from human lips: "well look at all those books." His compatriots weren't equally remarkable in their assessments. The second of the three commentators, replied, "yeah." Not to be outdone, the third, and most insightful of this motley crew offered me a new expression that I can't wait to try out at my next dinner party: "hey bro, where's your elevator." My elevator? What? What has an elevator got to do with this situation, I wondered. With no real reply that seemed to make sense (what was I going to say, "at home?"), I simply shrugged as best I could and made my way to the house.
Once home, I settled in for a nice cup of white tea after placing my holiday wreath outside while having to control my inner struggle as to whether or not it gives off too much of a bourgeois appearance. It stays, I decided, but tomorrow I'll take an extra bag with me to the library so my excess of books doesn't draw attention or more questions about the location of my elevator.
TCH
Friday, October 3, 2008
Some thoughts on this Palin character...
"My friends,"
After last night's Biden-Palin debate, I thought I'd post some thoughts about Palin and what I believe to be one of the most bizarre and dangerous candidacies in American history.
Truly, Ms. Palin did a good job last night. But come on, a good job for this candidate is an illustration of the ability not to "umm" and "ah" herself into a continuous circular statement about moose pies and bridges to mavericks, etc. If you haven't taken a look at the Couric interview, start here! Warning: you may need a drink to handle the fact that this person might become the next VP of the US.
A couple of points to consider:
1. Is it just me or does the fact that the only person that Ms. Palin tells us she has consulted about foreign policy is Henry Kissinger scare you? Kissinger, "American Diplomat": Vietnam anyone? Laos? Cambodia? Watergate? Hum... And all that talk about Joe looking to the past? What of Palin's foreign policy credentials being bolstered by a couple conversations with Dr. Kissinger? The Vietnam-Iraq comparisons are too easy at this point. Come on people, think.
2. "The line is drill, baby, drill..." Did you catch it? In this one line Palin has found an expression that allows her to continue to ignore the causes of global warming (the actions of man and womankind? 'watcha mean by that Gwen?') and front her "energy expertise." Drill, baby, drill? Are you kidding me with this stuff? Insert 10 years for actual fuel supplies to kick in and Palin's eye roll.
3. 'The VP's office is one that the constitution should grant more power' and it should be 'more flexible': Although not direct quotes (they're close), I'm pretty sure that she sides with Cheney on this one; who knows? She never really answered the question. This is where the danger part comes in. I hope that most Americans are waking up to the fact that though they might like Ms. Palin and her folkish attempts at being a populist, she is NOT prepared to serve as this nation's VP, or President for that matter. After last night, I even question what the Alaskans were thinking when they elected this character.
TCH
After last night's Biden-Palin debate, I thought I'd post some thoughts about Palin and what I believe to be one of the most bizarre and dangerous candidacies in American history.
Truly, Ms. Palin did a good job last night. But come on, a good job for this candidate is an illustration of the ability not to "umm" and "ah" herself into a continuous circular statement about moose pies and bridges to mavericks, etc. If you haven't taken a look at the Couric interview, start here! Warning: you may need a drink to handle the fact that this person might become the next VP of the US.
A couple of points to consider:
1. Is it just me or does the fact that the only person that Ms. Palin tells us she has consulted about foreign policy is Henry Kissinger scare you? Kissinger, "American Diplomat": Vietnam anyone? Laos? Cambodia? Watergate? Hum... And all that talk about Joe looking to the past? What of Palin's foreign policy credentials being bolstered by a couple conversations with Dr. Kissinger? The Vietnam-Iraq comparisons are too easy at this point. Come on people, think.
2. "The line is drill, baby, drill..." Did you catch it? In this one line Palin has found an expression that allows her to continue to ignore the causes of global warming (the actions of man and womankind? 'watcha mean by that Gwen?') and front her "energy expertise." Drill, baby, drill? Are you kidding me with this stuff? Insert 10 years for actual fuel supplies to kick in and Palin's eye roll.
3. 'The VP's office is one that the constitution should grant more power' and it should be 'more flexible': Although not direct quotes (they're close), I'm pretty sure that she sides with Cheney on this one; who knows? She never really answered the question. This is where the danger part comes in. I hope that most Americans are waking up to the fact that though they might like Ms. Palin and her folkish attempts at being a populist, she is NOT prepared to serve as this nation's VP, or President for that matter. After last night, I even question what the Alaskans were thinking when they elected this character.
TCH
Saturday, August 30, 2008
We drank O's Kool-aid
Well my people, nobody pass out, I am back to the blog! After taking a number of weeks off, I have returned with a refreshed outlook, my ever acerbic wit, plenty of short and tall tales, and all kinds of news to catch up on. We'll take a few points, one at a time to warm back up and avoid exhausting ourselves:
1. For TCHinsiders:
The personal life is great (and I do mean great) and for those in the spin-room, the official status is "excited." Things could not be better with that special someone. The summer saw the two of us meeting each other's fams, making a grand wedding appearance, playing a lot of frisbee (she's rather good, I sadly am not), attending her graduation, and spending time on the phone confessing how much we miss each other. Times are good, people... besides the fact that I am 350+ miles away from Athens, all my friends, and the life that I have come to know for the past 4 years.
2. Oh, mr. doctoral man:
My professional life is charging ahead with prospectus defense done and over with and I am now dissertating (which I should be doing right now, but you people wanted an update...am I right?)
3. A political manifesto, aka, my take on the Obamapalooza:
My political life was (emphasis on the past tense) like a world-turned-upside-down. With the disarray of a Clinton-less D. ticket and the slap in the face that was the Biden choice...ugh...what was I and the other 18 million to do with ourselves going into the convention? And then, there came Ted, Michelle, Hillary (the all-star), Bill, Joe, Al, and finally, Barack. What a line-up! Was it just me or did other die-hard Dems just get completely weepy over the return of Bill to a Democratic stage? What a great past-to-present moment. For those historically minded out there, did we not just witness history in the making my friends? "My friends..." that reminds me of the darker side of the story which I'll turn to shortly. The DNC pulled this convention off without a hitch and Hillary's appearance on the floor to hand the nomination to Barack via a vote of acclamation...classic. Overall, I was extremely pleased despite the fact that I still believe that Hillary was a stronger choice for Pres or V.Pres; but, you know there's always the Supreme Court.
4. The darker side of things:
What is the deal with Johnny? I get the heroic stuff and love of America (sort of), but come on America. Do we really want grandpa as President of the United States of America? I watch his speeches and town hall meetings and oddly enough this does seem to be one of those rare moments when the Obama team's rhetoric holds true: this is "more of the same." Johnny Mac's crew realized a few months back that Oby was on to something with CHANGE and HOPE and now, surprisingly, Johnny-boy is on board too. And yet, I wonder if the fear-mongering, flag-waving, U-S-A shouting tactics of the Bushites will triumph yet again? I certainly hope not; all that shouting might leave a man of Mac's age needing a change and Cindy's delicate and petite, aka elite, arms are out of service.
As I personally reflect over the past 8 years: from the "war" in/on Iraq to the failure in Afghanistan to Gitmo to Abu Ghraib to warrant-less wiretaps to the Scooter Libby saga to Cheney's hunting accident to Katrina to "every child left behind" to a failing infrastructure to rising tuition costs but lower taxes for the wealthiest of Americans to rising gas prices and an economy teetering on complete failure...I agree with Biden, I don't think America can stand four more years of this insanity and, frankly, bullshit. Furthermore, I don't think I could handle Mac's "Well, my friends..." Mr. Senator, I am NOT your friend. Nor, do I think I can take the constant and unyielding bolstering of Madam Alaska's commander-and-chief status; did you know that as governor, she commanded the Alaskan national guard? OK! Now, let's ask ourselves: what does the Alaskan national guard do that needs to be "commanded"? Count fish? Shovel snow? And finally, for those Johnny Mac people (some, friends of mine perhaps who are reading this now) please don't insult women and other Clintonistas by thinking that by adding Ms. Alaska to the ticket we will blindly come over to the dark side. We didn't support Clinton solely because she was a woman; rather, because her ideology and platforms matched our own. In those areas, firmly outside the realm of female character traits, Ms. Snowplow is no Madam Pants-suit.
P.S. Didn't you guys watch the DNC's grand event? The Clintonistas drank the Obama Kool-aid; there's plenty to go around if ya'll get thirsty.
TCH
1. For TCHinsiders:
The personal life is great (and I do mean great) and for those in the spin-room, the official status is "excited." Things could not be better with that special someone. The summer saw the two of us meeting each other's fams, making a grand wedding appearance, playing a lot of frisbee (she's rather good, I sadly am not), attending her graduation, and spending time on the phone confessing how much we miss each other. Times are good, people... besides the fact that I am 350+ miles away from Athens, all my friends, and the life that I have come to know for the past 4 years.
2. Oh, mr. doctoral man:
My professional life is charging ahead with prospectus defense done and over with and I am now dissertating (which I should be doing right now, but you people wanted an update...am I right?)
3. A political manifesto, aka, my take on the Obamapalooza:
My political life was (emphasis on the past tense) like a world-turned-upside-down. With the disarray of a Clinton-less D. ticket and the slap in the face that was the Biden choice...ugh...what was I and the other 18 million to do with ourselves going into the convention? And then, there came Ted, Michelle, Hillary (the all-star), Bill, Joe, Al, and finally, Barack. What a line-up! Was it just me or did other die-hard Dems just get completely weepy over the return of Bill to a Democratic stage? What a great past-to-present moment. For those historically minded out there, did we not just witness history in the making my friends? "My friends..." that reminds me of the darker side of the story which I'll turn to shortly. The DNC pulled this convention off without a hitch and Hillary's appearance on the floor to hand the nomination to Barack via a vote of acclamation...classic. Overall, I was extremely pleased despite the fact that I still believe that Hillary was a stronger choice for Pres or V.Pres; but, you know there's always the Supreme Court.
4. The darker side of things:
What is the deal with Johnny? I get the heroic stuff and love of America (sort of), but come on America. Do we really want grandpa as President of the United States of America? I watch his speeches and town hall meetings and oddly enough this does seem to be one of those rare moments when the Obama team's rhetoric holds true: this is "more of the same." Johnny Mac's crew realized a few months back that Oby was on to something with CHANGE and HOPE and now, surprisingly, Johnny-boy is on board too. And yet, I wonder if the fear-mongering, flag-waving, U-S-A shouting tactics of the Bushites will triumph yet again? I certainly hope not; all that shouting might leave a man of Mac's age needing a change and Cindy's delicate and petite, aka elite, arms are out of service.
As I personally reflect over the past 8 years: from the "war" in/on Iraq to the failure in Afghanistan to Gitmo to Abu Ghraib to warrant-less wiretaps to the Scooter Libby saga to Cheney's hunting accident to Katrina to "every child left behind" to a failing infrastructure to rising tuition costs but lower taxes for the wealthiest of Americans to rising gas prices and an economy teetering on complete failure...I agree with Biden, I don't think America can stand four more years of this insanity and, frankly, bullshit. Furthermore, I don't think I could handle Mac's "Well, my friends..." Mr. Senator, I am NOT your friend. Nor, do I think I can take the constant and unyielding bolstering of Madam Alaska's commander-and-chief status; did you know that as governor, she commanded the Alaskan national guard? OK! Now, let's ask ourselves: what does the Alaskan national guard do that needs to be "commanded"? Count fish? Shovel snow? And finally, for those Johnny Mac people (some, friends of mine perhaps who are reading this now) please don't insult women and other Clintonistas by thinking that by adding Ms. Alaska to the ticket we will blindly come over to the dark side. We didn't support Clinton solely because she was a woman; rather, because her ideology and platforms matched our own. In those areas, firmly outside the realm of female character traits, Ms. Snowplow is no Madam Pants-suit.
P.S. Didn't you guys watch the DNC's grand event? The Clintonistas drank the Obama Kool-aid; there's plenty to go around if ya'll get thirsty.
TCH
Sunday, June 22, 2008
southern burning: life lessons from a trip home
I am not for sure whether getting an annual sunburn to initiate summer is in fact a southern cultural tradition but it is one that this southerner would like to shake. Yes, I am recovering from my annual self-inflicted sunburn and am not liking it one bit. Why it is that this seems to happen every year at about this time is beyond me. I like to think I am a rational person and intelligent enough to throw on some sunscreen to keep this from happening; but, no, didn't do it and now I am suffering through sleepless nights with the sensation that my skin may in fact peel off of my body leaving only muscle and bone.
With all that said, it was a 3:30 am this morning, awake from the sunburn blues, that I thought, "what other lessons has this trip home presented me with?" Here are a couple that you all can take or leave as you wish:
1. There ARE things that are more important than others and we all need to realize what those are in our own lives. Personally, I think throwing around a baseball and frisbee with my family (events that I'll cherish always) is ranked higher, by far, over finishing up whatever books I had scheduled for the day...
2. I need to step back more often, be still, and consider how blessed I am. Not that everything in life is great; but, come on TCH, its pretty good.
3. Absence really can make the heart grow fonder. Enough said.
TCH
With all that said, it was a 3:30 am this morning, awake from the sunburn blues, that I thought, "what other lessons has this trip home presented me with?" Here are a couple that you all can take or leave as you wish:
1. There ARE things that are more important than others and we all need to realize what those are in our own lives. Personally, I think throwing around a baseball and frisbee with my family (events that I'll cherish always) is ranked higher, by far, over finishing up whatever books I had scheduled for the day...
2. I need to step back more often, be still, and consider how blessed I am. Not that everything in life is great; but, come on TCH, its pretty good.
3. Absence really can make the heart grow fonder. Enough said.
TCH
Monday, June 16, 2008
The fall can hurt when you're cruising an emotional high...
Over the past several months, I have seen several emotional highs: passing comps, taking a life-altering trip to Guatemala, submitting a couple of pieces for publication, and working on a new relationship. Many of these "highs" have had counterpart "lows": not getting enough professional work accomplished, seeing a publication rejected, and ending a relationship. As a good friend, and several "life philosophers" have been all to ready to advise: its not so much about the fall, but the getting up that counts. Recently, I have been feeling a sense of real personal peace with my attempts to get back up when life has knocked me down. Thanks, Tom Petty. I find myself smiling for no apparent reason as I run along my paths here in Athens, attempting to make peace when the waitress is about and hour-and-a-half late with my party's food order, and thinking that there is some truth to the fact that life can and often does seem to matter a lot more when you have someone with whom you want to share the mundane and often stupid things that happen to make up our everyday existence.
My most recent stupid event: Running along, as most of you know I do, I cross Baxter (in a break of insanely busy traffic) and assume the nice sidewalk pace I had set before crossing. It was just a great afternoon for running. I had just finished reading a book that I had been putting off reading because I had to submit a review for it the next day or so and I had just finished laughing (out loud) about a very funny scene in the Charlie Brown Christmas movie when Sally writes a letter to Mary Christmas (a.k.a. Mrs Clause) praising her for her feminist leanings and keeping her surname. As I resumed pace, it happened: my right shoe gets hung in an expanded left shoe lace hoop and down I go. In my own words that particular members of my family find quite funny, "I just went down." Clearly not my first fall, there's a popularized saying about it for a goat's sake, I knew how to handle it although this fall was rather abrupt and unexpected. Left knee catches the full force (still swollen, not broken, I think) hands catch the rest of the momentum as I roll of to the side and into a fraternity house's side lawn. Well, there you have it: the fall can hurt when you're cruising an emotional high.
Thankfully, I learned the lesson a couple of years back that we humans are just that: human. We HAVE to laugh at ourselves because if we don't, we risk allowing that weakness to define and conquer us when those extremely evil people (you know em') discover that fear. Well there I was sitting on me duff (no bleeding) and yet as proof of this emerging new mindset I thought to myself, you know, this could have been much worse. What if I had tripped up in the street only to meet the front of a Dodge Durango or, more likely in this town, some extremely hefty RangeRover with an equally hefty-footed driver? Maybe a little less severe but still painful, what if I had stabbed my keys through my hand? I picked myself up, hobbled home, reflecting on the lesson learned: sometimes you cut your losses, other times you throw away the overstretched shoestrings.
Surprisingly, the emotional high has not disappeared. For those who have experienced the past week/few months with me (friends scattered from here to various places in AL to Memphis to the UK to the Grand Canyon and Dallas/Fort Worth) you know I think I've found something. Not that happiness is to be discovered only in another person and then, that's it, problems solved. For me its all about interaction, change, and just being still long enough to know who you are, who she is, and who you are together. Point in case: we've laughed over my fall on Baxter (only after she said, "hey are you ok? really, are you ok?") and I realized that it is that deep connection that sort just happens when you aren't paying attention that binds two people together; that makes you sit back in awe; and, sometimes, loose your breath...at least for me anyway. So even when the fall from an emotional high can be quite painful, the good thing about connecting with the person that aided the creation of the high (if you are as fortunate as I've been lately) is that they'll be there to recreate it with as simple a question as, "hey, how's your leg today?"
TCH
My most recent stupid event: Running along, as most of you know I do, I cross Baxter (in a break of insanely busy traffic) and assume the nice sidewalk pace I had set before crossing. It was just a great afternoon for running. I had just finished reading a book that I had been putting off reading because I had to submit a review for it the next day or so and I had just finished laughing (out loud) about a very funny scene in the Charlie Brown Christmas movie when Sally writes a letter to Mary Christmas (a.k.a. Mrs Clause) praising her for her feminist leanings and keeping her surname. As I resumed pace, it happened: my right shoe gets hung in an expanded left shoe lace hoop and down I go. In my own words that particular members of my family find quite funny, "I just went down." Clearly not my first fall, there's a popularized saying about it for a goat's sake, I knew how to handle it although this fall was rather abrupt and unexpected. Left knee catches the full force (still swollen, not broken, I think) hands catch the rest of the momentum as I roll of to the side and into a fraternity house's side lawn. Well, there you have it: the fall can hurt when you're cruising an emotional high.
Thankfully, I learned the lesson a couple of years back that we humans are just that: human. We HAVE to laugh at ourselves because if we don't, we risk allowing that weakness to define and conquer us when those extremely evil people (you know em') discover that fear. Well there I was sitting on me duff (no bleeding) and yet as proof of this emerging new mindset I thought to myself, you know, this could have been much worse. What if I had tripped up in the street only to meet the front of a Dodge Durango or, more likely in this town, some extremely hefty RangeRover with an equally hefty-footed driver? Maybe a little less severe but still painful, what if I had stabbed my keys through my hand? I picked myself up, hobbled home, reflecting on the lesson learned: sometimes you cut your losses, other times you throw away the overstretched shoestrings.
Surprisingly, the emotional high has not disappeared. For those who have experienced the past week/few months with me (friends scattered from here to various places in AL to Memphis to the UK to the Grand Canyon and Dallas/Fort Worth) you know I think I've found something. Not that happiness is to be discovered only in another person and then, that's it, problems solved. For me its all about interaction, change, and just being still long enough to know who you are, who she is, and who you are together. Point in case: we've laughed over my fall on Baxter (only after she said, "hey are you ok? really, are you ok?") and I realized that it is that deep connection that sort just happens when you aren't paying attention that binds two people together; that makes you sit back in awe; and, sometimes, loose your breath...at least for me anyway. So even when the fall from an emotional high can be quite painful, the good thing about connecting with the person that aided the creation of the high (if you are as fortunate as I've been lately) is that they'll be there to recreate it with as simple a question as, "hey, how's your leg today?"
TCH
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Running to Run
So there's been some talk, low-level chatter as the CIA types might have it, about the silence on my blog. Well, in the words of one of my favorite SNL skits by Jimmy Fallon let me say: "And we're back!"
I've been running almost everyday this past week and a half. With the move to the new place and adjustments all around in both my professional and personal lives, running has been my escape. Not that running hasn't always been the place to get away, collect my thoughts, and come back into my life with renewed spirit, energy, and enough sweat to intimidate Mohamed Ali and Mia Ham. Nonetheless, over the past couple of days, I've found myself excited about my late afternoon runs; that is, save yesterday's which almost killed me: I failed to consider a heat index of well over 100 degrees...not good.
When I started running, oh some years back, I never thought that it would be as great a kind of release that it has turned into. Never, did I ever, believe I would run in a competitive race which I did at the end of this past May. My first 10K went well. I finished the race; I was pleased; my always-supportive-family cheered; we left the race with a new t-shirt and some unripe bananas; we all felt good.
Now for the metaphorical analysis. When running today, I paused (the heat index had dropped but so had my energy level by about 40 minutes in and the approaching thunderstorm was roaring like angry Clintonistas with a score to settle) and thought to myself how fortunate I am to be where I am in life. I had coffee this morning with a friend who, like myself, counts herself lucky to be where she is at this moment in life. We mutually acknowledged the kind of inherent cultural privileges that benefited both of us on our journeys (I think we could both include some other items as well like hard work, grit, and determination but as historians we often like to 'get after' one topic at a time then pivot to others later: I'll update you all if/when we do so), but my point is that unlike a lot of individuals I see around me in the world, I consider myself lucky to be where I am and, just as importantly, to be able and willing to reflect on the intricacies and complications of the journey that got me here. Please don't misread me here bloggers, I'm not so wrapped up in the vanity of success. When I talk about "the journey" I proudly include failures, successes, and the 'draws' that combine to make up my life experiences. Whether I kept to the trodden path or struck out, as I am often known to do, on Frost's "road less traveled", I am thankful that I have (more often than not, I hope) kept the faith and been true to who I am; never wavering for smiles from the crowd, pandering for compliments, or selling out to get ahead.
As a fellow runner felt compelled to reveal to me during the 10K: "Isn't running to run great, but there's also something to be said for the perseverance necessary for the finish." At the time, all I could think was, "leave me alone while I try to survive this bloody race!" Now, in retrospect, I think she couldn't have been more dead on about that race, or the race of life.
TCH
I've been running almost everyday this past week and a half. With the move to the new place and adjustments all around in both my professional and personal lives, running has been my escape. Not that running hasn't always been the place to get away, collect my thoughts, and come back into my life with renewed spirit, energy, and enough sweat to intimidate Mohamed Ali and Mia Ham. Nonetheless, over the past couple of days, I've found myself excited about my late afternoon runs; that is, save yesterday's which almost killed me: I failed to consider a heat index of well over 100 degrees...not good.
When I started running, oh some years back, I never thought that it would be as great a kind of release that it has turned into. Never, did I ever, believe I would run in a competitive race which I did at the end of this past May. My first 10K went well. I finished the race; I was pleased; my always-supportive-family cheered; we left the race with a new t-shirt and some unripe bananas; we all felt good.
Now for the metaphorical analysis. When running today, I paused (the heat index had dropped but so had my energy level by about 40 minutes in and the approaching thunderstorm was roaring like angry Clintonistas with a score to settle) and thought to myself how fortunate I am to be where I am in life. I had coffee this morning with a friend who, like myself, counts herself lucky to be where she is at this moment in life. We mutually acknowledged the kind of inherent cultural privileges that benefited both of us on our journeys (I think we could both include some other items as well like hard work, grit, and determination but as historians we often like to 'get after' one topic at a time then pivot to others later: I'll update you all if/when we do so), but my point is that unlike a lot of individuals I see around me in the world, I consider myself lucky to be where I am and, just as importantly, to be able and willing to reflect on the intricacies and complications of the journey that got me here. Please don't misread me here bloggers, I'm not so wrapped up in the vanity of success. When I talk about "the journey" I proudly include failures, successes, and the 'draws' that combine to make up my life experiences. Whether I kept to the trodden path or struck out, as I am often known to do, on Frost's "road less traveled", I am thankful that I have (more often than not, I hope) kept the faith and been true to who I am; never wavering for smiles from the crowd, pandering for compliments, or selling out to get ahead.
As a fellow runner felt compelled to reveal to me during the 10K: "Isn't running to run great, but there's also something to be said for the perseverance necessary for the finish." At the time, all I could think was, "leave me alone while I try to survive this bloody race!" Now, in retrospect, I think she couldn't have been more dead on about that race, or the race of life.
TCH
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Suspended suspense and the absurdities of routine living
Its been about a week and life has continued trucking along. I'm moving places in two days and the words "truck," "tape," and "boxes" have become standards for most conversations over the past couple days so if they reappear here an inordinate amount of times, please be kind in reply posting. Yet, I'm reminded of my blogging motto: "I do not blog to bore;" so, I'll refrain from the mundane sorts of happenings save two: I ran out of tape today knowing that it was going to happen but continuing to tape up boxes from Chase's Frozen Food Packaging (no lie) while also semi-purposefully constructing what I now refer to as my "islands of boxes" in various locations throughout my house and, in doing so, creating a maze of sorts for both myself and my dog.
Its my dog, Andrew Jackson ("Andy" if he likes you or "King Andrew" if you get in his way politically or spatially whichever the case may be), and my life as a pet owner/father that this blog is about, sort of. Suffice it to say, the dog is historically named because he is historically minded. Anyway, my life with Andy, from day one, has been one of sorted adventures; we've seen holiday parties turn ugly, one dangerous battle with intestinal worms (his, not mine, thank you very much) relationships come, relationships go, comprehensive exams, and many long and sleepy Sunday afternoons. However, our shenanigans might find their best summation in our long once-a-week constitutionals. This week was no different from the oddities that always seem to befall the two of us and left me with namely two thoughts: I truly believe that God has never matched up a better pair of beings and that sometimes routines can become routinely absurd, yet necessary.
As we were driving along, Andy, ever the observant passenger, noticed that road construction would obstruct our normal driving route (he and I are equally creatures of habit and so we were both a little thrown off by these inconsiderate bumblers whose main purpose in life, at that moment at least, seemed to be to destroy the flow of a perfectly good Thursday afternoon drive) but we recovered like pros. Andy and I have been together for two years now; we've got this walk think down. Or so we like to think. Upon arriving in our parking spot, Andy and I exited the vehicle equally excited about embarking on frequented paths through North Campus and eagerly anticipating new faces, both human and other, that awaited us. As we walked along, we sniffed the enticing fragrances that always seem to find us on our walks. About thirty minutes in, as usual, we made our way to two portions of campus that have become Andy's most special places. One locale, Andy finds quite relaxing for a "bm" as one older southern women I know calls it...for those MTVers out there, "bm" equals "poop job". Now, you might be saying to yourself, TCH, what is this about pooping and where are you going with this...hang in there!
The other place Andy truly enjoys is an area that most colleges and universities would call "the quad"; I've been here four years, the general description goes something like, "that green space, no, no, not that green space, the one up around Old College and the Arch, you know that elongated track between the main library and Broad Street." Well, no matter what you call it, Andy loves it for primarily one reason: the squirrels (a.k.a. Henry Clay). Andy loves to bark and growl at each one he meets, although never quite able to get to them before they scramble up the huge trees. All of this is part of a normal walk that concludes with me calming Andy down, strolling on through my department for a little water, and then both making our way to the car and on home.
Why let you all in on such a special time shared between father and dog? I think these moments of ritual, these weekly events that might appear to always contain the same possibilities and predictable outcomes provide each of us with the opportunity to live life to the full(est) that we might make it. Eternal optimism running unrestrained from the guy that has just now finished packing up his life into approximately thirty boxes? Perhaps. But, for me, life is all about the suspense that we create in our own minds when we awake and realize that there are forty-five more exams to grade before noon and its already 10 o'clock. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not advocating some sort of personalized 24/7 stress testing that would no doubt land us all in therapy or on some sort of prescription meds.
Rather, this is a message of hope. I'm trying it out on loan from the Obama people. Our routines present themselves as life...but, blog buddies, I don't think we should allow them to mask themselves as life. I know, as well as the next person, how easy that trap is to fall into. But if we take the routines to be life as we know it, then how do we cope with the extremes of emotional experiences like births, weddings (sometimes), that first kiss, that first glance? Or, better yet, how do we control our exasperation when faced, as a friend was this past week, with the trauma of watching a pregnant colleague suffer a brain aneurysm and die, with child, in front of you? Life is what we make of it, while we are distracting ourselves with absurd, but granted, necessary routines. As another good friend often reminds my gang of 6: "This ain't no dress rehearsal, I intend to have some fun, so where is it, and when does it begin?" Good points all, but I believe that that could be what life is: first realizing that the rehearsal is the show (preferably before you get into the 2nd or, worse, 3rd act) and then, coming to grips with the fact that you are on stage and that the routine that you both love and hate is the script that you are daily editing.
If my life over the past few months has anything to say to this, there might be some truth in that annoying statement: "good things come to those who wait"...or at least to those who are able to distract themselves with routine while noting the suspense of "real" life. The caveat: we must be equally ready to enjoy the shattering of our constructed routined realities when fellow playwrights choose to revise their scripts and/or our pets discover new "bm" locales.
TCH
Its my dog, Andrew Jackson ("Andy" if he likes you or "King Andrew" if you get in his way politically or spatially whichever the case may be), and my life as a pet owner/father that this blog is about, sort of. Suffice it to say, the dog is historically named because he is historically minded. Anyway, my life with Andy, from day one, has been one of sorted adventures; we've seen holiday parties turn ugly, one dangerous battle with intestinal worms (his, not mine, thank you very much) relationships come, relationships go, comprehensive exams, and many long and sleepy Sunday afternoons. However, our shenanigans might find their best summation in our long once-a-week constitutionals. This week was no different from the oddities that always seem to befall the two of us and left me with namely two thoughts: I truly believe that God has never matched up a better pair of beings and that sometimes routines can become routinely absurd, yet necessary.
As we were driving along, Andy, ever the observant passenger, noticed that road construction would obstruct our normal driving route (he and I are equally creatures of habit and so we were both a little thrown off by these inconsiderate bumblers whose main purpose in life, at that moment at least, seemed to be to destroy the flow of a perfectly good Thursday afternoon drive) but we recovered like pros. Andy and I have been together for two years now; we've got this walk think down. Or so we like to think. Upon arriving in our parking spot, Andy and I exited the vehicle equally excited about embarking on frequented paths through North Campus and eagerly anticipating new faces, both human and other, that awaited us. As we walked along, we sniffed the enticing fragrances that always seem to find us on our walks. About thirty minutes in, as usual, we made our way to two portions of campus that have become Andy's most special places. One locale, Andy finds quite relaxing for a "bm" as one older southern women I know calls it...for those MTVers out there, "bm" equals "poop job". Now, you might be saying to yourself, TCH, what is this about pooping and where are you going with this...hang in there!
The other place Andy truly enjoys is an area that most colleges and universities would call "the quad"; I've been here four years, the general description goes something like, "that green space, no, no, not that green space, the one up around Old College and the Arch, you know that elongated track between the main library and Broad Street." Well, no matter what you call it, Andy loves it for primarily one reason: the squirrels (a.k.a. Henry Clay). Andy loves to bark and growl at each one he meets, although never quite able to get to them before they scramble up the huge trees. All of this is part of a normal walk that concludes with me calming Andy down, strolling on through my department for a little water, and then both making our way to the car and on home.
Why let you all in on such a special time shared between father and dog? I think these moments of ritual, these weekly events that might appear to always contain the same possibilities and predictable outcomes provide each of us with the opportunity to live life to the full(est) that we might make it. Eternal optimism running unrestrained from the guy that has just now finished packing up his life into approximately thirty boxes? Perhaps. But, for me, life is all about the suspense that we create in our own minds when we awake and realize that there are forty-five more exams to grade before noon and its already 10 o'clock. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not advocating some sort of personalized 24/7 stress testing that would no doubt land us all in therapy or on some sort of prescription meds.
Rather, this is a message of hope. I'm trying it out on loan from the Obama people. Our routines present themselves as life...but, blog buddies, I don't think we should allow them to mask themselves as life. I know, as well as the next person, how easy that trap is to fall into. But if we take the routines to be life as we know it, then how do we cope with the extremes of emotional experiences like births, weddings (sometimes), that first kiss, that first glance? Or, better yet, how do we control our exasperation when faced, as a friend was this past week, with the trauma of watching a pregnant colleague suffer a brain aneurysm and die, with child, in front of you? Life is what we make of it, while we are distracting ourselves with absurd, but granted, necessary routines. As another good friend often reminds my gang of 6: "This ain't no dress rehearsal, I intend to have some fun, so where is it, and when does it begin?" Good points all, but I believe that that could be what life is: first realizing that the rehearsal is the show (preferably before you get into the 2nd or, worse, 3rd act) and then, coming to grips with the fact that you are on stage and that the routine that you both love and hate is the script that you are daily editing.
If my life over the past few months has anything to say to this, there might be some truth in that annoying statement: "good things come to those who wait"...or at least to those who are able to distract themselves with routine while noting the suspense of "real" life. The caveat: we must be equally ready to enjoy the shattering of our constructed routined realities when fellow playwrights choose to revise their scripts and/or our pets discover new "bm" locales.
TCH
Friday, May 23, 2008
Indigestion: What a couple of Coronas, some fish tacos, and defending Hillary might get you.
Well, folks, away we go into the world of TCH. Last night, I joined two good friends for dinner at one of our local haunts here in Athens. We had a splendid time: great drinks (despite the beer snobbery of one in the cohort who proudly admits he has a non-problem problem), great food, and plenty of delightful conversation until we skidded uncontrollably into the subject of Democratic politics.
Now, those of you who know me know that I am a proud Hillary Clinton supporter. Granted things for the Bill and Hillary duo (the Billarys as some have taken to calling them) have seemingly turned sour these past few weeks, I still support her as my candidate of choice among my party's potential nominees as did voters in NY, NJ, OH, PA, CA, TX, and FL. As one colleague asserted just yesterday: "She may be a thug...but she's your thug." Maybe. Anyway, back to last night. As we hashed out the differences and likelihoods of the Obama and Clinton health care plans and their respective stances on the war in Iraq and funding for higher education, I realized that the liberal commitments that motivate my allegiance to Hillary Clinton's candidacy is only shallowly perceived by many Obama 'liberals' as something akin to political insanity. This may, in part, be due to the Clintonistas' sheer confusion as to how this has happened to our party. Nonetheless, I found myself arguing that Clinton is indeed the candidate for my party because she will be able to build the necessary coalitions to win in November. I went on, floundering, she is more than capable to take this country in the right direction and, furthermore (returning to more solid line of argument) it seems very short-sighted of Americans, and we political junkies, to say that America should come to grips with the racial baggage that continues to plague this nation at every turn while leaving any challenge to the problems that imbalanced gender dynamics and sexism continue to create or permit for a future election, maybe, if need be. At this point, my Obama supporting comrades (I now think I am the lone voice still backing the Clintons in Athens; might I add that that number looked like it might drop to zero from the expressions on many on-lookers faces during our "discussion") assured me that there would be room under the Obama "hope" umbrella for me once I saw the light and decided to come along on the "change" bandwagon. Have we learned nothing from the big crowds, banners, and empty, yet full, rhetoric of eight (count them Nader supporters) eight Bush years?
From there, I (never the defensive type) confirmed the Obama camp's worst fear: that there may be enough discontent within the Billary crowd, particularly if Senator O doesn't at least extend the offer for special VP status for the NY Senator, to force many working class whites, middling class rural lifetime Dems, and a few members of the academic intelligentsia to abandon the party, at least for 2008, and risk further fracturing a fragile coalition that the DNC has been trying to hold/put back together since LBJ. Suggestions like a third party run for Clinton or even sitting this one out, of course among the die hard Obamites, seems ludicrous. "How dare you not support Obama!? Especially over Johnny Mac!" Whether the media pundits notice it or not, as they and the backroom dealers (a.k.a, disloyal and wavering superdelegates) combine efforts to force Hillary and Bill off stage right, their unobstructed attention and the questions this will no doubt bring for Senator Obama may leave them and my fellow Democrats with indigestion without even sampling the fish tacos.
TCH
Now, those of you who know me know that I am a proud Hillary Clinton supporter. Granted things for the Bill and Hillary duo (the Billarys as some have taken to calling them) have seemingly turned sour these past few weeks, I still support her as my candidate of choice among my party's potential nominees as did voters in NY, NJ, OH, PA, CA, TX, and FL. As one colleague asserted just yesterday: "She may be a thug...but she's your thug." Maybe. Anyway, back to last night. As we hashed out the differences and likelihoods of the Obama and Clinton health care plans and their respective stances on the war in Iraq and funding for higher education, I realized that the liberal commitments that motivate my allegiance to Hillary Clinton's candidacy is only shallowly perceived by many Obama 'liberals' as something akin to political insanity. This may, in part, be due to the Clintonistas' sheer confusion as to how this has happened to our party. Nonetheless, I found myself arguing that Clinton is indeed the candidate for my party because she will be able to build the necessary coalitions to win in November. I went on, floundering, she is more than capable to take this country in the right direction and, furthermore (returning to more solid line of argument) it seems very short-sighted of Americans, and we political junkies, to say that America should come to grips with the racial baggage that continues to plague this nation at every turn while leaving any challenge to the problems that imbalanced gender dynamics and sexism continue to create or permit for a future election, maybe, if need be. At this point, my Obama supporting comrades (I now think I am the lone voice still backing the Clintons in Athens; might I add that that number looked like it might drop to zero from the expressions on many on-lookers faces during our "discussion") assured me that there would be room under the Obama "hope" umbrella for me once I saw the light and decided to come along on the "change" bandwagon. Have we learned nothing from the big crowds, banners, and empty, yet full, rhetoric of eight (count them Nader supporters) eight Bush years?
From there, I (never the defensive type) confirmed the Obama camp's worst fear: that there may be enough discontent within the Billary crowd, particularly if Senator O doesn't at least extend the offer for special VP status for the NY Senator, to force many working class whites, middling class rural lifetime Dems, and a few members of the academic intelligentsia to abandon the party, at least for 2008, and risk further fracturing a fragile coalition that the DNC has been trying to hold/put back together since LBJ. Suggestions like a third party run for Clinton or even sitting this one out, of course among the die hard Obamites, seems ludicrous. "How dare you not support Obama!? Especially over Johnny Mac!" Whether the media pundits notice it or not, as they and the backroom dealers (a.k.a, disloyal and wavering superdelegates) combine efforts to force Hillary and Bill off stage right, their unobstructed attention and the questions this will no doubt bring for Senator Obama may leave them and my fellow Democrats with indigestion without even sampling the fish tacos.
TCH
Thursday, May 22, 2008
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