Wonderland or Not » Musings

Life Is Not A Beach

cooper — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:00:43 +0000

I spent the day at the Library of Congress. The hottest day we’ve had all year, and early in the morning, because I’d skipped my morning run, I decided to walk to the library from New Hampshire and M. I had snagged my aunts assistant’s parking garage space for the day, a coup. After a short breakfast with my aunt, feeling like wonder women or something, I put on my sneakers and started to walk.

Bad idea.

The approximately 3 mile trip is not a bad walk on a tepid day, but it was next to impossible today. As I approached Farragut Metro a women walking a few feet in front of me passed out. I wouldn’t have been headed there anyway had I not had doubts about my ability to face the no sidewalks, and stone blockades, on a near 100 degree day. The woman was easily revived with water, but my decision was made. Metro for me.

By the time I arrived home this evening, after taking a very unpleasant phone call, from an extremely unforgiving individual, it had started to storm, got dark, and I was just too tired.

The consequence of my resisting the loss of a quart or two of sweat, refusing to risk dehydration, or death, while pounding the steaming pavement, is the overwhelming lethargy that occurs when I don’t run, or at least walk a few miles. Here I sit in the claws of a beastly, all encompassing lassitude, frosted with remnants of a conversation with an implacable friend, now possible a former friend.

If only people were like beach sand, feeble, easily forgiving, with memories that refused to hold their shape. You can draw lines in the sand, dig holes even, and shortly the lines disappear, the holes are filled. The sand starts fresh. Why must people be like iron, cast to hardness, forever shaped by one eutectic memory?

Why is life, and everything in it, not a beach?

peace

I Started A Joke On Old School Friday

cooper — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 15:01:31 +0000

Recently my life has been like the The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and it’s not because my life is literally like the The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. No, it’s because a few months ago I misplaced both a segment of my life and the book, the book with one chapter to go, my life with the current chapter not yet complete. I knew the book was around somewhere, temporarily unavailable, the chapter of my life momentarily supervenient. Certain the losses were temporary, no frantic search was conducted. The Excedrin provoking AWOL light did burn on both accounts, but it wasn’t the brightness which caused the discomfort, it was the nagging ghosts of the mislaid.

All is well that ends well. I recovered both the book and the slice of my life. That they were found at the same time may or may not be central to any great life theme, but it did prompt these paragraphs.

It is Old School Friday and the theme is “keep it in the family“.

Technically not old school, if you haven’t heard these guys live and can, do so. You will love me for it. Robert Randolph and the Family Band . Not all family, but close enough.

Their version of Billy Jean.

I sometimes wonder (not often I’m not that lame) when watching this Staying Alive video, which Gibb I would have claimed for my own, had I been alive and 12 at the time this video was made. It definitely would not have been the dude in the high wasted white pants.

Probably would have been Robin.

Family Gibb on Old School Friday. I Started a Joke.

OSF sponsored by Conversations With Marva and Mrs Grapevine

The players:

peace

I Me Mine

cooper — Thu, 21 May 2009 16:35:30 +0000

The banality of the inter webs, an increasing finding, with the thousands of bloggers starting to blog every day, all saying the same thing over and over again, not knowing that some of what they say has been said six months ago by someone else, and even then it had already been posted 5 years ago by the guy whose been blogging for ten years. Yikes. yawn.

Thank goodness you people are here to give me words and talk dirty to me. Otherwise I’d be taking my banal ass off into the sunset.

I’m doing two summer session classes both in different sessions, and working. Once I’ve completed my one year stint in the public policy arena I may be leaving, I haven’t decided yet. I have a week or so before that decision must be made. I’m also teaching an ESL class. I was sucked in when friend of mine developed a program here which offers not only ESL, but Spanish as a second language. Given that this county has an ever increasing Hispanic population, and the county commissioners and the sheriff’s department (yea sheriff’s on the East Coast, I know it’s hard to believe) seem determined to persecute Hispanics, riling up every red neck in this red county in a blue state, she thought it would be great to offer not only English to those who don’t speak it but Spanish to those who might be interested.

She has been working on this for some time, and obtained her own funding. The response has been very good. A lot of people, those who probably do a lot of complaining about “the other” infestation are taking these classes. The op-ed. If you can speak it you are not as likely to hate it, you are more likely than not to feel empowered by it, and not as likely to feel threatened by those who speak it. When you are not threatened your hate level goes down. We can hope can’t we? Not to teach them how they can’t be threatened by those without power, or to teach them they have all the unearned power by virtue of their race, heritage and history, this is a mere drop in the bucket, but it’s her drop and I’m happy to sacrifice all my free time to be part of it. ;) The program involves partnering as well, and for not quite two weeks in I’m enjoying it. I am only doing one class three days a week late afternoon for six weeks. Not sure if I’ll work the second session. The program, hopefully, will go on to produce not only some fine English speaking Hispanics but some fine Spanish speaking redneck county Marylander’s.

Shout out to The Amoeba, of the dynamic duo of OC and the Quill, for a reminder about this awesome song. According to the man who penned it, George Harrison, about “the ego, the eternal problem”.

Well, that’s enough about me. What about you?