Family Christmas, The "Liberal" and the New York Times

Thoughts on this please....

Even though we're re-creating some of what should have happend Thursday morning I can't help but the in the worst mood. I'm trying to stop, to rise above, to be better, to be the (perfect, charming, witty) person I know (trained) myself to be. I get to put on my Scarlett face, the perfect, pretty, how could anything be wrong face. I've been hiding behind my laptop and the online version of the New York Times all morning. Coffee with my dad, which I usually enjoy has come to nothing, because I realize that my parents don't want to really know anything about me. I'm normally o.k. with just letting things slide, but I'm starting to figure out that the more that gets unsaid, the more I have to live with the fact that even though I've come out and it's supposed to make things easier, really it would be easier just to still be hiding, because I can't even tell them I went dancing or say something like "This guy I know..." without them thinking I'm fucking my way through half the Metroplex.  Normally I can take this with a grain of salt, but for some reason my armor isn't working, there are chinks, and I must have been hit with something because I can't breathe. 

I'm ready to go back to my life. Stranger in my own family. Drowning...

Christmas Eve, sort of...

I'm sitting here listening to my dad's arm drain (for lack of a better name for it), it sounds like a clock, or coffee perk, like the kind that you used to set on the stove to make coffee. I'm pretty amazed, he drove home from San Antonio and drove to dinner and for the most part hasn't been too grumpy. Again, like last Christmas, I am alone. I am the only one of my parents' children at home. 

I hate being at home. Well,  I don't hate it, but I'm always so ready to get back to my life, that I've started coming home for a shorter and shorter time. I know this isn't the best things to do, but in some ways I feel like I'm in prison. Despite having come out more than three years ago, mentioning the fact that I like boys is still taboo to my parents. I get it, ok, I really do, after all I had to come out to them, I had to break all of their plans, so I know that it isn't at all easy for them to hear me talk about being gay. But then, if we can't talk about it, then why did I come out? What was the point if I can't have an open and honest relationship with my parents in the first place? So each time I come home, I go into the cage of charm. Talk about everything else but what I might be up to, and comfort myself with the fact that I'll be back at home in a matter of days and then I can be myself.  As much as I don't think my brother and sister have as much in common, none of the three of us likes to come home, and they live near my parents.

This past year I realize how lucky we are; that my parents are in late-middle age and not approaching their golden years, so that they can recover from heart attacks and shoulder loss and not need someone to move home and start a new life. Comforting as that may be, though, it's so scary to realize that your parents are getting old. By the time my grandmother was 52, the age her oldest son, my father, is now she already had 7 of 9 grandchildren. My parents have none, and yet they are twenty years ahead in their major medical problems. Instead of coming home to visit, which is what my folks really want me to do, I'm afraid that I'm going to be coming home to help them clean the house, or clean up and organize the garage. And, even though I tell myself that it's temporary and only because Dad can't help Mom because of his arm, I still can't help but think of the day when that becomes a principal reason for every trip home, and that is such a daunting thought. 

What's more is that I find it harder to relate to these people, especially my dad, because this isn't the man who I grew up afraid of. I don't always know how to respond when he says, "I love you" or "I'm glad you're here," or "I was hoping you would stay longer,". I don't know what to do with this, not because I doubt his sincerity, but because I have no idea how to tell him that as much as love that we get up and drink coffee together and visit, that I'd rather be at my own house with my own life. But we'll see, we always are the most real over a good cup of coffee. 

Feliz Navidad

I am so tired. In the past few years we (the Bitners) have enjoyed our share of rare Christmases. We have been in 3 different houses (this is our first Christmas in this house, and by next year we could be back in McAllen), one or more of us have been absent (this year we were actually all here for most of the day) and for the past two years "Christmas Morning" has been at a different time, this year we're waiting till Sunday, so that Dad can come home from having surgery on his shoulder. 

I stayed in Dallas to have Christmas w/ the boy. I could kinda kick myself for it, it's more sentimental than I'd normally like to behave. Even better is that we've really only been dating since August, and well, damnit I just couldn't help myself. Not celebrating Christmas (gift-giving) growing up and not getting an appreciation for it later in life I really wanted him to see what it was like for us, I wanted him to see why I liked it.  And, I must say, I love Christmas. I love the tree and the ornaments and the stockings and getting up early and then eating breakfast and wearing a new outfit. I love the candy and the cookies and the wrapping paper and sitting all day watching movies. So I was really happy that I could do this on the actual day for him, I even played Santa :). 

(Yes, reading parts of the above paragraph make me want to vomit and throw myself into on-coming traffic, but oh well).

Then I had to drive. I'm so used to having some gigantic family gathering or some place to be that I was getting really stressed about getting to San Antonio and Dad's hospital room on time. Then I realized that he was in the hospital until Saturday no matter what, so really he couldn't yell at me for being late. But, also in it being Christmas, and me being such a creature of habit and tradition, I was pretty ready to see everyone. I made good time (two fairly long stops) and managed to be in San Antonio by noon. I left Dallas at 8. 

Tonight I'm by myself. My brother and sister both have other things to do, Mom stayed in San Anto w/ Dad and so I'm here taking care of the dogs (who got put up for fighting) by myself. I don't know exactly why my mother hasn't had time to put up the decorations (or move into their new house completely) but I have a few ornaments to put on in the morning, and then just the gym and a nice long run. 

Really, the thing I've learned in the last few years is that Christmas is special because of who you spend it with. Sure I love the tree lights in a dark room, and ornaments from my childhood, and the food and the presents, but really, you can roll with the punches on Christmas as long as you're with the ones you love. 

The Simple Life

Tonight has been pretty great. As much as I like the fact the most folks think I'm a crazy hell-raiser (and I am if you get me riled), I really like a nice evening at home. Having two whole weeks off I'm a little out of my element since my day doesn't have to start at 530, and go until 10 or later. There are no grades, journals or meetings, no ignorant co-workers, crazy boss or asinine bullshit to deal with. 

Since it didn't get above freezing today, and I have nothing to wake up for in the morning, I decided I'd stay at Chaz's (as long as we can stay at my house Christmas Eve). He had about 8 chicken breasts that he hadn't used, so I decided I was going to make soup. I love making soup! Generally anytime I make soup or stew I do it the "Southern" way. Throw as much leftover meat and veggies into a pot, add some stock or bouillon and then cook for 2 hours. Ideally you'd start soup around 4, the longer it cook the more time the flavors have to mellow, but this was still really great. There is nothing like soup on a cold day, especially if it's spicy.  Throw in a good movie ("The American President") and some leftover Peppermint Bark (which I gotta say made with semi-sweet chocolate chips is off the chain) and you couldn't ask for more. I love that I have this life that is starting to look settled, and that I'm not so afraid of that as I was just a few months ago. That's a good step, right? 

To Forgive Divine

I'd like to say that after Friday's post the clouds opened up and a ray of sun streamed down onto the Earth, all so Jesus in Gethsemane, but that didn't happen. Two nights sleep have just given me a little more perspective. I'm still mad, furious, a raging, furious, tempestuous ball of fury, and I think I know why. 

When I came out to my parents a few years ago, I expected that to be the end of it. I expected there to be this awful, earth-rendering day of reckoning between them and me. I came in guns drawn, eyes narrowed, saddles blazing. Battle ready. Mom and Dad really ended up surprising me, and while I didn't expect things to be easy or irrevocably damaged I did think there would be more of a fight. However, I also expected that to be "it," the worst thing I'd ever have to do, Judgement Day, and if I survived (and I always survive) I figured the rest would work itself out. In many ways it has. And just like any other process or event in any relationship we both made compromises. I made many because I wanted my parents to be on my side and I wanted to ease them into everything. We don't have to tell the family, everyone we know, talk about it all the time, basically you just know. 

The funny thing about knowledge is that it's not made to just sit. Once you know something you have power, for good or bad, but power nonetheless. Over the last 3 years we have entered into this strange truce, where as long as we can joke and not make any sudden moves and say "I love you," then everything should be great. But it's not. All those concessions and deals came at a price. They inadvertently told Mom and Dad that I wasn't proud, that we could keep things private, and in a way still in the closet. Don't get me wrong, the closet is a great place, and it's a necessary place to keep whatever skeletons until they're ready to be found. The longer that dead body stays in there though, the more it starts to sink and the more the ghost comes out to haunt, and especially in the gay closet; there's in or out. Halfway will kill you, because only gods were made to straddle two worlds.  

This anger is because of those compromises that I made when I saw coming out as the end of the line rather than the beginning. You see coming out never ends, because it happens everyday, especially once you're in a relationship. You come out at the restaurant, with the table for two, you come out at the store and you have to end up coming out again if you decide to bring that someone home. That's why so many people are either in or out, with no middle ground, the butch fag or the Nelly queen, because to be middle of the road, means you're constantly in danger of being run over. So here I am with someone (someone I'm rather fond of) and my family has no idea. Oh big deal, one might say, lots of parents don't know about their kids' love life. You'd be right if I was bringing home a girl, but me bringing home a boy and my sister bringing home a boy are two totally different things. Yes, in both instances the family is meeting someone who could potentially be the one, and that someone is meeting them. That is a big deal. Except for me my parents would expect that to be the one, and it opens up a Pandora's Box of worry for them. Is he being safe? What does it look like when they're together? Oh shit! It's not just a phase, and the like, at least that's what I imagine. So we just save each other and have instituted a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy. 

So now, I'm sitting here with a relationship (with my parents) that I like. I feel loved and wanted and I know that they're proud of me (why wouldn't they be, I'm the only one of their children with gainful employment). Except that coming out didn't do what it should have. We can't talk about things, the real things. They have this perception that I must be so dreadfully unhappy because I tell them about what an uphill battle work is, or how high this bill was or that bill was. When they hear good things it's well I saved this, got to go here, got to do this. They have stopped asking "With who?". What kind of relationship is that? I'm angry at myself and angry at them, because they won't make it easy on me. You see part of the reason I'm mad is their fault, but I'm beginning to realize that a lot of it is mine, because coming out isn't winning the war. Coming out is the declaration, you have to fight to be free. 

Having trouble keeping my insides in

When I started writing this, I had hoped that I would never reveal too much, give my thoughts and show my unique voice without turning into one of those nuts on the internet who reveals too much about themselves. I like to think I'm pretty good at doing this. I'm never afraid to say what I think but I am afraid to say what I feel. Feelings are weapons and nerves and arteries that can be opened by someone else. After your feelings are exposed it's only a matter of time before someone has found a way to exploit them and leave you, the real, inside you for dead. But right now, all I feel is exposed and open, and while I can't say this to anyone's face out loud, not even when I know they love me, I can say it to space, to the anyonymity of the internet. 

My parents found out that my dad will be losing his right shoulder in three surgeries next week, which means he'll be in the hospital for Christmas, and not at home with us. My first question is "Can it wait?" and I'd be lying if it was because I don't want the holiday ruined. I know that's shallow, because well; in all honesty, I am shallow. Lord knows I like the gifts. I still wake up at 230 to peek in my stocking. Really though I love the decorations, and the lights and the candy and cookies and really despite the stress (that yes does always lead to small temper explosions in all the Bitners) Christmas was the time that I remember as being pretty consistently happy. There was one Christmas, four years ago, when my parents had to take all of our presents back, because they were losing their house and drowning in debt. That was o.k. We three kids bought gifts, and they weren't much, but it still worked out, still felt like Christmas. 

In the next breath though, my next question  was "Do I need to come early, what does this mean, what's going to happen?". This is the second time in less than 6 months that my parents have had a medical emergency. Since I'm their only child with reliable income, and the oldest, and the one that was told in middle school he could take care of things, it usually falls to me to pick up the pieces. At 13 I went to take care of my grandad after his heart attack. I was there for my grandmother's (and her monthlong hospitalization prior) at 15. I stayed for the next month after, and got to experience the emotional fall out that inevitably comes when a Bitner can't hold it in any more.  As much as I used to like it, that has not turned into a cross that is difficult to bear, especially when you can't live up to your own expectations. 

I think this is a recurring Bitner family trait. I know my dad is the same way, and in varying degrees so are my brother and sister. We all have a need to be the best and be validated by doing what very few can. We are hard and tough. We have been bred that way. Broken down and built up all at the same time. It's a volatile mixture. 

Four years ago, I was just under 120 lbs, and really, really, sick. Not only sick, but mean and hungry and not happy. I couldn't be perfect, but I hadn't come to terms with that yet. Now, four years later, seeing that need for control and not being able to control much else, even though I know it's wrong and scary and all in my head, I can't help but let the want to not eat, to run and work out until I feel good, come back to me. Sadly, I miss that power over myself. 

Being hard on myself (on what I expect myself to be) I am hard on other people, the public at large. More than once most people I know (sometimes even those I meet) call me an asshole. If I'm lucky my reputation preceeds me, and generally most people find I'm an asshole by default. Even more so, because I refuse to cry, to concede weakness or vulnerabilty, and trace of humanity if you will.  

When Queen Elizabeth I went to visit her cousin Mary Stuart, the Scots Queen, in a vain effort to get her to stop her conspiring, it is said that Elizabeth jabbed Mary with the insult that her own son would not raise an army to defend her, being the husband-murdering, vengeful bitch that she was. Mary responded, "You are cruel Madam." Good Queen Bess is reported to have shot back, " 'Tis the business of living that has made me so". I mean really, after years of wanting me to be this way, my parents should be the least surprised. 

You see ultimately, I miss being what used to be called, "a sweet boy." I no longer know who that is. I still push myself to be stronger, faster and better than I am, everyday. It seems that being whoever that sweet person was, he's just a ghost. For the most part, while I like parts of who I am now, I know he is undeserving of most things. It's like being on Santa's "Naughty" list, but there must be an accounting error because I keep getting chances. I keep having people who love me, and someone who is in love with me. I have money to pay my bills and a little in the bank, and that's a far cry to where I was four years ago, or two years ago, or even last year. Even then I got more than I deserve, more than most people are allowed, which surely means I am just borrowing blessings that one day I'm afraid, I'll have to pay back. 

I really have a lot of pent-up aggression. I'm not sure where this comes from. I know that in our house growing up there were always winners and losers. Those who did (and were valued) and those who did not (the people that you can exploit, conquer and kill...otherwise  known as the weak).  Obviously this mentality has stayed with me. The winners do well at work, are smarter, run circles around everyone else, and generally rage around like a bull in a china shop. I am this way from trying to live up to my father's (and my own) unreasonable expectations. According to my uncle you may not be Jesus, but you can die trying. 

You see, one of the worst things about teaching school is that No Child Left Behind (NCLB) has backfired. Inclusion (the practice of including the emotionally disturbed, learning disabled, children with severe behavior issues in a regular classroom) is a lie. Instead of inspiring this group of formerly-excluded children to behave like the children who are smarter, brighter and better, it has done the opposite. An evolutionary backfire as occurred. Those children who were once the creme de la creme are now back-sliding into mediocrity and soon, if not checked into inferiority. Instead of containing learned helplessness to a certain group of students who were helped by professionals trained to deal with them, we have spread the get-something-for-nothing mentality to almost 2 entire generations of American society. 

Don't get me wrong. In theory it's all well and good. If this group of kids see high-achievers they will be high achievers. But on top of taking out the professionals trained to handle these problems, and raising expectations, and throwing 30 kids into a room (5 or 6 of which could qualify as the 'inclusion' children) with a teacher who is not equipped to deal with them. Funding has been cut to bail out the perpetually stupid and because you no longer have to pay for the programs and or teachers that come with them. The point is though, that it makes for a tough day. Worse still is that by 4 pm I can hardly wait to work out, and let my mind go to something other than not being perfect that day, or losing my temper or being ridiculed and cussed out by a ten year old, or better still getting little or no praise from a boss who says education is her passion, but really only cares about how high her test score will be, and how that can translate into a lump sum in her bank account. And then the world just gets in my way. I hate that at the end of most days all I can do is sneer and hit and kick and scream in the middle of rush hour. I really hate that at the end of most days I can hardly stop feeling like I haven't done anything worthwhile or that I don't deserve what I have because I find myself treating my fellow man like shit, even if it is just a thought or grisly cuss word from behind my steering wheel. 

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

1. I prefer wrapping paper, in fact we are wrapping paper recyclers. 

2. I like artificial trees because it's easier to put on the lights, but who knows a tree one day.

3. I like to put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving. 

4. Last year I got bored and took everything down Jan. 2. I also went on a cleaning jag and cooked. Awesome.

5. I have never had eggnog, and now I won't drink it because it has too many calories. 

6. I had many nice presents as a kid. I think when Ben and I both got GI Joes and random accessories that was the most fun.

7. My dad used to be the hardest one, Ben didn't ask for anything, and Chaz doesn't celebrate Christmas. Again, Awesome.

8. My sister is easiest to buy for...

9. Of course. I used to love putting out my parents' Nativity when I was a child. I had a sick fascination with Baby Jesus and The Christmas Story.

10. I have 3 boxes of cards, an update news letter, and 10 cards done. I'm not motivated.

11. My aunt and uncle gave us a Chia pet one year. The 3 of us, one Chia. Then we got World Map place mats. "We like to watch the news and see where the countries being talked about are"... riiiiight. We were all under the age of 10, that's exactly what we wanted. 

12.  Love Actually, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

13. I have not started yet. Maybe this weekend?

14. No. I am not above taking anything back. I'm usually list specific so it's your own fault if someone didn't pay attention. 

15. I love peppermint bark, pecan pie (we do one for Thanksgiving and Christmas) and cookies. Ok Ok, since I'm a fat kid deep down I really like the candy too. 

16. I like having white lights, since you can usually see the ornaments better. As a child however, I remember throwing a fit when we discontinued using colored lights. 

17. Away in a Manger (I feel like that nun in "Doubt" and the Little Drummer Boy

18. I am going home to Austin. We always have stayed home.

19. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen...(Rudolf)

20. I have a Santa spindle

21. Christmas morning. Last year we did it in the evening, and I hated it. I even wake up at 230 to look in my stockings.

22. I'm not longer in retail so, I'm liking the holidays this year. 

23. I do a family Christmas tree. I have some of my mom's ornaments from when she was a kid. They are little plastic snow globes. 

24. Tamales (duh, we're Mexicans)

25. I'm an American, I want every thing I see for Christmas. 

We Shall Fight

Today I couldn't figure out if the chill that we have here at work was due to the subfreezing temperatures or to the fact that my boss must be the iciest bitch I know. That's saying a lot given the fact that I myself have been known to make people burst into tears with just a look. 

I had any number of misgivings when I started this school year in August and I had stayed at my campus in the misguided hope that if I could just "do it better," things would be better. I had hoped that if i changed my attitude and outlook, kept my expectations high and gritted my teeth that I would some how make a good impression. My first year as a teacher was less than stellar, and my principal had taken much into account when renewing my contract, so I felt that I not only owed it to myself but to her to be better and that by "being better", I would some how land on her right hand side. 

The thing is this: just like the abused woman, the one picking herself up off the floor, having trouble breathing because her husband has just kicked her and broken a rib, I'm beginning to come to the realization that there are no rules. No matter how pretty I smile, how clean I keep the house (classroom) or how well I raise our kids (teach my students), I will still have to walk on egg shells, and wait until the beatings start all over again. 

Even more like the most desperate of housewives, I hang on to the kind words and wishes. I stay for the kids, and for that fact that right now, in the working world, I have relatively few options and no place to go. 

I think, though, that I'll have to be like Tina Turner. The only thing my insecure, fickle, no-good excuse for a boss, understands is bullying, because that is all she knows how to do. So I'm going to square my shoulders, carry my load and fight like hell to keep going because right that's the best I can do. It's no longer a matter of pride or dignity or liking someone. I am going to have to guard against the hate that this person must feel, and use it like a weapon against her. I imagine that even if I bring the temple down around me like Samson, at least I'll have shown Delailah she hasn't beaten me yet. 

Happy Holidays

This may sound awful, the kind of awful that you see in a Lifetime movie, but I love Christmas. The more I look back, the more I see the holidays (generally speaking) as the only time my father wasn't always raging at whatever. I mean sure there were the few Christmases money was tight (my parents sold their dining room suite to buy us gifts) but for the most part the Yuletide was a time of peace compared to the rest of the year. 

I don't know whether it's the memories from the ornaments who belong to so and so, or the warm glow of the lights, or placing the Holy Family (when I was growing up, the Baby Jesus) onto the hutch, but I just melt at Christmastime. In fact, I have to say that I went through all of this yesterday as the guy I'm dating watched, I'm sure just wondering how true it was when I said, "No, really Christmas isn't that big a deal."

Don't get me wrong, I come from a family where the gift giving was large and far too extravagant until my family's finiancial problems made us realize that it wasn't about what you got, but just the tradition of it. There was one year the the only gifts we opened were bought by us three, Ben, Erin and I. Don't get me wrong Christmas was a time to spoil us and I truly do still like that, but I like other aspects of the holiday as well.

I love that I feel so content during this time. I love the lights and the Christmas cards, and the parties and being able to appreciate people that I have a tendency to not thank well enough or often enough for their friendship during the year. Presents (at least with the fam, are the way I can do this). I still love getting stockings, and waiting for "Santa" to come. I love making treats and baking cookies and I even wish, silly though it may be, that my Dad would still write notes "From Santa" that we used to find magically in the morning. 

Despite what is normally hectic (even for me) and despite usually spending more than I should, I find that I like Christmas because I realize that "it" isn't always about me, but rather what I can give. 

It's Thanksgiving Charlie Brown

I love Charlie Brown, you know, the nerdy kid, friends with a lesbian (Peppermint Patty, she wears a Cubavera shirt and Birekenstocks), loves his dog, doesn't always realize how many people love and care about him. I have this affinity. This year I'm celebrating with Mags, on this volcanic island, with worshippers of Bob Marley and a few stranded vet students. 

After hitting the beach and duty free shops so I could bring tons of liquor home, we decided yesterday to buy a turkey to fix the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving dinner: potatoes and green beans, with some cranberry relish and whatever desserts we have (rice crispies and white chocolate Oreos).  But that is ok, because I'm still with family and I'll have another meal Saturday when I get home, with what means Turkey Day to me: Pecan Pie. 

Really though; the best thing about Thanksgiving is that you get to be Thankful. So here goes:

1. I'm thankful for Mags and being here to celebrate with her.

2. I'm thankful to have the money to do this.

3. I'm thankful for being able to lay on the beach and get some sun.

4. I am thankful for being able to try some new foods: lobster, conch, mahi-mahi.

5. I am thankful that I have good friends at work to help me through they day (Loftis and Glenn).

6. I'm lucky and thankful to have resources to help me at work (here's a shout out Nina).

7. I love and thank God that I have someone who wants to celebrate holidays with me (Chaz, you can have a shout-out too :) ).

8. I am thankful for my friends who love me in spite of myself, and who I can become.

9. I'm thankful that things always seem to work out. That, I imagine is the definition of blessed.

10. I'm thankful that I am so very blessed. 

Can you smell that?

   To think of it, I know of no other sense that can evoke an emotion like smell can. Smell can make you lust in the form of a lover's cologne, smell can make you feel refreshed, a spring rain or wet pavement, smell can make you a child again, running through fresh cut grass. Even though I have just come to realize it, the idea of smell being powerful must have occurred to me ever since I was a child. There are some smells I associate with certain people. "Polo" always reminds me of my father, Mags is a smell you would find at Bath and Body Works or the like. Aloe reminds me of hot summers on South Padre Island that end with cutting a leaf off Grandma's and Papa's aloe plant. Clean, cool, soothing. 

     At some point this inspired me to have a "signature" smell.  You know, that smell that works so well for you that when anyone you know smells this smell, they automatically think of you. This is vapid and narcissistic I'm sure, but it's a nice thought. It works too, I still feel clean when I shave and put aloe one my face. Once my hands meet my nose, I still smell clean, even if I don't always feel that way inside and out. 

    Smell is one of the few things that can put a picture in my mind and an emotion in my heart. It's amazing to think that one instant, one little whiff, the mixture of garlic and tomato or soap and shampoo or baking chicken can do so much, and yet be something so ordinary and everyday. 

I know I haven't written in a while, but I've been busy and really uninspired, or at least with the amount of information I want to post for strangers on the internets. I figured I'd just write about St. Christopher's.  I'm here visiting Maggie, and I feel like I'm in Rwanda, you know, before the blood-letting. Lush green, mountains (really large, gorgeous mountains that get covered in clouds and fogs).  The island named for its discoverer (A man sent by the Catholic Kings of Spain to find a western-water route to the Indies), was the home of the first permanent British settlement in the Caribbean, after the fact that they killed the Native Americans on the island with the help of their French brethern. 

So far I've done a few things of note (or perhaps not): Surf and Turf, I've never had lobster before and the one I ate for dinner last night was huge. Maggie and I bought an entire liquor cabinet for less than $100 bucks and the island is a member of the Commonwealth, hence English speaking Kittitians, and Queen Elizabeth II young, and smiling on their money. 

Aside from that, not much else has gone on. WE hit the beach and shopping this afternoon and a historic tour of the island tomorrow. More to come...

"I Love to Laugh"

Today, my principal removed me from the joke list because I crossed the line, and said something everyone else was thinking. It's awesome. I know it's silly, that I'm super smart and yet love bathroom humor. Really, I just like raising eyebrows, it's all about the reaction. 

No matter what I find wrong with my job; too little pay, too much work, never enough time, you know keep going, I love my friends at work, because no matter how bad it gets we can just laugh. Today we spent the afternoon just laughing. The low scores, bad attitudes and children who don't want to be taught just melt into the background when we laugh and joke and when Shannon says to me, "You need Jesus."

Come to think about it, I love my friends because they don't look at me crazy when I say something off the wall and no matter how ridiculous I am or how predictable. I love that we can get together and laugh and be crazy. Humor is the spice of life and makes it all bearable. I'm so lucky to be able to laugh. The only thing that would make it better is if we had Mary Poppins to make us tea on the ceiling while we laughed.  

Cousins

I don't know if my brother and sister sometimes feel the same way I find my self feeling most of the time. Growing up, I would have told you that we had a pretty tight-knit family. We even grew up with 3 of our cousins. I mean I got taken around and what-not all through middle and high school. I pretty much felt like that was where I fit. 

For so many reasons that make us look like the dysfunctional rednecks we are, I have come over the past few years to feel that this family is worse than The Family. In fact Mario Puzo couldn't write the Corleones  this way. We make Washington and its politics look like a day in the park. Think a trashy, vulgar, less-restrained version of the Windsors. The minute you turn around someone will be pulling a bag over your head and then stabbing you in the back. 

Not to mention that these 3 cousins became "born-again". This led to many disagreements even about language, what church we went to (we've been going our whole lives, they started in high school and or college), and that alcohol was a demon. Imagine what they'd say reading this and hearing my dirty, blasphemous, mo mouth just flapping away. 

My oldest cousin contacted me tonight. My other cousin had called me a month back, wondering what he had done wrong. My father's mother (who I used to be very close with), is lucky I call her every so often. It's hard to forgive for wounds that you realize have been perpetuated for years, things that you thought were true have turned to lies, and the people who were supposed to love you are the first ones to gnaw on your carcass just to get ahead. So I find it hard to establish any kind of relationship, not only because of this, but also because of me now being out, and finally being OK (being really pretty good), after years of praying and starving and wishing to be different, what kind of relationship do I establish with people who think I'm a sin?  Don't get me wrong, I have to respect them putting themselves out there like that, but I'm still waiting for the knife in my back. 

"Hope for the Furture..."

This entry is going to be a little more confessional than I'd like. I generally like to use this to be my sounding board, my commentary, my soap box. I don't like to reveal the inner-workings of whatever soul I have. Not to anyone. It's taken my friends years to dig down as deep as some of them have gotten. Years, you know like digging for Giza. 

So anyway...I've been dating someone for a while now. It's basically a record for me, someone who sticks around long enough and doesn't mind the crazy. Here's the rub, the last time this happened I ended up feeling so manipulated and broken that my soul crawled on its knees like a beaten whore for two years. I vowed never to let anyone completely in ever again. So basically I cancelled out the possibility of any relationship. I don't mind this, I'm not really that open anyway, not even with my parents. For me hearts are meant to keep secrets not reveal them. 

Don't you love twisted soul history? The thing is no one man did this to me, this is a consequence of life of years of having to be perfect of having to be the best. But I hate that I've started making plans, I have turned into We and We've started making plans. I hate that. I'm used to doing "Me" things and I hate wanting to do "We" things. I hate it because I'm starting to give parts of myself to another person and it's freaking me out. 

The bigger question is why do we plan? Why do you meet someone and start making plans? Why does it feel so good to have a partner, a friend, a possibility? As scary as it is for me to start doing this again, as often as I have to tell myself to exhale, I can't stop myself. You tell yourself "if" and "when". Why is it that we only do this with people that we want to stick around say...forever? We really don't deserve to make any plans, for any reason. We're not in control, He is. So making plans is really just hoping for the possibility of the future. 

Unpretty

We're trying to put on our first school carnival at work, you know, trying to be white. This is the first time in 8 years that our school has had enough parental involvement to do anything. This is all well and good until we go to the planning, that always happens on Friday. I hate to say that by then I could give a rat's ass as to what happens south of the Trinity and I can't wait to high-tail-it North on IH35 and get back to Uptown and Beyond. 

The person in charge of the carnival is a real douche. I don't think he means to be, I think he just is. I totally know he's well-meaning, and I know that he's a perfectionist and I'm sure that he says the same thing about me. I'm totally sure there are scores of people in the DFW metroplex that say the same thing about me. That's why I run and work out. I keep thinking that he should do that too. I'd like him better, I could at least relate better. Here's the other thing, today he was pouting and tried to resign as carnival chair. Are you shitting me!?!?! The price of greatness is responsibility (so said Winston Churchill). And it pisses me off. We have just a little under a month until "lift off". These things take time and really we are all busy. I don't have lesson plans laminated to just pull out of my ass. Given the fact that I'm teaching in two languages (which I would think this Viet-boat child would get) he's lucky I even speak to him. 

I don't get weakness, at least outward weakness. I can't stand bitching and crying. We all are busy, we are all proud and we all want to to a good job. Basically you should just kiss my ass and realize that I'm already moving my piece of Heaven and Earth and I'm pretty fucking tired by the end of the week (yes, I scored perfect on the verbal of my SAT, and I have a potty mouth). Moral of the story? Nothing wrong with perfection, just don't let it turn you into a little, douche-y, bitch.  

Today at work we had to do this book study. The Chapter was about the Top 10 reasons educational reforms fail. What this all boils down to is a resistance to change. If you talk to my mother this is not something I do well. Hell, I told them today, "I don't mind change as long as I can control it." Classic Anorexic. However I am finding that when it comes to teaching, you can never be too proud. This is pretty impossible. Teaching is not like any other job that you can just leave at the office. You take those kids home with you and worry if they got something to eat or are safe or (in our kids' case if they got robbed and shot at during the night, or pimped or drugged or whatever happens in their homes). When you become this invested in what you do, it's hard too step back and realize that you don't have all the answers or that you may need to try something else. 

The other thing is that you have too many smart people in one place. We're used to being listened to and being right, at least I am. My brain works faster than most people I know. I think too, that it all boils down to laziness. It's easy to rest on your laurels if you look like the one who can get the good test score (which is what gets noticed). It's also easy to stay with what works because you can see results. Teaching doesn't have visible profit margins or new buildings or (for me being a retail slave for so long) a new pretty display to look at. A friend of mine says. "I look at the kids like a slot machine that you have to keep putting quarters into, even if you don't get anything back when you pull the lever." How disappointing is it to not hit that jackpot you've been trying so hard to get. That's why we must celebrate the small victories, square our shoulders, and rush into the burning building, chocking on the smoke. Like a moth to the flame, we like playing too much in the fire to worry about dying in the flames. 

Diary of a Mad Bitner

This is a small transcript of the fist fight I nearly go into at a Staff Development this weekend:

Bitner: Well, sir what would you recommend I do when my principal thinks that my job is to teach English, not Language Arts, and so she sends my kids to the other reading teacher, who just teaches stratagy and not conent, so they can what she calls 'a double dose' "

Woman teacher: Really, isn't that confusing?

Instructional coach: Is there someone in the MLEP dept. you might be able to get to help you?

Me: Umm I know people in the MLEP, but they're not at my school

Random asshole: "Umm, do you not know the law, because your job is to teach them English"

Bitner: (eyes wide): Umm no, actually I just took a test on the law this summer and it doesn't say that

Random asshole: Well what do you mean, unless they changed the law

Bitner: Actually they did change the law

Random Asshole: Are you sure...

Bitner: Did you just hear that I said I took a test over it to get this thing I call a Bilingual supplement this summer? My job is to get those kids to think in both languages, not kill one in favor of the other, but my principal just thinks that I'm here to teach these kids English and I'm not... so what can I do with this training for that

Random Asshole: Well then what are you good for? (Or something like this)

Bitner: No... (repeating above, only louder)

Instuctional Coach: Umm, do you know anyone in the MLEP Dept.?

Random Asshole: Actually the law doesn't say that

Bitner: Actually it does, and I can get my girlfriend on the phone right now, (complete with head bob and arm wave, you know like a black girl) but I'm not the one with a misunderstanding of the law since I got a perfect score on that test... (Yes, I was yelling, and shaking in fury, like a bomb)

Somewhere in there I managed to tell everyone ( and by tell I mean yell like the crazy asshole I am)  in the room how to spell my name, that they could tell my principal because I was gonna probably have a conversation with her Monday morning. After that the Instructional Coach called a break and I just left the room seething. But it makes for a humorous replay. 

Jilted Woman

I can't help but feel like a jilted lover this week. You know the story; boy meets girl, falls in love, promises unyielding fidelity only to be tossed out on her ass. Even though I managed to survive the DISD RIF, I'm still working my ass off for someone who really could care less. Not only that but I'm not sure if I'm losing $4,000 of my income only to have to go back in time two years ago, like I'd never gotten that bright, shiny piece of paper from Texas A&M University that says I'm worth more than day labor. 

Just like that wronged woman, I'm still there, but not the same. I'm changed. I no longer see a partner who wants the best for me and who can do no wrong, I see this bastard of a man who'd crawl in bed with whoever he wanted and throw my ass out on the street regardless of how good I've tried to be.  "It won't happen again," he says. Just like the woman who has accepted her man's infidelities (or I suppose it could be the other way 'round) I shrug my shoulders in apathetic disbelief, because I realize I have no where else to go. 

Maybe the more poignant (albeit dramatic) metaphor is that scene in Schindler's List, where Helen Hirsh (the young girl who waits on the sadistic Kommandant) has resigned herself to die because "there are no rules." I'm a Jew standing in front of the gas chambers of another round of compensating for someone else's mistake. After all, losing my job would kill the life I've built. I try to play by the rules only to find out they're different for me than they are for the asshole across the hall. It doesn't matter how hard I work. I sometimes wonder, just like young Helen, on the outskirts of a conquered Polish city, when the bullet with my name on it will come from the balcony, just because it happens to be my turn that day. But then on he upside, Helen survived, there's something to be said for that. 

Gone With the Wind

"Oh Stevie I thought I was Scarlett O' Hara,". This was about ten years ago, maybe more and I'd been staying with my grandparents and my adoptive grandparents and I had started reading Gone With the Wind. With the movie being such a classic, I had to read the book, not to mention that this was a good time killer for a dork who always hung out with his grandparents for the summer. 

I'd always had a healthy respect for Scarlett. I mean she's hot, she's rich, what's not to love. Sometimes it was like looking in a mirror. Scarlett always got what she wanted. She was rich, and admired and she's much the anti-bellum Winston Churchill, inspiring those around her to just keep going. 

Two years ago, while my soul was writhing in agony on its knees, and I had nothing but time to think, I decided to start re-reading things I had read as a teen. I'm sure this was motivated by the fact that I was working in a middle school at the time. Ironically the only thing that's changed in the 10 (now 12) years since I was in the 7th Grade, is that the internet has made the children faster and more cruel. 

Reading this it's no secret that I have a crush on Scarlett. If I were the kind to be a drag queen I'd be Scarlett, you know that kind of borderline-unhealthy obsession. It's funny re-reading books of childhood (above-grade level reader here) because you realize that there were things that the limited field of your experience cannot capture in the words. Re-reading let's the grown up you enjoy the book again for all new reasons. The more I read, the more I realized the comprimises that Scarlett made to be who she was.  There's nothing like having your back pressed against the wall, and having the Earth cave in around you at the same time. I think thank God at least she could marry a man to help her out.  

Scarlett will not stop until she gets what she wants. Some would call her spoiled, I'd call her hard working, at the very least tenacious. Sure she compromises, marries men she doesn't love, ruins the people around her at times and in the end wonders where the hell it all went wrong, but it usually all works out. That single-mindedness is what helps her survive. That is an amazing survival skill for someone who was cast off by society as someone who shouldn't have the gumption to survive. 

So I have this special affinity for Miz O'Hara quite simply because she keeps her head down and keeps going. She doesn't always get it right, and even causes herself more damage than she ought, but the awesome thing is that she does it, she keeps going, come hell or high water. I have this affinity for Miz Scarlett, because I can't help but see pieces of myself in her (regardless of whether or not that makes me a raging mo). 

And so Here we are Again

Sorry for the abscence, it's just been a crazy few weeks. So tonight while I was having dinner with my parents, my dad said that he prays for me to change. While this was a tongue-in-cheek remark and semi-sarcastic I wondered if he meant this about being gay. True to form, and since I am my father's son, I looked him in the eye and told him I hoped that wasn't true. Then, because we don't often talk about our feelings, or show our insides, my parents got into a discussion about all their adult children. More often than not, this leads to a list of my parents failings and my eyes glaze over because I like who I am, and so I don't give them a ton of credit for screwing me up (don't get me wrong they get plenty, but I know they did the best they could). What is the point? I started thinking about the Serenity Prayer, you know this one (the one verse everyone remembers): "God grant me the wisdom to accept the things I cannot change and wisdom to accept the things I can't and the widom to know the difference.." or something like that. 

Sometimes I envy that...you know, good sense. There is a part of me that would love to just be ok with whatever was going on in my life. I'm just not made that way. All my life I've been seeking someone's approval. There is always something to do better, faster or harder. This keeps me going. If I was just o.k. and asking God to grant me peace, what kind of life would that be? I'd just be begging life, but I'd rather be living it. In the end this desire to be better, to move forward, to conquer whatever-the-hell-is-standing-in-my-way, feeds on my weakness, the glowing embers of who I used to be. I mean things could always be worse. 

I often think about this prayer. In some ways I despise change, taking it to mean that I must get better than I am, that I am less than perfect.  The antithesis of my raising. I spent most of my life seeking approval and acceptance, not only growing up sissy in Texas, but just living in my father's house. My siblings and I are the case and point of what too much perfectionism can do, pains and benefits however they may fall. About four years ago this got me nearly hospitalized because I had stopped eating and started working out for 3 hours a day, to be perfectly thin and therefore, perfectly gay and also, by default athletic so that my father would finally understand me. 

Gratitude Journal

I came home tonight and fell asleep. At 5. Benevolent slumber. My grandmother slept like this when she was dying of cancer. The worse the assault on her body, the more she slept. The only respite. I don't have a brain tumor and I've only craved sleep like this one other time in my life. It was the only time I could stop thinking and breathe. I was a freshman in college. I was gay and scared in one of the most conservative colleges in the nation. I was fighting against something I couldn't change, and losing the battle. I had few people to trust and gossip and rumor were clouding around me. 

This week, teachers in DISD found out that 700 of us were going to lose our jobs. All I could see was my rent and bills (I pay those alone, because I live alone), as well as my student loan repayments and my new car payments. The car that i bought on the condition that I was going to be certified and get my raise and what not. The mis-management seems to fun far and deep. Once again I feel thrown to the wolves, something else to conquer and survive. Frankly I am a weary worrier, and even though I usually thrive on the fight, I find myself not wanting to have to fight this battle. Should it come to that I will, make no mistake, I came in fighting and it's all i do really well. 

Now this I must do this; I must list three things I am grateful for:

1. My friends and their saving grace. I am loved even when I don't deserve it. There is no word for my over-flowing heart.

2. I have some money in savings, and I am learning from long, hard mistakes. So many people do not.

3. I am respected at work and it is starting to show. No matter the outcome I know that I've done a good thing. 

4. I am grateful that it always works out. I am, somehow, always taken care of. I imagine that's Divinity and I am sure I do not deserve a fraction of the care  from above that I get. 

Nail Biter

We got the news today that in light of a budget error we hand no control over, that other teachers and myself and our school staff are facing job cuts. Serious and eminent job cuts, so that the budget can be stabilized this year. I totally understand the need for a balanced budget and for taking steps to rectify a situation, but shouldn't this have been avoided with better management? 

I go to work everyday and I deal with students who are marginalized because their parents are to an extent as well. Most of my parents are either too busy (some are too lazy) to have children. They are working several jobs and are busy trying to keep body and soul together to pay attention to their children. After being told to be quiet constantly my kids (and by that I mean students) are acting out in class and constantly talking and wanting my attention. I'm really glad that they like me enough this year. It's flattering, really. But I have to be honest, if I wanted kids, I'd be straight or better yet married or what not. On top of that I can't actually get my work done, so that I take it home, most nights and many weekends. I know teachers have more vacation time and we get pretty good pay, but we have to be parents to these kids and teachers. On top of 8 hours with no break, we then spend another 2 or 3 hours and more time in between doing the leg work for the daylight hours. Now, they're telling me that no matter what, I might not have a job. Accounting error. 

There has been no talk of pay cuts for the upper level staff who are making over $100,000 a year (double my salary) or fundraising or philanthropy. Why don't we examine a few things first? In any case, I'm trying not to freak out, and realize there is always a silver lining and a reason. I still go to work tomorrow and for the next few weeks at least. It will be OK. 

Rainy Day

I've been up since 730 and already been half-heartedly to the gym. I dragged my self through two rounds of my circuit and 2 mins on the treadmill. My head feels like my brain must be hemmoraging. Then I made breakfast and am having more coffee. I really just want a rainy day. I feel like all I've done since the last week of August is "go". Austin, McAllen, the first 3 weeks of school and going and doing has just got me praying for a day like today. Even if I did promise folks I'd go out tonite, my mild hangover from last night is making that option an even less attractive option. 

I hate disappointing people or having them upset with me (you know, unless I hate them, or really could give a rat's ass) but I know running myself ragged isn't the answer either. I love rainy days. Soup simmering for hours on the stove, a cup of coffee or tea, a good book, and curling up with movies on the couch. Today that's what I really want. Who knows. 

Thoughts in the Dark

I'm not sure why I find pillow talk so appealing. You know, the sweet whisper of conversation that happens, 2 people laying side by side, looking up through the darkness at the ceiling, trying to put order to the day's thoughts and feelings. 

There is comfort in the cover of darkness. It's almost as if you can give voice and life to your inner most feelings, hopes and fears, without repercussion. These pieces of your soul are given life and then, released into the darkness, hover over you and then are swallowed by the night. It's the most revealing tale of intimacy between two people. No matter if they lovers or best friends, sometimes both. Depending on the players it's a matter of nuance, a matter of word choice: Pillow Talk, Gossip, Girl-Talk, Confession. No matter the name I'm thankful for the cover of darkness that makes sure my unmasked soul remains intact. 

Week End

So it occurred to me last night that I probably hadn't been very clear about how Mom was doing post-heart attack. We are in fact very blessed and lucky. Even though Mom's coronary artery was completely blocked, the doctors only had to put in one stent to open the blockage. Luckily they didn't have to crack her chest either, they did it through angioplasty, which has really helped with her recovery. 

Even better, Mom and Dad have really changed their diet and have been working out pretty hardcore since Jan. Better than the fact that Mom doesn't really have the change her diet, her body was in shape enough, I believe that it has recovered quickly. Mom came home around 4 Thursday afternoon, and was pretty mobile and, has been, (even in the ICU) in really great spirits. My brother, sister and I got her a little lab puppy (we have two labs that have become her babies since we all moved out) and her response was "Oh, should we name him Coronary? Or miocardio infarction?" Apparently I'm sick on both sides...

The worst thing for her so far is some brusing from the angioplasty and mild fatigue during the afternoon. I leave tomorrow and my Aunt Kim is coming today to stay the week. My mom's other sister will come next week and stay for however long she needs. We're really really lucky and I'm very blessed to have the friends I do. Even though "Thank you" isn't enough, right now it's all I can do. So to my friends who read this, Thank you

So Called Life

I'm pretty ready to get back to my life. Today, I watched "Home for the Holidays", the Holly Hunter, Robert Downey Jr. movie where she goes home for Thanksgiving and hilarity/family drama ensues. I totally sympathize. I don't like coming home, mostly because after 3 days I've done all I can do and then the boredom sets in. That and even though my cousins live here, it's pretty much a forgone conclusion that we're not gonna hang out. Apparently I'm not "cool" (toolie) enough. 

So tonight I did the oldest child thing. The preview for when my parents are senile and infirm, the preview for my middle age and my parents' old age. But I'm really, really ready to go home. I don't sleep well here anymore, without my pillows and my bed and my things. These are just ghosts and memories and they make for disconcerting bedfellows. 

I'm glad it's not worse though. Ten years ago, after I had just learned to drive, I stood with my hands on my hips and told my grandmother, who was gasping for breath (she had been the night before too) that we were going to the hospital, and she didn't want me to have to kick her ass. After her sabbatical from my Papa for a few weeks, it was discovered that she needed a triple bypass. I was there for the ICU, and for the aftermath; the times when it was just Grandma, Papa and me. There were blow-ups and rows. After telling my Papa he was being an asshole, enduring his mental breakdown and having to call my Uncle to "come help me NOW," I went home. I've paid my dues. I'm the "responsible one". That is my niche, albeit a wearing one. I'm not ready to be the leader, the decision maker, the patriarch. I'm enjoying being 25, with no kids and a disposable income. I finally can be responsible and not have to worry about where the next meal comes from. So here's the countdown to home. Things are back to normal or getting there and I'll keep going, so that Mom and Dad keep going. Counting the blessings that this isn't worse. There are no breakdowns or having to help anyone bathe or walk, just pick up the slack when they both get tired. 

I know I said I'd write more this week, but...

This has been one of those weeks that I surely must have made happen when I wrote on Monday that I had nothing going on. This has been one of those weeks that makes me hesitant to blog, you know the whole revealing the inner-workings of my soul, and I don't want this to sound like a pity party. But sometimes the inner-workings of the soul make for a really good story, and I've had lots of time to work my innards this week...

Tuesday around 11:30 I got a call to my cell phone from my brother. In fact I got about 2 calls and a text message before the phone rang again in my hand. I answer it (in the middle of teaching my class) only to be told that my mother, who is 52, was in the hospital having a heart attack. The irony is I've been waiting for the phone call for years, but I'd always thought it would be my mom calling to tell me that Dad had had one. In any case, that's the last thing I really remember super clearly. All I had the presence of mind to do was call my dad. I wasn't even really all that worried. So I call dad trying to figure out what in the Sam Hill was happening and all my big, tough, super hard-ass father can tell me (in between sobs, no less) was that they are working on Mom and that he'd gotten to tell her he loved her. This is my What The Fuck moment, the moment of panic and fear and God knows what else. I calmly hung up the phone, went across the hall, told my girlfriend what was happening and that I had no idea what to do and after that I got escorted from my classroom and my principal told me to get the hell out. So then I spent forever on the phone. I'm really lucky to have my friends. Someone called me a flight while I packed (and considering they haven't known me this long, makes them doing so all the more remarkable), then Sean and Caitlin drove me to the airport and I was in McAllen by 5. So were Ben and Erin. 

I've said before that I always thought my brother would crumble, he'd be the mess. You know, I didn't really fall apart but I couldn't get clear, I couldn't focus. I bought a book at the airport and couldn't even turn the pages. Mercifully I passed out for half the trip. I always thank God for the mercy that he just let's me go until I can't any longer and then I can sleep. Pass out, collapse, anything but think. 

Even though Mom's coronary artery was 100% blocked, we're lucky. She and Dad have been on a strict diet for the past 9 mos. and working out regularly. They only had to put in one stint. I'd been imagining them Grey's Anatomy-ing her chest open. My parents raised strong kids. That's the second blessing. Dad fell apart but he was mean enough and strict enough and pushed enough while we were growing up that we, us 3, our little triumvirate, we were OK. We were together, and we took care of Dad. Whatever regrets he may have, my Dad shouldn't worry too much, because we'll be OK. 

So today I'm just waiting. Mom should be "out of jail" by 4 and then we'll see. I'm just waiting to make sure, because I have to manipulate and touch and control. I'll be back to real life Sunday, maybe even Saturday. So there it is, not in the gory detail it was experienced, but rather the dim sensations, the echos of the week. 

Second one for the day...

I love the fact that Sarah Palin's daughter has looser morals, or at least the morals of our generation, or you know... I don't know how I feel about Ms. Palin in general, I have no opinion about her, but being raised in a Republican household I can say a bit about the fact that Republicans like to the the moral barometer of the country. 

As a teacher I understand that today's parents (many of them younger than I am) are having trouble teaching their kids the things that my parents taught their kids. You know, the little things like telling the truth, being nice to one another, knowing that you could do anything. My kids don't have that kind of parent, at least not many of them do. This is so pervasive that in 2001 President Bush and Ted Kennedy decided to pass No Child Left Behind. What I thought was one of the wonderful pillars of NCLB at the time, has become one of the pillars I disagree with the most. Character Education, added to the responsibility of teachers means that not only do we have to teach US children their ABC's, but we also have to teach things that should be learned in the home, like telling the truth and not being a ho. If I wanted kids, I'd totally have them or adopt them or be a Big Brother. 

Now being the daughter of Mama Republico I'm sure that Bristol Palin (maybe she was born in England?) was raised with values similar to mine. I'm also sure that being close to 18, she was pretty sure of what she was doing, I mean who doesn't know everything at 18?  Here's what I admire; that Mama Republico isn't hiding this, and that Daughter Republico is going to marry her baby daddy and raise her baby. I mean if Jaime Lynn can do it who can't ya'll? We find out that just like the rest of us, Republicans are human, and this is refreshing for someone in the Presidential Race. 

Here's what I don't like: I think Lil' Miss Republico is setting herself up for failure. I mean I know I don't want to get married now at 25 with no kids or anything. I think it's a little fool-hardy to buy into the fairy tale so young, before you can experience more than one man's penis (or one woman's vagina for that matter). I mean, we're totally conditioned that at 16 Snow White fell in love with her man and they never had any problems. In fact I don't trust a marriage that doesn't have visible issues, since that isn't the kind of house I grew up in. I also do not like the fact that Ms. Palin is not using this to her advantage, that she is probably still going to try to be the moral barometer for the country. 

I also do not like the fact that Ms. Palin is a privileged daughter of a public figure. Even if our candidates are rags to riches, they are always wealthy and moneyed when they run and are in office, even Lincoln. What does this say to Silly Sally, the average US daughter without health care, a baby daddy and a trust fund? Is motherhood still going to be the cinch that Jaime Lynn claims it is (I have a million dollars, ya'll, and now I can play the slut in movies, cha-ching...yay motherhood!)? Just a thought, but instead of people throwing stones into glass houses I'd say just make sure your kids know to wrap it up, no matter what you think you've taught them. 

Apparently I'm a blogger dork...

Yes, I read the comments. I love them! Leave me some, let me know who's reading. Sorry for not really getting to this last week. It was the first week of school and I forget how absolutely exhausting it is. Not only did I crash most nights on the couch last week but I slept most of the way to and from Austin this weekend and got about 11 hours of sleep last night, if that gives you any idea of what the week was like. 

I don't really have a lot going on right now, well at least not a ton that I'm totally willing to share, but let's see... we went to Austin this weekend, Caitlin and Sean and I. We stayed in Hyde Park right north of UT and I got to relive some of my childhood. I never realize how much I miss Austin until I go home. I even got to have Round Rock Donuts. I'll never admit it, but I am lucky to have grown up there, and it's funny how much of a small town it still seems when you step off of I35 and away from the new tollroad that is beginning to ring Austin. I only wish I had gotten to see Ben and Erin. How's that for sentimental? 

Today has been good. After a great wake up (later than normal no less) I was semi-productive and went to the Farmers Market, came home and am now enjoying coffee (again). That and watching the Closer, this is basically heaven. Too bad I have to go to the gym, or do laundry or lesson plans.  I even left work at school that I forgot to take home. This is ridiculous. Being a super committed, Jaime Escalante-esque teacher is hard hard work. I guess that is why we get salaries. So for this week: school, gym and doing a bit of this and that. Thursday I'm doing this Au-Courant group with the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. If you read this and want details you should come (open bar!). I also get to break in new loafers I got at Banana Republic (for $17!). This is a slow blog week. We'll talk about news-worthy events later this week. On an up note looks like Gustav missed NOLA. Have a good week. 

You Cannont Change the Hearts of Men

We've already discussed the trials of the queer. But I have to get this off my chest. I know this person who hates queers. Now I'm not talking about the entire world population or you know the South, but just one person. This person would say that what I'm saying isn't true, or at least when it comes to me. I know differently. 

This person I know, we are kind of stuck, because I like his family. One of his sisters is one of my best good friends and we interact more than once a year. I'm not surprised by this. It doesn't bother me that he doesn't like homos. I learned long ago, before I came out to my parents, that you cannot change the hearts of men, especially when they hate. The most insidious, inky-dark thing about this hate is that it has its basis in religious thought and belief. For most it's a moral question. Hard to answer and hard to argue. Hell I don't really even blame him for hating the gays. I do, or at least I hate certain things about the community. Deep down in my heart of hearts I can't fault him for having a prejudice. We all do. I am especially impatient with people who come from countries say east of Poland and south of Russia. My brother even hates me being gay, despite the fact that we grew up in the same house and ate at the same table and really think in a pretty same way. 

This person who hates me being gay, he couldn't believe my brother played football, much less I'm sure from the condescension in his voice could he believe I grew up with any type of masculine presence. Now I don't have rainbows shooting out of my ass or anything, but I'm not butch. It took me a long time to get over that, to realize I wasn't going to "pass" the entire time. I've already said there are things I do that my brother can't. Like stay in a hospital room watching our grandmother die of cancer, or take care of a grandparent who has had a heart attack, or not condemn people for bad choices that they make. I don't call him a prick or a dumb ass for choosing to be homeless in college. He's called me a faggot and my sister a whore. At least he used to, more often that you should ever use those words to someone. My brother never lost friends over something he couldn't help. I doubt he was ever made fun of in school. He had my father's attention because he played sports. Every season where he was on the field the life of our family revolved around him. Including several of my and my sister's birthdays. I'm not saying that I didn't have the opportunity, but there was never a question that one of us may want otherwise. When my parents out ted me to him, he didn't speak to me for two months and still doesn't. He doesn't say much to anyone in the family. That is another blog. 

But my brother doesn't sling hate in my direction in thinly veiled jokes either. He at least has the decency and the courtesy to do that. I'd like to say this makes this other person look small. And it does. I'm no better, but I know I'm a prick, I don't hide it. I don't say something and hide behind "Just kidding". So not only does that make him a prick but a coward. He should do us both a favor and not speak to me. I won't lose sleep. As it stands now I'm tired of slinging mud back and coming up with a quick response hiding behind a Cheshire grin and steely eyes. You can hate me, but do it for something I can change (i.e., making fun of people, not moving out of the way, cussing, being a huge prick). It's cool. I may be a sissy, but at least I'm not a coward. 

I kinda like Joe Bidden

In what some would call a surprise move, Sen. Barack Obama picked Sen. Joe Bidden, as his running mate. To those who have seen Mr. Obama in action before this should come as no surprise. He is very politically shrewd. If anything I respect him because he can play the game and generally do a good job of it. What are the two main concerns of the American public toward Mr. Obama? Age and experience. Mr . Bidden has both by about 20 years. In fact he's borrowed another one of Kennedy's plays. The difference here is that LBJ carried Texas and much of the South, and Mr. Bidden does neither. However both sought the Democratic nomination. 

I like Joe Bidden though, for several reasons. First of all he is not Hillary Clinton. He does not seem to be a power-whoring, money-grubbing slick ass with less class than the average Chinese concubine. I also like Mr. Bidden because his mouth gets him in trouble. And, what's more he could give a rat's ass. Not only did he insult the Indian community while campaigning in Connecticut, but he chose not to apologize for it. I mean it's Connecticut how much could it really hurt? Not to mention that the quote involving Indians and something about 7-11's, while a vicious stereotype (is oft times totally true), it's not something that doesn't get volleyed around the average American dinner table once a week, if not once a night. Then there is the comment about Obama being a "rare, articulate, black man" or something along those lines. Despite heavy flack he did relatively little to weather the storm.  You have to admire that kind of unflinching, opinionated talk from a politician. Finally something that isn't wrapped in euphemism, said while dancing around an issue. Maybe that is what Mr. Obama and America are looking for. There is more than meets the eye. 

So here's to you Mr. Bidden, from one prick who can't control his mouth to another. Go get 'em!

I hope tomorrow is cleaner

One of the last times I visited my great-grandmother in Texas City I was struck by the sky. The sky is so fascinating because of its vastness. I love a blue sky. Baby blue, clean, no clouds, not even the vaguest hint of one. Stretching, miles, forever. The night sky is the same, but it has different nuances, different meanings, and gives me a different feeling. The last time I visited Bobbin sometime in the summer of 1995 it was cloudy. That night, I noticed how the clouds held everything in. The lights, from buildings, from the refineries, all mixing with smoke and sea breezes. It was beautiful, orange and purple and gray and black. The air was wet and salty and even a little breezy. 

I love the sky like that. It's like that in the Valley too. The breeze ruffling your hair and caressing your face. I love that. It's like God is there, and I can think a little more clearly. It was like that tonight. Some people don't like the clouds, and I have to admit they are at times menacing. At night though, I think it keeps all of the good things from the day in. It reflects progress and change and brings rain, making for a clean tomorrow. 

Bring It On

This time last year, I was a first time teacher who was getting overwhelmed trying to get his Alternative Certification, in an inner city school district, and trying to figure out how I was going to be the white version of Jaime Escalante or Joe Clark. And just like always, when I feel my back against the wall, I closed my eyes and fought like hell. The problem with fighting like hell with your eyes closed is that you don't know where your punches land. 

I remember feeling this way in college, when I was chairing an organization. Out of my desire to do the job perfectly (that is the only way to do things I was brought up to believe), I pushed hard, cussed and yelled and kept moving. This didn't always help the kids and more often that not, gave me a headache from beating my head against a brick wall. Just like in college by the time I got it under control, I'd hurt everyone, my credibility and I felt like hell all the time. The only difference is that last year, I worked out a lot, and still do. It's the only way to control my anxiety. Work out or not eat. Since not eating makes folks want to commit me to a mental institution I work out. 

I try not to let that get out of control. But the desire is always, always, always there. The same way that for the most part I'm the worst person in the world at math, but I have a pretty good running total of my calories consumed everyday. I'm never off my more than 50. I know it's crazy and obsessive, but it's better than it was. This is the only thing I can control. 

I can't control kids. I can't control what they say, what happens when they leave my room or go home. Even if I want to. I can't control what they remember or what they care about. But after praying like some fervent, superstitious Catholic (I always picture Bloody Mary, she prayed when she peed) I have realized that that is Ok. I can only be a bit of calm in the storm that they may have to go home to. I can try and make them laugh and make them see. And even If I don't succeed, even if I am hardly perfect, no one is. Save Jesus (not one of my kids Jesus, but you know, the Son Of God). But, if I don't try, then I've done something even worse. I've given up, and become a hypocrite. So here's to trying. Here's to the brick wall, but this year, I'll try to wear a helmet. 

Why Russia is Scared

Today President Bush has issued his strongest invective against the neo-Soviet government of Vladimir Putin. I say Vladimir Putin, instead of the elected Russian president Mendedev since Mr. Putin is still the real power behind the throne. 

Until I read this article in the NY Times this morning, I had failed to grasp the whole scope of this situation. If you've been following the Russo-American Alliance for some time you are no doubt aware that there have been fierce disagreements. One of them being the missile defense system that the Bush administration has been wanting to implement in Eastern Europe, in countries that used to be in the Soviet Bloc. 

NATO has annexed many former Eastern Bloc countries including Romania, and Latvia (don't quote me on this since they receive scant attention in the news, but several countries have been added near the borders of Mother Russia). 

If you look at Vlad, you see a man who was, at best, unremarkable. He was a paper pusher, a spy and a small man given a big job and too much power. A man, we have discovered who thinks more of his own power and potential than may actually be the case. Much like the little Austrian courier who cursed the end of World War I and started the next one. A continuation, a way to prove not only the might of his country but also his own power.  Both have less-than-naked ambition, and both rose to power after cultivating powerful contacts. Once there, they greatly increased the power of their own parties (and by extension themselves) and silenced whoever and whatever vocalized opposition. Since 2001 Putin's government has shut down Russia's semi-liberal (critical of the government you must understand) TV station. The liberal free-lance magazine that spoke out on certain of Mr. Putin's policies was also silenced. 

Now I truly understand that the historical implications are grave. This is a shadow of the 1930's Europe. A consequence of the end of a Great War, that was renamed Cold, and the bid to rebuild a once "mighty" empire. Russians, like their German brethren of the 1920's, have faced food lines, a devalued currency, and loss of their military prestige. Unlike Wiemar Germany however, Russia was able to maintain her army and her arms. And now we have seen the charismatic leader who is an ambiguous threat. 

If Mr. Bush did see MR. Putin's soul in their first meeting back in 2001, I wonder if he saw the devil, or the impending darkness. And, while I am more than hesitant to begin a new war in the midst of 2 failing ones, I would rather uphold democracy than live with a new holocaust on my conscience. 

More than an echo

Yesterday I blogged about the troubles in Eastern Europe. This part of the world has been conquered and subjugated so often that I wonder if its citizens would rather be part of an "empire", inside the safe box of being told what to do and how to do it by a much more superior power. 

Yesterday, the historical yesterday that means days, months or years, half a century, Georgia was the territory that belonged to a country in the throes of a world in turmoil. Governments, and ideologies had begun to replace dynasties. These governments promised enlightenment, a change, defending those who had never been defended. But these governments became more repressive than the czar on his throne. Despite promises of racing into the future, the fuedal system remained, until the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. 

Yesterday, out of the ruins of the Austro-Hungarian Empire , a small country of different ethnic groups, led by men who had studied Western democracy , began. A proud, nationalistic country that celebrated the differences that held it together. This Czechoslovakia no longer exists. It's last president of this bygone age was driven from his homeland by 2 different tyrants. The first time he left, it was the birth of the Holocaust. He had been outplayed by people who had sworn to protect his small country. Instead they carved it into the pieces of a new empire, with a puppet government in an effort to forstall the inevitable. 

Today, we learned that peace in this part of Europe is always brokered by men who want the least amount of conflict. Again there are ethnic disputes that are being encouraged and toyed with by a more powerful country who wants to return to its emperical glory. Now as then, the man at the helm of the more powerful country has curtailed the press and the civil liberties. Today Russia retains control of the part of the country that considers itself Russian. Yesterday, the Germans had used the excuse of protecting its ethnic citizens to carve up the strongest true democracy on the contient at the time. By copying the Nazis the Russians have told the Georgians that the West will not help them. The Georgians have learned that democracy must be fought for, and if you're not strong enough than you don't deserve to be free. Because not only does Russia occupy this part of Georgia's borders, it has been given the liberty (by this Western-brokered peace deal) to intervene farther into Georgia if it deems the threat to be significant enough. Today, like yesterday, there is "Peace in our Time, " fragile now as then. 

More Gumbo (ya-ya!) and loose ends

So, after talking for my girlfriend (and by girlfriend I mean "Say, Girl whatchu doing?") I found out that we have to report back to school Monday morning, not Wednesday morning like I had been thinking. This puts me at a huge disadvantage, mostly because I want to go out Sunday night and sleep in Monday. I still will...more than likely. I can't help but thinking how quickly the summer went, or really how fast time does fly, having fun or not. Last night I met up with a friend from high school, who recently moved to town. Beside the fact that we probably haven't seen each other since Graduation six years ago, and beside the fact that I'm half my former size I'd say it was a good evening. It's really nice to have someone who knows where you come from every once in a while. For me that was college. I don't like who I was in high school, I never go back to my hometown (I hardly did when my parents still lived there) and I'd rather castrate myself with a rubber band than talk to most of the folks I grew up with, even my friends. So, it is totally by chance and just sheer Grace that this girl and I met up...but it made for a nice evening nonetheless. I also got 2 bottles of wine for $4 so I can't complain. The only downside was that you couldn't buy more than 2...damn TABC or whoever.

I'm a little nervous/excited. I signed up to run my first 10K in about 16 yrs. I used to run when I was a kid and took some time off to go through the whole fat, pimply faze in high school. A few years ago I got tired of being the fun, chubby one and decided I'd be the super skinny, funny one. In reality I was the crazy, gay anorexic with a sharp wit. So now finally, I'm just me, funny, smart, oozing charm and bravado to mask deep scars and insecurity. Today instead of not eating and working out a ton, I work out a ton and don't worry as much about what I eat. SO anyway I started running around the time I started going a little crazy, and the running just didn't stop. I'm not always sure the crazy did, but at least it's more mellow and fun.

Here's a quick note tho: If someone tells you they're not crazy, it's bullshit. It might not be your brand but it's still crazy. And being from the South, I come by it honestly, and have learned to embrace it. It's not as bad as it sounds.

So back to nervous/excited. I signed up for the 10K yesterday, and it's just about 10 days away...I'm a good runner but I still don't want to look like a huge jackass. So I started trying to interval train and get a little faster. FLO JO ain't go shit on me...

IF you've been reading you know that I read anything (well almost anything, I don't read Playboy, the pictures of vaginae scare me), and this summer I've had lots of time to read. I read several different news sources daily. So I have plenty of time to be aware of the world and any impending scandal...and as promised the Joel Osteen scandal is just juicy (and gotten juicier, even a little stupid maybe)...like an orange or a wet something I am afraid of ever seeing (yea I went there). This is basically just a huge cat fight.

So the stewardess claims several things:
1. That Miz Osteen was trying to get the attention of "the only White girl on the plane"- this is a possibility, but I'm sure that being the Houston socialite bitch that she is, Miz Osteen has had black people clean things for her. I don't mean that to be racist. I don't mean that only black folks can clean houses. I'm a white male and I've cleaned my fair share of houses. To be especially gay I cleaned a local beauty parlor growing up for $50 a week too. Let's be honest though. To charge that whites are the only race capable of being bigoted or racist is just plain crap. I know Mexicans who won't speak to me because I speak better Spanish than they do. I know that folks in my neighborhood (which is heavily black) look at me as some rich white kid. It's just the way of our world, however sad that is.

2. Miz Brown (the stewardess or goddess in the sky) also claims that she saw Miz Osteen "eyeing" the cockpit, and therefore she (Miz Brown) was only trying to protect the cockpit. Seriously? Did she think she was Jodie Foster in "Flight plan?" Was she an undercover Air Marshall? Does she know King Fu? Or does being ghetto fab and having razor sharp falsies make her the Continental Air Karate Kid? Miz Osteen, was probably just going to who she considered to be in charge of the plane. To her it was no different than talking to the manager at a restaurant. I doubt she was storming the cockpit in an attempt to free Islamic militants.

3. This is just plain funny. There witness for the prosecution is a psychologist who specializes in treating African-American women. This Dr., says that as a Black woman Miz Brown was especially traumatized because she was dealing with in ingrained inferiority complex. Now I'll have to ask my black girlfriends about this one. But if we're talking about ingrained inferiority complexes, let's talk about growing up a gay sissy in the South, in my father's house where (no matter what he says) anything less than living up to his expectation was forbidden. Next time I get the urge to stop eating after someone says something ugly to me or I get into a bitch-fight at the bar, I'll sue the bastard for my complex. You see, we are damaged all the time. Constantly. It's life and it's messy, and we're only human. We're going to fuck things up. But to think you're the only one to carry that cross is pretty narcissistic, even for me. I'm a homo, we know narcissism. Here's the other thing. There is the point, always where you perpetrate the crime by staying on it, by focusing. You're damaged by others all the time, but if you can't ever let go you're just damaging yourself. That's what I think. And no one but you should have to pay for that. Miz Brown needs to realize you only have yourself to depend on. No man, no friends. You must do things on your own, others can only help or support you.

4. I'd just like to say that calling your spouse as a character witness is usually bullshit, even if you're married to John-Boy Walton's pastor step brother will 12 billion religous zealouts, err...I mean followers. Not only do I just not believe or like tele-evangilists (even if they make Lazarus rise from the dead), you're not going to rat out your wife so that some other silly woman gets 10 % of your net worth. Not to mention you're also not going to rat on your wife because she puts out. I'm just throwing that out there.

Then one last thing: The Hillary Memo. Oh Jesus! I'm not surprised. You could tell all the time during the campaign. That article is just completely awesome. Hil, you look like a lezzie, might as well own it and grow a pair, Madame Presidente.

C'est si bon...

This is juicier than wet....


http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200809/hillary-clinton-campaign


Big Surprise! This is awesome. Totally awesome.