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.

Cracking It Open...

No doubt politically aware Americans (and others, but we'll focus on what I know) have been silently watching Russia's military exercise into Georgia with some trepidation. Most Americans may be afraid that the recent drop in oil prices will become a faint dream, and again we'll be worrying about what to sacrifice to be able to pay to drive our cars. This is perfectly natural. That was even the first thought that popped into my mind. Here's why we should be afraid...

According to the article I posted yesterday, Georgia is one of the few former Soviet republics that has managed to consolidate it's democracy, while maintaining a decent (this is Eastern Europe we're talking about here) standard of living. Even with news reports this morning, analysts are wondering if this isn't a message to other fledglings democracies trying to break away from Mother Russia. Will the West be there when you really need them?

I hate to point it out, but there are some eerie historical parallels that, if you're paying attention, should make you scared. First of all Russia has been fomenting the ethnic unrest that has plagued South Ossentia (the region in dispute) for some time. Now ostensibly the fighting came a little too close to Russia for comfort and so, the larger country decided to go in and protect her borders. After that she just kept going taking half of the country. Can we say Czechoslovakia? I'm so glad the Mr. Putin has borrowed from Adolf Hitler's play book. At least now we can see the inklings of the monster he is. "Good Morning America" this morning played a distress call from a beleaguered Georgian president with American leanings. I can't help but wonder if there was a similar scene being played out more than 60 years ago as the Lincoln-loving President Benes was hoping to maintain his little democracy to the south of a mighty menace. The world did not worry then. Given the precedents that this appeasement policy set, the world is a little more vocal now. Actions however speak louder than words. And some actions, by this administration should be alarming.

While there has been recent turmoil in the US-Russo alliance as of late, they have not been over the fact the Mr. Putin has, in his term as President of all the Russias, curtailed civil liberties, shut down and silenced the voice of any liberal leanings in the press or strengthened Russia's Communist party; but rather over the fact that Russia and Iran are trading partners. Americans are also not worried about an opaque administration that has staged a pseudo-presidential election, reduced the power of the legislature and consolidated the authority of the Prime Minister. Like most European countries the Prime Minister is the mover and the shaker in Russia. Mr. Putin (after appointing his presidential successor) is now filling the post.

Post-9/11 in the U.S. we have seen an increasingly hawkish administration invade 2 countries under wobbly pretenses. And, however justified those invasions may have been on the heels of the worst terrorist attack this country has ever seen, they have become botched ideological wars, and what I see as a grab for overseas colonies.

Americans have also seen their civil liberties curtailed in the form of the Patriot Act. Like it or not, believe it or not, agree with it or not, you are being watched. Your cell phone calls are being monitored and recorded, and can be listened to on command. Your bank accounts are being watched (should you try to buy anthrax, or ammonium nitrate, or perhaps finance Hezbollah). And as a loyal American I do see the necessity to protect ourselves, and that these measures help us to do that.

As a loyal American, I must also be a little worried. Where does it end? What other corners of my life will the authorities want to see? What if I'm going on some other list for that purchase I made at the book store? Why has our president been less-than-forthcoming about his foreign policy or the fact that a reason was fabricated to go to war? Why are more Americans not concerned that we are not upset with Russia because of her neo-Communism but because they don't agree with us on Iran. It's like not being friends with Susie because she doesn't think that Rhoda is being a huge bitch...a little elementary don't you think? Incidentally we're pissed of at the Mexicans because they still talk to Cuba. And now, that we see signs of true 1930s totalitarianism, the only thing we can do is give a Chamberlain-esq "We will stand by our allies" response and hope that Putin, like Hitler, will be content to scare the little countries around him for a while...

We'll Crack This Open Tomorrow

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121841306186328421.html?mod=opinion_main_commentaries

And so another week begins...

I didn't feel about writing about the news today, even though there is much to say, I just don't feel super knowledgeable about any one thing to really be able to talk on it, so I'm thinking we'll try a stream-of-conscienceousness thing (hey, it worked for Hemingway didn't it?).

I'm not sure if it's the fact that I slept last night, or that we have a slight break from the kind of heat that not only makes me want to rap and pillage, or that I have a 3 day week and a bit of a long weekend before school starts, but for a Monday I'm feeling really refreshed. It could also be that I got buck wild Friday and spent the rest of the weekend trying to recoup. My only complaint is this nagging restlessness that I can't seem to find much to do with. I should use it to finish ironing and cleaning my house, but what fun is that?

I've said it before, but I'm totally surprised by the people that come and go in and out of your life. It's kind of like the tide. One minute you might get this awesome shell, and then out that wave goes and in comes some sea weed. Then who knows. Point being that I have a few friends that really have been taking care of me lately. I'll hardly ever admit to it, but sometimes I do need someone to carry a little weight for me, and for a while there it was really stacking up.

I think the best friendships are the unexpected ones. You know, like that hidden present on Christmas morning. The one that you find hidden at the back of the tree that you definately didn't put on your list (and for real, when I make a list, or really any sort of delcaration, I expect it to be followed. I know what I want) that ends up being your favorite thing. Soon no matter how much you didn't want it to begin with, you'd be damned to throw it out. I have one friend, in particular right now, who fits that. And whether we're sitting watching tv with a bottle of wine, going to brunch or they're watching me throw dollar bills at some drag queen, I'm pretty thankful to have them.

I guess what I'm trying to say (not totally successfully) is that you can't forget the small things. There might be some huge things in my life I'd like to change right now or as Dora would like to say "Whatever I'm unsatisfied with." No lie, that list is extensive. Probably always will be. I have come to accept the fact that I will always want to have things be better, have something to conquer or do, be reaching for that unattainable perfection. I guess what Buddah would call Nirvana. My own shallow, baby pool Nirvana, but Nirvana nonetheless. But the little things, like that person who smiles at you, or that friend who laughs with you or even the time you picked to go to the grocery store can be just as important as the steps you actively take. More often that not it's not so much what I do, as what is done for me.

Eating this Up...

I know, without one shred of doubt that I'm probably going to hell. It's not that I don't believe in God or know that I have many blessings, it's just a general premonition I have. Rightly or wrongly that's how I feel. On top of that, the fact that most religious organizations tend to ostracize and vilify homosexuals makes me extremely wary of organized religion. Especially the showy, mega-church, 700 Club kind. It seems like the new Golden Boy for this brand of God-loving is Joel Osteen. You know the young guy from Houston who looks a lot like John-Boy Walton.

I'm going to preface this. These are my opinions and I am in no way perfect. But, it seems that Mrs. Joel Osteen (aka Victoria) the "co-pastor" of Lakewood Church is being sued by a stewardess from Continental Airlines for throwing a hissy fit on a flight from Houston to Colorado in 2005.

According to one report Miz Osteen asked several stewardesses to clean a spot off of her First Class seat (I'd imagine sometime around or before take of from Houston). After she was passed off to several other stewards, she decided she'd follow one of them to the cockpit. While attempting to do her best impression of one of the 9/11 hijackers in an attempt for someone to clean a spot on her sat, she brushed past the Plaintiff Sharon Brown, elbowing her breast and pushing her against a bathroom door. Miz Osteen was the fined $3000 by the FAA and kindly asked to get her spoiled ass off the plane. Coincidentally because Miz Osteen doesn't realize patience is a virtue (extolled in the Bible, remember this pastor lady) she then delayed the other travelers on the flight 2.5 hours.

I have no idea where to begin with this. For one, I'm sure that Miz Osteen is perfectly capable of handling that spot by herself. Unless she's a paraplegic, but since I've seen pictures of her walking into court unassisted I'm doubtful. Also, was she not aware of the other 50 or more passengers boarding the plane? Has she not flown before so that she's unaware of how much the flight attendants are trying to take care of right before the plane takes off? Could she not have waited? Not to mention: Is this the type of behavior you would expect from someone who tells people how to live their lives? Is she setting a good example for her children, much less the 30,000 plus people who watch her on TV?

Now don't misunderstand. I get that Miz Osteen is human, and that as such, we all make mistakes. I make them daily. All the time. And I have, on more than one occasion, acted like a raving, spoiled bitch in public. But I'm not telling folks how to live or counseling them on the Word of Our Lord. This isn't the behavior you'd expect out of an adult, much less again, a pastor's wife. A really famous one. The new Mrs. Billy Graham. Get the picture? How is it that you've built an empire out of being righteous, but instead, because of the power and status that you've gained you're acting like the spoiled, rich, Houston socialite you've become?

I get so tired of being condemned for something that I cannot help, or even things that I can, only to find out that you're just as much a sinner as me. I'd also like to know if nothing is sacred anymore? This brand of pop Christianity has dangerous consequences. Not only can it be extremely off-putting but I question the sincerity of some one's beliefs when they're flashing them on screens and book covers. Didn't Jesus try to stamp out the money lenders? I'm not saying don't talk about what you believe, I just wonder if this is the most dignified way to behave when you're trying to spread the word of God.

I also think Tele-evangelism is a crock. Look at all of the corruption. Jim Baker, Jimmy Swaggert, God knows who else. Should you be taking private money for what you believe? Where does the line come in? Wouldn't the money Victoria Osteen spent on several first class tickets have been put to better use going to charity? Would that not give her ultimately more credibility as a woman of God whose only goal in life is to spread His love? Bottom line: I know no one is perfect, least of all me, but this is where I think the secular and the divine collide and one of them usually has already gotten stomped on...

But it gets better. Sharon Brown, the poor helpless stewardess is suing for damages to the figure of 10% of Victoria Osteen's worth. "According to court documents, Brown claims that she suffers from anxiety and hemorrhoids because of the incident involving Victoria Osteen and said her faith was affected. She is also suing Victoria Osteen for medical expenses for counseling."

Now I get the anxiety. Somewhat. No one deserves to be treated that way, or abused while doing their job. But maybe the stewardesses on that flight were less than courteous. I know I think of most of the stewardesses I encounter are one step up from bitchy prostitutes who've outgrown their utility. But then, I haven't flown Continental in years. But seriously? 10% of The Osteens means you just don't want to work. How much counseling do you need? It's not like she was wearing a burqa screaming that it was Allah's will do blow up the plane. Not to mention that I've done some research, and unless Ms. Brown shit her pants from her encounter with Miz Osteen and lost her asshole, I'm not sure how the hemorrhoids could be damaged. Did she go into premature labor? Those are the causes of hemorrhoids. Stress to your asshole or diarrhea, not being pushed into a door. That leads me to believe that Miz Sharon Brown might just need to get off her ass, get back onto a plane and do her thing.

The case is now in front of a Houston jury. Pray God it can only get better :).

http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/us/AP-Osteens-Wife-Lawsuit.html

Tapped out

That one Advil PM I took last night is still with me this morning. Almost 4 hours after I woke up, and more than 12 hours after I took it. OK, seriously? My mother says that my body has always been more (overly?) responsive to stimulants and more importantly depressants. "Why honey, if you were being especially grumpy and I needed to get stuff done, I'd just give you a little Tri-a-menic, and I'd have a good 3 hours." Umm, I think folks have been borrowing from Mom's playbook and taken it too far. But I get it. I have to say this must be true. The past few times I've taken anything I wake up feeling like aliens must have sedated me while performing some type of radical experiment on me. But, since I woke up with both testicles this morning, I think it's just the Advil.

I haven't been sleeping well lately. If you read yesterday, there was actual proof. I rambled like the fool I am. But what really bugs me, besides just being exhausted, is that I can't quite put my finger on what's causing my insomnia. Or worse than that, I know deep down what the deal is and refuse to admit it. I have no problem with confrontation. I usually don't mind admitting to my faults or confronting unpleasant things about myself. The problem is never the confrontation. The problem I have with any obstacle is feeling licked. And be it the fact that I feel like the same old things keep popping up or the fact that I feel like the subject in a weird sleep deprivation experiment, today, I just feel licked.

I know this is silly. Stupid in fact, given my life and what I was dealing with last year at this time, my outlook is completely different. I've already survived the hard stuff. I also hate this because I'm feeling sorry for myself, really this whole blog thing is pretty self-indulgent and I can't stand that. Everyone has problems. Mine are pretty mild compared. My rational self tells me that. I have it great. Good job, great friends, decent looks. I can be charming and witty and funny and I can kick some ass to. What more could you want?

It could be too that I am ready to go back to school, meet me kids, get back into my routine, and at the same time I like not having a ton of responsibility. I want a little more time to not care. It's like warm air and cold air and I'm stuck in the storm.

We'll see. It's Wed. the week is all downhill from here. Then I'm taking a few days off next week and getting ready to take on the world for the next 9 mos. And that, boys and girls, is all I've got.

The Run Down

I pride myself on being an elementary insomniac. I don't mean that I stay up for days and days on end, but I usually average five to six hours of sleep a night (7 hours is absolutely luxurious, 8 hours means I'm ill). A normal person gets 8. Somehow being able to function on less than what a normal person gets makes me above-average, this kind of superhuman. I think we're conditioned to think this is the way it should be. You hear of FDR and Churchill and Lyndon Johnson all sleeping only a few hours a night and then making world-altering decisions before sunrise. Great leadership must have to do with lack of sleep. Being someone, doing something, making your impact would mean that you must also be able to run on nothing.

Having experienced this myself in college and now in my career life. This is somewhat true. However, I'm willing to bet that just like myself, these men had shoulder pain, a true need for caffine, a naseous feeling and were generally raving pricks because all they wanted to do was fall asleep. I mean what else are you going to do at 4 a.m. when you can't sleep? That's right, pace your office or apt or God knows what else and think. I'd imagine too much thinking, thoughts churning, bumping and rolling inside a brain, unable to stop have a good deal to do with not being able to sleep.

In any case, I'm making no sense today because I can't think. After 2 nights of under, under-average sleep (I'm talking maybe 10 hrs in the past 2 days) I'm ready to call it quits. I can't think, can't focus and really don't have much witty to say. So, if you read this regularly, I'm sorry. If this is your first reading, come back tomorrow. Tonite I intend to clean my entire apt, go to the store and be in bed no later than 10 p.m. Maybe it's not about how much you can go without that makes you great, but knowing when to slow down and breathe.

In the Stars

The demise of my summer is rapidly approaching and in a matter of weeks (about 2 to be exact) I will have to stop pretending I'm in college again and go back to work. Instead of being receptionist Steven (Complete with phone, computer and the beginning stages of carpal tunnel) I will be Teacher Steven (complete with 30 kids, lesson plans, and stress). I will have to go to bed early, be on all day, and shape tomorrow. So what did I do last night? This bitch went out. Until 2:30, pretending to be 21 even when he knew damn well you don't recover the same way at 25.

This was not the remarkable part of my evening. No. The remarkable part was the palm reader. Now I'm pretty level headed but I do believe in psychics and on occasion have dreams only to experience deja vu later. Since this was something I've always wanted to do, I decided to give it a try. There were no pentagrams or skulls or chicken feathers. The only thing about this woman sitting on the corner of Throckmorton that was remotely stereotypical was that she smelled of patchouli.

I know, I know. I can hear you all shaking your heads now and telling me that she was a fake. Except, I didn't even talk for the first 10 minutes. I just put my hands out, palm up, and we didn't make eye contact until she was finished. She did not ask questions and the most vague thing she said was "someone". There was no "I see a man, or I'm getting a picture".

Some of what she said didn't surprise me. Some of what she told me, my friends have been telling me or will tell me from time to time. But I'd never met this woman before, she doesn't even know my name and I don't know hers. But strangely, I believe her. Maybe because I want to. She said some nice things. But she said some not so nice things for my friend. I could tell from our conversation that she also wouldn't have been shy giving me bad news. I'm not telling you to believe or disbelieve. I am sure that she could not be totally right on. She did not predict events. She did not tell me how I would die or when (other than the fact that I would have a long life). Here's what made me believe her. She told me about myself. Like I said before she told me things that only my closest friends would know, and she didn't know me from Adam.

What if, it all comes true. I'm not saying I woke up this morning and rushed out to greet today worshipping her feet or anything. She didn't even give me advice, that wasn't the point. I did it on a lark. But what she did give me was renewal. Today, if even just for today, she made me a little less cynical and a little more optimistic. I do not feel like I have to fight today. For me, today, I'd like to think she was that little voice from heaven telling me it will all be OK.

Hey Einstein...

Albert Einstein once compared insanity to doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. This would seem to ring true. I totally believe in fate, or divinity. I like to think that there is a Higher Power looking out for me in heaven. They want me to do well. 

"For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future." The verse from the book of Jeremiah sustained me from the time I got confirmed until I was half-way through college. It's a comforting thought. Beyond comforting to know that no matter how dark the sky and how high the wind there is a shelter, a place to go, sunrise peaking over the horizon. Now in my mid-twenties, I still remember that verse. The only one I can still say word for word. I still know, in my heart of hearts, the silent chamber that no one ever sees that this is true. 

If this is my belief, not thought, or dream or what have you, but my belief then why do I sweat the small stuff? I am usually pretty good about seeing the bigger picture, predicting the end. I have no idea whether this is some gift from my redneck ancetors, like Loretta Lynn asking "Whatchu see in them grouns Mommy?" Or, if worse, that this is something that happens because I think it will. A self-fulfilling prophesy. 

I'm not complaining. I also see that no matter how things don't work out the way I want them to, they do work out. That must be some kind of divine intervention. Because here is where the crazy part comes in. That one thing that I keep doing over and over. No matter what I see at the bottom of the coffee cup, or know that things will turn out in the end, I drive myself crazy trying to control what's in the middle. 

I dunno. I'm not one of these born-agains that thinks that they're just at the mercy of God at his chess board. I don't believe that praying will solve all your problems. Thinking maybe, but to just ask God to deliver you, well to me that's asinine. Since I've always given credence to my own power to affect my life I also believe that while there is a master plan, "God helps those that help themselves". That must be why I push constantly. I fully intend to break down doors, knock out windows, break souls all for the outcome that I want. While I'm leaving a swath of destruction a mile wide to bend everything to my will (despite the fact that I usually saw it happening in the first place) I pray like some Catholic fool. I light a St. Jude, finger a rosary and say "Please, Dear God (insert supplication)". Really, I'm not asking him to intercede for the cause. I'm hoping that he'll see that I know no other way out and he will pray for the ultimate lost cause, me. 

League of Their Own (at least that was my favorite)

To look at me now you wouldn't find it hard to believe that I don't really watch a ton of sports. I basically don't pay attention to much that doesn't have to do with me. Since I look like a flailing retard playing sports this isn't a stretch. What you may not know is that I love baseball. Ok maybe not love, but it's the one sport I can semi-play and understand. America's past time was the first sport my brother played, and really one of the few things I remember us doing as a family growing up. Dad was president of one of the little leagues for a few years and when Nolan Ryan's minor league team came to Round Rock we were instrumental in helping the effort to get it in there. So what?

This morning I'm sitting watching "Rookie of the Year" one of the many, many baseball movies we watched growing up. We were weaned on these under-dog type stories. I'm not sure if they were for all of us or for Ben, so that he would become the next Babe Ruth. My favorite two movies were "The Babe" with John Goodman, "Sandlot" that featured the dorky kid who couldn't play but was accepted anyway (yeah, we can see why I liked that one) and a "League of Their Own (I must have had an early affinity for fag hags and lezzies). All of these movies showed their characters to be flawed, human, stoppable. Against all they knew that could stop them they kept going, perservering. 

These movies did a lot. They bonded us to our dad and for all I know are the reason Ben became the Rudy of Texas A&M. They also taught us to perservere. Dad always says "I may have been an asshole, but you can do it on your own. You can survive." That's true. We did learn to survive and keep going no matter what. The three is us are survivors in the best sense of the word. In our search for perfection and out of neccesity we've battled out demons and won. Each of us has had trouble with eating disorders in one form or another. We have all had to support ourselves since we turned 18, and we were pretty much doing most of that in high school anyway. None of us moved back home, like our cousins and I'm sure we could probably kick everyone's ass blindfolded. That or die trying. We are truly in a league of our own. I'm not sure if that's always a good thing. The three of us tend to piss a lot of people off and be misunderstood. Just like Dad. So it seems that what these movies did to us the most was make us want to make him proud. Look for his approval. Reach for perfection. Whether or not he meant it to be that way, it is what it is. Everyone can be extraordinary, most of us are in our own way. Not everyone gets a movie made. 

Five People You'll Meet in Heaven

I've never read the book, but this sounds like a nice idea. Since I'm somewhat at a loss as to what to write today, I thought I would work on my list. I truly believe in God. I shit you not, you can't survive without realizing that some higher power is looking out for you. I consider myself blessed beyond what I deserve. But I do not think that I'll ever see the Pearly Gates. So this will be who I would love to meet in the event they overlook that I have a reserved seat in hell. 

First and foremost, Winston Churchill. I have a huge affinity for the man who saved Britain from the "Huns". When most Britons were calling for peaceful relations with Germany, Winston saw the danger and tried to rally his countrymen to do something about it. He did this a fell from grace, was on the outs with his constituency and nearly lost his wife in the process. He struggled with bouts of depression, he called it his "black dog" and he learned to be a writer (he was prolific: writing articles, speeches and even a biography) to overcome a lisp and stutter and gave the world some of the most memorable speeches of the English language. While he once told a servant he could speak to him any way he chose because he was "A great man", i doubt he ever truly believed it. 

I would also like to meet Anne Frank. However while I'm sure she is interesting, her voice has been heard and I would like to meet her mother and sister. While Anne and her father had the benefit of being heard after the war, Edith Frank and her elder daughter Margot, were silenced forever. According to history Margot was always every one's favorite, the Frank Girl that got noticed, now she is the one that we know the least about. We know even less about her mother. Edith had found her identity as a housewife, and identity she had to give up when she moved into The Secret Annex, and those duties were usurped by August van Pels, the matriarch of the other family in hiding. Shelley Winters apparently played her to the tee in the movie. Since history is always from the perspective of that which is written, I wonder what these two women would say today. In fact, I would like to have a conversation with the other 5 inhabitants of the Annex.

I would like to meet Mary Magdalene, the fallen woman. Was she really the wife of Jesus? Was she a whore, or the pretty younger daughter who was sold as a child bride to a wealthy landowner? Did she love the Roman she had her affair with? Did she believe in Jesus or did she follow him because no one else would have her. A Biblical Belle Wattling. Would she like the fact that she is the Patron Saint of the Penitent? Was she sorry, or just glad that someone, a man saw her for what she was. Imagine what you would do if you had been sold to a man three times your age, to be his play thing. After his death (sometime when you were in your late teens or early twenties) she was expected to stay on her plantation and die with him. Then came the Roman solider, a Centurion, an officer. Was he her lover or was she fulfilling another obligation. I'd like to think she did what she had to do to survive and regretted little. 

I would like to meet Katherine of Aragon, the youngest child of Ferdinand and Isabella. She was sent to England as a child, to marry a Tudor prince who was frail and died before he could become a man. She then married his brother, fell in love, only to be tossed out on her ass so that he could marry one of her ladies in waiting. Did she die loving him, one of England's most famous kings? Did she forgive him for betraying her? In her day she was the most educated woman in Europe, did she realize her own power? Again pushed to the side, we know little of what she said and felt. She deserves a voice. 

I would like to meet my great-grandparents. I'd love to know who they were with out the veneer of reverence they have acquired after death. On my father's side, I knew them only as men and women in their eighties and nineties. Sharing memories they had acquired as part of the Greatest Generation were not what they wanted to talk about. My great-grandmother was a mover and a shaker in Texas City, widowed after the 1947 disaster killed her husband. They had been upper middle class and she did not want to associate with my grandmother's in laws. Sharecroppers who ended up living in the back of a church. I have heard that my great-grandfather who was killed hung the stars and moon. I'm sure this must be true. I know my great-grandmother must have been a lot to handle. I know because I see bits of her in me. Anyone who can put up with either one of us must be special. 

I know literally nothing about my mother's grandparents. I know my mother's Grammy (the Original we'll say) was German. So German she grew up speaking it at home, only to lose it later in life because the man she married didn't speak it.  They were hit hard by the depression. They raised to kids, and he died young, before my Grammy got married and started raising her own family. I met the Original Grammy, in December 1982. She was keeping a promise she had made to her doctor. She was staying alive just long enough to meet her great-grandson. Three days after we left Austin shortly after my first Christmas she died, having done what she said she would do.  My mother's paternal grandparents are even more of a mystery. They were considerably well off, raised 4 kids. Three girls and a boy. "It was like having 3 mothers," Grandpa would say. His father was an accountant, born in a county in Ireland that I cannot find on a map. His wife was born in the part of the Low Countries that changed hands so often you couldn't keep track. She was sent here to go to school and grew up speaking French and English. They both died younger. 

As an adult, as someone who might establish his own family one day, I would like to know them not for who they are said to have been, but for who they were. What were their thoughts, motivations, dreams. What idiosyncrasies of theirs did I inherit? Am I a whole from their parts? Would they be proud?