A few weeks back I made this big stink about writing more frequently and yet since that time I have wound up writing less than ever.
I haven’t cooked anything new.
I’m still in the office a million hours a week.
And now I’ve taken on a second job, albeit a small one at one night a week, as a Quiz Master.
So, I’m writing today, dammit.
I’m trying to find meaning and balance in my life. I say “meaning”, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I am an adult now, which is easy to claim on the basis of age, but much harder to grasp in terms of…everything else. I have no children because they are expensive. Also, they smell, but I could probably get over that. I do not feel settled in my career because when you’re a child there is only the want to be. To be an astronaut, a veterinarian, a doctor, a teacher, a lion wrangler, something definitive, something viewed as great, and you’re blissfully unaware in youth of the lesser positions, such office administration, personal assisting, the horrible world that is retail, etc. You think everything is fair, that you work 8:30am to 5pm, at which point you’re allowed to have a life and holidays off. And for working those hours you earn enough cash to afford said life, a vacation once a year, medical bills, the surprise of a car breaking down. The world has changed, however. And I am cranky for it.
Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Maybe the world hasn’t changed.
Adulthood – Something I’ve sparred with more than once on here. It’s hard to view one’s self as a true adult as I base my idea of an adult on my parents, who I viewed most while a child in the 1980’s. Also, at its core my life is one of learning, of being excited for art, history, the beauty, destruction, and evolution of our past. This blurs the lines of being an adult personally because one is supposed to let go of the loves you have as a child as you grow into maturity. As a child I loved learning, I loved museums. And I will not let go of those.
Speaking of cores, we all have an inner voice within us. If we didn’t we wouldn’t be able to read silently. Boom. Inner voice. As we grow, mature, and learn this inner voices matures with us, is us, defines our rationals and decision making processes. Every once in a while, however, my inner voice isn’t me.
That sounds bizarre and creepy. Scratch that.
What I mean to say is that every once in a while my inner child speaks for my inner voice.
This morning I read an article about a new “Alien Horned” dinosaur discovered in Canada recently. It’s called an “Alien” based on it’s scientific name (Xenoceratops), Xeno of course being latin for Alien. Yeah, no, stop thinking Scientology. I mean, their use of Xenu isn’t exactly wrong, but it’s also not real. Dinosaurs were real (unless of course that offends you, but if it does then you probably wouldn’t be reading my blog).
The point is the new dino didn’t look all that different. He’s instantly recognizable as a close relation to the Triceratops.
Ole’ Xeno himself. (Photo Credit Yahoo News)
So, I see the headline of a new dinosaur discovery and I can’t click fast enough out of childlike wonder and excitement, only for my eyes to rest on a rather familiar-though-slightly-different face. And my inner child’s inner voice takes over and says to me:
“That’s not new. That’s the dinosaur I’d ride like a horse if I lived back then.”
And that’s my first thought on this matter. Not “My, a new relation of a classic. How interesting!”, not “A new discovery! How delightful!”, not “Oh, joy, something new! The World as we know it is astounding!” Nope.
My first thought is that this is boring, because I would ride a triceratops and all of his or her kin like wild ponies of the Cretaceous Period.
WHY is that my first thought looking at poor Xeno Horn over here? First of all, no I wouldn’t have. In the improbable event of finding myself stuck back a few dozens of millions of years ago in the Earth’s beginnings, I would not be saddling up great monsters. Trampled to death? Maybe. Stung by a giant, horrifying insect of yore and left for dead? Most likely. Tour around on a Xenoceratops? Absolutely not. Not only did my inner child hop a ride on a Jules Verne or H.G. Wells premise, but I also came up with the girliest, most childish thought:
Big beast. I ride. He my friend. I call him “Friendy”.
I say “girliest” because though I spent much of my youth working on farms just so I could ride horses, I would have much rather had a dinosaur or pterosaur as a trusty stead; ponies were just practice. This was me at my girliest.
I love history, I respect history, I learn from history. Apparently, however, I will not grow out of my periodic inner child no matter how immature she may forever be.
I don’t think I mind this, though. It’s that childishness that keeps me enthusiastic over the interesting things I love, and I find that joy to be easily contagious to those around me. Maybe it will even make me a good parent, if ever I decide to embark on that experience. I know it certainly made my father a good dad, albeit a pretty corny one.
I’m horrible to watch Antiques Roadshow with. I find myself shouting at the screen a la Indian Jones, “That belongs in a museum!”
And this really is the core of my being: I am excited by old things, find them amazing, fascinating, want them to be accessible to all, and want to get others excited about these objects as well. To learn is to better one’s self and I’d love to write and educate, to spread enthusiasm for something in my daily career.
There are 2 things I want to do with my life. To the average person, they’re very mundane. But to me, however, they’re the equivalent of becoming a rock star.
I want to:
1. Write lesson plans in accordance to state regulations for historical societies and museums in order to entice local schools to take field trips to such establishments.
2. Work and write for Cook’s Country/America’s Test Kitchen, working as an Ethno-Foodologist or, even better, a Food Archeologist.
When I was in junior high and high school I would skip class about once a month or so. None of my friends would ever want to join me and my parents were always very supportive of these escapades. You’d think I had egghead friends and that’s why they wouldn’t skip, or that I had hippy dippy parents that would allow me to be so flagrant about my education, but neither was the case. Well, my mom could kinda be hippy dippy, but that’s a different story. When I decided to skip school I would get a ride to the train station and take Metro North to Grand Central Station. Exciting, right? Who wouldn’t want to skip school to hang out in The City all day?! I would then walk up Park Ave. to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Or I would head west across the park to the American Museum of Natural History (or what’s know as the Museum of Mother Fucking Awesomeness by its fans) and I would spend hours and hours reading in silence, smiling over beauty…with the periodic stop off at the Central Park Zoo to finish the trip. I did this over and over and over again. In high school I was fairly popular, I was certainly no prude, and the most epic parties were normally hosted by my brother or I. But when it came to what I really wanted, it was historical solitude. I would have shared that time with others, allowing them to tag along, but who cared for those things but me?
Photo Credit Jessica Hische
I’m extremely fortunate in the sense that I’ve been to the museums of NYC so frequently that I can’t even count the days spent in their ancient and loving embrace. Dozens of times? Definitely. Hundreds? Very possible. I’ve moved away from that area a couple of times since graduating high school and being unable to take advantage of those museums is always the number one issue that I have when living more than a train ride away. I guess I miss my family, too, but I really miss those museums. In fact, when I visit my family, a jaunt to a museum in NYC is always one of the first afternoons planned. I am not so ego maniacal to ever think I could work at the Museum of Natural History or the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In order to do something like that I would have had to make all the right moves, and absolutely no mistakes, in the professional decisions of my life. The employees and curators of those establishments are my heros, my Steven Tylers and Brad Pitts. Unfortunately, it seems I’ve done the opposite of not making professional blunders thus far in my life. I’ve created quite the resume and educational experience with not one, but two degrees under my belt. They’re just as far from the museum and/or food path as humanly possible. Awesome.
The first time in memory of going to a museum, I was about three years old and with my parents and brother. We headed out to the Museum of Natural History. My brother and I never really got along very well, and on trips like this we were more simply in the same place at the same time rather than actually experiencing something together. We walked passed the dinosaur skeleton in the entry hall and made our way around the mammoths and the naked, hairy neanderthals with the droopy boobs. This was prior to the Rose Center, otherwise we would have probably made a bee line for the giant glass box of Space. The favorite at this time, however, was the Great Hall. The Great Hall is massive, primarily so it can fit the life-sized model of a blue whale. It’s romantically lit, and by that I mean, that it’s somewhat dark, like the depths of the ocean. It consists of two levels with marine life exhibits lining the walls and a large open area in the center, from which one can admire the whale.
Photo credit Linden78. That bitch’ll crush yo’ ass.
I say “admire”.
There are two things I remember from this day, one of my earliest trips to the AMNH:
1. Being horrified in the Great Hall by this massive whale that was going to crush and/or eat me at any moment while…2. George Michael’s Careless Whisper played over the loud speaker. I mean, yeah, technically it was a Wham! song, but, c’mon, it was all George Michael and that damned whale. My mother said she heard “teeny, tiny pounding feet” and turned to see me flying toward her staring over my shoulder at the whale, horrified. And what self respecting toddler wouldn’t be? Even at that young age I knew anything from above could crush you below, both literally and figuratively.
It’s a hazy memory, but it’s very real, and it didn’t just end with that day.
I then proceded to carry around a fear of being in an ocean for years. Playing in the surf = good. Playing far enough out where water could go over your head and therefore allow you to be crushed from above by a whale = bad. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I could picture myself getting out of a boat and into open waters. I wasn’t afraid of whales, so much as being in water with them. I grew up along the north eastern seaboard, so going whale watching was a common activity. I respected their beauty and their power. And their ability to crush me in real life in the ocean or as a giant model in a museum.
Soul inhibited experience or no, I knew to differentiate my fear from what actually caused it and not where the experience occurred. Loosely translated: I didn’t blame the museum for this silly fear that followed me around for a couple of decades.
And to this day I want to be apart of some historical and educational organization that learns from and loves the past, whale or no.
It was announced yesterday that unemployment dropped to 8.5% with 200,000 jobs added to the workforce.
At first seemingly positive, that 8.5% still doesn’t account the hundreds of thousands of American’s who have long since stopped looking for work. And we’re still millions of jobs behind where we need to be for a healthy economy. Growing health care costs and having an entire generation or so of people who are simply unable to retire isn’t helping our economy either.
The American Dream is becoming the American Joke. We’re grasping to an idea that we are simply awesome when the facts remain:
Our kids are obese.
Our jobs are non-existant.
The government as a whole does not care about the well being of the taxpayers. It has not occurred to them that keeping workers healthy means that taxes roll in on high.
Our Rich are richer than ever and the middle class is falling away to disappear all together.
In the fall of 2010 Academy Award nominated graffiti artist named Banksy created a new introduction sequence for the Simpsons. He sums up American Life unapologetically and it’s amazing to look at it now.
When Banksy’s intro first came out it seemed exaggerated to an extent (we all know that unicorn hooves are glittered, not plain gray). We live a privileged life style, even those of us in rougher spots. Few of us are the individuals lucky enough to be given one of those record Wall Street bonuses being handed out this past quarter, but if you’re lucky enough to be in front of a computer someplace reading this – or, better yet, accessing this from your phone – then you probably have something in your life to be thankful for, even if it’s just your own work ethic.
But it has changed. We are unapologetic consumers still, but the life the Simpsons have is what many now aspire to. They live an above average middle class lifestyle, with a four bedroom home, and a household in which only one parent needs to work. Many of us currently have to buy goods from other countries because we are unable to afford the same items manufactured here.
Not enough people have jobs and those who do are often not making enough money. Even Tom Brokaw is so shocked by our outsourcing and American lifestyle that his advice to new grads is to search elsewhere for work: “elsewhere” as in other countries.
What is “enough”, though? I want to have a child. I know I do not make enough for that. I want to pay off my school loans and to have enough in savings that if faced with an emergency or a lost job, I could survive for a couple months, but I don’t make enough for that either. I do have plenty of stuff, though, and while it’s less than many others, it’s still more than I need. I have a game system, but it’s a five year od We have had to pay a price as American’s to have the things we have. The price is guilt and gluttonism. We have swelled, fat CEO’s lording over corporations that now have more rights as humans that homosexuals that want us to spend more, but won’t pay us enough to go to the doctor if we’re sick; ironic considering that if we are to spend money, we have to be well enough to earn a paycheck.
I don’t mean to confuse issues. We’re down and out, but still above many. We’re clinging to ideals that have to change in order to move forward. But we do have to move forward, so wasting political time trying to inhibit civil liberties, bringing race into issues in which it has no place are really far from what we need as a nation to better ourselves. There are two issues that keep coming up in debates that I just don’t want to see any more time wasted on. Neither are helping the present situation.
Let all have equal rights. You’re human, you’re entitled to certain rights, and we’re all equal. Period. Granting a contributing, intelligent, good person the to marry the individuals they love (who merely happen to be the same sex as them) will not cause other people to demand the right to marry ducks. Get over your bullshit causes, your own personal lack of self-esteem, and your want to keep others beneath you. Basic human rights. Don’t waste my time insinuating that keeping these people as lesser citizens is actually good for our nation as a whole.
Yes, the welfare program in this nation needs to be seriously revamped, but it is not a race-based system. Black people are not the only people on welfare, so it would make a great example and really to a nation good if you stopped insinuating that fact. And it does a shit ton of good for American’s of all races. Move along.
What is really important is lessening the gap between the classes, creating jobs, making healthcare accessible, and funding schools. Better lives for all, a booming economy dripping with profits, healthy people working hard for the decent lives they’re thankful to have, and future generations who might actually be useful and competitive to other nations.
The gap between the classes is ever widening. We were angered and nauseated by the working conditions in this nation during and immediately after the American Industrial Revolution, but now we’re hard pressed to acknowledge that worse conditions persevere in countries all over the world in factories owned and operated by American companies. Unfortunately, we’ve come to a point where we have to have cheaper clothing and home goods because it’s all we can afford. We’re dependent on those conditions due to this huge gap.
Food costs have grown since Banksy’s film, but my salary has not. I can’t contribute to purchasing American made items in American factories because I can’t afford it, which makes me a huge part of the problem. I want to help, but I don’t know how. And the politicians I see are not concerned about this. They throw around the term “job creation” placing huge exclamation points at the end of it, but they’re not actually ever saying anything. They never actually express a real solution to this issue because doing so would been admitting that the politicians and the corporations that fund them would have to sacrifice a small portion of their already bloated salaries themselves. Oh, the horror. And we don’t need just simply “job creation”. It’s more than that.
Other than that, politicians seem to spend the rest of their time concerned with making a religious group happy that I personally do not subscribe to. Worse yet is that what apparently are the primary concerns of that group is inconsequential to what it really takes to live a good life in the United States. I am a good person. I’m honest, I work hard, I treat my fellow man well, I don’t steal. I understand that an allegiance to a specific sect is not what makes a person good. That has nothing to do with it. And I’m tired of hearing people say they’re going to vote for SoAndSo because he’s Christian. There are many politicians that claim to be “good” Christian Republicans, and they’re banking on the ignorant vote.
So, as far as the economy goes, as far as achieving a decent life for Americans, I don’t know what to do.
I know it’s best to stay away from non-American made goods, but I don’t even make enough money to dress as professionally as I should. It’s the same reason I don’t eat exclusively all organic or local foods. It’s a frustrating cycle and one I’m sure will eventually destroy us as a people. I am not shocked or surprised by how Banksy or other people in other nations very us. I’m just shamed.
I am thankful for the life I lead, after all I have a job. It is an employers world, however, and I am constantly reminded that I am a dime a dozen. It does nothing for morale, but I am thankful I have work. I like working hard so that my boyfriend, who also works hard, and I can have a life together. I’m not sure I would have children while living in the United States, because I hate the idea of them having no or very little health care. I also have very real feelings about a nation that puts the occupation of other nations above education, and as someone who has worked in the public school system and has a Masters degree in education, I can’t stand for compromised education for my kids.
I love this country. I lived in four states, driven back and forth across country four times. And I really want to support it. But I just don’t think it, or at least the people who run the US, care about me, or anyone else within its borders, any more.
So the unemployment rate has gone down. So what?