Not for the first time, I am having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that it is, yet again, a new year. Arbitrarily counted days, which aren't quite accurate representations of the Earth's rotation and tick marks that only somewhat scientifically represent the revolution of the Earth around the sun, marked by a new four digit number that has, now, for quite some time, indicated we are in the mythical land of the twenty-first century. A time which once was talked about with awe and hope and fear in the science fiction pulp novels I devoured as a kid. (Lots of fiber in books.)
So I haven't blogged much since this time in 2012. January 1 2012 was kinda the last serious blog post I put out. Which, I'm sure no one but me missed. I'm also fairly sure no one is actually going to read this one, any more than they did the one in January 2012.
So yeah. I skipped January 2013. Mostly, because right near the end of 2012, we lost my mother. She had catastrophic heart failure and fell down dead on the floor of her closet while looking for yarn for a craft project. It would be a lie to say it wasn't something we knew could happen, but I certainly wasn't ready for it to happen. My mother and I had a very complicated and frustrating relationship, but I never doubted she loved me, and I know she knew I loved her. It hit me hard, and it's taken a lot of emotional slogging to get myself to the point where I can write about it - and I really wasn't sure I could write honestly about my life without writing about her death.
(Note to self: have violent conversation with the universal sense of irony that caused a song called Mother to start playing as soon as I wrote that. Yeah. This time? Violence is a very good answer. I'm going to kick reality right in the proverbial balls.)
One of the oddest things about skipping a year on my traditional New Year's blog post is that I have two years to reflect on, not just one. I've come to some very odd realizations the past couple of years - which have been very busy, all things considered. I've quit smoking, starting vaping, quit two jobs and started one, been dumped and taken back, lost my mother, gained and lost friends, started playing an MMORPG, gained weight, lost weight and gained it back again.
I've shaved my head, started to get a handle on some anger issues I was ignoring I had, and written almost nothing of worth or value. I've read too much fan fiction (or not enough) and discovered that change is a lot harder and easier than we like to think it is.
Change happens, especially when we're not looking at it when it happens. Sometimes, we tell ourselves that it happens gradually, but I think there is almost always a moment where something shifts over and what was once one thing, or was once working a certain way, then starts being a new thing or working in a new way. Looking back, I can point out the moment I stopped being a guy who held the MMORPG community in towering contempt and refused to touch it with a ten foot pole tipped with a flamethrower and became a guy subscribed to an MMO he looks forward to playing with friends and family. I can point you to the moment when I put my pipe down for good and became a vaper. I can point you to the moment I realized why it is I 'don't get it' and why it is that I need to learn how to 'get it'.
But I couldn't have told you what those moments were when they happened. They passed quickly, without comment. Without thought. They whizzed by me and became immortalized only after I realized something had changed, and I looked back nodded at myself: "Oh. So that's what it was." Not really conscious decisions to create a change - just a ex post facto realization those moments had marked that a change had occurred.
However, those things we actively want to change? Those are harder. Sometimes, we view it as a process. Sometimes, we view it as a decision. We talk about backsliding or taking steps backward when we screw up and revert to what we did before the change. Often times, we berate ourselves and beat ourselves up about it. We blame circumstances. We blame ourselves. We blame others. We blame the universe, God, fate, random chance and the distortion of probability. And sometimes, each and every one of those things might be the cause.
I'm sure that there's some hippy feel-good theory floating around out there that says something like: "If we aren't ready to change, we won't. We'll change when we're ready for it. It will just happen." Annoyingly, there is some truth in that bleeding heart rhetoric. If I hadn't been scared witless by a serious bout of pneumonia in 2012, I might never have picked up my first vape, let alone given it a fair chance. I was ready for that change, because I didn't want to die - or worse, not have nicotine. (Blather on and scold me about my addiction in a different post, please.)
You could say I haven't lost as much weight as I want to because I haven't planned and prepared correctly. I haven't planned meals, set aside time to (ugh) exercise or done my research on what is actually a healthy diet versus the appalling (but tasty!) food I punish my body with on a daily basis. You could pat me on the head and smile at me and tell me that I'm just not ready to give up the emotional crutch that is tasty, unhealthy food and that once I reach some new stage of psycho-social development, I'll willingly walk away from the bacon laden cheeseburgers and into the welcoming arms of nutritious fruits and vegetables. You could also argue that I'm deluding myself into thinking I actually give two monkey fucks about losing weight or exercising, that I pay lip service to it because I'm a fat man who is constantly berated, commented on, advised at, and lectured at length about the fact that I am one rotund, cellulite ridden and overly fed first-world stereotype. That if I really cared about losing weight, I would bend my not-inconsiderable stubborn streak in the general direction of my excessive diet and sedentary ways and start doing something about it other than whining like a first-grader stuck sitting through a TV docudrama about the life cycle of the common houseplant.
The truth about deliberate change is that you have first have to acknowledge what you are actually changing. Not just that 'I want to lose weight' - but you have to say: "I am fat." And what you're changing? It has to have impact on you. It has to be something that when you realize it, you have to either care about it so much that you're willing to be ready to change and willing to put that work in, or you have to not care enough that you can let go of it without a fight. If it's not important, if it's not something you care about - you can let go of it easily. Mid way through 2013, I realized a word I used as a matter of course was offensive. Until the moment someone told me it was offensive, I had no fucking clue I was being an ass. While I have no objection to being an asshole when I know I'm in the right and I need to stand my ground and hold a moral or philosophical line or you've done harm to someone important to me. Or just been a bully. Or, really, lots of other reasons.
But accidentally offending a bunch of people, for no other reason than I use a word that offends them? Thta was an easy change. I haven't used that word since, and I don't plan on ever using it again. I know better now, and that word is now relegated into my arsenal of verbal grenades - words I don't use unless I'm being offensive to make a point. It's a word that gets used in a time of extreme necessity. (I have a lot of these words. I haven't ever had to use any of them.)
This was an easy change to make. It was a small alteration of my vocabulary that prevents me from being a dick. It took me no effort to stop using one word and use another in its place. It was a word I had no attachment to, no desire to use beyond it being what I felt was an adequate and accurate descriptor. Upon learning it was neither adequate nor descriptive, I put it aside and now use a word that is more accurate, more descriptive and not offensive.
The other kind of deliberate change s harder, because you actually do have fucks to give about it. There is something of you tied up in it, something that makes it important, meaningful or special. You might even hate it about yourself, but it's comfortable and known and you don't really want to give it up. It might be a security blanket, a passive bit of self-harm, or something that you've made part of your identity. I've been a fat guy so long - do I really not want to be fat? How will that change me, how I think of me, how other people think of me?
It's a bit scary when we realize we define ourselves and cling to those parts of ourselves that might seem negative - that even those negative things are important to us, part of how we think of ourselves. We don't often want to let go of those things, even when they hurt us. I have friend who prides himself on his ability to argue and debate anything. He loves to get into verbal sparring. But, he often alienates, hurts and pisses the fuck off most of the people he meets, because he's got no sense of proportion. He's a passionate asshole, with a vast store of knowledge, the ability to pick apart logical fallacies and use logic to turn anything you say into a point in his favor. He prides himself on his ability to argue, his love of debate - but he doesn't argue. He picks fights. He hurts people. Hurts his relationships with people, and is often profoundly lonely. He also realizes a lot of it is his own fault. But giving up that behavior he has defined himself by - right now, that hurts him more and scares him more than the consequences of holding into that behavior. Until the consequences outweigh the positive value he feels he gets from the behavior, he has no real impetus to change.
I've made a lot of changes over the past two years. I've also changed a lot in the past two years. Some of the changes have been deliberate and some have just happened, but I am not the same person who wrote his 2012 New Year's post. Yet - even with all these changes, even with not being the same person - the core of who I am hasn't changed much. I still don't understand (despite participating in and even looking forward to) the metaphoric reset we endure and embrace (approximately) every 365 rotations of our beleaguered planet.
A lot of changes have also happened around me that have affected me in profound ways - ways that I'm still starting to understand and may not understand for a long time yet.
One of the changes I hope to make permanent, a change that will last well beyond the 365 days of 2014, is that I want to write more. Not just because I hope people are reading the words I spew forth from my crumb-dusted keyboard.
Here's hoping that the impact of my realization that I am not writing - that the frustration of that outweighs the apathy that is slowly creeping through me as the years go by, and that this is the first post of many that so many of you probably won't read.
Welcome to 2014. For what it's worth, I hope the next 365 (approximate) rotations of planet Earth are productive, memorable and bring about the right kind of changes for you.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, January 02, 2014
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Happy New Year - or something like that
I never know what I'm going to write when I start one of these New Year's posts, but I always seem to find something to say - though, the quality of that something probably tends to vary. I mean, how often can a guy talk about all the things he fucked up the year before and all the ways he wants to fix it in the next year?
Especially since New Year's is such an arbitrary thing, and self-improvement and self-examination should be a constant and consistent process. It shouldn't be something we (I) do just as calendar rolls over to the next year. I mean - really? How many people actually keep their resolutions? How many people make serious and significant changes that stick, just based off a tradition that doesn't make a lot of sense when you look at it empirically?
It's sorta like deciding that you're going to fix everything about your life, one item at a time, one year at a time. If you're actually successful, you might actually have made some progress about the time you're stuck in the old folks' home, mainlining prune juice and praying you can remember the names of all the relatives who never come to visit you.
Hell, even if you make and stick to multiple resolutions a year, it still doesn't end up making sense. Why do people only seem to really want to change their lives as the new year starts? Okay. I get the whole idea of 'starting over with a clean slate' - but you really don't. All we really do is take a deep breath and hope that the next year is better than the year before it, despite that fact that all the problems we had in 2011 are still going to be there in 2012 - along with all the problems we haven't seen yet.
Yeah, yeah - I know. Old man Jayiin doesn't get it. What else is new? I rarely get it.
So, onto the part of this you've been dreading since my last New Year's post. Mostly, because I don't have many New Year's traditions (seeing as how I'm crap at holidays), so I might as well stick to the one I have and enjoy the fact I'm able to write something coherent in this blog once a year.
2011 was a year. I turned 31 and enjoyed the fact no one's taken a hit out on me yet.
Especially since New Year's is such an arbitrary thing, and self-improvement and self-examination should be a constant and consistent process. It shouldn't be something we (I) do just as calendar rolls over to the next year. I mean - really? How many people actually keep their resolutions? How many people make serious and significant changes that stick, just based off a tradition that doesn't make a lot of sense when you look at it empirically?
It's sorta like deciding that you're going to fix everything about your life, one item at a time, one year at a time. If you're actually successful, you might actually have made some progress about the time you're stuck in the old folks' home, mainlining prune juice and praying you can remember the names of all the relatives who never come to visit you.
Hell, even if you make and stick to multiple resolutions a year, it still doesn't end up making sense. Why do people only seem to really want to change their lives as the new year starts? Okay. I get the whole idea of 'starting over with a clean slate' - but you really don't. All we really do is take a deep breath and hope that the next year is better than the year before it, despite that fact that all the problems we had in 2011 are still going to be there in 2012 - along with all the problems we haven't seen yet.
Yeah, yeah - I know. Old man Jayiin doesn't get it. What else is new? I rarely get it.
So, onto the part of this you've been dreading since my last New Year's post. Mostly, because I don't have many New Year's traditions (seeing as how I'm crap at holidays), so I might as well stick to the one I have and enjoy the fact I'm able to write something coherent in this blog once a year.
2011 was a year. I turned 31 and enjoyed the fact no one's taken a hit out on me yet.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Standing Witness
Today, I played a small role in a big event.
Long story short: last summer, my friend JK adopted four kids - as a single mother. Four siblings, actually. J, S, A and R. Over the course of the last year, I've gotten to watch as they became more and more of a family. I've spent time with the kids both in and out of church and have gotten pretty attached to them. There's an earlier post, , where I talked about going to R's school for the 'bring your dad/uncle/brother/male family friend' to snacktime.
It's a powerful thing she's done. A powerful statement about who she is and what she wants to do with her life. She's a social worker for CPS, which means she deals with hurting kids all the time. I've watched her play Aunt to about half the kids at the Well. JK is a woman with an endless capacity for love and an iron will.
Today was the connsumation hearing for the adoption. JK had asked that as many people who could be there. Dad and I went; it took some wrangling, but we both managed to get the time off and get Mom situated enough she didn't need us for the afternoon.
When I first set out to write this blog, I figured I'd say something like 'today I say a family being created', but that's not true. They've spent the last year creating their family, and JK spent years before that preparing to have a family.
Even saying that today made it 'official' isn't right, because what law or proclomation or signature can make real what already exists? It can merely acknowledge, through ritual, what is already there. During the proceedings, JK accepted parental rights and responsibilities for the four kids, but - she'd already done that, long ago. She's been their mother for a year now. They call her 'Mom' and they've been using her name.
All the judge could do today was acknowledge what all fifty or so of us who came to support her already knew.
Yes, I did say 50 or so. Dad and I weren't the first or last to arrive, and as we sat in the chairs set aside for fat people (comfortable armless chairs set against the wall), people kept arriving. A few here, a few there - more and more people trickling in to be a part of the legal ritual.
People do love their rituals, don't they? We have rituals for almost everything. Physical expressions for abstract concepts, rote routines created to symbolize and commemorate moments and events and milestones. Rituals permeate our culture; we're fascinated by them, both the ones we understand and the ones we don't. We're flattered and honored when we're invited to take place in them, and we get offended when other people don't take our rituals seriously.
"What we hold sacred gives our lives meaning," - yeah, it's a quote from Babylon 5, but it's been a few posts since I used sci-fi to make a profound point.
Today was a moment, I think, that will define the meaning of 'family' for those kids for the rest of their lives. Even if some or most of the people who came to the courtroom drift away, or they outgrow the memories of today, I think knowing that many people came to support them as they were officially adopted will leave it's mark.
It was an amazing thing.
Small towns in Texas are places out of time, combining hints of modern with the past. The courthouse was no exception; it was beautiful and old and steeped in history. The seats weren't made for people my size, but there were some modern chairs off to the side, behind the jury box, that worked well for it.
The judge walked in and we all stood. When it came time to swear in the witnesses...the judge was flabbergasted that he would be swearing in the entire courtroom. More than fifty people stood, raised their right hands, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
The attorney questioned the placement agency representative, presented an affadavit from CPS, questioned JK - and then questioned the other witnesses. The rest of us. All fifty of us. We answered yes - JK was the right person to raise those four kids.
Question after question, a ringing, echoing chorus of 'yes' reverberated through the high-ceilinged room, leaving the judge smiling and the attorney grinning. (The attorney had been forewarned about the possible turnout - the judge had not.) The attorney questioned the kids, and then the judge brought them all up to bang the gavel. Each of them got to bang the gavel.
Of course, the youngest banged it the loudest. *grins* RK is still my boy.
It was over faster than I thought it would be, but I think the statement was made - no matter what happens, JK and her kids won't be going it alone. They have a whole community behind them, willing to be there for them and with them as they go forward, officially a family.
One saying I've heard all my life is "you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends," and the older I get, the more I think that's a lie. JK chose her family - and the rest of us chose to be her family, too. Families stand together and stick together.
Friends, you can walk away from. Family, you can't.
Long story short: last summer, my friend JK adopted four kids - as a single mother. Four siblings, actually. J, S, A and R. Over the course of the last year, I've gotten to watch as they became more and more of a family. I've spent time with the kids both in and out of church and have gotten pretty attached to them. There's an earlier post, , where I talked about going to R's school for the 'bring your dad/uncle/brother/male family friend' to snacktime.
It's a powerful thing she's done. A powerful statement about who she is and what she wants to do with her life. She's a social worker for CPS, which means she deals with hurting kids all the time. I've watched her play Aunt to about half the kids at the Well. JK is a woman with an endless capacity for love and an iron will.
Today was the connsumation hearing for the adoption. JK had asked that as many people who could be there. Dad and I went; it took some wrangling, but we both managed to get the time off and get Mom situated enough she didn't need us for the afternoon.
When I first set out to write this blog, I figured I'd say something like 'today I say a family being created', but that's not true. They've spent the last year creating their family, and JK spent years before that preparing to have a family.
Even saying that today made it 'official' isn't right, because what law or proclomation or signature can make real what already exists? It can merely acknowledge, through ritual, what is already there. During the proceedings, JK accepted parental rights and responsibilities for the four kids, but - she'd already done that, long ago. She's been their mother for a year now. They call her 'Mom' and they've been using her name.
All the judge could do today was acknowledge what all fifty or so of us who came to support her already knew.
Yes, I did say 50 or so. Dad and I weren't the first or last to arrive, and as we sat in the chairs set aside for fat people (comfortable armless chairs set against the wall), people kept arriving. A few here, a few there - more and more people trickling in to be a part of the legal ritual.
People do love their rituals, don't they? We have rituals for almost everything. Physical expressions for abstract concepts, rote routines created to symbolize and commemorate moments and events and milestones. Rituals permeate our culture; we're fascinated by them, both the ones we understand and the ones we don't. We're flattered and honored when we're invited to take place in them, and we get offended when other people don't take our rituals seriously.
"What we hold sacred gives our lives meaning," - yeah, it's a quote from Babylon 5, but it's been a few posts since I used sci-fi to make a profound point.
Today was a moment, I think, that will define the meaning of 'family' for those kids for the rest of their lives. Even if some or most of the people who came to the courtroom drift away, or they outgrow the memories of today, I think knowing that many people came to support them as they were officially adopted will leave it's mark.
It was an amazing thing.
Small towns in Texas are places out of time, combining hints of modern with the past. The courthouse was no exception; it was beautiful and old and steeped in history. The seats weren't made for people my size, but there were some modern chairs off to the side, behind the jury box, that worked well for it.
The judge walked in and we all stood. When it came time to swear in the witnesses...the judge was flabbergasted that he would be swearing in the entire courtroom. More than fifty people stood, raised their right hands, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
The attorney questioned the placement agency representative, presented an affadavit from CPS, questioned JK - and then questioned the other witnesses. The rest of us. All fifty of us. We answered yes - JK was the right person to raise those four kids.
Question after question, a ringing, echoing chorus of 'yes' reverberated through the high-ceilinged room, leaving the judge smiling and the attorney grinning. (The attorney had been forewarned about the possible turnout - the judge had not.) The attorney questioned the kids, and then the judge brought them all up to bang the gavel. Each of them got to bang the gavel.
Of course, the youngest banged it the loudest. *grins* RK is still my boy.
It was over faster than I thought it would be, but I think the statement was made - no matter what happens, JK and her kids won't be going it alone. They have a whole community behind them, willing to be there for them and with them as they go forward, officially a family.
One saying I've heard all my life is "you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends," and the older I get, the more I think that's a lie. JK chose her family - and the rest of us chose to be her family, too. Families stand together and stick together.
Friends, you can walk away from. Family, you can't.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Playing Catch-Up
I was recently reminded by JH, the author of Insert Title Here that I haven't been blogging (again) and there are people far and abroad who are supposedly interested in my life and thoughts.
I figure those folk have got to be bored. So very, very bored. None the less, here I am, blogging for their amusement and mine. Mostly, a long and boring series of thoughts, events and ponderings that, I'm sure, will make you long for your previously scheduled boredom.
First and foremost, my brother and partner in crime, Iridanum has traveled to the Emerald City to be with Aderangedhyena, which means he's actually smiling for once. Whataburger, the dogs and I shall all miss him.
For those of you waiting for commentary on New Moon, patience. I'll have my first blog on that up before too long; hopefully mid-week.
Now, as most of you know, I live in a quaint little trailer park in the twilight zone between Austin and Pflugerville (yes, it's really spelled that way) and, thusly, all the big and important people don't want to sell things to us. Folk like Ye Olde Cable Company don't want to come out here and sell their services to us. As such, we aren't in the middle of the unfortunately amusing little fight with local Austin station/NBC Affiliate KXAN.
It also means we're stuck with one of the other guys for cable. Now, this isn't so bad, normally, considering the infinitesimal amount of television I partake of. However, four and a half months ago, our house was struck by lightning. It shorted out a few things, including my mother's most precious possession - her TV. The Great TV Quest was embarked upon, and my father spent an inordinate amount of money on a new HD flat screen TV for her. Not that we get HD channels (see above cable company), but it was a nice TV.
Only, the sound cut out. A lot. So he traded it in for a new one. The sound cut out. A lot. So after some work with the sales folk and customer service folk at Circuit City, we got a third new TV. And the sound cut out. A lot. Throughout this process, there was much experimentation, including putting my new and mostly unused TV in place of hers, an old analog TV in place of hers, and a few visits by the Not-So-Friend Neighborhood Cable Repair Man. (He's definitely not a super-hero, unless he's spreading the cranky and annoying).
Okay - long story short. One brand of TV had a bad run and the sound sucked sweaty donkey balls and the picture would flip out whenever we ran the microwave. However, the second brand (and third actual TV) my father brought home worked great. (Also, the Firedog Installation guy was out so often the dogs got to know him, if that tells you how much of a pain this has been.)
Last night, push came to shove and the sound was cutting in and out every two seconds. My father counted. And decided the Repairman needed to come back out and fix it, which sparked a discussion between him and my mother. Let me tell you - my mother has been remarkable patient, reserved and not-cranky about this considering how much she loves/thrives on/needs TV to live. (Please note: this is a relative statement, which means there was only the occasional screaming fit and self-pity marathon as opposed to her normal behavior, which often resembles a grumpy emo two-year-old with hemorrhoids.)
In the process of this discussion, it was revealed that the Repairman has been treating my mother like a sick, doddering old woman with the mental capacity of a senile flobberworm as opposed to an intelligent person who's disabled because of physical problems, and thusly, her opinion on dealing with the repairman again was: Do Not Want.
My mother and I do not get on, not really. Long story. Complicated relationship. Etc, etc, etc. Yes, she has memory issues, thanks to the drugs she's one.
However, I have never once made the mistake of thinking my mother was too stupid to notice a problem, nor that she had the powers of deduction to figure out what the root cause of said problem is, especially when it comes to her own comfort and entertainment.
Nor do I like it when people treat my mother with disrespect when she hasn't earned it. My mother has done many things to earn disrespect, many of which I cannot and will not defend. However, there is a certain level of customer service that is required when one is in a customer service job.
This past month, there has been a customer service contest at work, because it is our Customer Service Awareness Month. Yeah, okay - sounds hokey, right? Right. It is. But we're geeks. Hokey is kinda what we do. But it's made me think about what customer service is and how to provide good customer service. Frankly - it's fairly simple. All you have to do is Give A Damn or act like you do. I may write more about this later, but suffice it to say, my father and I decided to have the Repairman out today, while I was here to deal with him.
We wanted him to do one simple thing - replace a cable outlet/box thingie in our wall that transmits the cable signal through the co-ax cord to the TV. After all, we've only asked him about this ever time he's visited us over the past four and a half months. He merely tells my mother that the box is not the problem. First, it was the TV. Then, it was the house wiring - a deduction based on the microwave making the picture spaz.
However, we applied the process of elimination and the scientific method - skills most folk learn in elementary school - and were able to determine that no other cable connection in the house had the problem, the new(est) TV didn't have the microwave issues, and we were four TVs in - all of which had the sound problem on that particular outlet. (New co-ax cable didn't fix it either.)
What does that tell us? Simple. Logic. The outlet has issues. His meter says the signal strength is fine. Great! So?
The Repairman came, fifteen minutes later than he said he would. First thing he said was 'Changing the box won't fix it' and proceeded to tell us why. He was rude. He was brusque. And he didn't listen. However, my mother might not be up for confrontation anymore, but I am. I explained to him why his logic didn't work (lack of information on his part made his assumptions wrong) and then I told him we were going to pay to have the outlet/box thingie replaced.
He replaced it. He stormed around outside, scared my dogs, chased my mother back into her room, and slammed our front door.
I decided being an ass to him wouldn't solve anything - I wanted him to concentrate on doing his job, not proving his cock was bigger than mine by telling me how much I don't know about his job. Beating him senseless would have been counter-productive, if satisfying, and calling him out on his rudeness would have been counter-productive. So I sat in my father's chair, read a book, and stared at him the whole time he worked inside.
It took him about 45 minutes to do the job. Then, as he was leaving, he had to get the last word in edgewise over us poor trailer park folk, and decided to tell me in a quite patronizing tone of voice that we should get the wiring of the house looked at, because of the microwave problem.
I smiled, told him we hadn't had that problem since we got the new(est) TV, and bid him a good afternoon.
I'm probably an ass for getting the last word in, but - that was some of the worst customer service I've experienced in a long time. Iridanum will tell you that I'm the luckiest SoB when it comes to customer service, because I usually get the worst of the worst. It's kinda like the Curse of Katheryn, only not as amusing.
If I ever treat a customer like that, I hope they slap me upside the head with something heavy and blunt for being a dick.
But speaking of JH and TV (I know, I know - a brilliant segue from a brilliant writer. Stand in awe, folks, stand in awe.), I did two unusual (for me) things this past week. I went out and did something social at someone else's house and I watched TV. With people, even. Not just when I've got writer's block so horrid I watch TV instead of practicing self-trepanation.
I went over to JH's apartment after work last Wednesday and, after chillin' with him while he edited a neighbor's audition video, we watched the new Knight Rider - which, in our uneducated opinions, was awesome. It, unlike the failed Team Knight Rider from the late 90's, captured the feel and spirit of the original show - which was much more awesome than people give it credit for and was David Hasslehoff's best role. And came way before Baywatch. Even if the Guinness Book of World Records says it was the most-watched TV show of all time. (No surprise - I've never seen an episode.)
We watched the awesomeness of Knight Rider on a massive TV, which, really, is a wall with an identity crisis. Only, the HD didn't work. That didn't bother me any because I've never watched anything in HD, but JH was a bit annoyed.
Following the show (and an excellent impromptu dinner by KH, JH's lovely wife), therein followed more work on the neighbor's video, helping KH grade papers, and a discussion about that most boring and uncomfortable of topics - me. Apparently, KH has an interest in me, and knew all of the random and awkward questions to ask me to make me talk about all of those things fanficfulreality has been trying to pry out of me for years.
Now, the filter in my brain that tells me not to say something offensive, rude, dumb, or painfully insightful to someone else never works. The filter that keeps me from talking about myself in any serious or meaningful way is usually in good working order and almost always stops anything important from coming out was out of order that night, because I said way too much and told them things I'll probably end up regretting when my rare good mood evaporates and is replaced by my normal cynicism.
None the less, we plan to repeat this experience this coming Wednesday, where hopefully his HD will be working, and I can be awed by the awesome that (apparently) is HD. I think I'm being social. This disturbs me on a very visceral level and amuses Starrybluepoet, who informs me that I am no longer able to retreat from the world and be a hermit, as life is very much less colorful when I am not around.
I would argue and say that is a strange thing to say, as I wear monochrome, but fancifulreality said much the same thing later today. Never argue with tiny women. They always outnumber you. When two of them agree, run. Especially since both of them are armed with pixie-dust.
Still, considering Starrbluepoet is writing things again, I cannot vanish again. If I did, she would stop, and I would be sad.
Ahh, writing. That subject near and dear to my heart. National Novel Writing Month is very close at hand, and I am getting myself back into the writing shape that will let me write 100k again this year.
On another note, I re-joined ASR, because I missed my characters, I missed the people I wrote with, and I missed the momentum and pressure having to post gave my writing. So Shay is on Starbase SAIKAI and Tigria is still on CIRCE. (And yes, their pages need updating and lots of work. I will eventually get them fancy HTML web pages up again, but it will take me time.)
Also, Carpelocke is joining CIRCE. This makes me happy and excited, because he's gonna get in on things right before we have a massive fuck-off of a space battle with insurmountable odds that very well could kill us all.
Again.
I think I'm finally over whatever hump it is I have on HPU, because I think I can actually write a chapter in the mid-thirties now, and move past this quagmire point I always get stuck at. I just have to push through and write a shitty chapter or three to make it work. I have lots of ideas for after, it's just some of the interconnecting parts are a bit (very) hazy.
I have no idea which idea to use for NaNo this year. There are too many of them to figure out right now. I may re-write Path of Thorns/Path of Tears or Worlds Asunder in their entirety (as in, use the same basic idea and characters, but not touch the original text. It is NaNo, after all.) Or try for a less abortive attempt on Starfire Quest; disregard everything I've written on it before, and just start somewhere in the middle. I can go back and write the beginning later. Or the HP fanfic about Bill's time at Hogwarts - technically, the prequel to HPU, because it deals with Bill's quest to become a Dueling Master.
Though, over-all? I am more behind than I ever have been. I have so many things to read and edit and so many things to write and create that I don't know what to do about it. To say nothing of web work for work and desperately needing to clean the bathroom at some point this week. And other assorted chores, though cleaning the bathroom is important. There is mold growing back, and if it gains sentience, I'm charging it rent.
I'll leave you with a final observation. About two weeks ago, at Dlair, there were some young folk - late teens to mid-twenties - who came in to buy some manga. Four of five of 'em. They all had Down's Syndrome, I think. They didn't call each other by their real names; they called each other by other names they'd given themselves. Goku was the one I remember most clearly.
Some folk, even some of my co-workers, got a chuckle out of that. Being me, I started wondering why that was funny to us, and I couldn't come up with a real good reason, except that we were making fun of them. I'm not sure we should have.
I think there's a lesson in there, somewhere, about accepting people and calling people what they want to be called, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.
I figure those folk have got to be bored. So very, very bored. None the less, here I am, blogging for their amusement and mine. Mostly, a long and boring series of thoughts, events and ponderings that, I'm sure, will make you long for your previously scheduled boredom.
First and foremost, my brother and partner in crime, Iridanum has traveled to the Emerald City to be with Aderangedhyena, which means he's actually smiling for once. Whataburger, the dogs and I shall all miss him.
For those of you waiting for commentary on New Moon, patience. I'll have my first blog on that up before too long; hopefully mid-week.
Now, as most of you know, I live in a quaint little trailer park in the twilight zone between Austin and Pflugerville (yes, it's really spelled that way) and, thusly, all the big and important people don't want to sell things to us. Folk like Ye Olde Cable Company don't want to come out here and sell their services to us. As such, we aren't in the middle of the unfortunately amusing little fight with local Austin station/NBC Affiliate KXAN.
It also means we're stuck with one of the other guys for cable. Now, this isn't so bad, normally, considering the infinitesimal amount of television I partake of. However, four and a half months ago, our house was struck by lightning. It shorted out a few things, including my mother's most precious possession - her TV. The Great TV Quest was embarked upon, and my father spent an inordinate amount of money on a new HD flat screen TV for her. Not that we get HD channels (see above cable company), but it was a nice TV.
Only, the sound cut out. A lot. So he traded it in for a new one. The sound cut out. A lot. So after some work with the sales folk and customer service folk at Circuit City, we got a third new TV. And the sound cut out. A lot. Throughout this process, there was much experimentation, including putting my new and mostly unused TV in place of hers, an old analog TV in place of hers, and a few visits by the Not-So-Friend Neighborhood Cable Repair Man. (He's definitely not a super-hero, unless he's spreading the cranky and annoying).
Okay - long story short. One brand of TV had a bad run and the sound sucked sweaty donkey balls and the picture would flip out whenever we ran the microwave. However, the second brand (and third actual TV) my father brought home worked great. (Also, the Firedog Installation guy was out so often the dogs got to know him, if that tells you how much of a pain this has been.)
Last night, push came to shove and the sound was cutting in and out every two seconds. My father counted. And decided the Repairman needed to come back out and fix it, which sparked a discussion between him and my mother. Let me tell you - my mother has been remarkable patient, reserved and not-cranky about this considering how much she loves/thrives on/needs TV to live. (Please note: this is a relative statement, which means there was only the occasional screaming fit and self-pity marathon as opposed to her normal behavior, which often resembles a grumpy emo two-year-old with hemorrhoids.)
In the process of this discussion, it was revealed that the Repairman has been treating my mother like a sick, doddering old woman with the mental capacity of a senile flobberworm as opposed to an intelligent person who's disabled because of physical problems, and thusly, her opinion on dealing with the repairman again was: Do Not Want.
My mother and I do not get on, not really. Long story. Complicated relationship. Etc, etc, etc. Yes, she has memory issues, thanks to the drugs she's one.
However, I have never once made the mistake of thinking my mother was too stupid to notice a problem, nor that she had the powers of deduction to figure out what the root cause of said problem is, especially when it comes to her own comfort and entertainment.
Nor do I like it when people treat my mother with disrespect when she hasn't earned it. My mother has done many things to earn disrespect, many of which I cannot and will not defend. However, there is a certain level of customer service that is required when one is in a customer service job.
This past month, there has been a customer service contest at work, because it is our Customer Service Awareness Month. Yeah, okay - sounds hokey, right? Right. It is. But we're geeks. Hokey is kinda what we do. But it's made me think about what customer service is and how to provide good customer service. Frankly - it's fairly simple. All you have to do is Give A Damn or act like you do. I may write more about this later, but suffice it to say, my father and I decided to have the Repairman out today, while I was here to deal with him.
We wanted him to do one simple thing - replace a cable outlet/box thingie in our wall that transmits the cable signal through the co-ax cord to the TV. After all, we've only asked him about this ever time he's visited us over the past four and a half months. He merely tells my mother that the box is not the problem. First, it was the TV. Then, it was the house wiring - a deduction based on the microwave making the picture spaz.
However, we applied the process of elimination and the scientific method - skills most folk learn in elementary school - and were able to determine that no other cable connection in the house had the problem, the new(est) TV didn't have the microwave issues, and we were four TVs in - all of which had the sound problem on that particular outlet. (New co-ax cable didn't fix it either.)
What does that tell us? Simple. Logic. The outlet has issues. His meter says the signal strength is fine. Great! So?
The Repairman came, fifteen minutes later than he said he would. First thing he said was 'Changing the box won't fix it' and proceeded to tell us why. He was rude. He was brusque. And he didn't listen. However, my mother might not be up for confrontation anymore, but I am. I explained to him why his logic didn't work (lack of information on his part made his assumptions wrong) and then I told him we were going to pay to have the outlet/box thingie replaced.
He replaced it. He stormed around outside, scared my dogs, chased my mother back into her room, and slammed our front door.
I decided being an ass to him wouldn't solve anything - I wanted him to concentrate on doing his job, not proving his cock was bigger than mine by telling me how much I don't know about his job. Beating him senseless would have been counter-productive, if satisfying, and calling him out on his rudeness would have been counter-productive. So I sat in my father's chair, read a book, and stared at him the whole time he worked inside.
It took him about 45 minutes to do the job. Then, as he was leaving, he had to get the last word in edgewise over us poor trailer park folk, and decided to tell me in a quite patronizing tone of voice that we should get the wiring of the house looked at, because of the microwave problem.
I smiled, told him we hadn't had that problem since we got the new(est) TV, and bid him a good afternoon.
I'm probably an ass for getting the last word in, but - that was some of the worst customer service I've experienced in a long time. Iridanum will tell you that I'm the luckiest SoB when it comes to customer service, because I usually get the worst of the worst. It's kinda like the Curse of Katheryn, only not as amusing.
If I ever treat a customer like that, I hope they slap me upside the head with something heavy and blunt for being a dick.
But speaking of JH and TV (I know, I know - a brilliant segue from a brilliant writer. Stand in awe, folks, stand in awe.), I did two unusual (for me) things this past week. I went out and did something social at someone else's house and I watched TV. With people, even. Not just when I've got writer's block so horrid I watch TV instead of practicing self-trepanation.
I went over to JH's apartment after work last Wednesday and, after chillin' with him while he edited a neighbor's audition video, we watched the new Knight Rider - which, in our uneducated opinions, was awesome. It, unlike the failed Team Knight Rider from the late 90's, captured the feel and spirit of the original show - which was much more awesome than people give it credit for and was David Hasslehoff's best role. And came way before Baywatch. Even if the Guinness Book of World Records says it was the most-watched TV show of all time. (No surprise - I've never seen an episode.)
We watched the awesomeness of Knight Rider on a massive TV, which, really, is a wall with an identity crisis. Only, the HD didn't work. That didn't bother me any because I've never watched anything in HD, but JH was a bit annoyed.
Following the show (and an excellent impromptu dinner by KH, JH's lovely wife), therein followed more work on the neighbor's video, helping KH grade papers, and a discussion about that most boring and uncomfortable of topics - me. Apparently, KH has an interest in me, and knew all of the random and awkward questions to ask me to make me talk about all of those things fanficfulreality has been trying to pry out of me for years.
Now, the filter in my brain that tells me not to say something offensive, rude, dumb, or painfully insightful to someone else never works. The filter that keeps me from talking about myself in any serious or meaningful way is usually in good working order and almost always stops anything important from coming out was out of order that night, because I said way too much and told them things I'll probably end up regretting when my rare good mood evaporates and is replaced by my normal cynicism.
None the less, we plan to repeat this experience this coming Wednesday, where hopefully his HD will be working, and I can be awed by the awesome that (apparently) is HD. I think I'm being social. This disturbs me on a very visceral level and amuses Starrybluepoet, who informs me that I am no longer able to retreat from the world and be a hermit, as life is very much less colorful when I am not around.
I would argue and say that is a strange thing to say, as I wear monochrome, but fancifulreality said much the same thing later today. Never argue with tiny women. They always outnumber you. When two of them agree, run. Especially since both of them are armed with pixie-dust.
Still, considering Starrbluepoet is writing things again, I cannot vanish again. If I did, she would stop, and I would be sad.
Ahh, writing. That subject near and dear to my heart. National Novel Writing Month is very close at hand, and I am getting myself back into the writing shape that will let me write 100k again this year.
On another note, I re-joined ASR, because I missed my characters, I missed the people I wrote with, and I missed the momentum and pressure having to post gave my writing. So Shay is on Starbase SAIKAI and Tigria is still on CIRCE. (And yes, their pages need updating and lots of work. I will eventually get them fancy HTML web pages up again, but it will take me time.)
Also, Carpelocke is joining CIRCE. This makes me happy and excited, because he's gonna get in on things right before we have a massive fuck-off of a space battle with insurmountable odds that very well could kill us all.
Again.
I think I'm finally over whatever hump it is I have on HPU, because I think I can actually write a chapter in the mid-thirties now, and move past this quagmire point I always get stuck at. I just have to push through and write a shitty chapter or three to make it work. I have lots of ideas for after, it's just some of the interconnecting parts are a bit (very) hazy.
I have no idea which idea to use for NaNo this year. There are too many of them to figure out right now. I may re-write Path of Thorns/Path of Tears or Worlds Asunder in their entirety (as in, use the same basic idea and characters, but not touch the original text. It is NaNo, after all.) Or try for a less abortive attempt on Starfire Quest; disregard everything I've written on it before, and just start somewhere in the middle. I can go back and write the beginning later. Or the HP fanfic about Bill's time at Hogwarts - technically, the prequel to HPU, because it deals with Bill's quest to become a Dueling Master.
Though, over-all? I am more behind than I ever have been. I have so many things to read and edit and so many things to write and create that I don't know what to do about it. To say nothing of web work for work and desperately needing to clean the bathroom at some point this week. And other assorted chores, though cleaning the bathroom is important. There is mold growing back, and if it gains sentience, I'm charging it rent.
I'll leave you with a final observation. About two weeks ago, at Dlair, there were some young folk - late teens to mid-twenties - who came in to buy some manga. Four of five of 'em. They all had Down's Syndrome, I think. They didn't call each other by their real names; they called each other by other names they'd given themselves. Goku was the one I remember most clearly.
Some folk, even some of my co-workers, got a chuckle out of that. Being me, I started wondering why that was funny to us, and I couldn't come up with a real good reason, except that we were making fun of them. I'm not sure we should have.
I think there's a lesson in there, somewhere, about accepting people and calling people what they want to be called, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.
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