Wednesday, June 12, 2013

"Summer Day's Affair"

Summer Day’s Affair
Jason Kohls


Sensation strikes with piercing stab;
You wince as the realization forms.
How could you do this,
Sweet summer’s friend?
Just one afternoon together –
She provided a heat unaccustomed –
But she has receded,
Gone
And left you to shiver
In the lukewarm sea of swimming breezes;
She has left you to nurse
The scorched wound of the day’s heat.
She’d made you sweat,
Small, salty droplets of human strength,
And now she makes you weep
Small, salty droplets of human submission.
Your heart still throbs,
So strong, in fact,
You feel its pulsations in each and every pore.
“Don’t touch me!” you gasp at the brush of the
Comforting hand.
You flinch away, smoldering evidence of the
Summer day’s affair.

Monday, June 10, 2013

"Hundred...Dollar...BillS"

As a disclaimer, this post is not actually about $100 bills. I recently lamented the fact that when I took my daughter to coffee the other day, the register was uable to provide change for a $50 bill on a $10 tab. This post is not really about $50 bills. This post is about my revolutionary spending control plan.

Another disclaimer: this plan is not new at all because I learned it from the same source that I have learned nearly every governing principle in my life, my dad. I still carry cash, at least when I carry something that can be used to make purchases in our capitalistic system. My wife Heidi does not understand why I choose to use cash. "You never know where that money goes," she will say. My response is always the same: "I know exactly where it goes.  It stays in my pocket."

You see,  I choose to carry big bills. And by big bills, I mean 20s. Having only a $50 bill was a rare occurrence.  By carrying larger denominations, I am encouraged not to spend. It is really quite simple: I hate the idiea of breaking a bill. I have chosen not to buy a bag of peanuts in the Kwik Shop because I cannot bring myself to break a $10 bill for a $.59 purchase. A dollar I could sacrifice with no issue.  A $5 note is not a major quandry, although I might think twice. A $10 bill holds some sway when considering a $1 purchase. I am forced to ask myself, "Do I really want peanuts, or am I just buying them because I am here? Do I require that $.69 32 oz. iced tea, or can I make it home where I have a gallon brewed and waiting in the fridge?" I usually choose to leave my wallet snuggly tucked away, unmolested. That is where the plan goes into effect. By not breaking the $10 bill, I have  not cluttered my pocket with change or $1 bills. Then, when my next opportunity to make a small purchase arises, I must once again determine exactly what I want to do, and why. A $1 bill is easy to turn over to a cashier.  After all, it is just a dollar.  Change is even easier to pass out.  The decision weighing becomes a habit. I have now noticed this thought process has infiltrated my use of today's chosen spending tool, the debit card. I was going to buy a bag of jelly beans. Such a simple purchase, totaling about $1.39, plus tax.  I had no cash, and no change. I did have my wallet, and my debit card. I could not force myself to swipe that piece of magical plastic for $1.39, plus tax. It seemed, wrong.

On a side note, my brother has developed an even more successful spending control plan; do not carry your wallet at all. I employ this techique from time to time as well. It is my brother Darrel (not my other brother Darrel) who has perfected the cash register 'wonder where my wallet is' maneuver.

So, there you have it, a plan for your personal financial freedom. I hope it proves useful. Now, I must be going. I have camp in 30 minutes, and I want to stop and get something to drink. Or maybe not.  Has anyone seen my wallet?

Sunday, June 9, 2013

"One Meandering Playlist"

I did not sit down and write yesterday, and this whole blog thing has begun to develop a sense of responsibility regarding needing to write each day. I suppose that is why I did it, so that is a good thing.   Unfortunately, when I do not write, I now have a feeling guilt and failure. So, I have that going for me.

I was in a bit of a mood yesterday, and instead of writing, I went for a walk. It was supposed to rain later in the day, my iphone was charged, and I needed the exercise, so it seemed like a good time to get it done.  When I walk, I listen to music, and that can be a tremendous positive. I found out that what some call "4 O'clock Music" will speed up my pace significantly, and the more varied the playlist is, the more varied my mental wonderings will be. Yesterday, the shuffle feature did its job and presented me with a varied and intriguing train of thought. "Beautiful People" and "Break Stuff" gave it somewhat heavy 90s edge, while "No Church in the Wild" and "Cinderella Man" added a significant rap influence. "Messiah" and "Satellite" brought the mix more up to date, while "People Are Strange" and "Black Dog" reved up the old wayback machine.  I do realize that there is not a country title on this playlist, and as I look back at the "Recently Played" titles, none has found its way onto the top 40.  I have country tracks on in my collection, but not for working out. Sorry, bu that is just how it goes sometimes.

Country tunes have their place in my mix, and they play their role well.  Each of the songs listed above has its role on a workout playlist. Some are obvious: "Break Stuff" is about breaking stuff. It is ideal, not for those days when working out is a health habit or a good for me obligation, but for those days when physical exertion is required for release and maintenance of sanity. Catharsis.  I would put "Beautiful People" in that same category, and it is great for that at times, but if you can focus you thoughts on the imagery of the lyrics for a moment, it really goes beyond that.

"I don't want you, and I don't need you
Don't bother to resist or I'll beat you.
It's not your fault that your always wrong;
The weak ones are there to justify the strong.
The beautiful people, beautiful people.
It's all relative to the size of your steeple..."
(Lines 1-6, "The Beautiful People" by Marilyn Mason)

I do not know how MM intended those lines to be taken, or if he intended anything beyond shock value. The verse continues with another colorful image or two that push my mind to consider thoughts of a religious nature. He also goes further to draw capitalism and fascism into the discussion, which leads me to consider ideas revolving not around one religion vs another or one belief versus another, but more about the tendency, or perhaps the compulsion, for us, as a society, to congregate and look for something to grab onto, something to "worship", not necessarily in a religious sense. When this happens, it grants power those who can grab it.  Sometimes, that power is granted by the simple fact that someone must have power. That power is sometimes extremely positive, for it is power that allows the weak to be protected; "the weak are there to justify the strong". Sometimes, that power is used to exploit the weak, and in turn, create more power. Im the end, power is maintained, increased, and enhanced by the ability to draw more into the group, the tribe, while at the same time becoming exclusionary, and, therefore, special.  The larger the group, and ironically, the more exclusionary, the more attractive it is, and the more powerful it is. That power is "all relative to the size of your steeple." The large steeple creates pride for those who are in the group, draws people to the group, and develops envy in those forced to stand on the outside and stare up at the beacon. I know; many will argue that that line is much dirtier than I have presented it, and they may be correct.  Feel free to comment. Please.

I truly had not intended for this post to take on a religious tone, but, as I said in an earlier post, sometimes we write so we can think. Plus, we can understand what one person says in his verse or prose without agreeing whole, partly, or at all with the concepts. I also do not think I have actually said anything truly religious either; my thoughts are more focused on society as a whole rather than religion. Secular, not sacred. It is about what we as a society "worship", rightly or wrongly. In "No Church in the Wild" this idea, along with many others, is explored from different angles. I told my kids in class that I love the hook and the Jay-Z verse of the song because of the thought and thought-provoking content they possess. i told them I wished Kanye's verse had not been included because he takes exactly one line to shift to "stereotypical rap" topics of prostitues and drug use. However, I listened more closely to that verse (I try to follow my own advice, but am sometimes slow in doing so),  and my complaint mow is more that I could never use the verse in class because of its presentation rather than a lack of depth. Kanye draws on Jay-Z's assertion that what is acceptable and moral changes as society changes, and that a "new religion" (by religion, I believe it means what we base the way we live on, the system of beliefs and principles that guide us, be they secular or sacred) based on true honesty, where the only sin is deception, might come into acceptance, or may already be rising up. It wil be determined by society, and by who has the largest steeple.

Now may be a good time to hit pause.  I said before that I missed the open discussions that are not as accessible in the summer. I had no intention of following the rabbit trail we scampered down when i started this post, but this is where it has led. Plus, I have a list of future topics listed above in the musical playlist, so I cannot use my classroom favorite of "I have nothing to write about" as excuse not to post in the future.  In the interim, put in those earbuds or turn on the stereo and push play. You never know where those tunes might take you.

Friday, June 7, 2013

"Going to Quick Shop"

"Summer, summer, summertime./Time to sit back and unwind." Will Smith (aka The Fresh Prince)

"Summertime" video. Click it; you know you want to.

That really has nothing to do with today's blog, but it is Friday, and you deserve it.  Today I had a date. I went to The Metro with my beautiful daughter Emily. We ordered coffee. Actually, we ordered coffee, but then I had to change my order to a small iced tea because I had a couple of small bills and a $50 bill (Why I would be carrying a $50 bill is another topic completely, so I may revisit that.), and they could not make change for a $50. Really? They could not make just over $40 in change at an established business at 11:30 in the morning? Not a garage sale or a lemonade stand, but an actual brick and mortar business that charges over $4 for fancy coffee and does major business in the morning. Anyway, she ordered iced coffee, and I had iced tea. More importantly, we found a tall table next to the board games and snagged the Scrabble game. Nearly two hours later, Em played her last tile to end the game. I won, by the way.

The coffee and the Scrabble really do not matter. It used to be a sno-ball and small fountain drink at the C-Plus store.  Emily and I started going on these outings many years ago; I think she was probably three or four years old. I was coaching football, and I realized that I could go days without actually sitting down with my family. I decided that every Saturday morning, Emily and I would "go to the Quick Shop." Later, we included her little brother, and they got their sugar fixes for the week.  So did I, to be honest. Those visits were fun, ad they were something we all looked forward to.

A while back, maybe a year ago, I asked Emily if she wanted to go get a drink, just the two of us. She said she wanted to, and when I asked where she wanted to go, she said, "Can we go to Kwik Shop?" Not Hastings, not Starbucks, not The Metro, not even the McCafe. Kwik Shop.  She told me that day that she remembers "going to the Quick Shop", and she missed doing that.  Honestly, I did too.

When I was a kid, my dad would say to my sister, brother, and me, "Let's go for a ride" or "Who wants to get a pop?" Back then, a 32 oz fountain drink was huge, so Dad was the only one who got a pop so freakishly large. I did not really think about "going for a ride" or "going to get a pop" until we started making out weekly trips to  C-Plus. Recently, I went back to Ellsworth. My grandma had passed away, and the funeral was the next day. Earlier in the week, my dad had said, "I do not sit around very well." As soon as I go to the house, Dad and I drank a cup of coffee. A couple of minutes later, he said "Let's go for a ride." We drove out and spent some time at the farm with my aunt and cousin, and then drove back to town. At that point, it was purely "going for a ride." We covered every neighborhood in the sprawling metropolis that is Ellsworth. We didn't even stop for a pop. We were just "going for a ride." It was time well-spent.

Nowadays, we do not "go to the Quick Shop" each and every Saturday. Sometimes, the two of them  will venture down with their mom and me  and get Shaved Ice (the greatest snowcones in Hutch). The other day, Dylan, Emily, and I walked do to Hastings. No reason, we just walked down to Hastings.  Sometimes we just go get a drink at Kwik Shop, although Hutch's Kwik Shops do not have places to sit.  Plus, as most of you know, Hostess has shut down, and, therefore, Sno-balls are hard to find, and I do not drink pop anymore. However, that does not really matter; it has nothing to do with the snacks, the drinks, or the place we sit. It has to do with "going to the Quick Shop", and the fact that that is something we miss. It is something worthwhile.

So, it is summertime, time to sit back and unwind. Relax. Go to Quick Shop, go for a ride, or go get shaved ice. You might miss it later, but you will never regret it.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

"It's Alive!"

So, in my last post, I discussed an article about a debate over correct usage of adverbs and adjectives to introduce sentences and that this article reminded me just how interesting language is. Actually, I started to discuss the article, and then I got off track and discussed stereotyping and how inaaproriate misconceptions truly are when one attempts to place individuals into particular pigeon holes. However, I would like to revisit that original thought.

"What is the purpose of language?" asked Mr. Keating, Robin William's character in Dead Poets Society. "To communicate," responded one of his loyal charges. "Wrong! To woo women!" the teacher infomraed him and the class. Regardless of the purpose of language, it is an interesting beast. Yes, beast. Creature, monster, animal. Pick one you like, but be sure it is alive. Active. Animated. Language is organic; it is living. Language grows, it develops, and changes. Why? It does these things because it is alive; it is alive because it is actually a part of us. It is what we use to interact, the get what we want, to express how we feel, and, yes, to woo women. Because it is a part of us, it is alive.  Because we, collectively and individually, change, it, therefore, must change.  Latin does not change. It is a dead language. No one actually uses it on a daily basis because he wants to use it. English, be it the Queen's or own bastardized mongrel, is not dead.

My family was watching "The 100 Greatest Videos of the 00s" on VH1 last night. Thanks to Beyonce, bootilicious is now in the dictionary. Look it up, but make sure it is a new edition. "Disgusting!" some may say as they turn their noses up at this new generation and their butchering of the English language. Hold on there, bud. If I am correct, William Shakespeare was turning new phrases, or at least was penning them for future generations long before Ms, Knowles came on the scene. One of my English professors in college told me that one Romantic poet was skewered by critics for daring to use the crude term (steady now)  wheelbarrel in a poem. Wordworth, perhaps. The word was too low, too common. My point is that language grows and changes and moves, just as we do. Words fall in and out of usage, vocabulary is invented by imagination or necessity, and the idea of what is proper or acceptable mutates and transforms.  It is interesting, sometimes even exciting. Sometimes, it is humorous.  Sometimes, it is downright disturbing. Have you ever called someone, or been called by someone else, a "little bugger"? That is just nasty. It really is.  Look it up.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

"Where Will This One Go?"

I returned this afternoon from two days at football camp coaching some of the greatest kids a person could ever work with. I realized that I had not written here for a few days, so, while I have no real idea what I am going to write, I feel I should. In fact, write something. Therefore, this post may truly live up to the blog title.

This morning, during my morning reading time, I came across an article posted on Facebook that focused on the use of adverbs and adjectives to introduce sentences, word and phrases such as Interestingly, most interesting, most striking, and most strikingly. I read the article, and after completing the piece, two major thought crossed my mind: one, language, especially, the English language, is a tremendously interesting subject, and, two, I am a nerd. Language is an incredible tool, and every situation and setting uses language differently, but in some common manner. I see a wide variety of those situations and experience the language demanded and enjoyed in those circumstances. I spend my time around fellow teachers, football coaches, and painters, among others. Many of them fill several of those roles at once. One, like me, holds the rare trifecta of Egnlish teacher, football coach, and part-time painter. This is also the same individual who, when approached by a young lady in McDonald's who just wanted to sell us some high quality books to help her earn money for college (that is another topic for down the road), responded, "I don't read." Actually, I believe, it was "I don't read, I don't like books, and you don't want to talk to me." "I don't read" is not the comment you would expect from an English teacher, not even one who coaches football. For the record, the comment was untrue, but it was pleasantly effective.

Throughout my 20 years as a teacher and a coach, I have received numerous questioning stares, doubtful sighs, and outright disrespectful scoffs from people who hear I teach English, read, write, and coach football. Why does that happen? Football is one of the most cerebral games men play. Lombardi was once approached by both the Democratic and Republican parties about possbily running on their tickets as a vice-presidental candidate. My college football coach was a double major in college, math and PE. The list of examples is long, impressive, and distinguished. Stereotyping anyone is rude at best, and dangerous at worst. Looking at the English team that I am a member of should shatter preconceptions about the nerds that teach English. The examples I give are incomplete, for each one of these people possesses depth and range of character that cannot be summed up in single sentences, but they are boiled-down examples that are supposed to prove my point.  So, back off.  One well-read scholar holds an advanced degree and has been known to fill the seat of an over the road truckdriver. Another has served as a newspaper editor and has proven as willing as any person I have met to attack new risks not as obstacles but as opportunites, all the while exploring the zombie apocalyse genre with a keen eye. One young lady, a former college cheerleader, aspires to become a college literature professor and can (and will) outshoot most men with a pistol. One English teacher, a young mom, is an avd and sometimes rabid NASCAR fan. Another talented young woman leaves her classroom, where she challenges her advanced students to by pushing them intellectually, driving them to write more and better than they think they are capable of, and straddles her Harley-Davidson for a pleasant ride home. I even have a fellow football coach on the hall, one who, gasp, reads and writes well and passes that passion on to his students.. So, yeah, we are just a bunch of nerdy English teachers. I am truly glad to be a member of that group.

What was the other idea? Oh, English is increibly interesting. Yes. Language is cool. I believe I will hold on to that idea for later. I have practice film to watch, and there is a book I want to start reading.



Sunday, June 2, 2013

"That Vacant House"


Below a sagging roofline, bowed by years of weight and neglect,
Shuttered eyes, dark and dusty
Hide even darker musings.
A slow fog (for misery does in fact love company)
Slouches its way about the gray house,
Leaving tears that track through the dust,
And gather on forgotten sills.