So I didn't come down off of yesterday's coffee buzz until 3 o'clock in the morning. The upside of this is that I was able to spend some time on Facebook looking up several old friends. I reluctantly joined the social networking world a couple of years ago on myspace. In the interim, I slowly watched as the whole world made a massive shift to Facebook. Earlier this year, I followed suit, but was unclear what had caused such a mass exodus. After slowly getting aquainted with Facebook, I'm really beginning to see why. It has made finding the people in my life that I have lost touch with incredibly easy. In one night, I was reaquainted with 8 people from my past, some of whom I haven't seen or talked to in close to 20 years.
All of this contact has me thinking.
When I look back on my life, I see myself passing through different stages, but I think the term "epoch" is a much better description.
Epoch- "a moment in time chosen as the origin of a particular era."
There are certainly occurences in my life that delineate, rather harshly sometimes, different larger chunks of time. Graduations, for instance, are typical -though slightly benign- examples of these moments. It is better to think about more specific, impactful moments, to describe the onset of an age. For example, the hot summer day that "the" letter came to my house informing me that I was no longer welcomed at the U.W. is a great sampling of such a moment. I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the beginning of my first REAL adventure: Ripon College. Ripon is a small, liberal arts college, and the last place IN THE WORLD I wanted to go to school. I had always dreamed about going to a "Big University" and now that I was no longer welcomed there, I felt I had failed in the most complete sense of the word. Ripon was the consolation prize for losing the big game. Little did I know what an enormous impact this school would have on not only the next four years, but the rest of my life. For it was at this little liberal arts college that I would meet, get to know, and become life-long friends with, some of the best and strangest people on planet Earth; here too, I would recieve a stronger, more meaningful education than I could have ever hoped to get at larger institution.
So, what I would consider to be the first of serveral "epochs" in my life are the "Formative Years" growning up (mostly) in Columbus, Wisconsin. The second would be "The Ripon Period," these are the years that started me down a long, slippery path into the highly bizzare and rich world of people that I can, with a little luck and presumptuousness, call my friends. Along this path I have occasionally taken people for granted, I've forgotten or not got around to calling them , or just managing to let people slip away. I am sorry for this. I realize that life is big, and complex, and difficult to manage. As impersonal as the internet and social-networking sights can potentially be, it's nice to have some way to reach out to the past and hopefully draw a few good people into my present. If you haven't tried it, give it a shot. I'll be posting about many of these moments in time and the people that color them in the future. Maybe I'll even explain exactly how one goes about getting booted out of a prestigious institution like the University of Wisconsin...if nothing else, it makes for a good little story, and why else am I doing this, right? Tune in tomorrow for the details.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Caffeine and Thoughts From Days Gone By
My God. I didn't realize it until I pulled up in front of my house this afternoon, but I am WAY over-caffeinated. You, the coffee aficionado, understand my plight. Coffee wakes you up in the morning, it gives you that feeling that you are somehow stronger, faster, BETTER than you were the previous day. Yep, for me it's liquid Steve Austin, and no, I don't mean the wrestler (if you don't understand this reference, then I have officially dated myself and you can google your other options). Today, however, I somehow crossed "the line." The problem with this demarcation is that it is ever-changing. Caffeine seems to affect you differently every day. Most of the time, for me anyway, the line is distant and difficult to cross. Coffee and I usually get along gloriously. I generally know about where my limit is, but somehow today it snuck up and laid across my path without me noticing. I stepped over without looking down and now I find myself barely able to type. I can only focus for moments before having to go back and make sure my train of thought is flowing coherently. With that said, I like to start out this week by publishing something I wrote a couple of years ago on a myspace blog. This is the only entry I ever made, and aside from what you have read this last week, the only other blogging I've done. I feel a bit like a cheat to put this up today instead of something new, but I want this older peice of writing in the record as well - and you might even enjoy it. It's a little light-hearted rant that I put out just before the 2006 mid-term elections (after just the right amount of coffee, I believe) and my feelings have changed little since then, although, given the opportunity, I wouldn't hesitate to replace Reid and Pelosi with people who have spines (right Dad?)...enjoy.
Friday, October 27, 2006
the hot winds of hell or some mean-ass plumbing
MEAN PLUMBING: THERE MUST BE SOMETHING AFOOT
Deep down in my soul, there's a monster lurking. I know it's there, because every time the toilet backs up, stubby little horns break through my skull and a voice emerges from my inner being, screaming and hollering like a banshee on crack. It all happened again this morning. I was minding my own business, quietly reading on the hopper. It was at that moment, just as I turned and flushed, that the bowels of hell once again opened and poured out their violent lament. Now, before you turn away in disgust, let me explain myself. It takes little to inspire this wailing, and even less to feel the anger and disgust the voices are trying to articulate. It leaves me wondering, why the transformation is so easily inspired? The toilet overflowed, it happens to the best of humanity, it happens to everyone. So why then, when these "little things" happen., do I so quickly descend into madness? I've tried the medication, the trips to the shrink, and so on; even moments of calm, introspective reasoning with myself seem to do nothing. I'm beginning to believe that this rage that rears its head from time to time is not born of myself, but from a larger, darker world than even that found in my own twisted mind. A word: politics. A simple word that should begin to give you, the reader, a basic understanding of why, when I spill a little coffee on my shirt, I'm suddenly overcome by the urge to blow up small a country. Just a little one mind you, like Liechtenstein, or Canada, but you get the point.
But why should politics cause such inner fury? I wasn't always like this. I'm generally a calm, reasonable person. I'm typically fair and kind. However, over the last six years or so I've slowly lost control of that inner peace that would ordinarily put a stop to these violent outburst. What then, you might ask , is the relationship between my response to an overflowing toilet and how I feel about politics? I think the imagery here is explanation enough. Without being too graphic, a toilet bowl, in its various states of usage, should remind anyone of the current political situation in this country. Now, I am but a common man, not well versed in the political sciences. I vote my conscience. I try my best to be a part of the well-informed citizenry. I read the newspaper, watch varying amounts of what passes for news on the television, and tune in to "news-talk" radio while driving too fast to places I don't need to go. In short, I'm about as informed as the next guy. I really don't want to mention which direction I lean, because for the purposes of this rant, it doesn't matter. Besides, you could probably guess. This is one of the biggest problems I have with "politics." If I mention which way I vote, then suddenly everybody is a f-ing expert in psychology and they think they know what kind of great or evil person I must be. Well folks, two can play that game. I believe that most Republicans are blind sheep with little capacity for individual thought; I also believe that most Democrats are equally as blind and thoughtless. This is how we play the game in America, right? Politically speaking, we accept only others of our skewed little tribes and mindlessly dismiss what ideas others outside our paradigm may have. We don't listen to each other. Hell, the real problem is that there is no "each other." I for one, despise being the recipient of other people's generalizations. You don't know a thing about me. I don't know a thing about you . There you are. We're even. The fact of the nonpartisan matter is, George W. Bush is a complete moron who is driving this country to the brink of extinction. The problem is exacerbated by a Congress who's testicles are each smaller than the other. I don't for a minute believe that all Republican Senators worship the ground this lunatic skips around on while waiving his arms and shouting, "I'm not crazy, I'm an airplane!" This election needs to bring about some serious change, if only to stop the nut-job in the Oval Office from making another mistake. For now, I'll let the banshee smoke its rock and wail to the masses. I'll embrace this anger. I'm demanding you get out and vote. I don't care what persuasion you would normally lean to…right now, we need a congress that will question what this freak is doing and make sure that for now, we have some assurance that he won't be able to flush this entire country down the 'ole hopper, or even worse drop the proverbial "cherry bomb" into the plumbing and destroy the entire house. You people need to vote in a Democratic Congress- If you wouldn't normally vote that way, just do it this time. Next time around, when idiot-boy is no longer at the wheel, we can work something else out…I've gotta go get my plunger and let the winds of my inner maelstrom blow with the hot breath of a thousand angry demons...you should get off your lazy ass and go vote.
Friday, October 27, 2006
the hot winds of hell or some mean-ass plumbing
MEAN PLUMBING: THERE MUST BE SOMETHING AFOOT
Deep down in my soul, there's a monster lurking. I know it's there, because every time the toilet backs up, stubby little horns break through my skull and a voice emerges from my inner being, screaming and hollering like a banshee on crack. It all happened again this morning. I was minding my own business, quietly reading on the hopper. It was at that moment, just as I turned and flushed, that the bowels of hell once again opened and poured out their violent lament. Now, before you turn away in disgust, let me explain myself. It takes little to inspire this wailing, and even less to feel the anger and disgust the voices are trying to articulate. It leaves me wondering, why the transformation is so easily inspired? The toilet overflowed, it happens to the best of humanity, it happens to everyone. So why then, when these "little things" happen., do I so quickly descend into madness? I've tried the medication, the trips to the shrink, and so on; even moments of calm, introspective reasoning with myself seem to do nothing. I'm beginning to believe that this rage that rears its head from time to time is not born of myself, but from a larger, darker world than even that found in my own twisted mind. A word: politics. A simple word that should begin to give you, the reader, a basic understanding of why, when I spill a little coffee on my shirt, I'm suddenly overcome by the urge to blow up small a country. Just a little one mind you, like Liechtenstein, or Canada, but you get the point.
But why should politics cause such inner fury? I wasn't always like this. I'm generally a calm, reasonable person. I'm typically fair and kind. However, over the last six years or so I've slowly lost control of that inner peace that would ordinarily put a stop to these violent outburst. What then, you might ask , is the relationship between my response to an overflowing toilet and how I feel about politics? I think the imagery here is explanation enough. Without being too graphic, a toilet bowl, in its various states of usage, should remind anyone of the current political situation in this country. Now, I am but a common man, not well versed in the political sciences. I vote my conscience. I try my best to be a part of the well-informed citizenry. I read the newspaper, watch varying amounts of what passes for news on the television, and tune in to "news-talk" radio while driving too fast to places I don't need to go. In short, I'm about as informed as the next guy. I really don't want to mention which direction I lean, because for the purposes of this rant, it doesn't matter. Besides, you could probably guess. This is one of the biggest problems I have with "politics." If I mention which way I vote, then suddenly everybody is a f-ing expert in psychology and they think they know what kind of great or evil person I must be. Well folks, two can play that game. I believe that most Republicans are blind sheep with little capacity for individual thought; I also believe that most Democrats are equally as blind and thoughtless. This is how we play the game in America, right? Politically speaking, we accept only others of our skewed little tribes and mindlessly dismiss what ideas others outside our paradigm may have. We don't listen to each other. Hell, the real problem is that there is no "each other." I for one, despise being the recipient of other people's generalizations. You don't know a thing about me. I don't know a thing about you . There you are. We're even. The fact of the nonpartisan matter is, George W. Bush is a complete moron who is driving this country to the brink of extinction. The problem is exacerbated by a Congress who's testicles are each smaller than the other. I don't for a minute believe that all Republican Senators worship the ground this lunatic skips around on while waiving his arms and shouting, "I'm not crazy, I'm an airplane!" This election needs to bring about some serious change, if only to stop the nut-job in the Oval Office from making another mistake. For now, I'll let the banshee smoke its rock and wail to the masses. I'll embrace this anger. I'm demanding you get out and vote. I don't care what persuasion you would normally lean to…right now, we need a congress that will question what this freak is doing and make sure that for now, we have some assurance that he won't be able to flush this entire country down the 'ole hopper, or even worse drop the proverbial "cherry bomb" into the plumbing and destroy the entire house. You people need to vote in a Democratic Congress- If you wouldn't normally vote that way, just do it this time. Next time around, when idiot-boy is no longer at the wheel, we can work something else out…I've gotta go get my plunger and let the winds of my inner maelstrom blow with the hot breath of a thousand angry demons...you should get off your lazy ass and go vote.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Never Give Up
Today, I'm under the gun. I find myself at the local library using their computer, which limits me to [at the beep] 27 minutes and 15 seconds. I havn't even thought about what I want to write about today. Chances are, you've never read this blog before, so, I would recommend that you skip this entry and start from the beginning, which would put you at this past Tuesday. I'm new to this. I've decided to let people know that I'm writing this blog and have made a blustery show of the announcement. If you are here because of the "BIG NEWS" announcements on Facebook, then let me apologize now. I wasn't sure how to invite my friends into my tiny universe without sounding like a leper begging for food, so, I used a little marketing strategy garnered from my girlfriend. I know that you, the reader, probably know who she is, but since I'm new to this whole game, I've decided not use anybody's real name except for my own - unless you piss me off, then, watch it.
... approximately 17 minutes left...
Anywho, I saw something today that left me feeling unexpectedly good. I was driving down a country road outside of Columbus and witnessed a David and Goliath battle-royal. This enormous sandhill crane was being flanked by what appeared, at first, to be a testosterone-fueled horsefly. Curious about this insect-on-aviary clash of the titans, I slowed my truck down a bit. However, upon closer inspection, I saw that the crane was in fact doing battle with a red-wing blackbird. [7 min.] What was most astounding though, was that the crane was actually in retreat from this most miniscule of pests. The freaking crane must have been 10-15 times the size of the blackbird and yet was doing a full-tilt, I'm f-ing outta here boogie. Strange, but sometimes you can learn a lesson from Ms. Mother Nature. It's like that frog/crane cartoon (crane? hmmm), the frog is in the crane's mouth but still has a hold of the crane's throat with the caption..."never give up."
time's up...gotta go...see you on Monday...
... approximately 17 minutes left...
Anywho, I saw something today that left me feeling unexpectedly good. I was driving down a country road outside of Columbus and witnessed a David and Goliath battle-royal. This enormous sandhill crane was being flanked by what appeared, at first, to be a testosterone-fueled horsefly. Curious about this insect-on-aviary clash of the titans, I slowed my truck down a bit. However, upon closer inspection, I saw that the crane was in fact doing battle with a red-wing blackbird. [7 min.] What was most astounding though, was that the crane was actually in retreat from this most miniscule of pests. The freaking crane must have been 10-15 times the size of the blackbird and yet was doing a full-tilt, I'm f-ing outta here boogie. Strange, but sometimes you can learn a lesson from Ms. Mother Nature. It's like that frog/crane cartoon (crane? hmmm), the frog is in the crane's mouth but still has a hold of the crane's throat with the caption..."never give up."
time's up...gotta go...see you on Monday...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Why Would I Blog Such a Thing?
Hello. Day III of the HEAT WAVE. It's also my third day of sitting here in the basement. I refuse to go up. I have a system worked out where my girlfriend is bringing me food and water from the refridgerator upstairs and I stay here, away from the heat. Nice little system, yes? Our basement isn't actually air conditioned like I said the other day. I just keep telling myself it is in the hopes that the thought will work as some kind of placebo, maybe even good enough for a degree or two of imaginary variance in temperature. My fingers are crossed. Don't worry about her, she is Native American and seems to cope with the overbearing heat with a bit more grace than I. That isn't to say that, because of her ethnicity, she is somehow better equipped to deal with the heat, but only that I am less equipped and I struggle to justify my lack of endurance.
I wanted to take a moment today and explain my purpose in wanting to start a blog. Those of you who have taken the time to read the entries from the last two days no doubt perceive this blog to be about nothing more than some over-heated chump sitting in his basement rambling on about nothing. If that is the case, then I have succeeded in my quest. I have no particular direction to take, I only want a place to share my thoughts with whoever is even slightly interested. So you, the slightly interested reader, should hang around and see what comes of this. I hope to eventually morf this into a place where I describe the people and places I have come across over my 38 years and share stories about them. I wanted my first couple of entries to provide a window into the personality of the writer (me). I think it's only fair that you know who you are dealing with before you decide to venture further into my strange little world. And it IS strange, believe you me; perhaps no more odd than your own, but it is all I know and I want to write it down before my memories are lost to the dank, inner spaces of my sometimes fickle mind.
Stay tuned.
I wanted to take a moment today and explain my purpose in wanting to start a blog. Those of you who have taken the time to read the entries from the last two days no doubt perceive this blog to be about nothing more than some over-heated chump sitting in his basement rambling on about nothing. If that is the case, then I have succeeded in my quest. I have no particular direction to take, I only want a place to share my thoughts with whoever is even slightly interested. So you, the slightly interested reader, should hang around and see what comes of this. I hope to eventually morf this into a place where I describe the people and places I have come across over my 38 years and share stories about them. I wanted my first couple of entries to provide a window into the personality of the writer (me). I think it's only fair that you know who you are dealing with before you decide to venture further into my strange little world. And it IS strange, believe you me; perhaps no more odd than your own, but it is all I know and I want to write it down before my memories are lost to the dank, inner spaces of my sometimes fickle mind.
Stay tuned.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I'm Not Even Catholic
Good morning! For a trogladite like myself, this could mean anytime between 9:00 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. Today, I actually got up at the realitivly reasonable time of 9 a.m. I've drank a cup of coffee (my only real friend) and now find myself in front of the computer screen ready to take on yet another hot, muggy day by avoiding it completely in my air conditioned basement. I just wanted to make a quick post this morning and attempt to explain yesterday's blog. Anyone who reads my previous day's rant may come to the conclusion that I'm just a big, fat, lazy s.o.b. who doesn't appreciate the value of a hard day's work. This is not so. I am, in fact, a semi-umemployed English teacher, who for the last four years has been struggling to find a permanent position in a district that doesn't cut their budget year after year.
I've actually been working (in one capacity or another) for the same small school district for the last 3 years. Each year ends with me wondering whether or not I'll return in the fall. My first year I was a substitute. The second found me as a contracted member of the high school faculty, teaching English. This past year is a little harder to explain. The short version is that I was a "Long Term Substitute," and by this I mean I taught the entire year and didn't at all "sub" for anyone. It's a fancy way of saying that I was employed as a teacher for the district doing whatever they asked of me, without any sort of contract. What that means for them is that they had a fully certified teacher at their disposal for the year without having to pay me any sort of benefits. Pretty good deal for them.
I now sound bitter. Yet, I'm not.
I had a FANTASTIC experience this past year (a story for another day) and I'm happy I had the opportunity. I mention all this to explain something from yesterday. I'm not AT ALL against working, I'm just against the value we tend place on it. When I'm teaching, I'm working my ass off and trying my best to give the kids I teach something they can take with them when they leave. I enjoy what I do as much as anyone. I just wonder sometimes about how little emphasis we Americans put on enjoying our lives. If someone finds out we would rather be fishin', then we tend to look at that person with an air of suspicion. Sure, we all say that, we too, would rather be throwing a line in the river, but deep down we would never really ask for the day off. You all know someone at work who pushes the envelope of "days off." That's the person that everybody looks at sideways. Face it, who is more admired at work, the employee with several weeks of vacation days banked from the last 3 or 4 years, or the guy who blows through them by the end of July? The former, of course. That person is "dedicated" and the latter is probably someone who is "just there to pick up a paycheck." But, you know what? Those assumptions about work ethic are so far from the truth. I'd rather be well rested and relaxed after a few quality "days off" than be the other idiot who thinks that being a slave to their job is somehow "honorable." In fact, I'll probably do a better job than our friend the "workaholic" because I've taken time off to reflect on why I do what I do. I'm relaxed and content. Admittedly, most of us have little to no choice in the matter of working. We have to do this. I'm okay with work, but why do I feel the need to explain myself? I think that yesterday my rant was fueled by that most annoying of human emotions, guilt. And so is today's...
I'm not even Catholic.
Peace out.
I've actually been working (in one capacity or another) for the same small school district for the last 3 years. Each year ends with me wondering whether or not I'll return in the fall. My first year I was a substitute. The second found me as a contracted member of the high school faculty, teaching English. This past year is a little harder to explain. The short version is that I was a "Long Term Substitute," and by this I mean I taught the entire year and didn't at all "sub" for anyone. It's a fancy way of saying that I was employed as a teacher for the district doing whatever they asked of me, without any sort of contract. What that means for them is that they had a fully certified teacher at their disposal for the year without having to pay me any sort of benefits. Pretty good deal for them.
I now sound bitter. Yet, I'm not.
I had a FANTASTIC experience this past year (a story for another day) and I'm happy I had the opportunity. I mention all this to explain something from yesterday. I'm not AT ALL against working, I'm just against the value we tend place on it. When I'm teaching, I'm working my ass off and trying my best to give the kids I teach something they can take with them when they leave. I enjoy what I do as much as anyone. I just wonder sometimes about how little emphasis we Americans put on enjoying our lives. If someone finds out we would rather be fishin', then we tend to look at that person with an air of suspicion. Sure, we all say that, we too, would rather be throwing a line in the river, but deep down we would never really ask for the day off. You all know someone at work who pushes the envelope of "days off." That's the person that everybody looks at sideways. Face it, who is more admired at work, the employee with several weeks of vacation days banked from the last 3 or 4 years, or the guy who blows through them by the end of July? The former, of course. That person is "dedicated" and the latter is probably someone who is "just there to pick up a paycheck." But, you know what? Those assumptions about work ethic are so far from the truth. I'd rather be well rested and relaxed after a few quality "days off" than be the other idiot who thinks that being a slave to their job is somehow "honorable." In fact, I'll probably do a better job than our friend the "workaholic" because I've taken time off to reflect on why I do what I do. I'm relaxed and content. Admittedly, most of us have little to no choice in the matter of working. We have to do this. I'm okay with work, but why do I feel the need to explain myself? I think that yesterday my rant was fueled by that most annoying of human emotions, guilt. And so is today's...
I'm not even Catholic.
Peace out.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Window Into the Soul of the Unemployed Slacker
I really, REALLY, don't want to do this. It is freaking hot out. I would rather spend the rest of my day (and my life, for that matter) sitting in front of an air conditioner sleeping next to my dog and waking up occansionally to eat and do a quick Sudoku to pass the time. Of course, my girlfriend, my dog, and most other people in my life won't allow this to happen.
My question is this, "Why the f*$k not?"
The answer is obvious, because "THIS IS AMERICA, STUPID!"
You see, here in these United States, we have come to believe in an idea that is utterly contrary to my inner being. This is the idea that "work," no matter how you may feel about it, is entirely necessary in order for us "be" someone. We cannot define ourselves without it. We worship it, and we hoist those who do it with gusto to a pedastal high upon Mt. Olympus. Those industrious spirits who are unable to find satisfaction in anything but highly productive, stress inducing, creation of some tangible (or intangible) product at the expense of all else in their lives. The "workaholic" is the model against which we judge ourselves. I know many hardworking people who think of themselves as lazy and shiftless if they don't put in at least 50-60 hours of work each week. They idolize those that regularly post 60-70 hours and stand in awe of others who can magically do more.
Why is this so impressive to us? Because, behind this idea, is the great capitalist game: who ever dies with the most money wins. This game is a game of social class as well. None of this work means anything unless it is a "big, important" job, done by someone who has all of their impressive degrees in order. Do we idolize the single working mother with 3 or 4 jobs? No, we scorn her and whisper assumpitons we make about her behind her back. Working 60-70 hours a week and barely surviving doesn't impress us.
And what about those people who aren't impressed by such an extreme work ethic? I'm certainly one of them, and I'd be willing to bet that if you find that offensive, you've made a ton of assumptions about me as well. Do you assume I'm a slacker? A loser? A leach upon society? I'm unemployed, and I want to work. I've been looking for a job for quite a while now. I always try to do my best when I'm given the opportunity. I understand that we need to work in order to survive, to get the bills paid and stave off the IRS. I want this country to work, and I'm more than willing to do my part. What I despise is the zealous mentality that only hard working people deserve what they get. Because, who gets to define what "hard work" is anyway? Besides, what is so wonderful about passing away all of our time at work? Don't people in Europe take off several weeks each summer and enjoy themselves without judging each other? Why do I feel guilty about not having a job? I'm looking dammit! Get off my case America, freaking relax for a minute. This is our one chance to exist, to enjoy a moment in the sun. Go ahead and work, I'm gonna lie down in front of the air conditioner and finish that Sudoku.
My question is this, "Why the f*$k not?"
The answer is obvious, because "THIS IS AMERICA, STUPID!"
You see, here in these United States, we have come to believe in an idea that is utterly contrary to my inner being. This is the idea that "work," no matter how you may feel about it, is entirely necessary in order for us "be" someone. We cannot define ourselves without it. We worship it, and we hoist those who do it with gusto to a pedastal high upon Mt. Olympus. Those industrious spirits who are unable to find satisfaction in anything but highly productive, stress inducing, creation of some tangible (or intangible) product at the expense of all else in their lives. The "workaholic" is the model against which we judge ourselves. I know many hardworking people who think of themselves as lazy and shiftless if they don't put in at least 50-60 hours of work each week. They idolize those that regularly post 60-70 hours and stand in awe of others who can magically do more.
Why is this so impressive to us? Because, behind this idea, is the great capitalist game: who ever dies with the most money wins. This game is a game of social class as well. None of this work means anything unless it is a "big, important" job, done by someone who has all of their impressive degrees in order. Do we idolize the single working mother with 3 or 4 jobs? No, we scorn her and whisper assumpitons we make about her behind her back. Working 60-70 hours a week and barely surviving doesn't impress us.
And what about those people who aren't impressed by such an extreme work ethic? I'm certainly one of them, and I'd be willing to bet that if you find that offensive, you've made a ton of assumptions about me as well. Do you assume I'm a slacker? A loser? A leach upon society? I'm unemployed, and I want to work. I've been looking for a job for quite a while now. I always try to do my best when I'm given the opportunity. I understand that we need to work in order to survive, to get the bills paid and stave off the IRS. I want this country to work, and I'm more than willing to do my part. What I despise is the zealous mentality that only hard working people deserve what they get. Because, who gets to define what "hard work" is anyway? Besides, what is so wonderful about passing away all of our time at work? Don't people in Europe take off several weeks each summer and enjoy themselves without judging each other? Why do I feel guilty about not having a job? I'm looking dammit! Get off my case America, freaking relax for a minute. This is our one chance to exist, to enjoy a moment in the sun. Go ahead and work, I'm gonna lie down in front of the air conditioner and finish that Sudoku.
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