I heard someone describe another as "a superlative human being" today.
And I thought, "Ooooooooooohhhhh."
I want to be a "superlative human being." Not because I want people to remember me as such, necessarily, but because I want to know myself as such. I want to know myself as the person I strive to be.
But I'm not. I'm just not. I suffer from random bouts of intolerance and sudden attacks of impatience. I work hard, but often do it at the expense of my health and well-being, which forces my family to endure a head-of-household who isn't always up to snuff. I eat too much and save too little. I'm utterly compulsive and a complete control freak. I often demonstrate horrible self-centeredness. And though I've done everything I've attempted, usually with a modicum of success, I have yet to achieve the goal I long ago set out to accomplish: having the ability to make any dream come true - for anyone! - and to manifest miracles every day.
I shall work harder.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Today's Foray Into Madness
Jury duty today.
I enjoy exercising my civil responsibility by appearing for jury duty… though I’ve never been chosen for a jury (for obvious reasons). I keep showing up, though, and keep hoping. I’d like to be part of our judicial system in a way that doesn’t involve supervising a criminal in the community. I’d like to be a part the front-line justice.
Then again, like most bureaucratic aspects of our society, I’m sure I would be disappointed. I already know that REAL Court is nothing like TV.
On TV, Court is clean. Everyone knows what they are doing and elaborate opening and closing arguments flow off silver tongues as though they were rehearsed.
Oh, wait a minute… they are.
On TV, juries deliberate with the elements of a crime and the interest of justice in mind. They pay attention, take notes, and hold the tenets of The American Way as gospel. I look around me today and see citizens – mostly retired – who’ve come today in response to their summons (of course I am only seeing the people who didn’t offer some sort of excuse about why they cannot serve their home county this day) and know that most won’t listen to the testimony (much less understand what it means) and won’t be fair in their deliberations because we live in a culture of “blame someone else.” I look around me and am overwhelmingly glad that I am not accused of a crime, as a “jury of my peers” is out of the question.
Because we ARE entitled to a jury of our peers. For me, that means a panel of 12 people who pay their taxes without cheating, raise families of six and send each child to college, own a home, and serve the people of this County 50+ hours per week. For me, that would mean a panel of twelve who read each and every word of a proposed legislation before voting (and then actually vote), speak English, assume that personal choice invokes personal accountability, and have a lifetime membership in the NRA.
It’s 8:20 am. Call time for jurors was 8:00. People are still wandering in, looking upset and – dare I say it? – strangely entitled, because most of the seats are taken and the tables (where I sit now with my laptop) are full. These are not my peers.
But that’s beside the point.
At 11:00 am, I was dismissed as unnecessary, effectively exempting me from jury service for twelve months. As I exited the lounge with about 50 other “unnecessaries,” I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of preemptive strike against reason in the courtrooms. Each of the people dismissed at the same time as I had been 1) on time, 2) dressed for Court, and 3) English-speaking (this information was gathered as we all tried to shuffle out of the lounge through one regular sized door).
And you’ll forgive the surmisation/observation that follows: Perhaps the criminals did indeed get juries of their peers this day.
I enjoy exercising my civil responsibility by appearing for jury duty… though I’ve never been chosen for a jury (for obvious reasons). I keep showing up, though, and keep hoping. I’d like to be part of our judicial system in a way that doesn’t involve supervising a criminal in the community. I’d like to be a part the front-line justice.
Then again, like most bureaucratic aspects of our society, I’m sure I would be disappointed. I already know that REAL Court is nothing like TV.
On TV, Court is clean. Everyone knows what they are doing and elaborate opening and closing arguments flow off silver tongues as though they were rehearsed.
Oh, wait a minute… they are.
On TV, juries deliberate with the elements of a crime and the interest of justice in mind. They pay attention, take notes, and hold the tenets of The American Way as gospel. I look around me today and see citizens – mostly retired – who’ve come today in response to their summons (of course I am only seeing the people who didn’t offer some sort of excuse about why they cannot serve their home county this day) and know that most won’t listen to the testimony (much less understand what it means) and won’t be fair in their deliberations because we live in a culture of “blame someone else.” I look around me and am overwhelmingly glad that I am not accused of a crime, as a “jury of my peers” is out of the question.
Because we ARE entitled to a jury of our peers. For me, that means a panel of 12 people who pay their taxes without cheating, raise families of six and send each child to college, own a home, and serve the people of this County 50+ hours per week. For me, that would mean a panel of twelve who read each and every word of a proposed legislation before voting (and then actually vote), speak English, assume that personal choice invokes personal accountability, and have a lifetime membership in the NRA.
It’s 8:20 am. Call time for jurors was 8:00. People are still wandering in, looking upset and – dare I say it? – strangely entitled, because most of the seats are taken and the tables (where I sit now with my laptop) are full. These are not my peers.
But that’s beside the point.
At 11:00 am, I was dismissed as unnecessary, effectively exempting me from jury service for twelve months. As I exited the lounge with about 50 other “unnecessaries,” I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of preemptive strike against reason in the courtrooms. Each of the people dismissed at the same time as I had been 1) on time, 2) dressed for Court, and 3) English-speaking (this information was gathered as we all tried to shuffle out of the lounge through one regular sized door).
And you’ll forgive the surmisation/observation that follows: Perhaps the criminals did indeed get juries of their peers this day.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The Biggest Loser
When I quit smoking, I promptly packed on 15 pounds. Not proportionately, mind you - just around my middle section (stomach, butt, and thighs). Of course, I knew it was coming... and I tried to control it... but there it is. Still.
Some people in my building at work decided to have a "Biggest Loser" contest, and I signed up for it thinking that a little friendly competition and a reason besides my tight waistbands to drop the weight might help me control the downslide.
I paid my $60 and dutifully weighed in every week. Sometimes I gained weight and sometimes I lost weight, and twice I won the Weekly Biggest Loser pot (about $30). Once I packed on a whopping 5.5 pounds in a week and totally blew the "total amount lost" for everyone.
12 weeks later, the winner was announced. Surprise of surprises, it wasn't me. At the end of 12 weeks, I weighed exactly the same amount as when I started.
I am going shopping today. It's official: I got in shape and the shape I chose was potato with legs.
Some people in my building at work decided to have a "Biggest Loser" contest, and I signed up for it thinking that a little friendly competition and a reason besides my tight waistbands to drop the weight might help me control the downslide.
I paid my $60 and dutifully weighed in every week. Sometimes I gained weight and sometimes I lost weight, and twice I won the Weekly Biggest Loser pot (about $30). Once I packed on a whopping 5.5 pounds in a week and totally blew the "total amount lost" for everyone.
12 weeks later, the winner was announced. Surprise of surprises, it wasn't me. At the end of 12 weeks, I weighed exactly the same amount as when I started.
I am going shopping today. It's official: I got in shape and the shape I chose was potato with legs.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Daydream
Hot, hard, and blind
his passion remembered
nostrils flared wide with
the scent of her need
Rhythm of madness
this touch unfamiliar
hips twitch and gyrate
her fever to feed
Sweat of the work
and salt from the bleeding
his wounds drip like honey
to flavor her tongue
Shudder and shriek
in sudden surrender
his essence completes her
joined are they, one.
his passion remembered
nostrils flared wide with
the scent of her need
Rhythm of madness
this touch unfamiliar
hips twitch and gyrate
her fever to feed
Sweat of the work
and salt from the bleeding
his wounds drip like honey
to flavor her tongue
Shudder and shriek
in sudden surrender
his essence completes her
joined are they, one.
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