If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.
- Ray Bradbury
Quote of the Month
Well, That’s Debatable!!!!!!!!!
One of my roommates is currently tryinics, religion, social morality, g to justify the fact that he screams at the top of his lungs at the television. He does this in the midst of sporting events, recaps of sporting events, and even commercials. His justification is: “I’ve been doing this for years! Get over it!”
We just shake our heads in disbelief and resignation. He’s right, though. He has done this ever since I’ve known him – which is a very loud and earsplitting 20 years. When he met his current signif.o. it wasn’t any different. It is a large wonder in my mind how on earth she possibly tolerated it from the very beginning, let alone five years later… when he hasn’t gotten any better, but a lot worse. This is just one of the MANY irritants within his rather abundant personality. We’re friends and all, and will always be, but damn, dude, you get over it – whatever it is.
His blurtations aren’t just at the inanimate animations on the TV, but also to all his roommates, his pets, and sometimes to himself. This is the type of thing that would be slightly amusing if it didn’t happen all the fucking time. The thing it rears its ugly head the most is in debate. Any time a topic of mild difference arises between this goofball and anyone else, a catastrophic, storm of the century of words erupts out of thin air. Like every other part of him, this is not a new trait.
As annoying as it is, this has always forced me to analyse my true beliefs and opinions on every subject from politics, to religion, to what is tastier between Coke or Pepsi. Even as an adult, I still find myself reexamining the way I feel about different things that pop up on the discussion horizon. I am a very conservative and old fashioned guy, but I also recognize how the real world doesn’t always mesh well with moral values, so I am constantly cementing some beliefs while adapting others.
I want to put my views about all sorts of social topics into a concrete expression of my belief. You can help. Comment here or on my LJ and tell me what topic you would like to read my views on. I admit freely that the way I look at the world is very skewed and at some times dramatically scary, but hopefully you’ll remember that it is simply how I feel, and I am not telling anyone else how to live.
Anyways, give me some topics, I’ll articulate my thoughts and feelings, and we can learn more about each other because you’re welcome to post your views or discuss what I’ve written. I will commit to posting on Sundays and Wednesdays, so comment where and when you want, then look back to see which topic I pick for that day, and what I think about it – if you really give a damn. 
The Summer of Dave, Part 3
We left off with me going to the hospital because my chest felt like an elephant had parked its ass on top of it. I couldn’t breathe much at all, my heart was fluttering, and I kept coughing. So, after the whole ordeal of that first ER visit, we left with a diagnosis of pneumonia, a prescription for antibiotics, and the orders to stay in bed until better 0 which could be weeks or months according to the doctor.
So, I spent the next week coughing, gasping, not being able to move very well because I was strangely weak and fatigued. By the end of that first week after the ER visit, I was feeling a little bit of relief, but was going absolutely crazy being unable to work. I could hear the kids and staff having a blast outsie the building where my Girl and I had a room. I had alraedy seen how crappy the camp was, but I was missing the little bit of it that was enjoyable. Being a man, and thus a stupid dork – I went back to work.
Very bad idea.
By the end of my first day back to work, I was in absolutely horrible shape. I was coughing, fighting for every bit of air, and vomitting profusely. So much for going back to work. I spent another week in our room. Granted, I love playing video games, watching movies, and talking to my guinea pigs for hours, but after two weeks of it, you lose your fucking mind!
Other than going stir crazy as I finished my second week being sick, in the room, surrounded by people having a blast, I also was getting worse. I’d finished the antibiotics a few days prior, and just kept feeling more and more weight in my chest. I finally got an appointment with a general care doctor on the Monday of the following week.
She listeened to ym breathing, had some blood tests, and got a cest x-ray. Same stuff as I had done at the hospital two weeks ago. Oh well, they’re being thorough, I guess.
The very next day, as I was shooting monsters and saving the world on te PS3, my Girl burst into uor room and sad the doctor had just called her. I had to go to the hospital right away – or my lungs could collapse. I felt pretty shitty, but I hadn’t thought it was that serious before. S, I threw on some clothes, tried to hide my greasy and uncombed hair, and off we went for another hour long trip to the hospital.
The Summer of Dave, Part 2
When I decided to change our plans for the summer (a third time) and go with the job offer from Pennsylvania, I somehow thought that being ready to move across the country in less than two weeks would be no big deal. I am a man, and gendered thus, I am not blessed with a very effective brain sometimes. Somehow, despite the incredible stress of it all, we got everything we own shipped, or packed into our two-door Honda Civic. This included our extremely unamused guinea pigs.
It took us four days, 2,500 miles, and many pee pee stops to make it from the West Coast to Scranton, PA. We stayed in a hotel that night, and drove the last two hours to the camp the next morning. Upon first glance, Camp Lohikan is a tremendously well equipped and expansive area of rolling hills and a beautiful private lake. After a few months there, I am confident that most people don’t even notice the gorgeous srurroundings.
I started working there in the middle of May, partaking in what is called Pre-Camp. This is when you are worked literally like a slave. Though there were no cracking whips, the patheticly exhausting 6 day work week, and pittance of pay made the dismally disgusting meals even more unappetizing. It didn’t help that the “provided” meals didn’t appear until the third week of this torture. It was obvious right away that I had made yet another bad decision in a lifetime of bad ones. My fiance, who had to endure all this with me, is the only brilliant decision I ever made, and she probably sees it in reverse. Can you blame her?
Anyway, the programs I was in charge of – riflery, archery, martial arts, survival camp, weightlifting, fitness, and overnights – required a tremendous amount of time and work to get prepared for the onslaught of 800 campers that was due to arrive at the end of June. Did I get time to set them up? If you didn’t answer that correctly, I’ll come over and shoot you with a rusty and half broken rifle, a splintering and bent bow and arrow, beat you with a mateless 5 lb dumbbell, and some paper thin gym mats… if I had any.
When the other 230 staff arrived toward the later half of June, it became sadly noticable that the money that should have gone into supplies and equipment did not get spent on staff. The vast majority of people hired were under, and sometimes flatout un, qualified to teach the things they were in charge of. Most of them were poster children for abortion, or at least state sanctioned sterilization of the rich and retarded.
I am used to working in highly professional and well-trained circles, so it was a doubly painful time being surrounded with such incompetence. The one redeeming thing at that point was the knowledge that the kids would be arriving any day now.
So it began. The kids arrived, the parents showed us all why rich children really get screwed from the very start, and I started to realize this weird tightness in my chest – which started a week or two before – hadn’t gone away. I sometimes get some discomfort in my chest because of some abnormalities in my heart, but it usually doesn’t last long. So, I paid no attention, and threw myself into a summer that was a mixture of sharp disappointment at the way this company squandered vast resources, and light excitement at finally getting started at the task of teaching children about how the world of the outdoors is wonderful.
The first night of camp, I got to do what I do best – build a mighty campfire around which all the children and adults could commune and bond. Now, I am used to being charged with the task of creating massive and glorious conflagrations that emblazon the faces of all around with the glow of community and togetherness. When I wastold the fire shouldn’t go any higher than two to three feet, the flicker of excitement in my eyes was extinguished. It didn’t help that I had to douse the miniature fire soon after starting it, when a thunderstorm drove the entire camp inside.
Oh well, I still had a little fun with that. I absolutely love the way all people are drawn to campfires like moths to the literal flame.
The first couple days went by without too big a hitch. I mean, this place had so many huge problems that I would never send my kids there, but the sections I was in charge of seemed to be running smoothly at the start. I could write you a collection of volumes on the insanity that went on at this camp, but I will save that for later, and possibly post it if you all want to know.
Anyway, by the fourth day my chest was extremely uncomfortable, so I was taken to the ER. The closest hospital was an hour away, though, s no one at the camp should ever have an extreme emergency. After several hours of waiting in a bed, gasping and coughing between blood tests, chest x-rays, and brief encounters with teh world’s most uninterested doctor, I was told that I had pneumonia.
What a summer this was turning out to be.
The Summer of Dave, Part 1
The world has been treated to the “summer of love” and Bryan Adams’ “summer of ‘69,” and the everfunny “summer of George!” but my last few months have been the summer I’d like to forget.
In the spring, I was working at a school district in California, teaching art to elementary school munchkins. Then I took one for the team when a horrible family tried to sue the school district over me restraining their older son from beating their younger one. That’s a long story that I’ll probably not bore you with unless everyone really wants to know. Anyways, May came around and I was jobless. So, break out the employment websites!
While perusing the summer camp websites for shits and giggles, I updated an eons old resume I had there. The very next day, I got a call from a camp in northeastern Pennsylvania that was looking for someone to run their Survival Camp program. I also got a call from a camp in upstate New York the following day. That on was a Unitarian Universalist camp looking for an assistant director. I faced a tough decision.
On the one hand, I am a wilderness survival expert, and would have a great time teaching the one subject I adore beyond all others. On the other, I have been hoping and dreaming about running a camp from top to bottom as the director, and an assistant is one step away from that. On the mutant third hand, I was comfortable in my simple life in San Jose with my wonderful fiance, two goofy guinea pigs and large HD tv. Oh, what a conundrum.
Initially, I went down the path of greater authority and chose the assistant director position in New York. So, emails were sent, job offers were accepted from one and turned down from another, and we started to plan for a move to the Empire State. At least for one day, anyway.
The camp in Pennsylvania was on the phone the very next day. In fact, the owner of that camp (and several others) called me himself, and spent an hour trying to convince me to reconsider. In the end, he offered me twice his camp’s original offer, more responsibility, and a strong likelihood for a permanent year-round spot. I was swimming with confusion at the prospect that I had yet another major decision to make.
I hate making decisions. I spend about ten to fifteen minutes just deciding what to order from a restaurant. I prefer to pass the buck on to my lovely assistant, who also loathes making the final choice on anything. So, typically, we spend an hour of “I don’t know, what do you think?” on any given topic.
In this case, I actually stepped up and made the choice that day. I called the New York camp back, and let them know the bad news, and I started figuring out how to move an entire apartment 2,500 miles away in less than two weeks. I was excited, terrified, and hungry – but I couldn’t decide what to eat.
