A little caught up with Jack

Hi. This is a month overdue I know. I was supposed to write an entirely different blog but I arrived home only a few hours ago and if I write now what I intend to write later, I won't get to bed in time for work. Yes that's right, tomorrow - or today rather - I return to the office after having been on vacation since July the fourth. Yes I know what you're thinking.
"Well, why didn't write a blog then. It seems that the young man is not really serious at all about his life"
"Why hasn't he not been writing more regularly. Surely he could have made up for his absence by writing several blogs while he was on vacation."
In truth, these were all things I considered and was about to do after the holiday weekend until my car broke down and I had to spend almost five hundred simoleans getting it fixed. With only weeks away from leaving Tennesse for good and not long after that before I am due to fly out, I felt understandably both financially and emotionally drained by this expense. I was supposed to have spent one thousand to get it fixed but I just cannot and will not fix the other strut. I know they are supposed to be replaced in pairs but I just cannot. My car really only has to survive a few more weeks and my exodus to North Carolina so that is as much as I am prepared to spend at the moment.
Anyway, because I was in Nashville getting the car fixed and I didn't have internet at my friends, I couldn't go anywhere to catch up on some blogging. When I eventually did get my car fixed, I had forgotten my computer charger and that kind of defeated me for the rest of last week.

I know this does not excuse the previous month of inactivity but suffice to say, my workload should be slowing down for these last nine days of work I have left. I know you are thinking, "What about today?" Well, today was Jack Daniel's Day!!! No I didn't spend the whole day in a drunken stupor as brought by our very own Gentleman Jack. I went to the distilliery to tour and get some collection items to present with my speeches in Glasgow for Rotary. It was amazing. The tour Guide was a little more knowledgable and interactive than the one we had two years ago. I went with my friend Krystal again since she took me the last time. It was great to compare trips and I have been comparing photos as well. If I learn to incorporate photos in blogs then you may see for yourself. If not, it means I need you the reader's help to contact me and give me lessons.

Only six master brewers in 2006 but there are now seven. Congrats to the new master brewer!
















On the left: I was all about attending to the quality of the distilling process.
On the right: Quantity. That's all that's important. Some-day, that will be my $9000 bottle barrel and I will be one of the names emblazoned on the wall as part of the "Single-Barrel Club". Oh, the power...the glory....















Left: In 2006, I was but a pup. A pup that lacked the courage to stand proud with Jack and share in basking the sweet rays of success, his I mean.
Right: No more. I took my place by his side. If all else fails, we have our appalling heights to bring us together.

Unpeeling Summer 2008......Perhaps.....Perhaps

You know, I have always kind of known even before each summer holiday starts but certainly before each one has been over, what "flavour" this year's summer vacation is going to have. I know, "flavour" for the season is kind of like crazy talk but basically I mean what the feel for the summer holiday is going to be. I like to think that by some method my brain collects the sights, smells, people I am around and events I am participating in and amalgamates all of these into what I understand as the flavour of each summer. I was trying to think whether I had a specific analogy in mind for each summer before this and the flavour that it has represented - you know, like summer 2002 was like a strawberry. A ripe one that you bite into for your first experience of strawberry ever - but I can't think of any simple flavours to liken other summers to. The best way I can do it is to provide a little book subtitle to every one of the summers I have had since coming to the states. Maybe a little paragraph as well to explicate further.....

2002 - The Summer of Dazed Confusion
As you no doubt can guess, my first summer here. That was one amazing summer. The air was filled with the sense of green, damp, home and screen. Green for Greensboro, NC where I stayed until school started. I guess its clear that I am from the savanna of Africa when I come to the states in June and I am struck just how green everything looks. The damp is of course pertaining to humidity. If this summer was Hamlet, then the humidity of the south is Polonious - irritating, maddening yet integral to the way things have to be until we can finally be done with him and see him die already. Home. The smell of my sister's apartment, the smell of my late night/early morning snacks of pancakes, bologna, baked chicken and Graham Crackers all intermingled by my wake-up time for Yu-Gi-OH and Jackie Chan Adventures on the WB beginning at 1500hrs. Screen here refers to both small and big. Lots of TV and movies watched. In the two months that was my first summer, I totaled 17 movies watched. Pale in comparison to future endeavours but those first 17 all have a special place in my heart.

2003 - The Summer of Pretentious Knowledge
Just like second year of high school. The deluded assurance that comes from thinking just because you've survived a year somewhere, you know how everything works. The sense of Denimed damp, bloated parties and tennis and WW2 fanaticism. I showered and wore jeans to so many humid summer night movies in Greensboro that denimed damp is my summer. So many get togethers with family and friends of family. Always proud of the confidence that had grown in my by now except until I realised that I had eaten too much and I was self-conscious of nothing save how big my stomach felt as it stuck to my clothing, damp of course. The summer of 12hr tennis games with friends and family, after having been on the computers all morning at UNCG campus killing my brother for being a black-coated Nazi with a sub-machine gun trying to hide in a small bathroom in the room I am about to enter. SMG this, Bats.

2004 - The Summer of the Lethe. No exagerations when I say I really don't remember anything about this year, let alone the summer. Yay spider-man 2!!

2005 - The Summer of Scholastic Flavour. Academic Advancement and the Jade Empire and the Library. In Pulaski, Speech class mini-mester and overall coming to terms with the fact that Pulaski feels just like home. Interspersed with zealous over-indulgence with Microsoft X-box's Jade Empire. Lots of work in the Library. Lot's of pleasant distractions that Summer - Fall Creek Falls, visiting friends and brother, etc.

2006 - The Summer of Bitter-Sweet Achievement and close-related Confusion. Graduation. Applications for grad schools and the scholarship applications that need follow these. Need I say more?

2007 - The Summer of Irresponsible Glee and Paradoxical non-Achievement. First Summer at work.....and then, like mercies growing on the wings of angels, spontaneous two month holiday. Good but for stress and almost $3 000 into my savings. Still, one can't deny the glee of visiting and being visited by friends.

2008 - ??????

And I guess that's the point of this whole blog today, is it not? I can't figure out this summer's flavour. By the 16th of April every year, I have figured out the summer's flavour and it has not happened this time. I don't know if it will or if it won't. A part of me wants to go ahead and label this the Summer of Being Screwed Over and Masochistic Expectation but the optimist in me wants to hold out for a better feeling for the summer. Maybe it's cause I know I am in transition and that towards the end of the summer I will be gone. Maybe it's become clear to my subconscious that I have been seeping deeper and deeper into madness with each summer and I am now trying to bring myself back to the same and stop this foolish summer flavour thing. Who knows. Tell me what your Summer flavours have been and what you hope you will have for this year. You never know, you might get your wish.....

Something.....

So.... I wanted to make sure I wrote something today, even if it was to say I just don't have time to write something. I was looking at the date of my last posting and judging from that I am sure some of you may think I have died or gone to jail. Actually that's not really true since the people I talk to from here all already have heard from me in the past day or two. So okay, I am just terrible at keeping up with this. Although I fair a little better reading other people's stuff, I just don't keep up as much as I should. My high school study time teachers would be appalled, seeing as though one of the things I used to get in trouble for was writing letters to people instead of doing homework or studying during Study Time. Ah well, how things do change.

I guess I could blame on the fact that statistically my work day has become longer by 5.5% on average since I started my Interim Supervisor position. 5.5 - Gosh it sounds like such a small change, unless of course you vocalize that for the past two weeks I have worked for about 61 hours each week when I was used to working about 50. Maths people may have to forgive me if I have calculated this wrong. Oh well. Surprisingly except for feeling like I did when I first started this job (overwhelmed and undertrained) I am doing okay. Maybe its because I see a glowing door in front of me. I just need to walk a little closer to get to it. There, that's as overtly as I dare put it. All I can say is that time is like a jealously guarded, well-contested lover. I have her by my side but I can't help but feel that sometimes she plays me for a fool. I know how sluggish she is for me sometimes and then quick to be over (i.e the weekend) when I really want her to linger on.

Wow for someone with nothing to say, I sure to talk a lot. Good night then, cyberspace. See you again in another near-month, eh?

P.S pardon the typos, I have calculated that in the time it takes to proof this I will be well into the six hours of sleep I now have at my disposal. Bye bye.

The Chickens and the Baboons

Once in a far away village on a farm there lived a group of chickens. Now these chickens were not like what you'd expect from normal farm chickens. They were extremely close to one another and each chicken even cared about the concerns of the chicken next to him. Together these chickens lived on a farm that was owned by the Smith family. At least that's how it was now. Some older chickens in the group remembered the time before they had been caught and put into chicken-runs - a time when they still roamed wild on the land before it became a farm. These older chickens would enjoy spending each morning telling the young chicks of the failure of the chicken-runs. They would show the youngsters the spurs on their feet and tell of the time those spurs had dug and scratched at human flesh. The old chickens would chuckle to themselves before suddenly becoming miserable again and stalking off into another side of the property.

Now the chickens were experiencing the hardest of times. After the failure of the chicken-runs, the Smith family had announced a drought on the farm even though it had been raining solidly the past few weeks. The Smiths told the chickens that due to the drought there would no longer be any feed for chickens since the family needed it all. Thus the chickens had to spend all day scratching for food if they were going to survive. And so they did, scratching all morning and scratching all afternoon, resting only in the evening upon which time they would sullenly eat their meagre earnings and slump over to sleep exhausted.

Life continued like this for the chickens for what seemed an eternity. One day the chickens came out to scratch for food in the morning as they had always done. With surprise they had emerged from the bushes that sheltered them during the night to find that the Smith family's granary had been breached and all the grain of the year thus far had spilled on the ground, covering almost all of the compound. The Smith father cursed and cursed at his ill fortune, shaking his fist at the heavens. His wife stood beside him, shaking her head in slow astonishment. The two youngest children thought merry of the incident and had just taken to diving onto the heap of grain and throwing it at one another when the father flashed them a look and in the same instant loosed his belt and lashed at them wildly. During the ensuing fracas behind the compound, the chickens looked from one to another of their number, unable to determine whether the mastermind of this scheme was to be found in their ranks. Timidly, they approached the pile of grain until it was quite clear that the farmer was preoccupied dealing with his wayward offspring.

That night the chickens slept heartily, each unable to believe his and her good fortune. The silence of the night was abruptly disturbed by a rustling of leaves near where the chickens lay, however, and in horror they watched as a figure approached them from the dark.
"Do not be afraid," a deep voice said.
"I am the head of the baboons. I am the one responsible for your good fortune today. My troop and I have had score after score to settle with the Smiths and with Mr Smith in particular. You can continue to enjoy the fruits of our fray if you do us but one kindness."
The baboon went on to say that he and his troops would not be able to continue their onslaught on the Smith family with the approaching winter air. As their fur was insufficient to keep out the cold all through the night, the baboon proposed that all the chickens lend the baboons their feathers during the night so as to keep warm enough to plunder the farm well into dawn. In return for their offering, the baboons would continue to provide grain from the farmer’s stores and the chickens would scratch for food no further. The chickens agreed to this and that very night they surrendered their feathers to the baboons who promised to return them before sunrise, when the heat of the sun would be unrelenting on the smooth sensitive skin of an unfeathered chicken.

That night the chickens slept fitfully, uncomfortable out of their feathers. The next morning however, next to the bushes where they lay were piled mounds and mounds of grain. The baboons had kept their word and although the farmer had patched his granary, the baboons still found ways to steal from his stores and provide grain to the chickens. Next to the mounds of grain were the perfectly pressed feathers each chicken had given and with joy they put them on before emerging from the bush to greet the day. Now that the baboons could stay out in the cold all night, their assault on the Smith family was without mercy. It was not long before the Smiths could not eat, sleep, or carry on any other business without harassment from the baboons. In time, the family convinced Mr Smith that theirs was a cursed land and they should leave immediately. And so it was that on a sunny day the chickens watched the Smith family pack up their belongings and leave for the nearest town. Smith Farm had ceased to exist.

It did not take long for the baboons to move into Smith Manor. The leader of the baboons had convinced the chickens that the house would need to be inhabited and that everyone - chicken and baboon alike would need to continue farming to ensure that everyone was fed. But the chickens did not know how to farm, and the baboons knew this. The baboons told the chickens that farming was a lot like scratching for food except that they had to do it in the fields which were designated Scratch-Farm zones. The baboons told the chickens that if they scratched right, they would be able to harvest food to eat even as they were still in the field. In addition after every farm day, the field would harvest itself and leave mounds of food for the chickens to eat. The chickens were ecstatic to learn of the farming process and easily gave up their feathers, which they were told would be necessary so that the baboons could check on the day's farming activities throughout the night. Every morning fewer and fewer feathers were returned and the mounds of food brought by the field were smaller and smaller with each day. The chickens began to change colour in the sun and to give off an odour. Many of them simply collapsed in the soil of the fields from a mixture of starvation and exposure. The chickens inquired as to the short feather returns at the end of each night but the baboons attributed this to the fact that spring was coming and the spring air may have been carrying away the feathers at dawn when they were returned. Those chickens initially suspicious of the baboons had their fears allayed when the baboons were quick to respond by getting medical attention for any distressed chicken. Staffs of baboon doctors were on-hand to whisk away any exhausted or over-exposed chicken. The chickens slept well through the night knowing that their comrades were receiving the best of medical treatment.

Over time, only a handful of chickens were left and these were barely alive, tilling away lethargically with their feet in the soil of the fields. The baboons had taken to inspecting the farming during the day now, and as the day wore on, there was no immediate harvest to be had from the scratching and one by one the few chickens left collapsed. The baboons rushed in but none of them wore coats. None in their number had a stretcher with them and there were no sirens from the ambulance this time. One chicken breathing his last breath opened his eyes long enough to see a baboon pick up his friend and toss him into his mouth whole. Too tired even to gasp, the chicken blinked slowly as understanding washed over him. The baboons fought with one another as they tore limbs from the other chickens off the ground. They brought the pieces up to their mouths, pausing only to sniff the aroma of the chicken's fallen comrades before throwing the tan pieces of flesh into their mouths whole. The chicken began to cry as he heard the bones of his clan crushed between the huge jaws of the baboons - bones that had been made soft by the heat of the sun and muscles that had been made succulent from the scratching for food. As the head of the baboons picked up the chicken on his last breath, he gathered all the remaining strength into his voice and asked the baboon,
"Why, why have done this thing to us." To which the baboon responded.
"We like meat; we have always liked meat - especially your kind. We are omnivores, you see. That's just the way we are."

Found!

Many times I am struck at what a good teacher Jesus was. His testament came to us in ways not only that we needed, but ways that we could all understand on a very palpable fundamental level. Recent events have led to me to recall the parable of the lost coin. My Sunday School lessons are kind of shadowy in my mind right now, but if I recall correctly that was the parable in which Jesus likens the joy of the Lord at having a prodigal return to His truth as that of a bride (or soon to be bride) who finds, after a lot of effort, the missing coin for her bridal head-dress. As a tangent, I only now realise that I am recalling this story for people who already know more about the Bible, Jesus and Christian theology as a whole more than I do, so how very embarrassing. If I have butchered this, you can crucify me later.

Anyway. I thought about Jesus' ability to express and share God's comfort in this way for a long time throughout all of last week. You see, something very dear to me - very dear period, in fact - was missing. For the past week I had searched in vain for my IPod. On the day I first discovered it missing, I had realised that even though it was a Friday, that whole weekend there was going to be something nagging at the back of my conscience. As it turned out, the weekend was a lot worse than I had anticipated, due to the fact that I had also managed to misplace my phone. See previous blog. I found my phone at the end of that weekend, but as I faced the beginning of the week with some estimated 250 miles to drive for work that coming Monday, I realised that it was going to be a terrible time without Helene. That's my IPod. You see, she has been such a comfort to me on those long drives. She is never annoying since I change things round constantly with her to ensure that our relationship is as fresh as the first time we entertained one another. She always lasts just as long as I need her to, and she totally doesn't mind if I yell and scream at her so long as I assure myself that I'm still in tune. As I spent all of the week looking and re-looking everywhere - my car, my room, my living room, the kitchen cupboards, behind the toilet, et cetera, I thought about how comforted that Bride (or bride-to-be) felt when she had found her missing coin. I was struck how, like every other record of his exploits in the Bible, Jesus knew what he was talking about. If God feels magnanimously worse about lost souls than I did about Helene, then we have a crisis in the world that we as Christians have to fix, people. Not that we do not know this already, of course. Anyway, I ramble. While I was searching all I could do was something I am sure I am not divided from others in doing when they are faced with searching for any ellusive trinket - I imagined quite vividly the moment of my finding Helene - closing my warm fingers around her cold and rubbery (the cover) exterior, caressing her dial clockwise then anti-clockwise to see if she was as happy to see me as I was to see her, and then continuing with the rest of my life which seemed at a standstill. Alas, however, for all of last week my fantasy was doomed to be simply that.

....Until this past Sunday. Providence is a mother as generously intuitive to our needs as all mothers. A friend who we all hadn't seen in a while came over for a rather spontaneously unannounced visit. This same friend also worked for the college theatre which quite fortuitously is housed where the Martin Players rehearse and will perform William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and where I had forgotten my journey had taken me that fateful Thursday night two weeks ago when I had last remembered being with Helene. Nevertheless, my friend and I got to talking and exchanging our woe-stories the way all college graduates do and while she was talking about living somewhere new with a boyfriend we as her friends know precariously little about, I cut her off with my woeode (woeful ode) to the ill-fated Helene. She then went on to talk about some "IPod thingy" that was in the lost and found bin at the theatre. Unbelievable. I actually kissed her. First time. Not on the lips though, since I promised her and her ex-boyfriend, my roommate, that as their friend they would never have to worry about that. Within minutes Helene was back with me, beaming at me with her brilliant selection of such tasteful treats as "1973" from James Blunt's new album. Oh happy day.

Fast forward to tonight (this morning) and I couldn't be more at peace. Sure life goes on as it always does but everything seems in its proper place. The latter part of the last sentence is probably as close to heaven as some believe I will get, since I haven't been to church in a while, but I can't help but feel this IPod incident has taught me a very invaluable albeit microcosmic lesson of what our Lord deals with constantly. I promise anew to not be part of that chagrin. Lord, this is one IPod you won't have to worry about. Though my battery may need recharging, I will not get lost.

Losing

I am told this helps, but I think for all purposes specific to this situation, it makes me feel worse. More than anything I hate two closely related things; losing things and losing at important stuff. The latter is not really important. The first however, is the reason I have chosen to write. I write to you all a man bent over in defeat. I hate losing things. It makes me feel seven years old in a far away boarding school again. Boy, did I lose lots of things back then.

Of all the things I did to get used to life living away from home, it took me such a long time before I could go to school and come back with all my stuff accounted for. My parents used to compile lists for my brother and I of all of our uniform and civvies clothes and I always lost a lot. James, of course, was perfect. It was so bad. The lists would be taped to the top of my trunk and before I got picked up for the holidays, my mother would have me take everything out of my trunk assure me that this would be no different from all the other last school days and that I shouldn't have bothered packing anyway. She would take a pen (usually red) and start down the list. I am not even going to discuss what happened if on one of those most auspicious days, the list was mysteriously missing from my trunk. Anyway, moving along, instead of 4 khaki shirts I would have 2, instead of six pairs of school socks I would have five socks period, instead of one Washington Redskin's sweater I would have none. After an hour or so of the embarrassing ritual, being forced to look longingly at the rest of my friends who would hug their parents at their arrival, wave nonchalant goodbyes to me and mine and disappear for the rest of that school year, my mother - being thoroughly disappointed with me - would then move on to inspect me. She's a nice woman but by then I had tried the last of her patience. I would average about twenty or so items unaccounted for before she turned to give me the inspection. According to her at these times, I was always dirty, had worn the wrong and torn shirt, had annoyingly managed to lose the garters to my socks (even though most of the time they were nothing more than mere elastic bands - you try keeping those from snapping daily for the next three months) or according to my father, I was just not looking "jacked up" enough. It was then she would notice that either the watch she had bought me at the beginning of term was missing or, depending on how foolishly I was trying to avoid an incident, it would be on my wrist but blank (damn "totally awesome" digital watches). My mom would just look, shake her head, consider asking me what happened, take it back because she sensed the tale would somehow involve water and a friend's name she hadn't heard of until then, promise to never buy me another watch, and say we should just get going. Shortly after all of this I got to go home every year.

I am not sure when I started coming back home with everything I left with. I am not even sure if this was long enough ago that my mother was still checking for the list at the beginning and end of each school term. Anyway, I hope all of this could start to explain why I feel dumb, not "jacked up" and certainly no older than seven years old when I lose something. Oh, and incidentally, I can't find my IPod as well as my phone.

Hurt...?

Well, the Johnny Cash song comes to mind.... Okay so it was not always or originally a Johnny Cash song. I have been listening to him a lot on my long drives for work lately and it's starting to show. Anyway, I chose this title because although I am not sure, I think that's the only way to describe how this day as been. Emotionally, I mean. I spent most of today, technically the previous day, thinking that I was starting to come down with something. Rather than doubt my superior African physiology, however, I ventured deeper into the way I was feeling the way only a Psychologist can and discovered that I think I was merely sick at heart with the turn the day had made. I started the day at a late morning hour and I felt good enough at the beginning, being a Friday and all, but as the day wore on and as the responsibilities of my job weighed in more and more, the more I began to realize how deep I was into the rabbit hole.

No doubt I have been "in a funk" all day. For those who have spoken to me at all, perhaps you noticed and perhaps you did not. The thing is, I did not really notice today until close to ten pm when I seriously recognized that I was actually trying to pick a fight with a roommate. I just wanted to scream at how wrong it all was - the dirty house, the boxing lashing I had just received on the xbox from another roommate, and the fact that I had not eaten and I still felt like peeing even though I had already gone three times in as many hours as I had been home. Even as I am writing this, I thought perhaps that it was work that's got me feeling this way, but I do not think so any more. Methinks 'tis something else. I think it is knowing that I did not really have any control over the day for the first time in a long time even though I had something to look forward to. For most of my life I have dealt with difficult or less-than-ideal portions of my life with a decent helping of "Find something this day/week/month/year/life that you are looking forward to and latch on to the idea of that thing so strongly that it will get you through the day. I realize now that for longer than I could possibly recall that has worked very well. I don't think it has worked so well today.

Do not misunderstand, I am happy. I have a blessed life and I provide for myself. I keep a healthy home and I have a job. There is something, however, I am striving for and the more years I spend away from boarding school the more apparent it becomes that this is my life now
and here not what I am waiting for in the next few months. The fact that my life now is kind of looked at as the interim period then isn't really healthy, because I find myself relying on my age old strategy far too many times than is healthy. I wake up everyday and will myself to wake up because I absolutely know that this day will be better because it brings me that much closer to my future goals. Sadly though, something always happens in the present of the day to bring me back to the fact that as much as I have been dreaming about my future self happy, today actually sucked and thank goodness its Friday because at least the weekend is here and I can find some way to regroup before the beginning of the week.

Now I am sure somewhere someone is saying "Well I could be worse. This man has not actually said something bad happened. Looks like all is still well in his life." And they would be right. I guess the point I am trying to make is that I feel like something bad is going to happen. Maybe to someone I know or with something important, maybe just with something inside me, something that is simply going to decide to snap. I know, I know, the ravings of a mad man, eh? Never mind. Never mind about this whole thing. Maybe I've had one too many and I am not making any sense right? I am not even about to suggest that I maybe have struck a cord with someone reading this and have begun to thus undo the very process I fear. This is a mouthful of rubbish is it not? Never mind. Carry on with your day, as I shall endeavor to do the same with mine. If our paths cross just smile at me and make small talk. We'll talk and we'll laugh and you will make me all better again. Thanks.