We've been making quite a habit of going to the gym here lately. And that's a good thing. Weight doesn't lose itself. Hard work is almost always required.
Unless you're one of those disgusting people who can eat whatever you want, whenever you want, and never gain a pound. In which case, I probably hate you. Unless you are one of my friends. In which case, I don't hate you, but I do seriously resent you.
Mostly we've just been doing cardio exercises, like treadmills, ellipticals, recumbent bikes, and the like. Today, we decided to try out some of the weight-lifting machines.
Now, I'm one of those oddball kind of people who best recognizes success if I can quantify it.I like numbers. Not math, mind you, but statistics. When I've been working out on a recumbent bike, I take pride in the fact that I just pedaled 7.1 miles. If I were on an actual bike, I would have just pedaled halfway to Farmville (the real town, not the Facebook game).
So when I was using the various weight machines today, I started calculating in my head the total number of pounds I was lifting. My wife thought this was a bit pointless, and she may well have been right. But it made me feel successful. Twenty reps here at 50 pounds, and I've added another half-ton to my total.
By the time I was through, I had lifted a total of 13,600 pounds. I was impressed with myself, especially for the first time using the weight machines in a long time.
All told, I can honestly say that today I lifted the equivalent of three average-sized White Rhinoceroses. Not your typical thing to brag about, admittedly. But I'm not your typical guy. You have to admit, though -- it certainly sounds impressive.
Who knows, I may eventually work my way up to lifting six giraffes in one day! Or I could just say I lifted 25,000 lbs. Or I could just lift weights till I'm tired, and not quantify it -- you know, like normal people.
But normal isn't fun. And so I count...one White Rhinoceros, two White Rhinoceroses, three...
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Poems For Your Perusal: Three Of Them This Time, So It Doesn't Seem Like I'm Copping Out So I Don't Have To Write Anything Original
Today, for your amusement (or your bemusement? or your torture?), I offer you three – count them, three – of my more unusual poems. Don't hate – don't judge. They are what they are. Take them seriously. Or take them as I intended them: To make you smile...and maybe think...just a teeny bit.
"What The Blazes"
What the blazes do is wipe out the trees
Which makes the bears extremely unhappy
Then they come and pound on your tent
Requesting salmon – and maybe a warm blanket
Which it would be advisable to relinquish
Because no one wants to be the enemy of a bear.
What the fires do is burn down the mansions
Which makes the celebrities act almost human
Then they come and cry on your networks
Requesting sympathy – and maybe a new mansion
Which would be no problem really, and quite lucrative
Because everyone loves a great new reality show.
"Shucking Fit"
When I feel this way
Nothing really helps.
I try faking a smile
It makes my jaw hurt.
I try ignoring it
My wind wanders back.
I try to stay busy
I tire easily.
No, nothing really helps
Except shucking corn.
It's cheap therapy
And gets the blood flowing.
It's useful
And you can eat the results.
Sometimes I become obsessed
Tearing away the husks
As though they were the faces
Of my enemies
Exposing the goodness inside.
But that's an optimism
I'm not ready to accept.
So let me mix my metaphors in peace
And – shucking myself into a fit –
Gradually feel better.
"A Fish Out Of Brine"
If I were a fish,
A fish out of brine,
Would I lie on the counter
Wait for my demise –
Already effected,
Now pickled and canned?
If I were a fish,
Would I melt in your hand?
Or salted and deboned
And gutted throughout,
Would I melt, would I leave
A funny taste in your mouth?
I would if I were true
To my character.
PLUMBING UPDATE: They fixed the water leak all in one day! They only had to tear up one patio square!! And the whole thing's going to cost less than half the price they originally quoted us!!! I love using exclamation points!!!!
WAR AND PEACE UPDATE: I'm on page 60 of the printed version, or Location 1895 on the Kindle, which roughly equates to 6% complete overall. Not impressed yet? Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins, just you wait! I'll conquer this wonderful monstrosity yet! Hey, I'm still enjoying it, and I've nearly reached the point where I gave up on it 20+ years ago!
"What The Blazes"
What the blazes do is wipe out the trees
Which makes the bears extremely unhappy
Then they come and pound on your tent
Requesting salmon – and maybe a warm blanket
Which it would be advisable to relinquish
Because no one wants to be the enemy of a bear.
What the fires do is burn down the mansions
Which makes the celebrities act almost human
Then they come and cry on your networks
Requesting sympathy – and maybe a new mansion
Which would be no problem really, and quite lucrative
Because everyone loves a great new reality show.
"Shucking Fit"
When I feel this way
Nothing really helps.
I try faking a smile
It makes my jaw hurt.
I try ignoring it
My wind wanders back.
I try to stay busy
I tire easily.
No, nothing really helps
Except shucking corn.
It's cheap therapy
And gets the blood flowing.
It's useful
And you can eat the results.
Sometimes I become obsessed
Tearing away the husks
As though they were the faces
Of my enemies
Exposing the goodness inside.
But that's an optimism
I'm not ready to accept.
So let me mix my metaphors in peace
And – shucking myself into a fit –
Gradually feel better.
"A Fish Out Of Brine"
If I were a fish,
A fish out of brine,
Would I lie on the counter
Wait for my demise –
Already effected,
Now pickled and canned?
If I were a fish,
Would I melt in your hand?
Or salted and deboned
And gutted throughout,
Would I melt, would I leave
A funny taste in your mouth?
I would if I were true
To my character.
PLUMBING UPDATE: They fixed the water leak all in one day! They only had to tear up one patio square!! And the whole thing's going to cost less than half the price they originally quoted us!!! I love using exclamation points!!!!
WAR AND PEACE UPDATE: I'm on page 60 of the printed version, or Location 1895 on the Kindle, which roughly equates to 6% complete overall. Not impressed yet? Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins, just you wait! I'll conquer this wonderful monstrosity yet! Hey, I'm still enjoying it, and I've nearly reached the point where I gave up on it 20+ years ago!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Great Thing About Being A Pessimist
The great thing about being a pessimist is that when things go right, you're always surprised.
Anyone who read my post yesterday may have surmised that I didn't exactly have a good day by any stretch of the imagination. While it was a 100% accurate representation of how many wildly different thoughts run through my head throughout the course of a day, yesterday was not typical. Thankfully.
First, I was lamenting the fact – over and over again, actually – that I was possibly one person short for the drama, and that fear/worry/apprehension doubled once I got to church and realized that not only was I one person short, I was now two people short, as someone who had previously signed up had crossed their name out.
(Apparently, my unease took on a physical manifestation, as one of my church friends, upon seeing me remarked, "Wow! Your face is really RED!" I remarked that it also felt as though it were really red, and that I felt flushed, and my face was somewhat warm to the touch. This flushed feeling – and look too, I'm sure – continued throughout the evening, but went away sometime during my sleep.)
So, I was now two people short heading into the final audition, and panicking more than was reasonable. But then the most curious thing happened last night and this morning – the guy who couldn't do it before, and the lady who had crossed her name off last night both decided that they could, wanted to, and would participate after all. Wow! Problem solved. Didn't see that coming.
Second, there was the apprehension about the plumbing situation. The guy never did call yesterday, and I didn't call him. Until this morning, that is. I was headed out the door, when my phone rang, and it was the plumber. "We're coming this morning to start the job, if that's all right with you," he says to me. "Absolutely, it's all right with me!" I said. "Of course it's all right with me!" After checking that I didn't need to stay and wait to let them in the house, I left for work, marveling at the unexpected excellent timing of the plumber. Didn't expect that either.
I hadn't been at work more than 30 minutes when the plumber called me back. Bad news already? Nope, they just needed to get in the house after all. So back home I headed.
While I was securing the scared-of-jackhammers kitties in our bedroom upstairs so that they were out of the way of the plumbers doing any work they may have to do inside, I heard a sound outside the second-floor window.
Errant birds smacking into the window panes? Nope. A ladder being set up against the house. What in the world?
Turns out it was the roofing guy, returning unexpectedly to fix the flashing around the dormers in the front of the house so rainstorms would stop ruining our bedroom ceiling (the same guy had fixed our skylight flashing for the third-floor ceiling leak a couple of weeks ago). Wow! Didn't see that coming either.
Don't get me wrong – not everything has achieved hunkydorydom in one day.
I still haven't called the Honda guy about picking up the keys.
I still didn't make it to the gym at lunch today (I had to pick up some cat food – our fat cat, Winnie, is an emotional eater, and he'll need to have plenty of food after today's trauma).
The "check engine" light is still on in the van, and I still don't know why.
Mary and I ran out of time this morning to make the marinade for the chicken, so it's just gonna be plain, and we'll make a dipping sauce.
I still don't know any more about Scotland than I did yesterday. But Wikipedia isn't blacked out anymore, so that knowledge is at my fingertips, should I choose to acquire it.
But things are looking up. Or down, in the case of the maybe-it-needs-batteries-and-maybe-it-doesn't scale. I weighed two pounds less this morning, if you can believe that. (Maybe I worried it off?)
And best of all, I finished writing about that stupid flannel shirt. And a few more after that. I've moved on to pants and hoodies and t-shirts. Plugging away quite nicely, in fact...
Maybe I should pessimistically whine about everything else that's wrong with the world. I just might wake up tomorrow and say, "Wow! Didn't see that coming either!"
You never know...
Anyone who read my post yesterday may have surmised that I didn't exactly have a good day by any stretch of the imagination. While it was a 100% accurate representation of how many wildly different thoughts run through my head throughout the course of a day, yesterday was not typical. Thankfully.
First, I was lamenting the fact – over and over again, actually – that I was possibly one person short for the drama, and that fear/worry/apprehension doubled once I got to church and realized that not only was I one person short, I was now two people short, as someone who had previously signed up had crossed their name out.
(Apparently, my unease took on a physical manifestation, as one of my church friends, upon seeing me remarked, "Wow! Your face is really RED!" I remarked that it also felt as though it were really red, and that I felt flushed, and my face was somewhat warm to the touch. This flushed feeling – and look too, I'm sure – continued throughout the evening, but went away sometime during my sleep.)
So, I was now two people short heading into the final audition, and panicking more than was reasonable. But then the most curious thing happened last night and this morning – the guy who couldn't do it before, and the lady who had crossed her name off last night both decided that they could, wanted to, and would participate after all. Wow! Problem solved. Didn't see that coming.
Second, there was the apprehension about the plumbing situation. The guy never did call yesterday, and I didn't call him. Until this morning, that is. I was headed out the door, when my phone rang, and it was the plumber. "We're coming this morning to start the job, if that's all right with you," he says to me. "Absolutely, it's all right with me!" I said. "Of course it's all right with me!" After checking that I didn't need to stay and wait to let them in the house, I left for work, marveling at the unexpected excellent timing of the plumber. Didn't expect that either.
I hadn't been at work more than 30 minutes when the plumber called me back. Bad news already? Nope, they just needed to get in the house after all. So back home I headed.
While I was securing the scared-of-jackhammers kitties in our bedroom upstairs so that they were out of the way of the plumbers doing any work they may have to do inside, I heard a sound outside the second-floor window.
Errant birds smacking into the window panes? Nope. A ladder being set up against the house. What in the world?
Turns out it was the roofing guy, returning unexpectedly to fix the flashing around the dormers in the front of the house so rainstorms would stop ruining our bedroom ceiling (the same guy had fixed our skylight flashing for the third-floor ceiling leak a couple of weeks ago). Wow! Didn't see that coming either.
Don't get me wrong – not everything has achieved hunkydorydom in one day.
I still haven't called the Honda guy about picking up the keys.
I still didn't make it to the gym at lunch today (I had to pick up some cat food – our fat cat, Winnie, is an emotional eater, and he'll need to have plenty of food after today's trauma).
The "check engine" light is still on in the van, and I still don't know why.
Mary and I ran out of time this morning to make the marinade for the chicken, so it's just gonna be plain, and we'll make a dipping sauce.
I still don't know any more about Scotland than I did yesterday. But Wikipedia isn't blacked out anymore, so that knowledge is at my fingertips, should I choose to acquire it.
But things are looking up. Or down, in the case of the maybe-it-needs-batteries-and-maybe-it-doesn't scale. I weighed two pounds less this morning, if you can believe that. (Maybe I worried it off?)
And best of all, I finished writing about that stupid flannel shirt. And a few more after that. I've moved on to pants and hoodies and t-shirts. Plugging away quite nicely, in fact...
Maybe I should pessimistically whine about everything else that's wrong with the world. I just might wake up tomorrow and say, "Wow! Didn't see that coming either!"
You never know...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
This Is How My Mind Works...
Okay, as soon as I finish writing about these Marmot shirts, jackets, and pants, I can move on to the Carhartt stuff that I've been putting off.
What am I going to do if we really are one guy short for the Easter drama? I can't play the part myself. I mean, I could. But who has the time? I don't. Maybe I can talk to someone at church tonight.
I probably should call the plumber back to see if he's definitely coming tomorrow (doubtful – he said he'd call me) or if he'll throw another lame promise at me that they'll get started first thing next week – the same thing he said last Thursday when I called him. It's always me calling them. They never call. Why is that?
I really hope the "check engine" light that came on in the van this morning is just a faulty gas cap, at best, or a busted hose, at worst. We really can't afford for the transmission to go out a second time in a year and a half, especially now, with all the other money we're going to have to shell out for the plumbing job. I'll deal with it on Friday, or maybe next week.
You know, I'm pretty sure that water noise you can hear in the downstairs bathroom is getting louder. Either that, or I'm just more aware of it the more time that passes without the stupid thing getting fixed. I hope they do come tomorrow.
Okay, back to this flannel shirt. I wonder where the word "flannel" originates anyway? Probably Scotland. Most plaid flannel patterns resemble the tartan family crests you see at Busch Gardens or on the covers of smarmy romance novels about Highlanders. Or maybe I'm just thinking that they look the same because I don't know much about Scotland.
Wikipedia. "Scotland". Are you kidding me? Wikipedia has shut down for 24 hours to show that they won't support the passing of SOPA? What is SOPA anyway? Wikipedia. What do you know? That article isn't shut down. Coincidence? Not likely. "Stop Online Piracy Act", blah blah blah, whole websites could be shut down because of one errant blog post? I don't like this. Not like I can do anything about it anyway.
I keep forgetting to call the Honda guy back, the guy who sold us the new Honda who left a message around Christmas to let us know the second key had been brought in by the previous owners. I hope he still kept it for us. I'll call him tomorrow. If I'm not home waiting for the plumbers to arrive, that is. Or at the auto body shop getting the van checked out. I've got too much on my plate.
I gotta get mentally prepared for the second round of auditions tonight. Is it really auditions if most of the parts have already been picked, at least in my head? Well, there's the gaping hole in the leading male role, now that we're a man short. I should probably email him to see if he's definitely out. Maybe he can still do it.
No, you can't think like that. You have to prepare for the worst. Because the worst usually happens anyway. That's a fatalistic thought. But realistic. Hey, those two words rhyme. Maybe I could form some kind of macabre poetry out of this mess.
No, I need to get back to writing the flannel shirt. Sometimes my job can be so tedious. How many different things can you say about a shirt? It has sleeves, either long or short, it has a collar or it doesn't, maybe it has a pocket at the chest, does it button or snap closed, what's it made of, and is that material soft or durable, or soft and durable. What does it matter anyway? The picture sells the shirt. But if that's true, then I've just become superfluous.
That book that I finished listening to yesterday "The Diary of a Superfluous Man," that was pretty good. Kinda morbid, though. Actually, really quite bleak. But well-written. I chuckled at the main character's frequent misfortunes. (Is that horrible?) Probably because I could relate. Sort of. Kinda mostly, in fact. That was a good book. I should look for more books by Ivan Turgenev. The man may have been gloomy, but he sure could write. I wonder how long ago he died? Wikipedia. Dang it, I forgot about the blackout!
Okay, so it's a flannel shirt. Long-sleeve, of course – what flannel shirt isn't? That would be pretty weird, a short-sleeve flannel shirt. "Keeps you warm and cool at the same time." That's pretty stupid. But consider the source. I'm a little punchy. I need to get more sleep tonight.
I really wish I could've gotten to the gym at lunch, but after getting the guy at Advanced Auto to check the code, then dropping by Big Lots to pick up those trash cans we've been needing, half of my lunch period was gone. Well, there's always tomorrow. And at least I drank my protein shake, so it wasn't a completely off-the-diet lunch.
The scale this morning indicated that I had lost eight pounds since the first of the year. I find that hard to believe, but maybe it's right. Stupid scale probably needs batteries. I don't feel like I've lost eight pounds. When I look down, I still can't see my feet. My stupid belly is still in the stupid way. But tying my shoes has been a little less strenuous of late. Probably just my imagination.
I should really get this shirt finished up so I can move on to the next item, which is, let's see – oh, another flannel shirt. How exciting!
I wonder if I could convince one of the guys who hasn't signed up for the drama to be in it anyway, since we're short one guy. I know they're busy, but they love drama, right? Maybe they can still squeeze it in. But most of the guys I'm thinking of have demanding full-time jobs, families with young kids, and all that. It's doubtful that they'd be able to do it. If they could've, they would've signed up already. I hate asking people to do things they don't want to do. Just the thought of approaching someone to ask them to do me a favor makes me sick to my stomach. I don't ever want to be annoying.
Tomorrow night I'm cooking the chicken. Mary said she would help me with the marinade in the morning. I've never made it Asian-style before. I hope I don't screw it up. Oh well, if I do, Hibachi Xpress is still only two minutes from the house. Don't think like that. You're doing good on the diet. At Hibachi, you know you'll want to get fried rice instead of steamed and you'll use way too much white sauce, and you know that's probably mayo-based which isn't healthy in the least. (Why am I thinking in second person?)
Okay, back to the flannel shirt...
What am I going to do if we really are one guy short for the Easter drama? I can't play the part myself. I mean, I could. But who has the time? I don't. Maybe I can talk to someone at church tonight.
I probably should call the plumber back to see if he's definitely coming tomorrow (doubtful – he said he'd call me) or if he'll throw another lame promise at me that they'll get started first thing next week – the same thing he said last Thursday when I called him. It's always me calling them. They never call. Why is that?
I really hope the "check engine" light that came on in the van this morning is just a faulty gas cap, at best, or a busted hose, at worst. We really can't afford for the transmission to go out a second time in a year and a half, especially now, with all the other money we're going to have to shell out for the plumbing job. I'll deal with it on Friday, or maybe next week.
You know, I'm pretty sure that water noise you can hear in the downstairs bathroom is getting louder. Either that, or I'm just more aware of it the more time that passes without the stupid thing getting fixed. I hope they do come tomorrow.
Okay, back to this flannel shirt. I wonder where the word "flannel" originates anyway? Probably Scotland. Most plaid flannel patterns resemble the tartan family crests you see at Busch Gardens or on the covers of smarmy romance novels about Highlanders. Or maybe I'm just thinking that they look the same because I don't know much about Scotland.
Wikipedia. "Scotland". Are you kidding me? Wikipedia has shut down for 24 hours to show that they won't support the passing of SOPA? What is SOPA anyway? Wikipedia. What do you know? That article isn't shut down. Coincidence? Not likely. "Stop Online Piracy Act", blah blah blah, whole websites could be shut down because of one errant blog post? I don't like this. Not like I can do anything about it anyway.
I keep forgetting to call the Honda guy back, the guy who sold us the new Honda who left a message around Christmas to let us know the second key had been brought in by the previous owners. I hope he still kept it for us. I'll call him tomorrow. If I'm not home waiting for the plumbers to arrive, that is. Or at the auto body shop getting the van checked out. I've got too much on my plate.
I gotta get mentally prepared for the second round of auditions tonight. Is it really auditions if most of the parts have already been picked, at least in my head? Well, there's the gaping hole in the leading male role, now that we're a man short. I should probably email him to see if he's definitely out. Maybe he can still do it.
No, you can't think like that. You have to prepare for the worst. Because the worst usually happens anyway. That's a fatalistic thought. But realistic. Hey, those two words rhyme. Maybe I could form some kind of macabre poetry out of this mess.
No, I need to get back to writing the flannel shirt. Sometimes my job can be so tedious. How many different things can you say about a shirt? It has sleeves, either long or short, it has a collar or it doesn't, maybe it has a pocket at the chest, does it button or snap closed, what's it made of, and is that material soft or durable, or soft and durable. What does it matter anyway? The picture sells the shirt. But if that's true, then I've just become superfluous.
That book that I finished listening to yesterday "The Diary of a Superfluous Man," that was pretty good. Kinda morbid, though. Actually, really quite bleak. But well-written. I chuckled at the main character's frequent misfortunes. (Is that horrible?) Probably because I could relate. Sort of. Kinda mostly, in fact. That was a good book. I should look for more books by Ivan Turgenev. The man may have been gloomy, but he sure could write. I wonder how long ago he died? Wikipedia. Dang it, I forgot about the blackout!
Okay, so it's a flannel shirt. Long-sleeve, of course – what flannel shirt isn't? That would be pretty weird, a short-sleeve flannel shirt. "Keeps you warm and cool at the same time." That's pretty stupid. But consider the source. I'm a little punchy. I need to get more sleep tonight.
I really wish I could've gotten to the gym at lunch, but after getting the guy at Advanced Auto to check the code, then dropping by Big Lots to pick up those trash cans we've been needing, half of my lunch period was gone. Well, there's always tomorrow. And at least I drank my protein shake, so it wasn't a completely off-the-diet lunch.
The scale this morning indicated that I had lost eight pounds since the first of the year. I find that hard to believe, but maybe it's right. Stupid scale probably needs batteries. I don't feel like I've lost eight pounds. When I look down, I still can't see my feet. My stupid belly is still in the stupid way. But tying my shoes has been a little less strenuous of late. Probably just my imagination.
I should really get this shirt finished up so I can move on to the next item, which is, let's see – oh, another flannel shirt. How exciting!
I wonder if I could convince one of the guys who hasn't signed up for the drama to be in it anyway, since we're short one guy. I know they're busy, but they love drama, right? Maybe they can still squeeze it in. But most of the guys I'm thinking of have demanding full-time jobs, families with young kids, and all that. It's doubtful that they'd be able to do it. If they could've, they would've signed up already. I hate asking people to do things they don't want to do. Just the thought of approaching someone to ask them to do me a favor makes me sick to my stomach. I don't ever want to be annoying.
Tomorrow night I'm cooking the chicken. Mary said she would help me with the marinade in the morning. I've never made it Asian-style before. I hope I don't screw it up. Oh well, if I do, Hibachi Xpress is still only two minutes from the house. Don't think like that. You're doing good on the diet. At Hibachi, you know you'll want to get fried rice instead of steamed and you'll use way too much white sauce, and you know that's probably mayo-based which isn't healthy in the least. (Why am I thinking in second person?)
Okay, back to the flannel shirt...
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Poems For Your Perusal: "Start Again"
Okay, yes, so I'm cheating again by not offering original thoughts, and posting stuff I wrote a long time ago. So sue me! It's my blog, and I'll be unoriginal if I want to! This little ditty was from back in my college days, if I remember correctly. The emotions may be a bit outdated for me today, but it flows nicely, I think. Enjoy it if you want to...
"Start Again"
Through with the me I used to be
Tired of losing while others win
Game called love is playing me
Wishing I could start again
Wouldn't it be easier to live
If I didn't care, if I didn't give?
But how can I? Guess I could try
But something's sure to catch my eye
It always does, I can't escape
Suppose that this will be my fate
Trying hard, but choosing bad
Lust for life has made me sad
At least I haven't lost my edge
And I still have my arms and legs
I can wave goodbye and run
Set out for the setting sun
If I fall short of journey's end
I'll raise my head and start again.
"Start Again"
Through with the me I used to be
Tired of losing while others win
Game called love is playing me
Wishing I could start again
Wouldn't it be easier to live
If I didn't care, if I didn't give?
But how can I? Guess I could try
But something's sure to catch my eye
It always does, I can't escape
Suppose that this will be my fate
Trying hard, but choosing bad
Lust for life has made me sad
At least I haven't lost my edge
And I still have my arms and legs
I can wave goodbye and run
Set out for the setting sun
If I fall short of journey's end
I'll raise my head and start again.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Still Dreaming
So, I'm sitting here watching a special on the Oprah Winfrey Network (of all things!) about the Freedom Riders specifically, and the Civil Rights Movement in general, and I'm getting angry.
Not because of Oprah herself, mind you. Not this time, at least.
But because of the countless numbers of narrow-minded people, many of them unfortunately from the South, who devoted their lives to destroying the rights and, yes, even the lives of other human beings for no other reason than that their skin was a darker shade.
And that supposedly made these people less human, somehow inferior beings. It infuriates me!
Injustice always infuriates me, whether it affects me personally or not. But racial prejudice just gets under my skin more than anything else.
I wasn't raised to think of people of other races as anything less than I am. I don't even know what thinking that way feels like. So, it's hard for me to put myself in the shoes of the oppressors. I can only identify with the oppressed.
I have never had to deal with prejudice from a personal standpoint, i.e. having someone discriminate against me because of the way I look, or where my ancestors came from. But I have often had to hear hurtful, hateful words used to describe African-Americans, Asians, Hispanics, and other minorities from acquaintances, friends, and family members. And almost without exception I have challenged the speaker to use a different word, at least in my presence, to describe the people they are talking about, because I won't accept the derogatory term they've used.
I scolded my own grandmother for doing this more times than I can count. She was a genuinely good person, but she was raised in a different era when racial prejudice was the norm, in the South in particular. But even that is no excuse.
Anyone can transcend what they've been taught. Hatred is not congenital. Prejudice doesn't have to be either.
Maybe someday the dream that Martin Luther King, Jr. envisioned, and fought for, and even died for, will come true. But we're not there yet...
Not because of Oprah herself, mind you. Not this time, at least.
But because of the countless numbers of narrow-minded people, many of them unfortunately from the South, who devoted their lives to destroying the rights and, yes, even the lives of other human beings for no other reason than that their skin was a darker shade.
And that supposedly made these people less human, somehow inferior beings. It infuriates me!
Injustice always infuriates me, whether it affects me personally or not. But racial prejudice just gets under my skin more than anything else.
I wasn't raised to think of people of other races as anything less than I am. I don't even know what thinking that way feels like. So, it's hard for me to put myself in the shoes of the oppressors. I can only identify with the oppressed.
I have never had to deal with prejudice from a personal standpoint, i.e. having someone discriminate against me because of the way I look, or where my ancestors came from. But I have often had to hear hurtful, hateful words used to describe African-Americans, Asians, Hispanics, and other minorities from acquaintances, friends, and family members. And almost without exception I have challenged the speaker to use a different word, at least in my presence, to describe the people they are talking about, because I won't accept the derogatory term they've used.
I scolded my own grandmother for doing this more times than I can count. She was a genuinely good person, but she was raised in a different era when racial prejudice was the norm, in the South in particular. But even that is no excuse.
Anyone can transcend what they've been taught. Hatred is not congenital. Prejudice doesn't have to be either.
Maybe someday the dream that Martin Luther King, Jr. envisioned, and fought for, and even died for, will come true. But we're not there yet...
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Trying
I'd like to lose a lot of weight. I've let myself go for far too long. I'm working out, and eating better. It will take awhile to reach my weight goal. I'm not there yet. But I'm trying.
I'd like to learn to cook a variety of different foods. I've recently perfected (I use that term very loosely) the art of sautéing chicken. I now cook supper for my wife and I at least once a week. I'm not there yet. But I'm trying.
I'd like to become a man after God's own heart. To be the man that God wants me to be. To live a life that's pleasing to Him. I make mistakes. I fail Him every day. I'm not there yet. But I'm trying.
I'd like to learn to cook a variety of different foods. I've recently perfected (I use that term very loosely) the art of sautéing chicken. I now cook supper for my wife and I at least once a week. I'm not there yet. But I'm trying.
I'd like to become a man after God's own heart. To be the man that God wants me to be. To live a life that's pleasing to Him. I make mistakes. I fail Him every day. I'm not there yet. But I'm trying.
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