Practice

Her name is Zoey. She is a blue pit bull. She is amazing.

Originally, my new roommate Farming Punk inquired if we were interested. Me and Mocha pretty much balked. We were still settling into the place. But then one night he brought her over and we were enamored suckers. She's been with us for about 5 weeks. And now she's getting big and feisty and chewing on everything. But she's still so adorable. You just have to love her.

This morning, as I hazily watched her find a suitable spot in the grass, my mind drifted to the parallels between taking care of her and being a parent to a human being. I was awakened only moments before by her hysterical yelps. And the helpless little thing did her business. I was proud of her. I was proud of an animal for performing its bodily functions in a suitable manner outside my living space. Where does this love come from?

I could draw a spiritual link here, but I feel I'd be undercutting it. Now coming upon her 12th week of life, she is approaching the dog equivalent of the terrible two's. Lately she's clawing and chewing up everything. I've paused from writing this post eight times just to grab some random item out of her mouth. She's a treasure though. Growing up in an apartment, I was deprived of this pleasure. But so far so good. I'm still learning. But then I remember that she is too.

The Vivid 10

Since the screen on my Blackberry broke, I have been forced to use an old standby of a phone. It's still a neat phone that still amazes in a world where technology and gimmicks have exponentially advanced since its birth about 2 years ago. Mostly the changeover has been seamless. The biggest change has been increasing my vigilance about which text messages get deleted since the memory is that much smaller.

One other side effect has been the way I wake up. The Blackberry has a shrill tone that really only accomodated me hitting snooze once or twice. Hitting a button just made it come back five minutes later with even more fo\rce. Often I just turned it off for fear of waking up Mocha. The cool thing about the little Nokia is that the tone is still alarming, yet soothing. Also, I just hit a simple snooze button and it repeats its wakeup call 10 minutes later.

Now i feel like that my body is starting to adjust to these 10 minute intervals. Often I set my alarm for some ideal time, but end up sleeping another hour or so, but in 10 minute intervals. And often these 10 minute intervals seem very much like a normal sleep cycle. As soon as I hit that button and return to my pillow, I am asleep. And when I hit that buton again, I am amazed that it has only been 10 minutes. All of a sudden, I am recalling dreams, or maybe just the manifestations of my brain at that moment. Just today in slumberland, I spoke to my mom about my health and answered philosophical questions about my psyche. I also saw my cousins move out of their home and cried horribly when my cousin hugged his mother as he left. 

I think I stayed in bed the extra three hours just to see how far I could take it. I'm not sure what this all means, but it fascinating. Maybe I am just a geek. Maybe I just want to understand my brain.

The Ties That Bind

Towards the end of our workday, Special K found a quiet moment to tell me some private concerns. Now the content isn’t what’s important but rather the knowledge that she felt comfortable enough to vent in a way, I am honestly very gratified when I can be a good friend. Probably because, I usually am not one.

Throughout my life, I have had a plethora of friendships. Sadly I have not remained as consistent with them as I would like. I link it mostly to the only child aspect of my upbringing. It’s innate in me to seek out solitude. But funny enough I also learned to like social interaction, so much to the point that when I have a truly awesome experience I almost feel embarrassed at how much I treasure the moments. 

There are a lot of influences in this soufflé. First I grew up only child. Siblings are like practice for the real world, so I was already behind. Then I grew up in an apartment complex in a city which was mostly filled with the old and Jewish. I really only had one consistent playmate and even that wasn’t too often since he’s like 2 years younger and went to a completely different school. And I lived two lives. The school year parts of the calendar were dominated by my church brethren, since I went to my home church’s grade school. But my summers were spent in the upscale neighborhood adjacent to my apartment complex. And even back at grade school, I was skipped and so I was separated from the couple of friends I did have. Then I went to high school in the Bronx. So I didn’t get to share as many experiences and also some of these basic tenets of friendship that are embedded in those experiences.

I’m lucky though. Somewhere along the line I realized how much friendships mean to me. I keep text messages for way too long just because there was a funny exchange or it reminds me of a special event. And now I’m realizing that I have let some just drift to the wayside and that is truly sad. I’m very happy for the ones I have. I’d like to reclaim ones that have fallen into ill shape. I want to start ones that may never have gelled early, but I’d like to salvage and build.

These friendships are somehow very sustaining. I need to put some work in sustaining them.

Jukebox: Strange Fruit Project - Special

A Black Man Is Running For President

An African-American man is probably going to be the nominee for President of The United States of America by a major political party. This is really happening.

Man I can do anything.

In Dreams

I've never been one of those types to remember my dreams. The other day, Cinnamon was able to rap off about four random nocturnal narratives from her previous night's sleep. And yesterday, Mocha said he woke up performing the same action in his dream. I never have such an interactive experience. In the rare instances I do recall a dream, they are usually vivid and lush; I remember elements of it like it was the text of a novel.

And to my surprise, something in the shuffle elicited a transcript from last night's REM activity. Once again, everything was very real from the physical elements of the space and the emotional qualities of the whole scene. I was in a church sanctuary, one that resembled my aunt's church. In what seemed like a rehearsal setting, I made an amazing harmony with the person who was singing. I looked back and got acknowledgment from a spectator in the front pew, a figure I identified as one of my aunt's clique dressed in a type of skirt she wore every time I have met her. And it was a feeling off pure joy.

It was telling that my brain chose to replicate something familiar to me. Nothing abstract that I needed to decipher. The same church I adore. The same praise team time that I absolutely dwell in forever. And harmonies so sweet, it makes you stop where you are. Just a soft soothing environment to deliver this message: I have suppressed the fact that I loved being in those types of situations, and that's not limited performing beautiful music. I love feeling like I'm a part of something. It's hard to put my finger on, but that is what I took from my nocturnal narrative. Maybe all the activity over the weekend stimulated my brain to want more. And now its trying to tell me to start getting more of it.

Lately, I actually have been getting the itch to actually live. Even though it's late, I'm glad it's finally coming. Everybody seemed to be worried, and that made them more worried. I'm absolutely mortified at what I have let happen, but one step at a time, I will turn the tables. There is a lot to accomplish, but I know I can do it. And I'm finally starting to accept the fact that it won't be instantaneous. Getting what I deserve will take time. I'm already praying for the patience to add on to that stew of of strength, courage, and wisdom. And I'm also remembering that I do have the ability to express myself in a multitude of ways. I'm really excited about living out all of my dreams.
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In My Ears: Bilal - Make Me Over

It's Not A Competition

Earlier this week, Bassline inquired if I was down for some praise team practice. I jumped at the chance. Since I was introduced to the concept of praise team, I've had reverence for them. For the uninitiated, praise team is simply a group of people who lead the praise and worship section of a worship service. Usually it averages about 4 or 5 and is coed so that all the amazing harmonies can be projected. During college, the praise team had the power to make my day. The rest of the service could be banal, distracting, and even upsetting. But if the praise team's section was on point, the heavens were lifted for me.

Anytime I get to see people practice I try to go. I'm not so sure why I am always into the inner workings of things or the motivations behind such actions, but they always intrigue me. This time around, we were dealing with a haphazard praise team, busily setting up things for a special day at their church the next day. Mostly they were unprepared, yet wanted to be perfectionist. You couldn't fault them. They were still jovial and about Jesus, which is what the whole thing is supposed to be about. But you could also hear frustration, cause even they knew they weren't entirely getting it.

Out of nowhere, I felt a pull to guide some of the ladies. And point out some mic issues. And issue some advice on tempo. I don't know where it came from. Save for Bassline and his two friends, I didn't know any of these people. And within minutes they were asking for more help. I wish I knew more about the thing I love so much. I wish I had stuck with those piano lessons and learned theory. I wish I listened to more of the music so that I would know every part.

But I think knowing too much would take away some of the allure. I analyze everything enough. Praise time is the only time, I feel myself letting go completely. Singing your heart out with a bunch of like-minded people is part of my vision of heaven. And thankfully the team is never in competition. They just all want to win.

Quintessential

One of the things that I draw joy from at work is the knowledge that a wide range of children feel comfortable saying hi to me and joking with me. Every once in a while I get extra pleasure from the puzzled and sometimes frustrated looks of the staff who are actually their charges. 

Anyway today as I picked up one of my own, a boy from another program came up to me and called me a human dictionary. Quickly he quizzed me on the meaning of the word quintessential. I responded, as his teacher listened, that it was something pure or the best. I was happy when his teacher actually kind of agreed and said something like the superlative. Of course he said we were both wrong and that it was "something in its purest essence."

But as I walked away, I dwelled on the word and what he claimed was its true meaning. Purest essence. That is quite a concept. It would be so nice to have some elements of life just get refined to the point that it was back to the quintessential. 

Okay, I am aimless. Its best to end here before I get wildly philosophical and reveal way too much about my psyche

Fitness

As America struggles to cope with what seems like what will be a recession that will last for a spell, it is interesting to take a look at how the rest of the world is living. One such place is the Caribbean, never known as a haven for stability and prosperity. Instead, it has served as a petri dish for a cruel experiment. The ingredients include an interesting array of individuals, the vast majority not respected by their brethren. Add neglect and circumspect circumstances, including inadequate resources, easy substance abuse, absurd poverty. Watch the carnage.

I'm not sure what the hypothesis is, but it stands to reason that the objective falls in the sadistic category. Mad science has produced a strong set of people, hopelessly misguided and unable to reach their full potential. Haiti is an example as illustrated by this article about the class disparity in fitness clubs amongst the populace. In the plush neighborhoods, it is Gold's Gym for the well to do. Foreign ambassadors in the name of piety, philanthropy, and profit mingle amidst a couple of the more fortunate natives with electric gleaming machines and specialized protein shakes. Down the road in the more common poor neighborhood, their machines are only electric in history. Spare parts like car batteries serve as weights. At the all-star rate of only $8 a month.

And still most of the people in the neighborhood can't afford it.

Could you honestly survive like that? Even if they had the loot to have electric machines, it wouldn't make sense since the power goes out a regular basis. Now how long would I last sans electricity. Don't even want to think about it.

When power is fought over instead of talked about, agreed upon. Ugggh. But it happens. All over. Haiti. Next door in Quisqueya. West in Jamaica. South in Venezuela, Colombia. Oh yeah and isn't some of that profit money from (RED) clothes going to help slow the spread of AIDS in Africa, an ill product from the stew created for the experiment.

It's sad any way you look at it. And realizing that you actually have the option to easily save cash and use public transportation or turn on your television whenever you want.

Truly sad.
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On The Jukebox: Amel Larrieux - Believe In Love

Cut Off

At some point yesterday, the text messaging element of my cell phone service stopped functioning. I didn't notice it initially. My phone still said mine were going out. I just assumed the rest of the world was ignoring me for their own reasons. But as my colleagues were discussing cell phones, it occurred to me that mine might actually have been the problem. I had Mocha text me right then and I received nothing. And I texted him in return and received nothing.

I tried it in two different phones thinking maybe I hit a button on accident on my Blackberry, but it has sunk in that something is up with AT & T or my account. I'm still hoping that I will magically be inundated with a flood of texts but I know eventually I will have to investigate things further. So far though I think its been a blessing.

In my effort to cope with life's glitches, some grand reflection must be drawn out of it. Honestly I have been using the text as my primary mode of communication with everyone which is sad. More sad considering it took the loss of the tool for me to realize how pathetic it was all getting. I've grown so addicted to texts that I have been unable to produce more than two sentences written at a time. I almost can't speak for more than two sentences.

So now is the time to reclaim those other forms of communicating like actual conversation and extended e-mails instead of bits and pieces. This whole isolation thing I've been doing in the past couple of months is seriously unhealthy, and the longer I stay in it, the further it pushes me down. Looking back on this blog, even though no one reads it, I used to produce much more. And even though most of the time it was about utter nonsense, I still had enough motivation to do it. Where the hell did that go?

I'm off to wake up

Catharsis

One of the boys at work is can get to near raving lunacy with the slightest provocation. In the midst of his worst outbursts, he flings objects without thought, climbs on furniture, and even hurts himself, though this has cut down a lot recently. A lot of the time, its easy to understand why he would be so upset. Sometimes he's upset about a perceived injustice. Sometimes he's just mad that he was not included in a desired activity. But for a while, I never understood why an outburst was almost a guarantee when someone asked him to shower. Each night, the same routine would occur. First he would make deals and postpone the shower, but eventually it would be time to act on the promise and the issue would occur. Even when the specific activity he asked for was dangled in front of him, as long as he completed his shower, he still couldn't get into that bathroom and clean himself.

One night, it was actually settled enough and I asked him why he was so averse. He just replied "I miss my parents". My initial instinct was to ask him why that had anything to do with showering or not. I was about to go into the natural staff response of "well I'm sorry about that but just cause you're away doesn't mean that they still wouldn't want you to shower," but I bit my tongue. And then it all made sense. In the shower, there is nothing to distract you from your mind. And there is where this young one's emotions reached fever pitch. Of course he would avoid it.

I only realized it cause I've been having the same problem for the past two months. What should be a five minute ritual turns into a quarter hour experience, which inherently slows down the rest of my day. In addition to swimming through the minefield of all the failings of my life I am currently upset about, I regularly find marks on my body I am sure did not exist before that particular trip to the shower. In the end, I emerge with pruny fingers and the need to forget everything I just pondered in the cascade.

But I never can. And it interrupts at the most inopportune times. I commonly find myself doing absolutely nothing and not knowing what it was I had intended to do before I spaced out. Whereas before I used to at least come up with blog ideas, write a draft and come back to it later, I haven't even had the desire to conjure blog postings out of nothing. I haven't been motivated to write them out of the actual somethings. It's taken me an hour just to get to this point just because I keep having pauses over nothing. It's taken me four extra weeks to even open the document to write

And what is causing the issues? Well life. I started feeling down around my birthday and getting older and realizing that the plan I had worked out to move on still hadn't been followed. And looking around and realizing that I was better than where I was. Then a series of seemingly never ending financial misfortune. Oh yeah my dad had congestive heart failure and was actually truly mortal to me. And my job, even as I have been at my most sharp and insightful due to my advantageous state of having very similar emotions to the boys, is less and less fulfilling. And the exacerbating factor is that I have known better. I know better. Yet still I find myself unable to make the moves I know are necessary to alleviate this state of torment.

It's very frustrating knowing you want to breakthrough, but you don't have a hammer. Actually even worse, you know exactly where to find the hammer, yet you can't even motivate yourself to get it. What do you do then? I'm still searching for the answer. I can't shut down again. I can't imagine myself more sad which is the only thing that can happen. But all I can do is look up at this point and hope the storm ends soon, or at least holds up for a bit. I need to get that damn hammer.

Requiem For A Pic

Mira was the first to notice. A few months ago amidst one of the regular lulls in our conversation, she began to poke at my grey patch. She thought my hair was thinning; I assumed she was just trying to provoke me.

But after my next haircut, I started to see it. Fully subscribing to denial, I shelved that knowledge away. That is until about a wek ago. As one of my boys was deciding to be a disruption, he took the time to pause from his climb up a door to notice my situation. "You're going bald you know?" Perfectly stated as he was perched on the handle of the door with a pretty good view of the affected area. In the moment, I even made fun of it, just trying to get the kid off the door.

That night was a whole other story. I patted the front part of my head trying to gauge density and lushness. I'd go back and forth telling myself it was all my imagination or my follicles were completely doomed. With a broad range of inensity, the practice has repeated ever since. Every image of male hair that I have come across has been scrutinized, especially the different patterns that my head might be adapting.And then I thought of all my male cousins on my mom's side and I realized they all had various grades of baldness. And my mom's dad has a bit of the loss too.

Now I have accepted it. My soft curls will disappear eventually. Soon my haircuts will be exclusively low. Eventually I won;t need them at all. When I think of it, its not the worst thing in the world. But damn my vanity still screams "This sucks!" Just as I found a barber that felt like my own and a shop where I felt comfrotable, I also finally decided upon a style I like. Now my trips to the shop will be shorter and less and less frequent.

I will miss it though. We've had good times. There were the mishaps like shsaves too low and hairlines too far bacl. But we had fun too. Dreadlocks were a joyride, initially reckless when the first set didn't take. I will also really miss my grey spot whchhonestly seems like one of the first battlegrounds I'll lose.

I wish it wasn't happening so early. I would have liked to have had at least a more stable career and developing a nice middle age paunch before my hair decided to recede. It also would have been nice to be in a committed relationship with a woman who remembered me with a nice flowing mane and could playfully chide me on its disappearance.Now I consider all the options my appearance might take since I still need to attract that lady, who may chide me on the way to that long lasting relationship.

Such is life. I plan on enjoying my lustrous days for however long they last. hopefully it is long enough for someone to fall in love with me, on the inside.

Update - 12/20/07 09:56: Okay so I just got a haircut and I guess the reports of retreat might have ben grossly exaggerated. it is leaving though. Just not as quick as I first thought

Cot Damn

Normally I am not awake this early but a couple of minutes ago, I was alert enough to hear my cell phone receive a fresh new text. I checked it out, assuming an errant network or an individual with little cognizance for time was to blame. But it was actually a text from Mocha reminding me about our rent. Then I remembered that he was up shopping just like he said it would.

I left my bed completely when I realized I would have to relieve myself if I had any chance of going to bed again. When I left my room, I saw that the hallway light was on. I thought someone just left it on last night and I was about to turn it off when it clicked that Banana's door was wide open. For a quick moment, I thought all those fundamentalist Christians were right and the rapture had taken place. Then I got upset trying to figure out how my roommates were more holy than me. Then it hit me that the only rapture that took them was Black Friday shopping. 

I grew up largely shielded from this amazing frenzy. New York City has only recently begun to be inhabited by the big box stores where these sales are the most prevalent. Sure, the department stores had similar blow outs, but we focused more on the fact that there would be a sale all day. We were sensible about our bargaining. No need in waking up extra early on a day off. But the clamor for half price laptops and cheap toasters hammers out all that logic.

I do admire the dedication of these people. Thinking about it, their single collective expenditure could boost the dollar. But the phenomenon still escapes me. Rushing about pre-dawn to buy stuff at any price just doesn't seem worth it. Especially nowadays when the websites for these companies happen to have some of the same deals online from midnight. I won't knock it though. It is nice to see that there is still something that gets everyone motivated on a large scale. Sadly it's only disaster or consumption that gets us moving.

I also must amend my earlier assertion that Halloween is the new American holiday. It is clear that Thanksgiving is nationally recognized. For one, the routine has remain unchanged: Day off, family relations, big meal, football related activities, rest, black friday. And commercialism couldn't corrupt it like Christmas or Halloween. The main elements of Thanksgiving are untouchable by corporations. The only thing you have to buy is food and transportation to see your family. No presents or costumes. And everybody loves the day off, the exorbitant meal, and the possibly awkward hug from that weird uncle and the too long kiss from grandma.

Anyway, I'm going back to bed. That's my holiday tradition.

AT & T

I work in Massachusetts but I also have family in New York. I also suffer from a nagging Peter Pan complex so I spend substantial time in Neverland. And the prospects of our yet to be determined presidential election are so harrowing, I might run away to Anywhere but America. So I need a phone that works in all those places. A place I call NEWNEVERMASSYWHERE

Where's The Director & The Call From The Guild

I often have the tendency to frame the events of my life into stereotypical frameworks found in common plotlines in television and film. Part of my issues come from the fact that I am waiting for some grand moment to occur so I recognize the cue to move on with life. Sooner or later, I expected the sun to shine in one specific spot or to hear angels sing for my one eureka moment. Thank God I realized I just need to make things happen for myself and that my life is not some foundation for a Sundance film entry.

Just as I am discarding that dangerous outlook, life keeps trying to convince me that my original way of thinking wasn't that far off. My father's outburst of emotion was just the beginning of the latest installment. I finally got to see my sister after a couple of months in absentia only to learn that just that afternoon good ol' dad had sent her an e-mail about her being "ambivalent". Why the hell should she be taking the impetus upon herself to talk with the man who abandoned her for most of her formative years? And wants us all to have dinner together? What?!?!?!?!? If the writers decide to strike the rumors state, maybe I can offer some per diem work to one or two and they can write me something more manageable.

If that wasn't surreal enough, my sister's mom called while I was there and asked to speak to me. I've been in this woman's company no more than a dozen times and I can't remember any of them except for one time in her house in Florida. This is the woman who asked my father to break up his marriage. And after 26 years she wants to talk to me. And of course, with the script, she made the most sense. It was a surreal conversation, but somehow cathartic for both of us. I shared the perspectives on Dad that I don't think my Mom could handle or is even aware of since my sister has given me privileged information. And she gave me a mandate to help my sister and dad to reconcile to some happy medium. In all the momentum of craziness, I totally took it on.

These are the times I wish I had more drama in my life as I was growing up then it wouldn't seem so weird. Some people just seem to roll with the punches but they all had some abnormal part of my life. I had the archetypal good upbringing. Both parents, regular church attendance. Except for some financial issues and one or two health scares, nothing really monumental really rocked me growing up. Now all this stuff is happening. I know it's not all deep. I'm lucky I lived life and know some skills to try to guide me through the situation. It still doesn't mean I can't be stunned about the whole ordeal.

I just wish this drama was catered sometimes

Bottled Up

After an absentee week that lead to a drop in productivity, I finally picked my arse up and went to New York. I figured Massachusetts had caught me in a spell so I forced myself to wake up early. I really almost didn't go again, but I did not want to break a promise to my mother. And my vanity pushed me further since it was my last time to get a haircut before my new job.

So today has been building steam. I did get that haircut and shave (before and after for your consideration), did a bit of shopping, and watched the decent American Gangster. And I made plans to drop in and hang with my sister, so I'm rather cheery even though the gray followed me to the city.

So I stop home to drop off stuff and run errands before seeing my sister, and I say hi to my dad who is doing chores in the house before Sabbath. Then I hear him call me and when I go, he opens his arms for a hug. We embrace, and he begins to cry. I couldn't believe it. Totally unprovoked. But it was only the beginning of a minor explosion of emotions. Fears of my prospects, hurt over my secrecy in my relations with my sister, jealousy over my relationship with my mom, just everything came tumbling out. I'm really glad I am having a good day.

Instead of railing into him, I kind of went into a therapeutic mode I normally only occupy at work. And I spoke of my grad school plans, explained my discretion, promised improved father-son relations and let him know everything was alright. But if I was in doubt before, it is crystal clear that the man is broken.

In the introduction to my initial blog, I mentioned that my objectie in life was not to be my father, hoping to avoid confusion and tunnel vision. I still have the same desire not to share his destiny, but now it is just because he is so utterly unhappy. I never want to be that sad. It is absolutely poisonous. For the last four years, I've watched it accelerate his death. I just can't go out like that.

Fall Back

Thank you Daylight Savings Time. With the extra hour of sleep you afforded me, combined with my previous 72 hours of prevalent idleness, I had the required energy to have an amazing day. I haven't written one of my Sunday appreciations in a while, because, well, I hadn't been appreciating them. Starting in the early summer, I began to get sent to different houses to either pass meds, supervise shifts, or both. For the past couple of weeks, I've been in the program that houses the oldest boys.

An assignment I initially dreaded has become mildly enjoyable. If this was my last week there, I ended on a high note. There were only three boys in the house, and two technically don't have to be eyes-on monitored in the house. Throughout the day, the three staff were high energy and the kids were too. It was a ball all day.

While Wolf Fighter, who was running shift, took one boy bowling, another staff and I took a couple kids to a Magic game tournament. On the way in I got to arouse my inner nerd and had discussions on computers, history, and religion. The tournament was held in a comic book store, which also had old vinyls. I found soundtracks to classic movies I owned but abstained from spending my meager funds on them right then. I figure the geeks that patronize the shop are not concerned with the soundtrack to "Anatomy of a Murder." Then we had lunch at an awesome place down the block and I didn't have to pay for it.

The Patriots also won in convincing fashion, this time from being down. All of the staff were engrossed in it. The other staff tackled my leg while I was on the phone with the nurse, informing him about our diabetic client's high blood sugar. This is how loose we got. Not to mention the jovial connection with the kids.

Plus, I didn't have to do what Mocha had to. That was back at my home program and the smell was atrocious.

Best part of the day: absolutely no issues. Nothing. If it wasn't for the meds, I would have thought it was a normal day at a boarding school.

The Disc Is Skipping

One of the benefits of having a friend like Nitro is the mental stimulation that she offers. Our friends are commonly seen as people we turn to when we want to relax and indulge ourselves. But its nice to have thhoughtful conversationalist amongst your fold somewhere, even if it isn't a friend. Luckily Nitro is mine and she is a friend.

She sent me this article earlier this week, but I really only got a chance to properly read it today (Thanks to New York Times abolishing the archive fee, you can read it any day too). For those who don't want to do the legwork and click-through, a brief synopsis: the author draws comparisons to the post French Revolution Jacobins to today's conservative politicians. After the Revolution, the Jacobins decided that you were either for liberty or against it. And a militant branch arose that decided to ironically destroy anyone who opposed liberty. When the pro-war faction wanted to war against other European powers, it was a fledgling United States that refused to aid and abet the French.

And more than two centuries later, another well orchestrated group has decided that liberty is in danger and the despots and tyrants who threaten it are vile threats that should be readicated. This time it is the French who don't want to assist. Oh how times have changed. Or rather, they really haven't. One of the French brave enough in the 18th century to speak against the Jacobins referred to the idea as being "armed missionaries." How effective can your message be if it is being taught with weapons?

Where's Napolean when you need him?

The New American Holiday

Last night, as I shepherded my boys around for trick or treating, it occurred to me that Halloween might be the new national holiday. Earlier in the shift, one of our struggling boys wailed that we couldn't take away Halloween. This was after I told him that since he refused group therapy, he couldn't participate. He ended up going cause he turned it around so quickly, but I think a prime factor in determining his approval was the reverence he held for the holiday. He was emphatic about its importance.

And even though the local houses seemed a bit more subdued than recent years, the disparity in families and ages of those involved contributed to my thoughts. Families traveled in packs, including even infants and toddlers. The seniors took part too with intricately packaged treats.

Then Posh texted a lewd message that was inspired by some of the costumes she viewed on her way home from class. Even my age group gets into it. Co-workers dressed up and my peers seemed to lament the odd Wednesday placement of the holiday. It inhibited their partying. It is the one day of the year where it seems socially acceptable for woman to be as close to naked as possible, as long as they are wearing a sexy facsimile of an everyday outfit. For a couple of crazy nights, an indulgence of nurses, French maids, and schoolgirls survey the nightlife, and its all perfectly fine. People lament over their costume choices the way they once did over their Christmas gift choices.

And what of Christmas? This was the dominant holiday in my formative years. Each year, everyone watched the Grinch and participated in Secret Santa office pools. But commercialization has overtaken Christmas. Now "Merry Christmas" has been absorbed by "Happy Holidays" and it seems its never too early to get your Christmas shopping out of the way.

Posh says that Thanksgiving is still the dominant holiday. I can see her point. But that seems like the most agreed upon four day weekend. A time to see family, have awkward relations, then heal wounds by battling bargain hunters in the wee hours of the morning. I feel like Halloween still motivates people to go more out of there way. Thanksgiving involves some extra food. Halloween seems to actually encourage activity.

Either way, its still interesting to see how into it people get. I'm glad for the candy.

Results

This morning I awoke with a dilemma. I have done somewhat haphazard preparation for the LSAT, a test I deemed necessary to heighten my chances of favorable grad school matriculation. But there were logical reasons not to take it. I had just taken it last year, and that score was respectable. It was lower than my original, and even the original seemed like a valid test score in my preliminary research. But I am stubborn. I just knew if I just did the studying, I could test amazingly high. But what if I just had an off day and blew it? Then what?

It seemed the signs were telling me no. My advisor had advised against it in her first response. And just as I initially prayed for clarity, Posh let me know she felt the same way. I had just taken it. And she said her score was valid, and I had taken my original around the same time. Finally I decided on a sign to not take the test: if I had to initiate a restraint that required pink paperwork, I could not take the test. Our largest client (300 pounds) had an issue. He beat and kicked me to the point where I believe my shins are truuly shedding tears. But he was on the floor, and legally I could not put him in that special type of restraint. But then he did get in a position, and I would have been foolish to be that stubborn and hurt us both. I did the hold.

I channeled my stubbornness by testing my faith. One more sign to confirm the first one, like a modern day Gideon. If I get a text message by 8:00 p.m., then You want me to take the test. My inbox was free at 8:11 p.m. I am so not taking that test.

I might be cited as silly and superstitious. But I'm just a believer. I need to read more and truly get a true grasp of what I believe. But I believe in Him. And I love Him.