Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Invitations to a Lawsuit

Occasionally I Google myself. Just for kicks. I use any combination of the names and aliases I've had just to see how deeply into my semi-personal life Big Brother can penetrate. Apparently Big Brother can penetrate pretty deep.

At a glance, any evil opportunistic marketing man will know my preferences (sexual, purchasing, political and what have you), my demographics and --with the help of the almighty NLP manual-- create a plan for a life-long relationship designed to part me from my money. (Still, one cannot live in this society without making concessions to the Marketing Man. Why does Mammon figure so prominently in my stories after all?)

At a glance, any shyster worth his law degree will be able to pick the contents of my mind, and in cop show parlance, "use [them] against me."

At a glance, any HR executive will be able to pick my brain and find all sorts of defects and impediments to hiring me if I ever decide to change jobs.

I don't have much to hide really. I do want the world to know that I care about this or that person, for example. I do want the world to know exactly what I think of how it (mis)handles its relationships and its priorities. I do want friends to know what I'm about. I just don;t want the rest of the universe to think that just because my view of human existence is by turns dark, joyful, full of unnecessary b.s. and pregnant with real meaning, I should not be allowed to hold this or that job, or I should not be allowed to love or express that love.

My blogs are pretty much public because I operate under the assumption that very few people really give a rat's behind about what goes on in Dexter's head. Most people-- even marketing men and lawyers-- will give my blogs a look, get lost in my drivel, and move on to something more interesting.

I've been wondering of late if I should be more secretive in the stuff I serve up on-line, considering that there are a boatload of links and entries that directly reference me or any of my other on-line personas. But I've found that editing and re-editing my online contact filters is tedious.

A quandary, yes. But one that is not worth losing sleep over. Not yet, at least.
 

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Gentle Surprises

At the end of the workday I'm often exhausted. You have a limited concept of hell until you have tried your earnest best to search for meaning in the quagmire of a beginning English student's essays. If you're anything like me or my lovely apo, you'll be wide awake and tying yourself in mental knots making sure your students can understand the nuances of the language long after you should have been asleep or tying up the loose ends of your personal life.

You reach a point where you're sick of having more classes, as each one can potentially turn into 30 minute therapy sessions with students who cannot help but bring their troubles with them to class.
I was looking forward to the lull in my calendar of activities for each weekday.

Lo and behold, management slaps a new class on my schedule. What surprises is that I must really have been doing something right-- this student was formerly enrolled in our "coupon class" program, for students whose schedules are as frayed as Britney's domestic life. She normally bounces from one teacher to another in the course of her training until she finishes a month's worth of classes. That she decided--even if tentatively-- to stay with me on a fixed schedule is ...flattering.

I'm not looking forward to the inconvenience of hand-holding another novice as she makes the pilgrimage from Engrish to English. But she already speaks well; has the markings of a sharp mind. It would be a shame if a damned band score slaps her in the face with the word "inadequate."

To be told by your exes, your bosses, to be told by a stupid test that you're just not good enough-- It's happened to me a lot over the last three years and I am far more tired of that.

Let this never have to happen to the people who matter.

Saturday, July 05, 2008

Infirm

There is absolutely nothing wrong with my leg. Yet I still walk with a limp; I wince when extra pressure is placed on the bum leg. My cane is still a comforting tool that taptaptaps and raprapraps on the pavement underneath me. And idiot artist that I am, I'm actually seeing an aptness to the image of this erstwhile minor rock god hobbling to work.

The Mighty Thor, after all, was hiding in the body of one Donald Blake, lame physician.

At a moment's notice I could probably stand on my bum leg, collapse my cane, use it as a rather clumsy blunt weapon. In recent days, I've kind of been spoiling internally for a confrontation that would require me to do just that, to force my leg to do what it's supposed to. But I know better than to truly ask for it. I was already robbed at knife-point once.

I am missing something, something important. I have been for the longest time. That I am hobbling with a cane is just another manifestation of that loss. There are some disadvantages to feeling things in stereo.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

A Greek Meme

When dealing with things like prophecy and other nebulous and oracular bs ...

1. Look for the interpretation where you end up screwed the most: that's always the one that comes true.

2. Don't fight it. The sick perverted being living in non-linear time that your oracle is channeling has already taken your struggle into account. He is watching your life and laughing at the utter futility of your actions. Corollarily--

3. Give him the finger and tell him "So what?" Then live your life the way you want.