God, I hate my job. Stocking medical supplies was not what I envisioned myself doing at the age of 33.The McDonald's style uniform, the mediocre pay(but appropriate for the job I do), and the infuriatingly lazy and incompetent people I work with.The job I have is in every way unsatisfying.
I realize that many Americans today would kill for my job right about now. I am thankful that I have a job that has good benefits. But that doesn't mean that I am content. Not in the least.
The person most responsible for my discontent is also the same person writing this entry. It is because of my actions--or inaction--that I find myself in a manual labor job that offers no chance of advancement, no development of skills that I could apply elsewhere.It is figuratively--and considering how close I work to the morgue--literally a dead end job.
What this job does offer is countless hours of mindless labor under the direction of supervisors who are too busy making war on their workers than actually doing their job.Of course, that assumes that these supervisors can ACTUALLY do the job they are entrusted to do.
The Union that I find myself held in bondage to, is run by persons who are more concerned with lining their pockets than negotiating contracts that help their members.That these people lacking in education and intelligence is evident to those of us who are intelligent and educated. People who think Unions are all that and a bag of chips, have either belonged to the UAW or have drunk the nectar of Unionism.
While it feels good to vent my anger and frustration, I still know that "I am the master of my fate".It is I who is responsible for escaping from the financial and intellectual prison that I have gotten myself locked into.
What is the best way of making it out permanently is what I am trying to determine as I write this. I'd like to stay at my current place of employment, but at another part of the company. But that doesn't seem likely as there are few jobs that are attractive from a salary standpoint or that I am qualified for in terms of education or work experience.
I do have a passion for history. In fact, I along with my father have started preliminary research for a book about my grandfather and grandmother's experience in World War II. This has brought some excitement into my life as I feel that I am finally doing something worthwhile with my life.
The book is a short term project. My long term goal is to earn a Master's Degree in History so I can teach at both the high school and community college level. I could also seek a career in as a archivist.
But that is some years down the road. As of now I have to continue to deal with the million different irritations and frustrations that come from working a low skilled job. Like a inmate, I am counting down the days until I can finally depart this prison.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The aftermath of death
When a person dies sometimes more is lost than the deceased. Families and friends splinter without the deceased no longer holding the group together.
The University of Michigan football team is a high profile example of this. With the passing of legendary Coach Bo Schembechler, so went the appearance of unity in the ranks.Michigan football went from an autocracy speaking with one voice to a parliamentary democracy with people going their own separate ways. UM now has its Lloydists, Les Milesians, and RichRodrians. Out of uniformity, came chaos.
But as interesting as the internal strife within the UM football is, it isn't the reason why I am writing. The provocation that has caused me to blog is the chance viewing of an obituary of a relative whom I never met.
Lucille Peterson nee Towler, was my paternal grandmother's sister. My grandmother, June Quattro, passed away from lung cancer in 1969--some eight years before I was born.In my 33 years on this earth I have never met anyone from the Towler-Carpenter side of the family.It's as if they never existed.
Why did my grandmother's family never keep in close contact with my grandfather and his children? After all, my father and his siblings are as much Towlers' as they are Quattros'.
My family isn't alone in experiencing this. I myself have done the same with my mother's family after her death. (admittedly, the circumstances aren't the same. My mother and her family were not big parts of my experience growing up as I was raised by my father) I admit to having no second thoughts about eliminating contact with those whom I share genes with.
Why didn't they maintain contact? Were they never close to begin with? Was the emotional devastation of the loss of a sister too much for Mrs. Peterson? Why I'll never know.
All I do know is that I have family out there whom I'll never know. I know that I have distant family in Italy, Germany, Ireland, etc, but these people are much closer to me. These are people whom I can trace to my grandmother whom I know little about.
I suppose this is what has caused me to write this evening. A random email containing the obituary of the sister of a grandmother whom I never met evokes a feeling of sadness within me.Sadness over their deaths and perhaps more
I don't know June Quattro. I know her children and husband, but I don't know her. I don't know the person whose DNA makes up one quarter of my being.I am her youngest son's only child, yet when I see her picture I know nothing about the woman whom gave my father life and shaped his values--the same values that my father passed on to me.
When a person dies more than just the physical and emotional presence of the deceased goes with them. The ties that bound families together loosen, memories are lost or discarded due to the pain of remembering the lost loved one, and the person them self becomes a stranger to the generations who had little or no contact with the deceased.
We as a nation are told to remember the sacrifices of our nation's soldiers--and rightly so. But we should also take care to remember those of our family whom came before us for we wouldn't be here without them.
The University of Michigan football team is a high profile example of this. With the passing of legendary Coach Bo Schembechler, so went the appearance of unity in the ranks.Michigan football went from an autocracy speaking with one voice to a parliamentary democracy with people going their own separate ways. UM now has its Lloydists, Les Milesians, and RichRodrians. Out of uniformity, came chaos.
But as interesting as the internal strife within the UM football is, it isn't the reason why I am writing. The provocation that has caused me to blog is the chance viewing of an obituary of a relative whom I never met.
Lucille Peterson nee Towler, was my paternal grandmother's sister. My grandmother, June Quattro, passed away from lung cancer in 1969--some eight years before I was born.In my 33 years on this earth I have never met anyone from the Towler-Carpenter side of the family.It's as if they never existed.
Why did my grandmother's family never keep in close contact with my grandfather and his children? After all, my father and his siblings are as much Towlers' as they are Quattros'.
My family isn't alone in experiencing this. I myself have done the same with my mother's family after her death. (admittedly, the circumstances aren't the same. My mother and her family were not big parts of my experience growing up as I was raised by my father) I admit to having no second thoughts about eliminating contact with those whom I share genes with.
Why didn't they maintain contact? Were they never close to begin with? Was the emotional devastation of the loss of a sister too much for Mrs. Peterson? Why I'll never know.
All I do know is that I have family out there whom I'll never know. I know that I have distant family in Italy, Germany, Ireland, etc, but these people are much closer to me. These are people whom I can trace to my grandmother whom I know little about.
I suppose this is what has caused me to write this evening. A random email containing the obituary of the sister of a grandmother whom I never met evokes a feeling of sadness within me.Sadness over their deaths and perhaps more
I don't know June Quattro. I know her children and husband, but I don't know her. I don't know the person whose DNA makes up one quarter of my being.I am her youngest son's only child, yet when I see her picture I know nothing about the woman whom gave my father life and shaped his values--the same values that my father passed on to me.
When a person dies more than just the physical and emotional presence of the deceased goes with them. The ties that bound families together loosen, memories are lost or discarded due to the pain of remembering the lost loved one, and the person them self becomes a stranger to the generations who had little or no contact with the deceased.
We as a nation are told to remember the sacrifices of our nation's soldiers--and rightly so. But we should also take care to remember those of our family whom came before us for we wouldn't be here without them.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Live like you are dying
There are times when pop songs actually have something to say. Kris Allen's "Live like We're Dying" is one of those songs. In an effort to maintain a clean look to the blog, I'll link to the lyrics instead of posting them here.http://http://www.musicloversgroup.com/kris-allen-live-like-were-dying-lyrics-and-video/
While I would not it on a list of all-time great list of pop songs, the message it conveys is one that I think makes the song worth listening to--unlike most pop hits in that regard.
It is telling the listener to take nothing for granted. Live life to the fullest and make sure those who you love know it.It implores us to live life with an sense of urgency for we all have a limited time on this earth. For we know not how or when we will cease to be of this earth.
Now contrast that to most top 40 songs today. They are about three things: Sex/romance, money, and living a aimless, dissolute life. There is little of substance--musically or otherwise--to these songs. They are cookie cutter musicians with cookie cutter songs.
Lady Gaga for all her catchy beats is basically an updated version of Madonna. Nothing original or profound in her songs.
Rap has become crap. No more Public Enemy railing against racism in "Fight the Power" or Tupac imploring for better treatment of black women like in "Keep Ya Head Up". All we get now are songs about bitches, drugs, fancy cars,and money.
Modern rock is a tiny pebble in comparison to the large boulders of the 1960's and 1970's. They are a bland, uninspiring, bunch who have nothing to say.Where have the Credence Clearwater Revivals' gone?
It is this singularity of "Live Like We're Dying" that makes it stand out to me. So little of popular music has something meaningful to say that when one comes upon a pop song that has a message exhibiting signs of thought that it makes a person take notice.
"Live Like We're Dying" isn't saying anything profound about the mysteries of life or the universe, but the simplicity of its message should not deter a person from imbiding the lesson it is giving you.If we all lived life as if we were dying, this world would be much better off.
While I would not it on a list of all-time great list of pop songs, the message it conveys is one that I think makes the song worth listening to--unlike most pop hits in that regard.
It is telling the listener to take nothing for granted. Live life to the fullest and make sure those who you love know it.It implores us to live life with an sense of urgency for we all have a limited time on this earth. For we know not how or when we will cease to be of this earth.
Now contrast that to most top 40 songs today. They are about three things: Sex/romance, money, and living a aimless, dissolute life. There is little of substance--musically or otherwise--to these songs. They are cookie cutter musicians with cookie cutter songs.
Lady Gaga for all her catchy beats is basically an updated version of Madonna. Nothing original or profound in her songs.
Rap has become crap. No more Public Enemy railing against racism in "Fight the Power" or Tupac imploring for better treatment of black women like in "Keep Ya Head Up". All we get now are songs about bitches, drugs, fancy cars,and money.
Modern rock is a tiny pebble in comparison to the large boulders of the 1960's and 1970's. They are a bland, uninspiring, bunch who have nothing to say.Where have the Credence Clearwater Revivals' gone?
It is this singularity of "Live Like We're Dying" that makes it stand out to me. So little of popular music has something meaningful to say that when one comes upon a pop song that has a message exhibiting signs of thought that it makes a person take notice.
"Live Like We're Dying" isn't saying anything profound about the mysteries of life or the universe, but the simplicity of its message should not deter a person from imbiding the lesson it is giving you.If we all lived life as if we were dying, this world would be much better off.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Picture of Me
It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. But is it really? A piece of literature gives you some semblance of where it is going and if you read carefully, you can divine the writer's feelings
A picture by itself tells no story. It paints no figurative picture of who the individuals in it are or what the picture signifies to the persons captured in the image.
Take the above photograph for instance. In it you see a mother holding her child. It is a picture that usually will arouse tender and warm feelings within the person who is viewing it. But this one does not--at least not for me.
I am that child in the photo. A toddler who would shortly there after be given up by that mother to his father so she could travel the country in pursuit of her musical dreams. Fortunately, I had and have an incredible father who loved me with all his heart. I thank God everyday for him and my paternal grandfather who assisted my dad.
But that picture. That picture. I cannot get it out of my head. It hurts so much to see it. Why couldn't she love me? Why did she leave? How could she leave her baby behind? All I ever wanted was her to love me as any mother loves her child.
But she couldn't. That was never going to happen with a narcissist obsessed with the dream of making big in the music industry. Raising her boys while making a good living as a special education teacher was never going to be enough. She had to pursue that dream nevermind the consequences to those who should have mattered most.
Life worked out for my father. He met aand married a wonderful woman who is everything my mother was not in 1990. They will be celebrating their 20th Anniversary this August.
I myself have struggled with the damage her departure from my life caused. I have had to go to psychiatrists to deal with the anger, lack of confidence, and confusion that has plagued me since she decided to try to become an American Idol long before there anyone had heard of such of a thing.
She left me estranged from the female gender. I have been unable to connect in a deep way through my life. I have never had a girlfriend nor been with a woman. People may wonder why I would admit such a thing openly and to them I say: It's who I am. I feel no shame in admitting that I have been psychologically damaged by events in my past.
Though I went on to graduate from college from Eastern Michigan University in 2002 with a degree in Journalism, I find myself working a menial job that offers no potential for a better paying future. Crippled by a lack of confidence in myself for the longest time, I am now starting to dig my way out of the self esteem hole that I started off life in.
My mother's story is the tragic part of this. She continued to pursue her dream of singing for the next 20 years all the while teaching autistic children to sing at a school in Garden City, Michigan. She even made an appearance on the local television show Kelly and Company, to talk about it.
Then in the spring of 1998 she was diagnosed with lung cancer. She tried everything--chemo, alternative treatments, etc. Nothing worked. In May of 1999 she passed away from that dreadful disease at the age of 46.
At her funeral, I felt confusion. I felt bad, but not crushed as one would normally would feel at the death of their mother. It felt as if an aunt or uncle had passed, not my mother. My older brother--a child from her first marriage--stayed in California.
That is ultimately the tragedy of my mother.While many attended her funeral, those who should have mattered most were left confused about how to feel over the passing of the person who gave them life. When her ashes' were spread over Mackinac Island, neither I or my brother were on hand.
Photos can and do achieve meaning beyond the intent of the person took the picture. That photograph of me and my mother symbolize to me what should have been.It is a cruel reminder of what she gave up to pursue her American Dream.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Great by another measure
Humans have since the very beginning of civilizatio
n apotheosized citizens who were deemed worthy of adulation. They have commemorated the "greatness" of the anointed through literature, songs, statues, monument, and even deification.
All this signifies greatness as something doing positive for society,but our world has been shaped as much by the wicked as the virtuous.
Attila the Hun gave the Roman Empire the coup de grace, William The Conquerer destroyed a culture as did Hernan Cortez, Adolf Hitler introduced the world to industrialized mass murder, and Josef Stalin murdered millions of his own people out of fear and paranoia. Many more could be added to this list of the Devil's Acolytes.
If you look up the word "Great" on Dictionary.com, you'll find 23 different uses of the word. One of them is applicable here:important;highly significant or consequential.
By that definition the actions of people like Adolf Hitler or Osama Bin Laden enable one to list them as being "great".Yet, very few today would grant them that title. The reason why are obvious:their acts are so awful, so heinous, and so offensive to our moral standards that we condemn to everlasting ignominy.
But the moral turpitude of the individual factors very little in the evaluation of whether a person's impact upon history is significant enough for them to be labeled great. The fact that Osama Bin Laden is responsible for the deaths of thousands does not matter when judging his impact upon history. In historical terms he has to be seen as being "great" because he has caused the launching of a world wide war that has consumed tens of thousands of lives and counting.
We have become used to using the word "great" to define those people whose impact has been beneficial for mankind. But as noted before the actions of men like Stalin, have also left an enduring imprint. It may come in the form of a scar, but it nonetheless has shaped the world we live in today.That in my estimation means according to these people the appellation of great.
n apotheosized citizens who were deemed worthy of adulation. They have commemorated the "greatness" of the anointed through literature, songs, statues, monument, and even deification.All this signifies greatness as something doing positive for society,but our world has been shaped as much by the wicked as the virtuous.
Attila the Hun gave the Roman Empire the coup de grace, William The Conquerer destroyed a culture as did Hernan Cortez, Adolf Hitler introduced the world to industrialized mass murder, and Josef Stalin murdered millions of his own people out of fear and paranoia. Many more could be added to this list of the Devil's Acolytes.
If you look up the word "Great" on Dictionary.com, you'll find 23 different uses of the word. One of them is applicable here:important;highly significant or consequential.
By that definition the actions of people like Adolf Hitler or Osama Bin Laden enable one to list them as being "great".Yet, very few today would grant them that title. The reason why are obvious:their acts are so awful, so heinous, and so offensive to our moral standards that we condemn to everlasting ignominy.
But the moral turpitude of the individual factors very little in the evaluation of whether a person's impact upon history is significant enough for them to be labeled great. The fact that Osama Bin Laden is responsible for the deaths of thousands does not matter when judging his impact upon history. In historical terms he has to be seen as being "great" because he has caused the launching of a world wide war that has consumed tens of thousands of lives and counting.
We have become used to using the word "great" to define those people whose impact has been beneficial for mankind. But as noted before the actions of men like Stalin, have also left an enduring imprint. It may come in the form of a scar, but it nonetheless has shaped the world we live in today.That in my estimation means according to these people the appellation of great.
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