Wednesday, October 29, 2008
poem
weather on earth
if i could type really fast,
i might type one hundred emails per second
warning you that:
it gets so hot and then
so perfect and then
so cold and
then perfect again.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Coming home.
End of May, 2008
After a year of challenge and triumph and a month of hopping planes for important dates in Dallas, Chicago, and Vegas, I headed home to Wyoming for the summer. Driving to Wyoming is always an assault on my emotions. The visual emptiness of the land coupled with the memories of the isolation of my hometown make for a holistic transformation experience every time I drive the Taurus up the lonely Interstate 25. The feelings of coming home to a warm bed, fresh banana bread, the untempered excitement of my mother, the stately love of my father, and the mudslinging kisses of my 2 year old golden retriever always combat the loneliness of Wyoming with distinct warmness.
As I finished out the final two hour stretch from Douglas to Gillette of my 18 hour sojourn, cold rain battered my car, and my mom casually told me she was at my dad's office, a conversation that would become a theme of my summer. I remembered a prior conversation with my mom a week or so ago where she told me that the house had been flooded. During this conversation, I was riding a train into Chicago, where I was to meet a creative director of a prominent agency. Needless to say, I brushed aside the disaster at home in my mind to make room for my own important events. Now, as my excitement mounted for a traditional homecoming experience, I was being told that none such experience would be had, because there was apparently mold in our house from the flooding, which made my mom impossibly sick.
I made it to Gillette, driving towards my dads office past the blue collar taverns, monstrous randomly trapezoidal homes, and 4,000 or so muddy white trucks. I casually met my mom, and decided, rather annoyed, to go unload my car at home. As I unloaded my car by myself in 40 degree rain into an impossibly cold house with all windows open for ventilation, I did not realize the distinct shift in life this moment represented for me.
For the next few weeks, I attempted to regain the stability I loved when coming home. Me and my dad stayed at the house, watched TV on DVD, and drank Coke and ate popcorn. My mom, plagued by many health problems, decided to stay at a friends house for fear that the mold would make her sick. At this point, I was fairly certain my mom was just resorting to her own irrational yet warranted fear of health inhibitors. It was stressful to not have her home, and there was always a tension of her thinking me and my dad were ignorant and stupid for staying in such a diseased house.
Life moved on in a somewhat jilted normalcy. I decided to pursue the construction job my brother in law Aric had told me I could get for the summer. Aric has operated machinery for this company for over 10 years. He works 70 hours a week in the summer, and only takes time off to hunt. His shop is bigger than his home, and he gets uncomfortable if he has to sit still and not work for too long. These were all harbingers of toughness to me, and I believed that I could live that life for a summer and it would build character and an, awful topical reference intended, appreciation for the Joe six-pack life. I hastily drove to the company, filled out an application in 6 minutes or so, and talked to the hiring director for a few minutes before he essentially gave me the job.
The next morning at 6 am, I slipped into my mint 501s, timberland steel toes and a trusty high school basketball camp t-shirt and headed to the office with my crisp construction helmet and vest and lunch and water in tow. After sauntering into the office in my greenhorn getup, I was soon berated by the glares of many veterans. Rail-thin Bill's rodent eyes looked me up and down from their tanned, wrinkled skin cave, I detected a slight smirk from underneath darryl's white beard, and only cody, the youngest (detectable from his 90's high fashion goatee), made converstion with me.
"hows it going man?"
"good, I was just told to come here this morning to find my crew"
"Oh, you'll want to go talk to Big Al" (points vaguely)
"alright cool man, thanks".
As I walked down the hallway, I hear the voice that the McCain campaign wishes it could use
"Didya hear about what Pelosi is doin now? She wants to raise our ****** taxes again and ****** take our money, and I work my *** off to get this far and she just wants to ****** tell me that she knows what to do with my money better than I do!"
"Um, hey," I enter
"I was just told to come here this morning to join a crew"
"Oh, you Aric's brother?"
"Um, yeah.." (clarification seems like a pointless argument)
"Oh you'll be doin' demo and prep with Clint"
"OK" (I meekly leave, hoping Gabriel the angel will give me a vision telling me who Clint is, or what demo and prep entails)
After sitting in the nicely appointed kitchen and reading the hilarious slice of life emails that were printed out and put on the refrigerator, I was introduced to the legend named Clint.
If this job is about character, then God has given me the right boss. By that, I mean God has given me the most horrifying, frightening, repressed man to work alongside with for 50 hours a week for the next three months.
Clint ...
...is probably pushing 400 lbs.
...is the best equipment operator in the company
...is viciously, yet deservedly nicknamed "crack" by his coworkers, why?
...has the most obvious, humiliating problem of showing 8+ inches of buttcrack I have ever encountered
...wakes up at 4 am every morning to commute 90 miles one way for work
...has a son named Jason that also works for the company. I learn from Clint that Jason and Clint are the only two competent employees at the company
...has fired 4 laborers this summer already. It is the beginning of June. He tells the stories of firing people with too much relish to give me any comfort.
I worked with this man for more than half of my waking hours during the summer. I rarely worked with anyone else, and spent more one on one time with Clint than probably any member of my family, my best friend, or my long-distance girlfriend during the summer.
Back to my house. After week two at my house, I started having some breathing problems. No big deal, I have asthma, so maybe I'm just having a hard time. After a couple nights of distinct breathing problems in the house, I realize, my mom is right. There is mold in the house and I can't stay here. This leads to the rest of the summer being spent in a fellow church members house 15 miles out of town. I have no computer connection, hardly any phone service, and no place to cook meals. I fight disappointment all summer, and have hope that maybe we'll be able to move into our house the next week. Company after company comes to our house and gives conflicting advice and does meaningless, expensive operations on our house, sometimes making it worse. Finally, we find someone who will fix it for real. they are delayed, and won't be finished with the house until August. I am leaving in August. Perfect.
I can talk to you about mold for hours. It is not pretty and will destroy your life.
Anyway, at this point, my life consists of getting up at 5:45 am, working at from 630 to 5, going to take a shower at my dads office, going to eat, arriving at my makeshift home at 730, making the next days lunch and maybe watching a half hour of tv or reading, then talking to my girlfriend from 9-10, then passing out only to start again the next day.
I have never lived such an exhausting life with such little free time.
What made matters the worst is my work environment.
A few of my responsibilities at work,
However, I did get to do some pretty sweet things too, including
On my final day, after a misunderstanding between me and Clint, Clint told me it wasn't worth talking about, because I'd be gone tomorrow, thank God. After realizing there was nothing more I could do to placate this man, I signed out for my last time, saying, "I don't know what to tell you, I tried my hardest this summer, I'm sorry it didn't go well". Clint told me all the things that were annoying him about the company, and how he was annoyed that I was just working for the summer and not devoting my life to construction, and how everyone was basically a moron and didn't get things like he did. He finished it all off, with "Sorry I was hard on you, I knew you were trying".
I walked away stunned. That half-assed apology was probably the most penitent thing the man has offered, and it almost made me feel good about the man. almost.
I worked an impossibly grueling job with a miserable boss, wasn't able to live in my own house, and was struggling to find a place to live and work in chicago in the fall. I thought the summer was the end of my trials, but it seems like it was just a time for me to adjust to the impossible life facing me after my graduation.
After a year of challenge and triumph and a month of hopping planes for important dates in Dallas, Chicago, and Vegas, I headed home to Wyoming for the summer. Driving to Wyoming is always an assault on my emotions. The visual emptiness of the land coupled with the memories of the isolation of my hometown make for a holistic transformation experience every time I drive the Taurus up the lonely Interstate 25. The feelings of coming home to a warm bed, fresh banana bread, the untempered excitement of my mother, the stately love of my father, and the mudslinging kisses of my 2 year old golden retriever always combat the loneliness of Wyoming with distinct warmness.
As I finished out the final two hour stretch from Douglas to Gillette of my 18 hour sojourn, cold rain battered my car, and my mom casually told me she was at my dad's office, a conversation that would become a theme of my summer. I remembered a prior conversation with my mom a week or so ago where she told me that the house had been flooded. During this conversation, I was riding a train into Chicago, where I was to meet a creative director of a prominent agency. Needless to say, I brushed aside the disaster at home in my mind to make room for my own important events. Now, as my excitement mounted for a traditional homecoming experience, I was being told that none such experience would be had, because there was apparently mold in our house from the flooding, which made my mom impossibly sick.
I made it to Gillette, driving towards my dads office past the blue collar taverns, monstrous randomly trapezoidal homes, and 4,000 or so muddy white trucks. I casually met my mom, and decided, rather annoyed, to go unload my car at home. As I unloaded my car by myself in 40 degree rain into an impossibly cold house with all windows open for ventilation, I did not realize the distinct shift in life this moment represented for me.
For the next few weeks, I attempted to regain the stability I loved when coming home. Me and my dad stayed at the house, watched TV on DVD, and drank Coke and ate popcorn. My mom, plagued by many health problems, decided to stay at a friends house for fear that the mold would make her sick. At this point, I was fairly certain my mom was just resorting to her own irrational yet warranted fear of health inhibitors. It was stressful to not have her home, and there was always a tension of her thinking me and my dad were ignorant and stupid for staying in such a diseased house.
Life moved on in a somewhat jilted normalcy. I decided to pursue the construction job my brother in law Aric had told me I could get for the summer. Aric has operated machinery for this company for over 10 years. He works 70 hours a week in the summer, and only takes time off to hunt. His shop is bigger than his home, and he gets uncomfortable if he has to sit still and not work for too long. These were all harbingers of toughness to me, and I believed that I could live that life for a summer and it would build character and an, awful topical reference intended, appreciation for the Joe six-pack life. I hastily drove to the company, filled out an application in 6 minutes or so, and talked to the hiring director for a few minutes before he essentially gave me the job.
The next morning at 6 am, I slipped into my mint 501s, timberland steel toes and a trusty high school basketball camp t-shirt and headed to the office with my crisp construction helmet and vest and lunch and water in tow. After sauntering into the office in my greenhorn getup, I was soon berated by the glares of many veterans. Rail-thin Bill's rodent eyes looked me up and down from their tanned, wrinkled skin cave, I detected a slight smirk from underneath darryl's white beard, and only cody, the youngest (detectable from his 90's high fashion goatee), made converstion with me.
"hows it going man?"
"good, I was just told to come here this morning to find my crew"
"Oh, you'll want to go talk to Big Al" (points vaguely)
"alright cool man, thanks".
As I walked down the hallway, I hear the voice that the McCain campaign wishes it could use
"Didya hear about what Pelosi is doin now? She wants to raise our ****** taxes again and ****** take our money, and I work my *** off to get this far and she just wants to ****** tell me that she knows what to do with my money better than I do!"
"Um, hey," I enter
"I was just told to come here this morning to join a crew"
"Oh, you Aric's brother?"
"Um, yeah.." (clarification seems like a pointless argument)
"Oh you'll be doin' demo and prep with Clint"
"OK" (I meekly leave, hoping Gabriel the angel will give me a vision telling me who Clint is, or what demo and prep entails)
After sitting in the nicely appointed kitchen and reading the hilarious slice of life emails that were printed out and put on the refrigerator, I was introduced to the legend named Clint.
If this job is about character, then God has given me the right boss. By that, I mean God has given me the most horrifying, frightening, repressed man to work alongside with for 50 hours a week for the next three months.
Clint ...
...is probably pushing 400 lbs.
...is the best equipment operator in the company
...is viciously, yet deservedly nicknamed "crack" by his coworkers, why?
...has the most obvious, humiliating problem of showing 8+ inches of buttcrack I have ever encountered
...wakes up at 4 am every morning to commute 90 miles one way for work
...has a son named Jason that also works for the company. I learn from Clint that Jason and Clint are the only two competent employees at the company
...has fired 4 laborers this summer already. It is the beginning of June. He tells the stories of firing people with too much relish to give me any comfort.
I worked with this man for more than half of my waking hours during the summer. I rarely worked with anyone else, and spent more one on one time with Clint than probably any member of my family, my best friend, or my long-distance girlfriend during the summer.
Back to my house. After week two at my house, I started having some breathing problems. No big deal, I have asthma, so maybe I'm just having a hard time. After a couple nights of distinct breathing problems in the house, I realize, my mom is right. There is mold in the house and I can't stay here. This leads to the rest of the summer being spent in a fellow church members house 15 miles out of town. I have no computer connection, hardly any phone service, and no place to cook meals. I fight disappointment all summer, and have hope that maybe we'll be able to move into our house the next week. Company after company comes to our house and gives conflicting advice and does meaningless, expensive operations on our house, sometimes making it worse. Finally, we find someone who will fix it for real. they are delayed, and won't be finished with the house until August. I am leaving in August. Perfect.
I can talk to you about mold for hours. It is not pretty and will destroy your life.
Anyway, at this point, my life consists of getting up at 5:45 am, working at from 630 to 5, going to take a shower at my dads office, going to eat, arriving at my makeshift home at 730, making the next days lunch and maybe watching a half hour of tv or reading, then talking to my girlfriend from 9-10, then passing out only to start again the next day.
I have never lived such an exhausting life with such little free time.
What made matters the worst is my work environment.
A few of my responsibilities at work,
- flattening dirt with a shovel and making sure it is 4" from a certain point
- hand picking up soggy trash
- sweeping sidewalks
- raking rocks
- unbolting by hand 90 rusty guardrail pillars
However, I did get to do some pretty sweet things too, including
- using a saw to cut a sidewalk
- jackhammering a bridge
- operating a skid steer and dirt roller.
On my final day, after a misunderstanding between me and Clint, Clint told me it wasn't worth talking about, because I'd be gone tomorrow, thank God. After realizing there was nothing more I could do to placate this man, I signed out for my last time, saying, "I don't know what to tell you, I tried my hardest this summer, I'm sorry it didn't go well". Clint told me all the things that were annoying him about the company, and how he was annoyed that I was just working for the summer and not devoting my life to construction, and how everyone was basically a moron and didn't get things like he did. He finished it all off, with "Sorry I was hard on you, I knew you were trying".
I walked away stunned. That half-assed apology was probably the most penitent thing the man has offered, and it almost made me feel good about the man. almost.
I worked an impossibly grueling job with a miserable boss, wasn't able to live in my own house, and was struggling to find a place to live and work in chicago in the fall. I thought the summer was the end of my trials, but it seems like it was just a time for me to adjust to the impossible life facing me after my graduation.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The Dead Diploma
My life is an epic.
My story is the most compelling, my struggles the most poignant, my victories the most inspiring.
It is with wry realization of the self-importance of blogging that I bring my own inconsequential tales to you. I know this blog will not change the world. This does not mean I will withhold its background to you.
I am a 22 year old male with all the potential and bravado of Mark Cuban and all the insecurity and fear of Holden Caufield. My life has had its shares of hardships, but none significant. I was born into a great, caring family. I was provided with a innocent childhood and a great education. I have been called a leader, a standout, and people have been excited for me. My life rose to its zenith in my senior year at my small private college. I was involved academically, professors knew me, I was in love, I had a great core of friends and a supportive family.
All this would be cocky if it weren't for my constant reminders as to my insignificance.
The day I left college, I stepped into the bold real world that every college student is ready to conquer and fix. My story is my immersion in this next stage of life, and I share it with the other contributors to this blog. The group of writers on this blog was a group of close friends in college who had everything under their control and are now learning how to cope with a life at the bottom, with friendships fractured by city, state, and country lines, with their accomplishments politely smiled at and forgotten by more important people.
The authors are made up of,
A marketing graduate working at a Starbucks and doing unpaid intern work for a marketing firm in Chicago,
There is a lot of diversity in location, current job, and expertise. However, I believe we all share in the struggle of finding a foothold in the nascence of the rest of our lives.
There is little doubt that we all are confident of making an impact in our world, it is just the matter of struggling to find the right beginnings.
My story is the most compelling, my struggles the most poignant, my victories the most inspiring.
It is with wry realization of the self-importance of blogging that I bring my own inconsequential tales to you. I know this blog will not change the world. This does not mean I will withhold its background to you.
I am a 22 year old male with all the potential and bravado of Mark Cuban and all the insecurity and fear of Holden Caufield. My life has had its shares of hardships, but none significant. I was born into a great, caring family. I was provided with a innocent childhood and a great education. I have been called a leader, a standout, and people have been excited for me. My life rose to its zenith in my senior year at my small private college. I was involved academically, professors knew me, I was in love, I had a great core of friends and a supportive family.
All this would be cocky if it weren't for my constant reminders as to my insignificance.
The day I left college, I stepped into the bold real world that every college student is ready to conquer and fix. My story is my immersion in this next stage of life, and I share it with the other contributors to this blog. The group of writers on this blog was a group of close friends in college who had everything under their control and are now learning how to cope with a life at the bottom, with friendships fractured by city, state, and country lines, with their accomplishments politely smiled at and forgotten by more important people.
The authors are made up of,
A marketing graduate working at a Starbucks and doing unpaid intern work for a marketing firm in Chicago,
- A marketing and Spanish graduate teaching English to students in Honduras
- A graphic design graduate screenprinting t-shirts in Kansas City
- A marketing student working construction in Dallas
- A graphic design graduate working as a junior creative in a Texas ad agency
- A marketing student finishing his final semester in school
- A graphic design graduate installing medical equipment in Chicago
- A digital media graduate looking for work in animation in LA
- A biology graduate attending medical school at Texas A&M
There is a lot of diversity in location, current job, and expertise. However, I believe we all share in the struggle of finding a foothold in the nascence of the rest of our lives.
There is little doubt that we all are confident of making an impact in our world, it is just the matter of struggling to find the right beginnings.
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