I work in the same school district as you. I'm part of the "administrative team"--I'm a purchasing clerk in an office in a building you never go to.

Starting today, I'm going to do something radical: I'm going to hold you to the same standards as you hold your 3rd-graders.

• When you hand in paperwork, it will be done on time. All the appropriate information will be filled out correctly, completely and, above all, legibly. If you fail to do any of that, it will be marked with a red pen and sent back to you.
• When sending messages, you will be expected to adhere to the basics of grammar, spelling, and punctuation (APOSTROPHES DO NOT MAKE THINGS PLURAL!).
• Throughout the year, you are sent e-mails and memos informing you of important rules, deadlines, policies, and other information. Since basic literacy is one of the requirements for the job, you will be expected to read these and to know what they say. There may be a pop quiz.
• The school district has debated, decided upon, written, and published various rules regarding what may and may not be done in regards to purchasing goods and services. You will be expected to follow these rules. If you fail to follow these rules--through negligence or intent--you will be appropriately disciplined. Ignorance is no excuse (see previous point).
• Throughout the year, there are various deadlines. They are closely tied with the academic schedule, and--give or take a few days--they fall on the same dates every year. You will be expected to abide by these deadlines. Anything turned in after the deadline will not be counted. Ignorance is not an excuse (see point before the previous).
• There are sets of procedures dictating how orders and paperwork are to be processed. It takes time to follow these procedures. It is your responsibility to be aware of due dates and turn in your paperwork early enough to allow for the processing to take place. It is up to you to do your homework and find out if additional steps need to be taken before handing in the paperwork (e.g., entering a new vendor in the database, getting approval from Technical Services, getting a contract signed, etc.). A failure on your part to properly complete the initial steps does not constitute an "emergency" on my part (once again, see the point regarding deadlines).
• If you have questions about the proper way to do something, please ask. Do not copy from your neighbor; chances are they're doing it wrong, anyway.
• Please understand that you are not the only person in the "class". While you may feel that you're special and that your situation is really important, you have to realize that I have several hundred other people to deal with. I have to look at the over-all picture and prioritize the various "request" I receive. Your request will be given the appropriate level of attention. And yes, sometimes that means "very little until later". If you'd planned ahead and gotten things taken care of in a timely fashion, you wouldn't have "an emergency" (see all those various points above).
• There are certain things you are required to do. Frankly, I really don't care if you want to do them or not. The requirements are there for a reason. Deal with it.
• Spelling counts!
• Neatness counts!
• And for God's sake...APOSTROPHES DO NOT MAKE THINGS PLURAL!!

I've made a few purchases in the last couple weeks. One of them was a 6-DVD collection of every X-Men-related title between 1963 and January 2006. Over 3000 issues. I also bought the first and second X-men movies on DVD.

There are tons of superhero comics out there, but the X-Men did something that no other comic had done before. It was more than strong guys in spandex. It was a metaphor.

Kike
Nigger
Fag
.
.
.
Mutie

The X-men wasn't just about the good guy defeating the bad guy. It delved into dark shadows of humanity and explored our fears; our fears of the unknown, of the unusual, of those who are different than ourselves. It forced us to acknowledge the dichotomy: Heroes coming from from those we indiscriminately label as evil. To see the white amidst the black. To take our preconceived notions and stereotypes and rip them apart.

Unfortunately, it was preaching to the choir.

The ones who really need to hear the message don't know enough to even listen.

You're a superhero. You have the ability to fly.

Do you hold your arms in front of you like a diver, or swept back like the wings of a jet fighter?

If there were any way that I would be useful, I'd sign up for a 6-month stint in an antarctic station. As long as I could have my own room, I'd have no problem spending that long in an isolated environment. As long as I was getting paid enough to make my mortgage payments and bills, I'd do it without blinking an eye.

If we were sending out a crew to colonize the moon, I'd sign up tonight. Without any hesitation. I'd leave behind everyone and everything and move to Luna--knowing I could never come back. I'm sorry, you're all wonderful people, but nobody comes close to the passionate attraction of Luna.

Oddly enough, a lunar colony would be one place where someone like me would be a great asset. So many fiction stories populate lunar colonies with scientist--big-brained specialists with an alphabet soup of degrees and certifications after their names. That's exactly what you don't want in a new colony. Yes, some of them would be necessary, but what you really want are generalist. You want people with a basic working knowlege in a wide range of areas. You want a "Renaissance Man".

You want someone who can cook meals, fix plumbing, run wiring, build tables, organize work crews, operate a microscope, change a tire, scrub out an airlock, repair torn trousers, put together a community theatre group, and write wonderful human-interest stories for the newspapers back on Earth.

That's me.

And... you don't need a bunch of muscle-bound military types, either. 0.16G on the moon. Even I, with my bad knees, could handle that. In fact... overly-strong people might be a handicap. That kind of gravity calls for grace and control rather than power.

Whatever... the point is, I'd leave this Earth behind without a second thought, if it meant I could go "Out There". It's the one dream that can bring tears to my eyes. It's a dream I know can never become reality. But I look up at night, and I see the stars, in all their glory, hanging in the infinite black, and I know... We belong Out There.

The Luddites and the fundamentalists argue "If God wanted us to fly, he'd have given us wings!" But don't you see? He's done exactly that. Not wings of feather and sinew which grow from our backs, but wings of steel and carbon composite that grow from our minds. God gave us minds which not only gave us wings, but which set us atop a pillar of fire which rages like a sun in chains and hurls us into the infinite void which is space.

If God didn't want us to reach the stars, He wouldn't have placed them before our eyes and taunted us with their glory. If God didn't want us to touch space, He wouldn't have given us the thirst for knowledge or skill of understanding which allowed us to built a Saturn V.

My God is one who desires and expects me to reach out to Infinity and make it my own.

My only regret is that I won't be one who will touch Space. But, if God is kind, perhaps I shall live long enough to see it touched on my behalf.

The last few weeks have been chaotic. As a result, I've not been very active online (or elsewhere). Last weekend, I ran away in an effort to get myself focused. It worked well while I was gone... but the chaos was waiting for me when I returned.

This past weekend, I took a different tack: I drew. For the last few years, I've been working on my next tattoo. This one is for my left leg (I'm currently unbalanced--ink-wise). It's been a long time since I've done any drawing on tattoo designs. The last that I've done was on the computer, and it's just not the same. Hunched over a sheet of tracing paper, several notepad sheets underneath forming a patchwork composite... the feel of a marker and a straight edge in my hands, the soft rasp of the felt tip dragging across the fine texture of the paper... twisting my wrist to scribe just the right arc...

It's a wonderful focus. And it tipped the scales just a bit. Something visibly accomplished--a stark black design taped up on the wall--is a reminder that things can be accomplished. With so much of my energy and attention directed towards "support and maintain" scenarios, it's refreshing to see a finished product--even if it's just a piece of paper on the wall.

Wake up, stop dreaming
The sun is in the sky again
There's a hole in the ocean
And water's pouring through
Oh, wake up stop dreaming
And wipe the sleep from your eyes
Are you frightened of heights
Are you falling

Chorus:
Wake up stop dreaming
There's more than just two steps to heaven
I'm saying if you wanna get to heaven
You'd better wake up
Wake up, stop dreaming
I'm talkin bout dream and reality
I'm talkin bout love and brutality
And I'm saying wake up
Wake up

Wake up stop dreaming
Before the shutters start to groan
Well it's something you said in the noon day sun
But I don't recall,
I don't recall

Wake up stop dreaming
Stop this seeming half reality
Don't turn your face away
Look at me
As you lie sleeping
Someone's keeping everything I knew
Don't try to run away
Its all new

--Wake Up, Stop Dreaming by Wang Chung

...stays in Iowa City.

Unfortunately.

Running away this weekend was... amazing. I was actually able to leave my thoughts, my worries, my stress, behind and just enjoy myself in a new city. I drank more than I have in a long time. But I spent the night laughing rather than depressed. I got up in the morning and wandered around the city and just enjoyed the "newness" of it all. It was a place I'd never been.

And then... I drove home. And the closer I got to home, the more the old burdens weighed upon me. The attitude I gained in Iowa City... stayed there. Leaving a fun new place and returning to a place haunted by stress and frustration make you think about it all. And a 4-hour drive all alone leaves a lot of time to think.

I knew that was I was doing was "running away", and I know that running away never works for long. But I also know that sometimes, running away is exactly what people need to give them perspective. That's what this weekend did: It reminded me about perspective. That's something that we all need from time to time. Even though the weight of my world came crashing back down upon me with a force, I still have the memory that it was lifted for a while.

That's something better than hope. That's knowledge. If you hope a thing can be, you're always set up for crushing failure. If you know a thing can be, it stops being a Quest and simply becomes a challenge.

Challenges can be met and completed.

Six pints of Guiness (at least).
Changeover to a bartender with a low-cut shirt.
A basement bar where everyone is a regular.

It's been a good night.

I spent the last 3 hours at the Dublin Underground in Iowa City. It's my kind of bar. I have no doubt that, were I to live here, I would be a regular.

The Guiness comes in pints. Not from bottles, but thick and foamy from a tap. I sip my Guiness slowly, and they made sure to ask me if I wanted another before I was down to the last quarter of the glass--because it takes that long to pour a new one.

One of my pints was bought by a stanger (thank you, Bill). He's a regular at the bar, but hadn't even spoken a word to me. He bought "the bar" a round, and was gracious enough to include me. Later on, the owner bought a round for the house. Rory (if I heard the name right) is a great guy. He (and several of the regulars) went out of his way to help me find a hotel in town--well.... technically the next town over, but close enough.

If you're ever in Iowa City, and are looking for a place to sit down and have an honest pint, stop by the Dublin Underground at 5 South Dubuque.

More than anything, however, this night has distracted me from the thoughts and emotions which have become opressive of late. At its best, my life is complicated. At times like these past few months--when there are important changes and fundamental shifts in direction and intent--things can become overwhelming. During these times, the ability to "run away" allows me to gain perspective and get myself centered again.

It's been well over a year since I've done this. So much has changed since then. Friends have been lost, relationships redefined, expectations raised and lowered, dreams created and destroyed.

Life is not something which happens; it's something you create. Times like these help me to remember that.

I'm succumbing to the vagaries of whim and running away this weekend. I really don't know where. Maybe up near Minneapolis. Maybe south towards Chicago.

It's been forever since I just picked up and drove with no destination.

Lately it seems that my world is getting a bit.... crowded. I need to run away and give myself some room.

So... It's likely that I won't be online at all from noon today until Sunday night. It all depends on what kind of hotel I find. I'm going to be looking for somewhere with "local color"--and that usually means no broadband.

I sit at the small table in my kitchen, a single candle lighting the room, and I realize that she sat at this table: My grandmother; a woman I never knew.

She sat at this table and sipped her coffee, thinking of the day ahead. I wonder... what did she think of those days? How often did she look across it's short length into the eyes of my grandfather? How much love crossed this tiny span? How many smiles has this wood seen? How many laughs have embedded themselves in its grain? How many times did his hand touch hers as it rested atop this small bit of furniture?

What smells have embedded themselves in its history? How many times did it taste sweet cookies? How many years did it add its touch to the potića?

Five boys grew to be men sitting at this table. Two girls grew to be women.

Two parents burried a child. One man burried his wife.

How many tears fell across its back? How many times did he sit and see her ghost sitting across from him? Did it make him cry? Or did it bring a smile to his heart?

I sit at this tiny table, its top glowing in beneath the flame of the candle, and I wonder about the ghosts... The ghost that it has seen, and the ghost that have yet to come. How many will be echoes of the past? How many will be strange to its touch? Will it hear laughter like they laughed? Will it hear the baby's cry? The child's giggle? Will the weight of tears that soaks into it outweigh the warmth of family?

Will it ever again know a smile like the ones they shared?

Will there ever be a young man sitting where I sit, seeing my ghost across from him?

I look inward at the horizon, and I see the Many Paths. I set my eye and my heart toward my passions' goal... and let my spirit ask for guidance from the table's ghosts.