Happy Holidays

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Christmas is a grand time of year, but a strange time as well.  People help other people out when they normally couldn’t be arsed to do so.  It ensures us that there is hope for humanity after all.  I did my bit and gave more than I could afford, but that’s what it is all about, yes?  Mind you, I’m not complaining.  I have a warm place to stay and a roof over my head.  That’s more than a lot of people have.  I do my best to remind myself of that every holiday season. 

I’m going to do my best in the new year to stop griping as much and stop using emoticons.  I loath and love the holidays.  As a single man, I’m reminded more than ever how lonely a single life can be.  I don’t normally tend to think of it, because I have so much school work and work that has to be done.  But, with the free time allotted during the cheery season, I’m reminded more than ever.  Family ask me over and over, “When are ya goin’ get married, JD”?  Or, they’ll tag this one on.  “Is there a woman in yer life, JD?”

As if I didn’t feel out of sync already.  Thanks Family.  They mean well.  That’s just their way of saying hurry up and get married.  My Aunt asked me on Christmas Eve like she always does, so I thought I’d mess with her a bit.

“So, Jefferson, any woman in your life?”
”I sure do.”  I stated with an enormous grin.

“Tell us ‘bout her…what’s she like?”   She asks while smiling and sitting down in an antique shield back dining chair.

“Well, she can be cold at times, but she warms up…oh boy.”  I enounced with enthusiasm.

“Really?  How old is she?”

“She’s fit and has plenty of curves, but she’s 45.”

“Ah, an older woman, aye?”

“Yep, but you’d never know it by looking at her”, I said with even more enthusiasm. 

“Is she a redhead?”

“Nope.  The only problem I have with her is that she’s blue.”

“Oh, she’s depressed…Why didn’t you bring her tonight?”  Auntie asked with curiosity.

“I couldn’t fit everyone in her.”  I stated whilst trying not to laugh.

Dazed and confused, she asked, “What?”

“She’s a ‘66 Volkswagen Beetle.”

Everyone busted into laughter and I was picked on for the rest of the night. 

Christmas was rife with drama not caused by me.  Christmas Eve, sister1, niece, nephew, and myself went over to my fathers mothers house as is the tradition.  My pops, stepmother, 4 more sisters, grandmother, two Uncles, and 2 Aunts were there to enjoy some food and watch the wee one’s open presents.  We all had a blast until there was some drama between sister1 and our father.  It was mostly her doing, but there are a lot of bad feelings there.  Things I’ve learned to accept and move on from.  It’s not healthy to hold onto bad things from the past.  The past is the past for a reason.  It shapes us, but it does not define us. 

After the drama was over, I took them home and came home to an empty house.  But, I started working on photos and forgot all about it.  The four glasses of wine might have helped.  Christmas morning, I arose before dawn and went to my sisters to watch my niece and nephew open presents.  My niece is 14 months old.  It’s entertaining to watch the wee one’s figure out how to open a present.  I helped my nephew put together a big gaming chair he received from Santa. 

Later that afternoon, I took my special chocolate oatmeal cookies to my other grandmothers house for Christmas lunch.  There was a wee bit more drama, but not as much as there was Christmas Eve.  I came home to an empty house yet again Christmas night and passed out.  The day after Christmas, I got a call from my mother.  She had just purchased me a new couch and wanted me to come pick it up.  As it happened, my neighbour needed a new couch, so after two hours of getting the old and massive couch out of my house, I gave it to him.  My cousin and one of his boys came over and helped me get the new one in as well as getting old one out.  It was a task and a half. 

I’ve spent the rest of the week sick with a cold.  The new couch has been thoroughly broken in though.  Hopefully the new year will bring good tidings to me and to you as well.

So, how was your Christmas?

merry christmas

Bully Wooly

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Over the past few months, I’ve heard a lot of anti bully talk and slogans.  I don’t like bullies any more than the next person, but if it were not for the bullies in my past, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.  I might be timider or a total jerk.  Only God knows what I would have become if I hadn’t of stood up for myself in high school after years of torment.

Everyone thinks that because I went to private school, I had it made and didn’t have to contend with such things as bullies, drugs, and threats.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  When I finished high school, I was five feet tall.  I was a small lad that weighed a total of 100 lbs. soaking wet.  At my school, we had around 30 kids in each grade.  It was a small school that I loved. However, when I was a sophomore, the principal started letting kids that had been kicked out of public school, attend our school.  So, all the ingrates whose families could afford private school, came to our school.  That’s when things started to change.

We had this one tall heavy set fella at our school that took joy out of picking little shites like me up and throwing us across a room.  He also enjoyed stuffing us into lockers and pulling our boxers up to our heads.  One day after lunch, I caught him strangling a friend for money.  I yelled for him to stop.  A few seconds later, a teacher came around the corner and he stopped.  He pointed at me, and said, “I’m going to get you, Davis, after school”.

Frankly, I was terrified.  I managed to skip by him, when my ride pulled up.  What he said nagged at me all weekend.  I was boxing with my father that Sunday and almost knocked him off of a three story deck.  I was so nervous Monday morning that I begged my mother to let me stay home.  I ended up going to school that morning, regardless of the consequences. 

Somehow, I managed to sneak by him all day.  The clan of nerds that I was the leader of brought lunch to my hideout in the janitors closet.  The rest of the day dragged on.  One teacher asked me what was wrong, because I was shaking so bad that she could barely read my writing.  I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t.

After the final bell rang, I decided to take the back exit that no one ever used to access the area where parents picked up their kids.  As I furiously ran around the corner towards the exit, a foot tripped me, and I went sliding into the lockers.  Before I could turn around, big boy and his cronies were picking me up like a feather.  I yelled for help, but to no avail.  My eyes darted back and forth searching for anyone to help, but only the girlfriends were there to watch me get beat senseless. 

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and started picking me up.  It wasn’t that I was necessarily scared of him, it had more to do with the threat and the time that had passed thinking about it.  As he lifted me off the ground, I grew a spine and kicked his knee in as hard as I could.  I had legs of steel back then and still do.  We both fell to the frigid January ground and he started screaming.  The next thing I knew a minute had passed and I was still beating him senseless.  The principle came and after a time of pacing back and forth in the principles office, I explained what happened.   With a tearful, girly, cry, he said that he was just going to scare me. 

We became somewhat friends.  The last thing I heard about him was that he was in jail for attempted theft of an ATM.  I saw him about five years ago.  He was still going on about me busting his kneecap.  That may have been the first time I had to stand up for myself outside of the home, but definitely not the last.  Every time a new student would enter our school with an attitude, they’d test the dominate little shite, me.  But, thanks to big boy, they’d be fully warned ahead of time. 

Ever since I got into that fight in 2007, I’ve not had to be in another.  I don’t like to fight.  I’ll do just about anything to avoid it, but sometimes it is a necessity.  I realise that school is a lot different these days, but the basic rules still apply.  Take down the biggest one and the rest will flee.  Mind you, I’m not encouraging physical altercations, but you’ve got to stand up for yourself and others at some point.

P.S.:  I’ll be back Christmas Day with an inspirational post, I hope.

bricked path

dropletsred gamp

Then and Now

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In September of 2005, I started this whacky, artsy, and slightly insane blog.  I was flipping through the archives the other day and realised that I have grown up a lot.  There is still much maturing that needs to happen to me and the blog, but who wants to grow up, really?

I used to post intimate relationship matters.  Thankfully for me and the kind readers, I don’t do that anymore.  I’ve learned a great deal about people and the world through this harebrained experiment we call the blogosphere.  I’m grateful that I’ve met so many interesting and inspiring people.

This thing started because I was planning for a trip to Ireland and was searching iTunes for a podcast that might give me some tips.  I happened upon a podcast hosted by two expats living in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  I learned a considerable amount from their show, albeit most of the information was a twisted version of the truth.

The chap producing and hosting the show was inspiring, so I started a wee blog over on blogspot.  I don’t have much use for the guy, but like it or not, his podcast is the reason I started this crazy thing.  It has died and been reborn several times in the last six years.

Blogs are strange things, really.  They are our own personal space filled with our thoughts, dreams, and opinions on whatever subject we choose to discuss on a given day.  It feels private, but it is far from it.  Reading another persons blog is like breaking into their house and reading their diary with their permission.  It’s odd, but the world is odd.  The world is a smaller place because of it and I am very grateful for all of the friends I’ve made.

It is my greatest hope to keep blogging and learning from others.  In 2006, I was in a local pub having a pint and giving the poor sod beside me an earful of my relationship woes, when a nerdy (young version of myself) bloke came running up to me asking if I was the guy on that infamous podcast.  By late 2006, I had started my own podcast, so I was hoping that he was talking about my show.  He was talking about the other show that I was on in June of 2006.  I said that yes it was me and he brought his girlfriend over to meet me.  I told him what really happened on that particular show and he insisted on buying me another pint that I didn’t need.

After that I decided to work hard on the content of the blog and the podcast.  I managed to get the infamous Dr. Don to join the show.  He added hilarity and honesty that you can’t find just anywhere.  In Episode 25, Brian F. made his debut.  He made sure I didn’t go off the deep end with my rants and kept the facts straight.  He also added even more humour to the show.  A few months later Dario Sanchez graced us with his presence.  He’s hilarious and brilliant.  Not long after that, Brian managed to get the smart, funny, and talented Baino to join.  At around the same time, that famous and cantankerous auld fella, Grandad, joined the ranks on episode 44.  And finally, the infamous and hilarious K8 the Gr8 made her entrance and exit on Episode 50, Kilos of Craic.

I thoroughly enjoyed the podcast and would hope to produce one in the future.  There was no money in it, just the joy of getting together with people you know and talking about the craziest topics.  We all knew that we were having some sort of effect on someone somewhere.  When we stopped doing the show, we had several hundred listeners.  Not that many in podcast terms, but enough to encourage us to keep it going.  However, it was taxing on us all.  We had to line up a time to meet across 15 time zones.  It was far from easy but well worth it.

This blog has died off since those pioneering days of blogging and podcasting.  I was going through my own hell and everyone seemed to be going in different directions.  The content started to suffer, so I almost pulled the plug.  Thankfully, I kept it up as more of an archive than anything else.  I started to fall apart like an old stone wall ravaged by storms, but I am gradually rebuilding the wall, one stone at a time.  I can only hope I put them back in the correct order.  :)

I would not be the man, good or bad, I am today without the lot of you  Thank You all…

verdure

School’s Out

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It appears that I have managed to get all A’s this semester.  I’m grateful that I did as well as I did.  I had the same Instructor for two of my classes.  The two classes with her were Criminal Justice and Criminology.  I loved the Criminal Justice class.  The book was an overview of law and criminal justice throughout the ages.  She would ask questions to see if we actually read the chapters and the room would fall silent.   So, starting on the first day of classes, I started answering the questions and giving my opinion on the subject at hand.   Two other students and myself were the only one’s throughout the entire term.

We discussed English Law and how Common Law came into effect in the states in her classes and others.  Actually, my state still observes English Common Law.  In my Law class we went back to how laws were developed in the Roman Empire.  It was quite fascinating.  I’m a lover of history, so I inhaled those chapters.

The other class I had with her was Criminology.  She’s a grand professor and all, but I despised the subject matter.  They used statistics to claim that children of career criminals have a higher probability, due to their environment, of being criminals as well.  Hello?  Is anyone home?  You don’t have to spend millions of dollars to figure that out.  It’s common sense, people!  And, don’t even get me started on Freud.  He was a drug addict that scribed theories in a drug induced state.  But, because he is considered a founder by so many highly paid nutters, I have to take his words as though they are holy.

She and I talked a lot between classes, so she knew that if we talked about Australia or the English imprisonment of the Irish rebels (no offense to the English.  I realise that the Monarchy treated you all just as bad as the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh), I’d speak up and give a brief history.  On a few occasions, I tended to get too passionate and mutter on for too long.  And, when we got to imprisonment of slaves during and before the Civil War, an older African-American lady spoke up.  So, the two or three of us that spoke up and we all learned a lot.  I still have much to learn about the law.

One day I was telling the teacher about getting into a bit of trouble with TSA.  As I was heading down the hallway to leave, one of the young women that never says anything tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned around and asked her what was up.  With a countenance that would raise the heartbeat of any man, she smiled, threw her hair back, and said, “I’m Irish”.

Now, I’ve never stated in any class that I’m Irish.  I’ve said that my ancestors were mostly Irish. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, like, my grandmother was from LondonDerry.”

“You mean Derry?”

“I guess….I was wondering if you wanted to get some coffee and tell me more about the Irish?”

“Sure”, I said with glee.

Anyway, we had a coffee and a I found out that she’s only 18.  Those damn morals got in the way again.  To make a long story short, I told her she was a plastic paddy like me.  There are so many young people out there desperately seeking an identity.  If the parents don’t step up and tell them of their history and that they should be proud of their ancestors, they are certain to pick the wrong identity.  When I’m asked if I’m Irish, I tell people I’m an American of Irish ancestry and I’m proud of my ancestors whether they were fisherman or nobles.  Right, she was really into the fact that I had gotten into trouble with TSA.  And, I told her about my troubles with the Hollyroodhouse British authorities.  Women say they don’t want a troublemaker, but they really do.  If that angel on my shoulder hadn’t been yelling louder, who knows…  Winking smile

Here’s a few shots from my latest photowalk.  My next post will be structured better.  Sorry for getting off topic.

bare

river_riverberations

spuming

Shadow falls

Blue Autumn Sky

falling

Shimmering Falls - Greenville, South Carolina

white

Denied

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I haven’t posted anything in over a month.  Even Google has written me off.  My apologies for the absence.  It has been a tumultuous couple of months.  I don’t enjoy admitting what I’m about to admit, but in order for you to understand what I’m talking about, I feel that I must tell you folks what has been going on in my life.

After repeated job declinations, I went down to the local Disability office and applied for Disability.  I never thought I’d be in a position where I’d have to do such a thing, but the sun doesn’t shine on the same dogs arse everyday.  In the middle of July, I went down to the office and handed the lady that was interviewing me a two page list of conditions and ailments that I have and another list of doctors that could corroborate my story.  It has been almost six months and everything that I stated has been verified.

I was not brought up to take from the government.  My father recited JFK’s famous line, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask what you can do for your country”.  I grew up in a house where we didn’t want the government intruding upon our lives.  My family shells out six figures a year in taxes to the state alone.  I thought that I had paid in a considerable amount as well.  In my naive stupidity, I reckoned that my country cared about my well being and would help me out during these trying times. 

All I really wanted was assistance until I can finish up my degree, but the fact is that they really don’t give a damn.  I’m not Black, I’m not Hispanic, I’m not Asian, and I’m not enough Native American to claim it.  So, what it comes down to is the fact that I’m a disabled white man that is supposed to pay for every one else to sit on their fat arses.  And, I’m supposed to work my fingers to the bone so a minority or an immigrant can go to college (no offense to my friends and folks I call family overseas, but you all would get free college over here.) and barely pass.

My GPA for this semester is 3.75.  It’s not perfect, but I try really hard and study for hours on end.  I’m a hard worker.  All I’ve ever expected is the chance to succeed and move up the social ladder.  However, this is not what one receives when one works his or her arse off.  Several months ago I went in for a job interview to do Audits for a large commercial company.  Trying to be honest, when the application asked if I was disabled, I checked the yes box.  Big freakin’ mistake.  The lad half my age asked me why I marked that box, so I tried to downplay it and said that I’ve always excelled past anything anyone has ever asked for me.  After a few minutes of asking me questions, he looked over at me, and asked, “Why don’t you take a job as a cashier or janitor like other disabled people?”

I wanted to knock him the feck out, but kept my composure and left after he said he’d keep me on file.  This past week has been a hectic one.  I asked everyone to do their best to leave me alone, so I could properly prepare for finals.  Of course, they did not.  I should have just said I’m free all week  On Tuesday, the day of one of my hardest written exams, I had to go with my cousin to work on a house for me Mum.  Now, I love me Mum and would do anything for her, but it was a bad time to be asking me to paint and install tile flooring.  Dr. Don and myself finished up about two in the afternoon and I came home. 

When I arrived home, I noticed that the mail lady had been here.  With hesitation, I checked the mailbox to see if I had received a letter from the disability office.  By chance, there was a letter in there from them.  I hesitated in opening it, but I did anyway.  I was hoping and praying to get the assistance, so I could finish school unimpeded, but alas, it was a denial letter. 

I called them up and said, “Let me get this straight, I applied for a gub’mint job and couldn’t get it because I’m too blind, but when I ask for assistance as a last resort, I’m not blind enough.”

My vision was just one wee thing on the application, yet they used it as an excuse to deny me.  Yes, I’m a Southern American and I’m Caucasian.  So the feck what?  Look, I’m not a xenophobe.  However, when I’ve seen blatant evidence that minorities are treated better than the rest of us, I tend to get cross!  I used to work with a chap that was Hispanic.  The government paid for his University fees as well as giving him rent and food money equalling about $1100 a month. 

Everyone should be on a level playing field when it comes to jobs and education.  When I finished secondary school, there was no free access to third level education.  Parents of all races and cultures had to save for a long time to send their kids to college.  As it is in the states now, if you’re an immigrant or are anything other than Caucasian, you can go to school for free and have free lodging and food.

I’m not a racist.  I’m just stating the facts as I see them.  We are in hard times.  I realise that.  All I was asking for was assistance for the next few years so I can finish University and make a difference in this world.  But, they couldn’t do that.

I have a new outlook thanks to this denial.  The US government can fuck off!  I will always support the troops, policeman, and fire-fighters, but the politicians and greedy officials can screw somebody else over.  I, and my family, have been screwed over enough!  Don’t ask me for another mother fecking thing, government.  Fuck off with ya.

My sister said it best the other day as we were shopping.  She said, “Everyone from doctors to family and friends have called you retarded and written you off.  You’ve out lived some of them and have done more in the last six years than any of them have in a lifetime.”

I will succeed.  I will hike through rain, sleet, and snow. I will climb the highest peaks and never give up. 

Do you know what happens when you kick a Mutt?  He comes back stronger than ever and chews your effing leg off!

Have a grand week all…