X

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University life is a grand one, but it does have its irritations.  I have a Professor that goes on a tirade at least once a week.  It usually has something to do with how the younger generation does not respect authority nor do they respect themselves.  I agree with most of that, but do I have to hear it every freaking week for half an hour?  Instead of going over the material that he’s paid to go over, he rants on and on about how people wear hats inside buildings and they are not supposed to or how young men wear the waist of their britches down at their knees.  I agree with this as well, but do I have to hear it?!

This past week he hit one of my buttons.  However, he did insult the Y “Millennium” Generation first.  He said that the “X” Generation is the do nothing generation.  He said the X’s didn’t achieve much of anything and didn’t surpass their parents.  It’s kind of hard to surpass my father, when he came from hardly nothing and ended up a mogul!  I rather not say what I’d have to make in order to surpass my father (the gub’mint is watching, you know?), but it’s a damn lot!  It weighs on my shoulders everyday.  I’m the first born.  It’s my responsibility to outdo him.

I reminded some of the students who were snickering in the background that the social media that they cannot live without was invented by generation X.  I reminded the professor that the fancy computer software that he uses was developed gen-x.  We’ve accomplished a lot, but we did it in the background.  Those baby boomers have to have all of the attention. 

When I defended Gen-X, he asked when I was born.  Curled up in a bashful ball, I whispered, “72”.  He finally got back to the material.  Classrooms in todays Universities are so obtuse and rigid.  Some of the Professors allow more discourse between them and the students, but it is getting rare these days.  They tend to want everything written in the style they choose.  By now, I understand that there has to be order, but too much rigidness is a bad thing, at least for me.  I have a rebellious nature that is unending.  This does not set well with Professors that are former Law Officials.  Smile

My father asked me recently when I was going to stop going to school.  He’s surmised that I’ve been going to school since I was five.  I reminded him of the saying that if you’re not learning, you’re dying.  Life is a learning process from the day we are born, ‘til the day we die.  The collegiate life is not an easy one with all of the freaking deadlines and social hiccups, but it is worth it.

All in all, it’s not a bad life.  I go in every weekday morning to discover lass’ glimmering smiles.  I give advice and hold secrets.  This comes in handy when you need a favour.  Everyone thinks I’m a genius because I make good grades, but as I’ve explained to them a dozen times, I just study harder than they do.  Good grades take dedication.

I’ll be back later this week, maybe, to ramble about something.  I leave you with “Young Glass”, by Hey Rosetta!

Poetic Justice

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A friend asked me the other day why I, a person that understands humanity far better than most, would study criminal law.  This person said that the system is as corrupt as the criminals.  I agreed to a certain extent but then asked a simple question.  “Ever heard the saying, keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer?”

The only way to fix the system is from the inside.  I’d be the happiest man alive, if I could spend my time writing prophetically and poetically.  If you could add photography to the context, I’d be as happy as a Banker horse running free amongst the sand dunes of the North Carolina Outer Banks.  Just like those horses that used to roam uninhibited, we too are not entirely free.  Everyone has baggage and everyone has responsibilities that inhibit our desires to roam free.

I have known for quite a while that I must move in this direction.  Too many good people are getting reamed by the system, while the most insidious characters in society manage to slither away unscathed.  The system is broken and must be repaired the right way.  Greed is a large part of why the system is broke.  I want to make sure that the punishment fits the crime.  Part of the reason why so many bad people walk free is because they know the system better than those that enforce it.  My criminalistics professor said today that police cadets only spend 3 hours out of the 12 weeks in school going over forensic science.  The cops know less than the criminals.  That needs to change!

Once I get my bachelors, there’s a minute chance that I’ll go to law school.  I live for the little people.  Who are the first two groups of people to get screwed over when the economy tanks or anytime for that matter?  The disabled and the elderly!  There has always been one constant in my life.  I live to stand up for those that cannot stand up for themselves.  The times that I have stood up for those that either didn’t know how or were too scared to stand up for themselves glisten like lanterns on lifes path.

With more knowledge comes more responsibility,  but more importantly, more ability.  I have been “Disabled” my entire life and at times have felt disenfranchised by the system.  I want to make sure that disabled people have the chance to a full education and a job they deserve with that education.  I had a potential employer tell me recently that the company he was hiring for could not afford to be liable for me.  He said I was too much of a risk, being blind in one eye and having little depth perception.  I had another guy tell me that I should just get a cashiering job like most disabled people.  I told him to go fuck himself and left.  I don’t “Look” disabled but I’m certainly not going to deny that I have disabilities. 

Whether I stay in the criminal realm or move over to civil law is unknown at this stage.  One thing is for certain, I’m too rebellious and different to ever be corrupted.  And, I’m much too honest to ever be a politician.  I live by one motto, Facta Non Verba.  if we all lived by God’s laws, we’d have no need for our own. 

I’m going to attempt to do two or three post a week to help clear my mind of all of the law jargon that I have soak up during the week.  Have a grand weekend all…

You Owe Me

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Over the past few months, crime rates have increased all over the civilised world.  I have noticed an increase in people bumming as well.  Most of these people could live a normal life but chose to bum off of those stupid enough to give them a hand out.  My heart goes out to those that have lost their jobs and are subjugated to begging to feed their families.  In the past two weeks alone, I have been approached six times by bums giving me idiotic stories of why I should give them some money.  Some of their stories are so dubious that I end up getting a good laugh out of it.

Today, however, I was approached by a man with the usual story about having a broken down car at a petrol station that he couldn’t seem to find with his aimless pointing.  I started walking away while he was still rambling, and he said, “You Owe Me”.

“I don’t owe you anything”, I stated whilst continuing to approach my vehicle.

He turned to approach another patron of the petrol station, and whispered, “White Motherf*cker”.

Years ago this would have bothered me, but I really don’t care now.  After handing out more money than I could afford to hand out, I learned how to read people fairly well.  If you are wearing newer shoes than me, I’m not giving you a dime.  If you can’t look me in the eye, I’m certainly not going to trust you. 

My mother and father were not given anything.  They started at the bottom and worked their way up.  And, I certainly have not been the benefactor of some “White” conspiracy.  If anything, I’ve been ostracised by society because of my name and because I am disabled.  Yet, I still continue.  You can’t beg your way through life.  The best feeling in life is to work towards a goal and achieve it.  Even if you don’t achieve it, at least you’ll know in your heart that you tried.  

The era of entitlements for people that choose not to work nor illuminate themselves must end.  There are a number of underlying reasons for the youths rioting and looting in London.  While I have never majored in Sociology, I’ve been a student of it for years.  If one grows up on the dole and hears utterances in the house that the government owes them, then it is only natural that they are going to think the same way.  The same omen can be felt throughout the states as well. 

There are people, like the elderly and the disabled that need assistance.  But, the lines have been blurred.  Anyone with a grievance or memories of their father or mother yelling at them can automatically get a check every month.  If humans were awarded for the tragedies they’d suffered in their lives, I’d be a millionaire.  This type of entitlement – political correctness – nonsense has to stop.  We can no longer afford it, and it doesn’t really help anyone, especially the younglings. 

Because my family is from the Southern United States, we’ve been bending over backwards and apologising for years about what our ancestors might or might not have done.  I know about the majority of my ancestors.  Most of them were outstanding citizens that fought for freedom.  One of them was a bank robber that was shot five times in the back and lived to tell about it, but I will not discuss him.  Since learning about the strife my ancestors had to endure, I apologise no more. 

Political correctness is on a down turn.  Anyone with a brain is sick to death of it.  Why should I be apologetic about something that I had no control over?  I am not a xenophobe nor a racist.  I am a man from a diverse European and Native American background.  When I fill out a form and it ask to check off a race, I check off Caucasian.  I’m much too light skinned and freckled to check off the Native American box.  My pockets do not instantly fill with gold coins because I’m white. 

We are what we make of ourselves.  You can blame your family or your government for the situation you may be in, but does that really help you in any way?  We are who we are.  Once we are adults, it is our responsibility to make the most of our lives.  I’ve been beat back by society a myriad of times, yet I keep moving forward.  Be all that you can be!

Let me state that I have always stood up for the little people.  The people that are ostracised by society because of a disability, race, or background.  I have no issue with race, just the entitlement madness.  I am starting a new Degree next week at the local University.  It involves the LAW.  I’m tired of the little man getting screwed.  Who are the first to get screwed when the economy goes down the tubes?  The elderly and the disabled!  I’ll discuss this in greater detail in the next post.  Thanks for reading.

Good ol’ Boys

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Today was like any other day.  It started out well enough.  I got up (That’s always a plus.), had some porridge with a cuppa, and watched the nonsense on the news.   I was headed out to the school to sort out some financial falderal when my grandmother called asking me to charge up her vehicle because it wouldn’t start.  I obliged and was delayed a wee bit. 

When I finally got to the University office, the place was swarming with younglings trying to get their classes and financial mess in order.  It’s panic time at the school.  Everyone is trying to sign up at once.  Luckily, I have already signed up for my classes.  Every year, however, my account gets audited and I have to go up there and sit for hours to get it sorted out.  I’ve surmised that they are just picking on me because of my name.  Jefferson Davis is not exactly a popular nor well liked name in the south.  But, it does go along with my rebellious nature.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity with a crowd of other students.  There were about 50 students ahead of me in the queue, so I decided to come back the following day.  As I was exiting the building, I noticed three young guys with their shorts down to their ankles following me.  When I arrived at my wee truck, they crowded around me.  I knew what was coming.  I’ve been jumped before.

“Hey man, our car is broke down up here at the gas station…”, the leader said whilst pointing in about ten directions.

The strange thing is that there isn’t a petrol station for about a mile and I know those jokers didn’t walk a mile.  In addition, that line about having a broken down car has been around for decades.

“Where’s your car?”  I asked with an enormous smile.

“It’s…it’s at the gas station”, he replies with a furrowed brown.

“Which gas station?”  I asked whilst trying to supress laughter.

“Man forget it, white boy ain’t gonna give us any money”, an obese fella in the group said whilst swaying back and forth.

The guilt trip is another common ploy, if the first doesn’t work.  I’m to feel bad because I’m Caucasian.  Mind you, everyone uses the broken down car bit.  If I really had thought that these fellas were in distress, I’d loaned them some money.  I offered to buy a bum supper one night.  He declined and stated that he needed the money.  I asked if it was for booze.  He said yes.  I gave him a fiver for his honesty!

“Look man”, the other yells while getting in my face.

About this time, a big 4×4 pickup truck comes flying up to our position, almost hitting one of them.  Two guys that look like they drove straight from Alabama hopped out of the truck. 

“What the fuck is your problem?”  The man that got in my face demanded, as he and the other two men stepped back.

The gent that had been driving walked over to where I was standing, crossed his burly arms, and asked, “These guys giving you a hard time?”.

“You’ll have to ask them that”, I stated whilst looking at them

“Man, forget you”, one of them said as they walked back across the parking lot and got into a car.  They left in a car that was not broke down!

Mark, the man that saved my neck, stood there with me while they tore off down the road.  I joked that I could have taken one, but not all three of them.  He happened to see the scene unfold from across the parking lot.  He was there signing up for welding classes that they offer in the Engineering department.  His son, the young fella unmentioned ‘til now, is in the same programme as me.  When we parted ways, he said, “We take care of our own”.

I jokingly asked him if he was related to Rosie O’Donnell since they share the same surname.  He laughed, and said, “God, no”.

Later on this afternoon, I was out walking down a four lane highway.  The rain started pelting against my back as the sun kissed my face.  I noticed a guy in an old Camaro coming down the road.  He stuck his arm out of the drivers side window, clasped his hand, and yelled, “Erin go bragh”.

I threw my hand up and yelled it back to him.  He waived and continued down the busy thoroughfare.  It didn’t done on me until then that I was wearing a rugby shirt that has Ireland emblazed across it.  The rain stopped and was replaced by steam arising from the sizzling pavement.  I continued walking for miles thinking about the days events. 

Curious day…

Camerico

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The other day I was out cruising around in the Beetle.  I turned onto an old country road and discovered an old super Beetle coming towards me.  I slowed and stopped as the other Beetle approached.  My driver side window was already rolled down due to the heat, so I leaned out as the bloke in the super slowed.  “Nice super, what year is it?”  I asked with glee.

The guy stopped, and answered, “Gracias, it’s a ‘76 or ‘77, I think”.

“It’s looks great, hardly any rust.”

“Made in Mexico”, he said as he banged on the side of the drivers side door with an enormous smile.

I smiled and slapped my door, and said, “A ‘66, made in Germany”.

“Made in Mexico, better”, he replied, still with a cheeky smirk.

I laughed, and asked, “Yes, but who invented them?”.

“Mexicans?”

With an enormous laugh, I answered, “Whatever, mate…Buenas noches.”

Sometimes you have to laugh the idiocies away.  The Super Beetle was a sad attempt to keep up with the changing times.  You can hardly give the things away now.  Don’t mess with perfection!  Have a grand weekend all.  I’ll be back Sunday evening.