A quest to make sense of it all. Or a sense to make a quest of it all.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

I'm trying not to hate this morning, but...

" Using his sharpest language to date while speaking in Iowa Tuesday, Obama again said that the Arizona law could encourage racial profiling by law enforcement officials.
“You can imagine if you are an Hispanic American in Arizona — your great grandparents may have been there before Arizona was a state — but now suddenly if you don't have your papers and if you took your kid for ice cream, you're going to be harassed,” he said. “That's not the right way to go.”

Former Alaska governor and vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin called Obama’s warning a “myth” during an interview with Fox News’ Sean Hannity on Tuesday.
“It's shameful, too, that the Obama administration has allowed this to become more of a racial issue by perpetuating this myth that racial profiling is a part of this law,” she said. "-msnbc

Really, Sarah Palin? I mean, really? You give Sarahs a bad name.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

I don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

This post is relaying a hilarious, interesting, relationship-altering night in Sheffield. It's G-rated and there's nothing incriminating about it, but trust me that it doesn't need to be public. Also trust me that you wish you knew about it. Oh, man. Do you ever wish you knew.

1-Gibson (from Old Hag story)

Present Day

Gibson sat in the attic, smoking his umpteenth cigarette and watching the sun begin to rise. The poets were liars, he decided. There was nothing special about dawn; just a gradual gray lightening of the horizon. None of the oranges and pinks and yellows that come with sunsets. He stared out the window, not really seeing anything. Just waiting. Waiting on some kind of assurance, some revelation, something, anything, to ease his soul. To give some balance, to stop the back-and-forth in his mind, rapidly switching from a forced dulling of nerves to a grief that sometimes caught him suddenly crying in the floor, in private. Always in private. Mostly he was waiting on an impossible miracle; it was one he fantasized a hundred times a day. He would feel a vibration in his pocket and pull out his cell phone. It would be an unfamiliar number. He would answer and hear Mr. Braelin? This is ___ at Baptist Grace Hospital. Please come in immediately. There's been a mistake. We have your son, Andy, and he's just fine. He didn't die in the fire at all, it was a mistake, isn't that silly? He's ready to be picked up anytime. That call wouldn't come, of course. There had been the body, dental records identifying the ruins that had once been four year old Andy's sweet face. There had been the funeral last week, a preacher saying ashes to ashes, at which Gib had felt something like pure insanity jolt through him and he had to clamp his teeth down on his tongue to keep himself from braying out laughter at the unintentional pun. Had he done the unthinkable and laughed, it would have turned into an irreversible madness that would have him being pried off the coffin and thrown into the nearest looney bin. He had held himself together, standing next to his wife and keeping his hands on his daughter Reed's shoulders. Reed, six years old, was too young to fully grasp everything that was happening, but Gib understood how important it was for him to be strong for her, and for Amy as well. He made it. Directly after the service, he had stood next to the grave as Amy led Reed to the car. His brother had come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks for coming, Jim."
Jim had waved a dismissive hand. "We're here for you. Me and Lindy."
They were quiet for a few moments and Jim asked, "Where are ya'll staying ?"
"We're at a hotel."
"For how long?"
"I don't know." Gib stared at the ground. "I buried my son today. I don't know what's next."
"Look...why don't you all come stay with us? We've got plenty of room. I know you don't know what you're gonna do for awhile, but it's gonna take a minute to sort out the insurance and stuff. You don't have to be back at the university til August. You oughta be with family."
"Actually, I've been thinking about moving home."
"Really? What's Amy say about it?"
"She doesn't have to say. She's never liked this city."
"Well come on home for awhile. Think it over."
So Gib had gathered his little family and a few remaining belongings and gone home to Sheridan. Now he sat in Jim's attic, hearing the familiar noises of people beginning to stir below. His phone hadn't rang. His peace hadn't come. The rising sun offered no promises.

Monday, April 19, 2010




I've been wanting to move closer to Memphis for some time now. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. Dad's put in for several hardship transfers out west, and it's just a matter of time. I don't want to go with them and I don't want to get stuck in Corinth, so... to Memphis. I'll be applying for a transfer to a Hernando branch. I think I can afford a passingly decent apartment in midtown by myself, but I'm ok with having a roommate if it means a better/safer place. Apparently Memphis is a dangerous place, and everyone and their ___ keeps telling me. Yeesh. Like I haven't heard. I know its dangerous. But I'll be alright. I'm very smart, and where smartness doesn't play a role, there's pepper spray, and I'm totally getting a big dog if I can manage to rent a house instead of an apartment.

I'm so excited and nervous. I'll be completely on my own. The safety net of my parents will be removed. It'll be...just me. *squeal* In Memphis, a city I have loved for years. I love its vitality and self-awareness and heartbeat. It's something that's missing in so many big cities. I love that I can find really good live music any night of the week, that I can see Megan any time I want, that I'm not limited to McAllister's or McDonald's when I want to eat out. Indian, Thai, Japanese...it's all there, the city itself satisfying my taste buds and my desire for something new, something different, and still offering me the comfort of familiarity when I need it. I wish everyone could see it like I do.

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

"I feel like a banker in this tie."- Major League

So I started the new FSR position yesterday, and it's pretty sweet so far. I've opened two new accounts and I've been studying up on credit cards, CDs, IRAs, commercial accounts, etc. The main office is very much to my liking. I'll be there for most of this month, excluding my vacation of course. It seems I may have stumbled into a career. There are times when I feel asthmatically panicked at the thought of a 9-5 under fleuorescents for the next few decades, but I do enjoy the stability. Numbers don't lie. Numbers can be rearranged and compunded, but they can't be bent or broken (at least not within the confines of normal banking; otherwise you're talking about embezzlement.) I'm liking this much more than I thought I would, and I never thought I would dislike it. I'm digging the office humor, remembering birthdays (and enjoying nibbling the birthday cakes), getting excited when we reach goals as a team. I know that sounds like something off one of those ridiculous inspirational posters that always feature schooners or some guy dangling from a cliff, but it's true.