Wireless

I'm writing this from the Brewhouse Cafe in downtown Atlanta on my new wireless Dell laptop. I'm amazed at how I can access the internet through nothing but the air. (Finally, no more cords for the animals to chew through.)

The great thing about wireless is that you can "piggyback" on other connections that exist in the area. There are about four or five connections in the area, due to the density of Atlanta's population.

I'm ordering the Red Pepper Roasted Hummus and the Reuben Sandwich. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Bard

Today is Shakespeare's birthday, as far as we know. All we have to go on are his baptismal records. Since children in his time were baptised on the first Sunday after their birth, conventional wisdom places his date of birth as the same as his death date, thereby adding even more allure to an already mysterious figure.

Even in death, he used poetry to serve a purpose. The following is inscribed on his gravestone:

GOOD FREND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE
TO DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE.
BLEST BE YE MAN YT SPARES THES STONES
AND CURST BE HE YT MOVES MY BONES

Gravedigging was a constant concern in those days; while other graves near the Bard's have been disturbed, his has been spared.

Who says poetry isn't useful?

Quarter

Twenty-five days left...

I took a sick day Friday- the End-of-Course Testing (EOCT) schedule on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday wiped me out. On Monday, I had to spend four hours with my first period. Thankfully, I was able to talk them into playing a game of horse for bonus points or I would have went insane. I came in second- not a bad showing for a guy who can't even dribble without looking goofy.

My mom had a saying that she would always utter on trips to Georgia to see her grandmother: "So close, and yet so far."

Yep. That just about sums it up.

I hope I never learn how to cook.

Tonight my wife and I headed out to the back deck in an effort to grill some salmon and enjoy the waning daylight. We hauled the kitchen table out the back door and threw on a red and white gingham table cloth. We listened to music and sat and talked and danced and acted silly.

Our grill of choice was a five-dollar table top special that could only hold five baked potatos at a time. The fire was so measly that eventually we had to move them into the oven proper to soften them up. Potatos are, in my opinion, the most stubborn thing to cook- next to beans. As the fish cooked, we sipped on diet Cokes (my wife) and beer (me) and tried to hold time in its tracks. Since I am not the world's greatest chef, it took way too long to fully cook the salmon. As a result, we were rewarded with ample time to spend the night together.

Sunday evenings for me are generally marked with a vague regret, since I feel that I could have used my time in a more fulfilling way. But tonight was different. Tonight I will not be going to bed wishing I had done something meaningful; instead I will be wishing that the meaningful event could have lasted longer. I feel like a kid who has to say his goodbyes to his friends at summer camp. My only solace is knowing that there will be other nights in which to linger and stave off the setting of the summer sun.

5-7-5

I love writing haiku. They are simple yet seductive, and I feel as if I'll never exhaust their capacity to describe the essence of human thought. Here's one I wrote tonight in my head while sitting out on the deck.

A cool midnight- look!
A lone moth in the moonlight
Shining like a ghost

Here's another:

My love for her is
complex; polluted as smoke
Yet pure as the flame

Motivation

Alexander had his fair share of deserters; Christ had his Pharisees; Lincoln had his detractors; I have my first period. I'm not enough of a lunatic to compare myself to those three individuals, but I think it does prove the point that even the greatest people in history failed to motivate everyone. There will always be those who refuse guidance and help every time it is offered to them, no matter the circumstances. 90% of my students have enough common decency that they want help and want to learn, even if they won't admit it.

I cannot wait to quit teaching, if only so I'll never have to see anyone from first period again. They can't comprehend the underlying social fabric that binds us all together, and as a result every time I interact with them a piece of my own fabric is destroyed. I am not strong enough to face the full brunt of their ignorance on a daily basis, and I find my ideals corroding and ebbing a little bit more each day.

I have thirty-two days remaining. What a sweet blessed freedom it will be.

Forgive Me, O Father, This Little Sin

Forgive me, O Father, this little sin.
And remember- we are but flesh and blood
For at last something binds us deep within.

The ancient guilt threatens to rise again,
How can I delay such a mighty flood?
Forgive me, O Father, this little sin.

So common to even the greatest men
Who were formed or rough clay and vulgar mud
For at last something binds us deep within.

Sometime before the final trumpets begin
And after the old bloom has slipped the bud
Forgive me, O Father, this little sin.

I foresee our future- so frail and thin
As our strength crumbles with an awful thud
For at last something binds us deep within.

Now cleanse me, hold me as I fall and spin
And remember- we are but flesh and blood.
Forgive me, O Father, this little sin.
For at last something binds us deep within.

Ted Williams weighed 205.

For those who don't follow baseball lore, he was the last man on the planet to hit over .400 for a season. That was in 1941. He then proceeded to spend roughly three years of his life serving as a World War II combat pilot, effortlessly sacrificing what easily could have been the three most productive years in his baseball career in order to fight for his country.

I'm six feet tall and weigh roughly 200 pounds. Ted Williams was 6 foot 3 inches tall. The point is, he wasn't a huge guy- no one would have confused him for a wrestler or running back. He was a baseball player, one of those lean spry guys who take to the field like children every year. Someone the father in the stadium could relate to.

Things have changed in the world of baseball. Since the mid '90s, steroids have ruined the sport I used to love. I watched Mark McGwire change from the ball players of old to a heaving hulk of a man who had trouble fitting the batting helmet over his head. To watch him bat, even as a kid, reminded me of a grotesque circus show. I couldn't relate to him.

Same goes with Barry Bonds and Sammy Sosa. Sosa might be the most glaring example of all. In 1997 he batted 642 times and hit 36 home runs. In 1998 he batted 643 times and hit 66 home runs. Sure, players improve, but increases of 30+ home runs in a season were unheard of before the 90's.

Bonds, who has admitted taking a clear cream his trainer gave him, also has a more than interesting stat sheet. Before hitting 73 in 2001, he had never broken the 50 mark. He never hit that mark again, either. If you placed the data on a line chart, his numbers started to skyrocket upward in 2000.

I'm idealistic, but I don't think it's a coincidence that three individuals in baseball have all managed to break Maris' record within a few years of each other- a record that stood for almost four decades. Sure, nutrition and science advances, but there are only so many ways you can make a muscle grow. Sweat will only carry you so far. Anyone who believes those guys on the muscle mags aren't poppin' pills are insane.

That's where the steroids come in.

I used to love baseball- the slow deliberate pace; the fact that no clock determined the course of play; how no one player could carry a team to victory time and time again. Now it's forever tainted, and I fear I will never be able to see it in the same light. The game that I feel used to contain the ideals of America has joined the rest of the world in tarnishing them.

I used to like watching farm ball, but something tells me they are only working hard to get to the money one day. I think I'm going to form my own baseball league, where guys like me play for $30,000 a year. There will be no pay raises and everyone will make the same amount of money. I think the fans would want to watch people play who do so only for the love of the game. When records are broken, it would be with honesty, and men that remind you of yourself would shake your hand after the game.

It's come to the point in my life where I'd rather watch somebody with real passion do poorly than watch a steroid freak hit 100 home runs a year.

Pope John Paul II (1920-2005)

I'm in no way Catholic, but I still feel the need to honor a man who stood as a spiritual symbol for over one billion people. I'll never know the connection they felt, but certain elements in his life nonetheless fill me with awe. Snippets from the headlines inform me that most of his family was killed when he was young; apparently he was influential in the fall of Communism; during World War II he defied Hitler and outlived the Nazi reign of terror.

He was the first non-Italian pope selected in over 500 years. His reign as pope was the 3rd longest in the history of the papacy. For many people (myself included) he was the only pope they'd ever known. His force is undeniable, even to the non-Catholic and non-Christian.

Castro, not exactly a saint, declared a three-day period of mourning in Cuba upon hearing the news. Surely he did this for political reasons, but it's remarkable that even Castro recognizes how far the pope's reach was, even in death. Al-Jazeera even offered a short tribute on air- the same station that shows individuals cheering after the Towers were hit and serves as a mouthpiece for Osama bin Laden. China offered their condolences and mentioned that they hoped to build a relationship with the next pontiff.

It says something intensely profound when a man is able to bridge such gaps. There was a quality in him that everyone aspired to have, regardless of creed or color or background. Their was goodness in him, goodness recognized and heralded by all religions the world over. It is fitting that the world stop and take notice for a minute, for people like him are few and far between.

CNN has a great website that details his life. If you have some free time, give it a look.

On Top of the World

My wife and I went to the Sun Dial Restaurant on Sunday night. It's at the top of the tallest hotel in the Western Hemisphere. 732 feet up, to be exact. We rode a glass elevator to the top, which is amazing, considering the fact that my wife is afraid of heights.

The entire restaurant spins around a full 360 degrees every hour. As you eat, you go past signs that tell you what direction you are currently facing. Since the restaurant's in the middle of downtown Atlanta, you get to see the major interstates as they head off into the distance. The most amazing part was watching the sun set, which triggered the city's metamorphosis into a sea of lights.

I ordered the lobster ravioli appetizer, rack of lamb for the main course, and cheesecake for dessert. My wife had onion soup for an appetizer, crusted grouper for the main course, and egg custard for dessert. The price was more than I care to admit, but we saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I strongly advise everyone to eat there at least once if they ever visit the city. It's a remarkable experience.

Sister Site

I've created a second blog in order to publish a novel I've written. I thought that with the length, posting it here would simply clog up the daily posts.

Chapter One, as well as a detailed explanation for the decision, is already posted at http://whoneedsanagent.blogspot.com, for those who are interested.

Americana

I find myself in a never-ending quest to find and acquire little bursts of memory that I can add to the growing slide show in my brain: the old man sitting on a bench in front of a hardware store in a July so hot wind is a cruel curse; a group of children sending kite after kite into the azure sky; the gentleman I met for a moment at a roadside stand who sold me a jar of pickled okra.

In each of these instances, something deep inside reminded me to "click the shutter" as it were, and save the image for posterity. Over time, however, the images warp and grow idealized as all memories do. I forget the look of exasperation on the old man's face and replace it with one of joy; the wind never fails on that summer day and the kites never fall; the man at the roadside stand never had to scrape by for money.

On Saturday I found another slide. My four-year old niece was practicing for her first T-ball game at the park. Their was a Fun Day organized too, which meant you could throw darts at balloons and spin wheels for prizes. Little kids ran and waddled across the field, heading toward rides with tickets clutched eagerly in hand. At one point, I forced myself to spin around and capture the entire panorama. It is sitting there in my head, ready and waiting for the next time I want to see it. Only next time it'll be a slightly different image. Thankfully, the feeling itself will not change.

Here's hoping you find several moments of your own that remind you of why we're put on this earth.

Interim

I left for Mississippi late Thursday night and didn't get home until early this morning- as a result, my posts have been lacking.

It's a beautiful day so I'm heading out to the great outdoors with my beautiful wife, but I'll post more later. I have the whole week off (yeah!) so I'll be able to update the blog more.