What I've Learned, While I've Been Busy

TIM FERRISS is the guy who wrote a book about living the good life by working only 4 hours a week. I find that no matter how hard I try, I still don’t care to know anything else about him.

ON THE OTHER HAND, Tim Farriss is the chief guitar-slinger for INXS, those guys that ruled the airwaves for much of the 80s and 90s. Him I care about.

INXS STAYED RELEVANT by writing songs that seemed both immediate and timeless. Not many current artists do that, and those that did have been around, doing what they do, for quite some time.

THAT SAID; I STILL BELIEVE that “Don’t Change” from 1982’s Shabooh Shoobah album remains INXS’s high-water mark. Probably because of Farriss’ jangly, fierce guitar and Michael Hutchence’s bold, yet plaintive voice – a sweet merger of one of rock’s best voices with one of its great underrated guitar gods.

I ALSO FIND THAT I’m listening to a lot of Bob Mould lately, in all his forms – with Hüsker Dü, Sugar, and solo. He’s yet another artist of the era that wrote both immediate and timeless songs and music; and he’s a guitar god of his own. He’s still recording; he’s been around, doing what he does for quite some time.

I’D BET THAT neither Tim Farriss nor Bob Mould work only 4 hours a week. Now, they could, and they’ve earned the right to. After twenty-odd years of creative work, it’s expected. Pimping out a book that supposedly tells you how to score the good life without really trying isn’t quite the same thing. It’s shameless pandering to the easily-led.

When Manners Met Grace (A Question of Culture)

Though it was a requirement of this last census job to have - and be able to use a car, I found myself using mass transit as much as possible. By and large, the mass transit system in greater San Diego doesn't entirely suck. The light-rail trolleys are pretty cool. The buses run very early to very late, some of the routes actually make sense, and for the most part the drivers run on time...

...Except for some Chula Vista-based jackasses who roar through stops about 5 minutes early. I'm looking at you, Route 712 guy. (I've called and complained several times. To their credit, all the dispatchers but one were pretty horrified by this. The other - clueless - one said, "well, at least he wasn't late!" No, he wasn't late, moron, he was too early for me to catch. Here's a quarter; buy a clue.)

I did a week of training and a week of prep in San Diego, with no fieldwork. I used the bus and trolley then. Because of the insanely talented crew I had, our fieldwork lasted a short period, and I went from "in the field" to mostly "in the office." Several of those days I came in by trolley and bus. I'd guess that about 40% of the back-and-forth travel I did was via mass transit.

I learned something that bothered me. I'm going to talk about it, even though I am certain I will be labeled a racist, or narrow-minded, or somesuch. I've thought about it, and frankly, this time....I don't care.

My trolley stop was only three stops away from the U.S.-Mexico border stop at San Ysidro. At any point in the morning, by the time I got on, most of the seats were taken, most of the cars were full, and people were straphanging and leaning on the bars. This doesn't phase me; I've ridden buses in most cities I've lived in. I've hanged on straps with the best and worst of them. But here, the worst of them seem to be in the seats.

As a Southern man, I was taught a few of the most important things in life: always say "yes, ma'am" and "no, ma'am"; hold the door open for others; don't cuss in church; and give up your seats to those who need it more than you.

This last one clearly isn't taught around here. Every morning I watched in disgust as young or middle-aged men sat in the trolley or bus seats, listening to their iPods, reading, texting, talking, or just staring ahead, while older women had to stand. I watched daily as hale-and-hearty guys of all ages rode in relative comfort while women balanced grocery bags, children, and schoolbags fought to keep their balance.

It should go without saying that I never once kept my seat if someone else needed it. On reflection, I realized that I'd actually ridden into town only once. Each other time I'd stood up the entire way - which isn't all that far.

Do I need spell out that almost all these women were Hispanic? Should I continue with the fact that most of the men too lazy to stand for them were also Hispanic? I will. I will also admit that there are a very few Hispanic men who will offer their seats to women - and all of them appear to be in their teens or early 20's.

The inaction of these men disgusts me; I won't deny it. Is this a cultural thing; is it expected that Hispanic men will sit while their women are forced to ride on their feet? Or is this a local San Diego-Tijuana concept?

I gave up my seat numerous times. Only once I can recall was it to a Caucasian woman, and only once to an African-American. In both cases, both ladies thanked me for the courtesy. Every other time - somewhere between 20 and 30 times - I gave up my seat to a Hispanic woman, usually older than me. Only once was I thanked. Two or three times I received a nod of appreciation, but that was it.

Is this a base lack of gratitude, a lack of understanding, or simply a self-centered belief that I should get out of their seat? I swear I don't know. Logically, it doesn't make sense, and trying to figure it out confuses and annoys me.

But late last week, when I witnessed something I'd never seen out here, I felt an actual true-life paradigm shift.

The Route 712 had run through about 5 minutes early again, so I caught a bus on an adjacent street. It would get me to a different trolley station later than I needed to be, but it beat waiting another 20 minutes for the next bus.

This one wasn't quite full, and I ended up riding for a few stops, until a lady in a motorized wheelchair got on board. They take up quite a bit of room, and those folks at the front of the bus moved toward the back. I hopped up to let someone else have my seat. Just a couple rows in front of me, a very young African-American boy was riding alone - clearly on his way to school. I guessed him to be 11, maybe 12 years old.

A few more stops, and the seats were finally full. At the next stop, a woman got on board. Yes, she was Hispanic, and she was probably around my age. She was also clearly in excellent shape, youthful-seeming, and was carrying nothing except her purse. Full of energy, she bounded up onto the bus, and grabbed the nearest strap - near the young boy. He looked up, grabbed his bookbag and backpack, and jumped out of the seat.

"Sit here, ma'am," he told the woman - and that is a quote. She looked at him, looked around, and began to demur. Clearly she didn't need the seat. She was probably healthier than anyone else on the bus, and was holding only that little clutch purse. He had bags dangling off his arms and couldn't even reach the strap.

The bus started to move. She looked up, past me at someone behind me. She then looked at me, and then glanced down at the boy - still waiting.

"Go ahead, ma'am," he said, offering his seat again.

She smiled at him; one of the warmest smiles I'd ever seen.

"Thank you, sir," she said - again I'm quoting. She nodded to him and slid into the seat. He grabbed the bar on the back of the seat, and still clutching his bookbag and backpack, rode standing up to his stop - so she could ride.

It was one of the most genuine moments of courtesy and manners I'd ever witnessed, and it was matched by an act of true grace. I do not exaggerate when I say it was the high point of my day, possibly my week. It's rare to see someone that young be that gentlemanly, a reflection of the man he is certainly going to grown into. I'd like to meet that young man's parents, and I'd like to shake their hands.

And her? Her moment of grace in the face of what could be seen as an absurd action from a wide-eyed young boy only illuminates the gulf that separates types of behavior. With her words, her acceptance of his offer, she reminded him that what he did was right. It couldn't have been handled better. I suspect that if she has children of her own, then they are the very ones who do stand and offer their seats to others; I suspect that she has brought them up right.

That afternoon, when I gave my seat up to a surly woman who never so much as nodded a 'thank-you' in my direction, I thought about that graceful lady and that young man - at that moment when manners met grace. I smiled at the woman who didn't thank me and took my station standing up.

As long as I ride, I'll continue to do this. Whether my offer is appreciated doesn't matter. It's not the point. The point is to make the offer, to do the thing that we know is correct. Where it took watching a pre-teen make a stand for courtesy to remind me of this, maybe my act of common courtesy will sink into one of these others. Maybe a little bit of apathy will blow away, and maybe he'll stand and offer his seat to another.

And maybe not. I'm not here to change anyone else, but I'll be damned before I'll let it change me. I'll stand, thanks.

Just a Few Things I Like...

My brain has been suffering a world-class meltdown lately. Unable to abstract as a higher life form, most of my (non-US Census) thoughts have been of the "I like this"/"I don't like this" vein. With nothing else rattling around inside the little-grey-cellmelt currently occupying a portion of my skull, I thought I'd share just a few of them with you.

Though it may surprise many - if not most of you - I thought I'd start positive, with some of the things I like.

I like having a community baseball field across the street from my apartment. It's a lovely park, and we look out over right field. Play here is constant and year-round. I think it's possible that they take off a few weeks in December, but that seems to be about it. It's a cheery sound, the popping of balls into gloves, the clanking of aluminum bats, the pepper of the infield. They play until 10 o'clock many nights. When we moved in, I thought it would be a noisy distraction; I was wrong. It is a cheering, warm distraction that I have enjoyed listening to and watching on many nights. I have no idea who is playing or what the final scores are. None of that matters. Only the game matters.

I like my coffee. Oh my Lord, I like my coffee. I freely admit to a caffeine addiction that I'll never shake. (I tried once a couple years ago. I got about 36 hours without before I ripped open a box of chocolate-covered coffee beans and ate them while waiting for a barista to whip me up a triple-shot macchiato - all while I was shouting, "coffee, stat!" at her.) That said, there is nothing like the taste of a good cup. Kona is my current dark master, but I still worship at the altar of the Kenyan AA, too.

I absolutely love the new Phoenix album, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. For the past few weeks, if I'm not listening to NPR, I'm listening to Phoenix. In fact, I'm trying to see if there's any way for me to just marry the record. (There's apparently a worry that doing so would lead to a slippery slope where a man could marry his dog, a rock, the concept of time, and eventually, even some other guy. Let one guy marry his music and suddenly even "them queers" think they should get to, too.) Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a pop-music masterpiece, with stupendous, catchy cuts like "Lasso," "1901," "Girlfriend," "Countdown," and "Lizstomania." In a just world, each of them would own the top of the charts for a while. But to me, the centerpiece of the album is the brilliant almost-instrumental double song, "Love Like a Sunset Part I" and "...Part II." It's tense, a bit shambolic, a little brutal, and really hints at these guys' skills. It's also the only pop song of the past fifteen years or so that puts me to mind of early Velvet Underground - and that, my friends, is a good thing.

I like NPR. None more need be said.

I like the fact that the Chula Vista PD took a complaint seriously. Just a couple nights ago, some jackass let his car alarm sound on-and-off all night. As I was heading to work about 7:30 in the a.m., I actually heard him shut it off, so I know he was nearby. The next night, the alarm started again in the evening. I called the police, and was told that a few other people had complained. Not too long after, a CVPD squad car showed up, checked out the blaring convertible, and had it towed away - still bleating. Tonight, there was no alarm; there was just baseball.

I like the crew I'm training for the Census. I feel quite happy. I've got a smart batch of folks. Many of them are experienced - but not all. A few of those with less experience I actually trained in a previous class, and I was happy with them then. It makes my job easier and more rewarding to know that the folks I'm training are taking their work seriously, and seem to be as qualified and capable as any out there. I've said it before, people. I actually take this work seriously. I know they do, too.

As strange as it may sound, I've almost gotten to like walking Adam between 6:30 and 7 in the morning. I'm meeting a few new dogpersons and their people (even though I wish the one guy would wear more than just boxers - with the open fly - and a t-shirt whilst he's hoofing his pooch). There's a good community of dog owners around here. I like that, too.

I like the Thai food at Bangkok Spices Thai in San Diego. I like the carnitas at Miguel's in Chula Vista. I like everything I've eaten at Las Quatras Milpas in Barrio Logan. I've been told I need to try some local Filipino cuisine, and I suspect I'll like that, too.

I like having this silly, third-rate blog. I like knowing that there are folks in about twenty-odd countries that regularly read the stuff I post - that actually seem to care what I have to say. I don't know why, mind you, but I admit I like it. I particularly like the fact that you are all very patient with me when my brain is not at its best.

I like that. I like that very much.

Ye Olde Random Stuff or Douchebaggery on Parade

Back many moons ago, whilst writing for Jackson, Mississippi's venerable Planet Weekly, a few times I plugged holes in my column schedule by doing collections of - basically - random twaddle. It's a necessity when one has a few little comments or notes to make, but none of them are really worth writing up an entire column/post for.

This is my first official one, though some folks may claim that other bits here have been nothing but that...

Census Update:

You know that old saw about there not being any stupid questions? False. After a week in training, and another day or two to go, I am convinced that there are actually stupid questions.

Trainer: "When you're filling out your E-309C with your WPNO2 (wooden pencil, no eraser, Number Two), you must always do it in this fashion. The only - and I mean only - exception is when you're following up your E-309C with the additional pages from your Q-451."

Trainee: "Okay, but what about if...?"

Trainer: "This is the only exception!"

Trainee: "I get that, but what about if you're doing your E-309C in the office, instead of in the field?"

Trainer: "No exceptions, except for the one we've covered (a lot)."

Trainee: "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, but what about if you just really want to do it the other way?"

Trainer: "No, no, no! For love of God, no! The Q-451 is the only exception!"

Trainee: "Okay, I get that. But what if...?"

Of course, I've mangled facts and document pages to keep some secrets, but you get the picture. It's not just the splitting-hairs questions, either. I swear some of them have been of this vein:

"What if...just saying what if here...what if an asteroid hits the Earth, sending up a tsunami that washes San Diego into the ocean...okay? What if that happens? Are we required to show up at the office and turn in paperwork that day?"*

A Week's Worth of Stupidity-Fueled Verbiage:

The past few days have just been riddled with wanton douchebaggery. First South Carolina's pride-and-joy, Representative Joe Wilson interrupted President Obama's address to Congress with "You lie!" It speaks well of most of his party that they were disgusted and ashamed of his behavior. Even Senator John McCain called him out on it. He apparently called and apologized to the White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. I do believe that he probably called to apologize to the president himself - other liberals be damned. I don't believe for a moment he actually meant to speak with Emanuel (Wilson's got the brass to heckle the prez, but I don't believe he's got the cajones to actually seek out an audience with the Chief of Staff).

Following this shameful behavior, what happened? Of course, the loudmouth bobbleheads of the fringe right take up his side. Had this happened one year ago, the same brainless twerps who sided with Wilson would have demanded the heads of anyone who had heckled Bush.

Then of course, there was Serena Williams' outburst at a line judge: "I'll shove this ball down your f***ing throat." Staying classy, she was shocked - shocked! - when she was eventually tossed out of the tourney on her keister. Is this the beginning of a new shock-jock life for her, or has she learned her lesson? Who knows, but I'd give 3-to-1 that she pulls the same kind of stunt again.

Stomping through the verdant meadows of mass-media douchebaggery again was Glenn Beck, who "inspired" his people to a) co-opt 9/11 to form a "huge" mass anti-Obama demonstration in DC and then b) fail to show up for his peeps. His teabaggers were out in force - all 70-odd thousand of them. With their silly costumes and dreadful signs it resembled a Klan Rally in more than just spirit.

And we mustn't forget that slice of right-wing whoriness, Michelle Malkin, who immediately began inflating numbers on her blog and on Twitter: 'It's like...like there were half a million there! Or like a million! Wait, it was 1.5 million! No, 2 million!' I expected the Count from Sesame Street to began laughing afterwards.

Her douchebaggery really began when she posted fake photos taken years ago (reportedly from the Million Man March) that claimed to show the streets chock-full of people. However, virtually all non-fringe-right reports on the ground (DC police and Fire Department, for example), dispute all aspects of her claim.

Last on the list: Kanye West. For a man that demands (unearned) respect, he showed a shameful amount of disrespect at MTV's Video Music Awards by stealing the microphone from Taylor Swift and ranting about why she didn't deserve her award and why Beyonce did.** It would've been an appalling thing to do to a long-time veteran; it was shameful to do to a 19-year old young woman who was receiving her first award of its kind.

I'm neither a Kanye nor a Taylor Swift fan, so I have no opinion of any of it, musically. But I understand common courtesy and uncommon douchebaggery. He is clueless of the former and a master of the latter.

Even with the heavy competition from Wilson, Beck, Malkin, and Williams, I think that Kanye's behavior marks him as the biggest 'bag of the week.

I have a question now! What forms would I need to fill out if I wanted to KTC (Kick the Crap) out of that PAB (Punk-Ass Bitch)?

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*The correct answer: "That would be a DFQ situation (Dumb F***ing Question). Fill out your PY-HO (Pull Your Head Out) and your CY-PO (Close Your Pie Hole) and then follow it up with a quick STFU."

**However, Beyonce showed global amounts of class by inviting Miss Swift to the stage during her award acceptance and letting the young woman give hers. That's a stunning move. I'm not a fan of Beyonce's music, but I am now a fan of her.

Another Dose of Common Census

It was with some odd excitement that I returned to working for the U.S. Census today. Technically* I work for the Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, and the division is...I don't know, Census 2010? I'm out of practice remembering all the whozeewhatsits and whatchamadiddles.

I can't really explain why, but I enjoy this work. There's an aspect of problem-solving** that's a large part of it - something I enjoy. I've met some good people***, both in the office and in the field. The pay is quite good, even if the benefits are...to put it as nicely as possible...non-existent.

I won't go too deeply into what I'm doing; I take the privacy aspects of the job seriously. I won't trash the work (as another Cali blogger did last spring) because I enjoy the work. Oddly, I think a big part of why I enjoy it is because of my innate political junkieness.****

The U.S. Census has been around longer than modern political parties. Created by the Constitution of the United States, it is how we allocate seats in the House of Representatives - the more people in an area, the more seats they receive. It is also helps determine how states, counties, cities, municipalities, townships, and neighborhoods receive federal funds. It is a necessary part of how our government works, and I'm happy and proud to be part of it.

Keep in mind: the people who come by and ask you Census questions aren't doing it to annoy you; they're doing it to make sure that the area where you live gets all that is coming to it. I can assure you that the vast overwhelming majority of people employed for us are working with that goal in mind. The Census is not trying to locate your hidden stash of guns, take note of your activities for the New World Order, or trying to make a list of dissidents. Anyone who believes that needs their medication adjusted.

(On that note, let me remind you that that Congress' Midwestern court jester, Representative Michelle Bachmann, has given the Census most of its recent press with her wonky, "Don't let them write you in the books!" prattle.***** Having an elected representative say that is tantamount to having your governor telling the 18-year old young men to not register with Selective Service, because it's a ploy of the Party in Power.)

This is going to keep my brain occupied a while - hopefully give it a bit of a recharge, too. I'll probably post a few odds-and-ends about the Census, but no dirt. I'm not going to trash it or the people working for it. It goes against my nature to do so. I hope y'all will put up with this for a few weeks.

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*And temporarily.

**Boy howdy, is there problem-solving.

***Some dirtbags, too.

****Another thing I enjoy is that Census workers fall all over the map politically. As far as I can tell, we have some of the most fervent, yet good-natured arguments I've ever seen. One of my favorite people, who shall remain nameless, is a hardcore conservative, and I absolutely love chatting (arguing) with her.

*****A statement which caused even some of her most ardent supporters to say, "Congressman... Michelle... darling... honey... sugartits... shut the f*** up."

Why April Has Been Such a Bother

This month has proven to be a challenging one. It began with the loss of my grandmother. She'd been in a nursing home for quite some time and everyone in the family knew that she would soon "pass on." When she did, there was no surprise, but it was still heartbreaking. She was the grandparent I was closest to, and the last remaining one I had. At my age, I've been fortunate enough that I haven't lost anyone in my immediate family. I still have my parents, my brothers, my nephews, and my niece. I've never lost a girl I was particularly close to, though I have lost some good friends.*

I received the news on Wednesday morning, approximately 15 minutes after I'd been given my first freelance newspaper assignment for a small paper here. This pretty well shoved the assignment to the back burner - though it needed to be done. The hardest part of losing my grandmother was knowing that I wouldn't make her funeral. She was buried in Arkansas, where she lived, and as everyone here knows, I'm a current resident of So-So Cal. There was no way to justify the expense of spending money on plane tickets to fly home for a Saturday funeral, and return. I don't like flying anyway, and I'd not go alone. If I went, I'd take my girlfriend. But only a few months ago, she lost her grandmother and decided to remain here instead of returning home to Maine. Complicating things further was the fact that she couldn't take off work and I had work training to begin the following Monday. No, there was no way to attend the funeral - and frankly we couldn't afford it.

Instead, I just grieved for her here. And I wrote the piece over the weekend. And I posted "Chapter Two - Dunbar" here on Sunday night. And I started training to work with the U.S. Census as a temp worker on Monday.

During that time, a remote control fell onto my laptop and unbalanced the cooling unit. I took my notebook to the best computer geek I knew in the area, and we checked it out, but there was nothing we could do. Without going to a Toshiba dealer to crack the case and get deep into the guts to replace the unit, I'd just have to deal with it. This became much more difficult to do as I had less and less time available.

The thing began to overheat; the fan made high-pitched clicking noises. I couldn't risk melting it, so I had to rein in my computer usage to almost zilch. I pretty much gave up on Twitter, and I was unable to update here the entire time. All these applications pull a fair amount of power and sent that cooling unit into clicking overdrive.

I trained in Quality Control for the census for 3 days, tested on Thursday, and went to work 3 hours later. I worked for a week and was offered a promotion on Friday. I say this to underscore that I've been working my tuckhus off for the past couple weeks.

Things will still be hectic for some time. I don't know how long this job will last, and if I'll be able to continue through the summer and into the fall. I don't know exactly what I'll be doing or who I'll be working for. But for the moment I'm working.

At the moment, I've bought a cooling pad for this thing. It's hot today - really hot. We have the windows open and a breeze moving through, which is our preference. But the air is hot and dry, and my notebook has only made slight clicking noise a couple of times, early on. I think it's going to be okay. This may work as a short- or long-term work-around. That means I'll be updating here again, but the updates may be shorter and more sporadic than they were.

I'm currently working on "Chapter Three - Sloan," which might get posted this week. I've also got a piece tentatively titled Wyrd Magnet or Regret, which I may start to post as well. And though I've not been able to use this notebook, I've actually been working on a longer piece at nights. I may begin to post part of it as well. For the moment, I'm calling it Spans Forever.

Hopefully by the end of April things will seem a little more normal. I appreciate all of you who have hung in there and let me know you're wondering how I'm doing, or worried, and I particularly appreciate those of you who have checked in to make sure I was still breathing. I still am; I'm just breathing a little hard.

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*I've also lost a bunch of "buddies" - guys that wouldn't be bothered at all by the fact that I'm about to say that some of them died in events that should have been Darwin Award runners-up. Remember, most of my buddies are from the South, where the most common last words are "Hey! Watch this!"