school

Bed of Roses

While pretty, I am best viewed from afar.

Greetings and Salutations!

For some strange reason I decided to overhaul this blog instead of just trashing it. Originally, my plan was to delete the thing and end this voyage and abandon any dear readers that I may have collected along the way. Readers which I am certain have moved onwards and upwards and have forgotten about an alleged narcissicist with  tendencies for degeneracy on scales that can only be measured with “epic” as a qualifying adjective. But I ditched the plan. I have no reason why I have done so – I was having a bastardly bastard of a time coming up with things that I felt were relevant enough to write about (and we all see where that went…). And beyond explaining what has happened it the eon that I have been away, I find myself wondering if I will have material beyond a few days, maybe weeks.

Now, things have changed. I have moved on to a new chapter in my novel existence (see what I did there?), and wonder if the coming experiences will rate sharing with others. It is not that I feel that my life has become or will become boring…that is not something that I believe is possible for me. What is at issue is that I have been avoiding – the collapse of The Foundation. Yes, the collapse of the what was the single most beneficial asset to Samurai City. From beginning to end, the tale is one that I am sure would amuse, horrify, and possible bring about several more indictments; it may be told on various turns of your humble narrator’s new adventure, but do not plan on it (for any of you that care, for those of you that do not…pick a finger). The fall of the Creator of the Thunderdome is a tale wrought the joy, sadness, treachery, and ultimately, a tragedy of Greek literary tradition. But our Foundation life was not a bed of roses, this way is better for us (snicker). Needless to say, instead of focusing my empire on “charity,” I decided to go back to the University. A career in psychology/psychiatry seemed like a new and exciting path for Dear Xavier, so I packed up my office, and traded my ledgers for textbooks.

We all press the lever for food.

The road back to academia was an interesting and treacherous one. I found myself immersed in a culture of students that were significantly younger than me. Now, I am not unused to being around young people, but typically I am bossing the younger people around like some self-important autocrat. However, they younger people are now my peers and colleagues. I am now faced with having to remind myself that these are people with opinions that I owe the same consideration and respect that I would give my fellow Generation Xer’s or some junk (which is not necessarily all that much). Still, the journey has been pleasant, despite learning that I still can count mathematics as an area that I am lacking in superiority. I have also learned that psychologists are an incredibly interesting lot of people.

 

I think the best part of the journey that led to my literary hiatus was  that I got to avoid discussing the 2016 election. I also have to struggle to refrain from speaking of the result of that train wreck. 2016 will always represent where three to four decades of dismantling public education will lead. I cannot even bring myself to watch the news anymore. However, this is not a bad thing because I can avoid local news stories that have not gone away (I get it, the Thunderdome and Arboretum would make an excellent public park and demonstrate good will to Samurai City after the unfortunate turn of events that may have involved the Foundation! I said I was thinking about it assholes!).

These are not real babies.

In addition to avoiding the election, I was able to rediscover a few old interests. Namely, photography. I have turned into one of those people that is an unabashed and unashamed iPhonographer. See that shit? I even used tend-iLanguage to talk about my old/new thing. I am not sure why it all started. I mean, it could have been when I was taking naughty innocent pictures of various sex acts statues. It could have been when I got the idea to take a bunch of babies used for teaching how to not abuse babies and arranged them into neat photos. Whenever it was that it started, it started and now it is a thing. One thing that does not bother me about my journey into iPhotography (I am addicted, maybe?) is that I cannot take selfies. It bothers me that I had to type “selfies” multiple times to discuss this, but it was unavoidable. You see, dear readers, it seems that my arms are in fact too short for me to take a decent self-image. No, it is not an angle thing. No, it is not an inability to frame an image. My arms or too fucking small to take one, and I refuse to use one of those horrid sticks. Instead, I have to request that others take pictures of me, and aside from my secretary, I trust the photographer responsible for the image of me featured above (and one other). Other people will make my head to big or get my fat side or get too much forehead or not tell me what do in the picture so I do not look like a hideous fool. This is why images of myself tend to be a year old, maybe two.

What does any of this have to do with me? Loser!

When people quit smoking, or retire, or elect a dangerous Ferengi that had ear reduction surgery to public office, they tend to remember the date that the deed was undertaken. People remember import, significant, life-changing events. So, it would seem to reason (to me) that I would remember what date the doors to the Thunderdome closed leaving the looming structure abandoned in heart of downtown Samurai City. But, I do not. Which is a little disconcerting to me now. I mean, the amount of litigation alone would probably warrant a course in some law school…but I guess when you leave the minutia to attorneys and sycophants and spokespeople one does not have to be concerned with dates and outcomes. It sounds terrible, but other than maybe having to pay for the demolition of some property, the outcome does not really effect me. And is that not the American way? What does not effect me, should not concern me…right? Is that not the direction our species is headed? I believe you should all be concerned that someone such as myself is questioning the humanity of humanity. I mean, my idea of helping the less fortunate involved elephant stampedes parades, and alleged forced substandard-wage labor in apple orchards. I am not saying that I was bad person (just horribly misunderstood), but friends, I am just saying consider whom is writing this and the implications.

Lately, I have found myself having Dante running through my head: “In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.” It seems that I am headed into a new life – I admit to being eager and horrified.

Happy Hump Day Extravaganza: The Return

Many, many moons ago, in a land called MySpace, I used to make it a point to blog a special blog on Wednesday. I called it “Happy Hump Day Extravaganza” and used the forum to post random bits and pieces about things that had occurred earlier in the week and the week previous. I figured that this would be a good day to return to those lost days and present a new installment for the WordPress edition of my eScribblings. Shall we begin?

Etta James, RIP

There really is not too much to say to this. The lady was an icon with incredible pipes. I will miss her terribly.

The Best Snack…Ever!

This morning when I arrived at one of sites that The Foundation supports, I happened to walk into the main office right as the building administrator was telling a few people there about an incident in Connecticuit. Apparently, a four year student decided to bring the party to his pre-school class and share his snack. Which just happened to be nine bags of pot. Wow! Nine bags of pot. That kid wanted to be sure that his whole class got crazy insane in the membrane! Apparently, the child did not know that the snack brought would have gone over better in the teacher’s lounge, at least they have lighters and the fine-motor coordination needed to roll a decent fatty, but that is of no consequence. The incredible thing is the article that came from the a news site that is local for those particular east coast residents:

MERIDEN — Police and DCF officials were called into an elementary school after a 4-year-old pulled out marijuana during snack time.

The teacher told police the 4-year-old special-needs child pulled out 9 individually wrapped bags of marijuana during snack time.

Police say the bags appeared to be wrapped for sale.

The child is a student at Hanover Elementary.

Police and officials from the Department of Children and Families are investigating the incident.

No arrests have been made.

Really? Nine bags that appear to be wrapped for sale? They are being too hard on that child. He may have been separating the snack for easier distribution to his classmates: “Okay, each table gets its own bag and hookah! We must share little people.” And nine bags? Yeah, right. There probably were many more, but who’s going to admit it? The parents? (“Um, excuse me, but there are actually fifteen bags missing from our stash…”) No there were more than that, they found their way to an after party thrown by a center educator of young people… And this was a special needs kid as well. Perhaps that was his special need! We need to stop hating on people and their nutritional choices. Perhaps he needed to really chill the hell out, and so did the rest of the class. Sometimes the only thing that works is a big fatty.

And no arrests have been made? It is not often that medical cheeba cheeba is bagged for resale and toted about by pre-kindergarten kiddies. Just saying…

Fatkins Eats Humble Pie?

Maybe I was missing something. Maybe the folks that I encountered in the past were misled on the Atkins Diet. Maybe I should have read up on the scheme and learned more. However, that is a lot of maybe, and I did none of the above. My understanding of the Atkins Diet was that you only filled your tum-tum with meat. Eschewing vitamin loaded vegetables and fruits, and eliminating the energy providing carbohydrates was the impression I had gotten from the dieters on that program who screamed its praise, yet still hit a plateau where they lost no more weight. A flock of tired, slightly smaller people, rapidly approaching gout and heart disease to lose the pounds that they worked hard to add to their frames. With no carbohydrates for energy, these tired souls could not attempt one of the most crucial parts of any weight loss protocol: exercise. It helps build efficient fat burning, lean muscle mass. But what do I know? I am just a vegetarian martial artist with low cholesterol, low blood pressure, and the energy to please a harem of nubile wenches (I just felt a little perverse and piratical…this entry was seeming a bit too inoffensive and tame).

But I digress. Where I mean to go with this is the commercial that I recently saw for the Atkins plan that specifies the inclusion of “healthy carbohydrates.” So, score one for the experts and take two from the misinformed puppets of the meat and dairy industry? Who knows?

American I-Don’ts

Do I really need to say more? Pretty soon, the horrible singers will be off, and I can go back to watching the antics of the dumbest whatevers on TruTV. Also, Jim Carrey’s daughter was on last night’s broadcast. She made it through the first audition and on to Hollywood. Jennifer Lopez said that she remembered the chica from the days when Jim would bring her onto the set of “In Living Color” when JLo was a flygirl on the show. And apparently, she made it through on her own merits. We shall see…

And here is a question: why do the contestants who show on one song that they have no talent, insist that they can do better by singing a different one? It never works out with a change for the failure.

Motorcycle Update

So, the saga continues with my poor motorcycle. I have resigned myself to paying for the damage myself. The bastard that ran it over has no intention of paying for the damage, and taking him to court would be too costly considering that the only victory that I would gain is the personal satisfaction of a judgement against him, a judgement that cannot affect his already horrid credit, a judgement that would never be paid.

I saw the bastard and that cunt muffin that he calls his significant other today and asked them about the damage to my motorcycle. I pointed out that October had come and gone, and they had not paid for the damage. That was when I was informed that they did not have to pay me a cent for my “piece of junk that ain’t worth the money I was asking for in repairs.” Well!

Needless to say, I am pretty upset about that situation. However, I do have a plan. A horrible plan. Hopefully, my intention will be clear and their children will not be orphaned. However, I only appealed for the intervention of the Dark Mother. We shall just have to see what she feels is an appropriate compensation to made for my loss. But for the rest of the world: Johnny Benson is a bitch! He destroys biker property and lives in Saginaw, Michigan. If you see him, do as you please. Mind you, I am not advocating any violent acts, that is left to the province of the spirits that should start chasing him in the next few hours…and until he dies. “Anger is a gift.”

And so, that will do it for today’s installment of these Hump Day shenanigans. Have a great one, happy humping!

 

Busy, Busy, Busy…

I hate being so caught up with my daily drudgery that I do not get to pay proper attention to blog or my friends’ blogs. Fortunately, this Thursday signals the beginning of a slight vacation and I will get to pay proper attention to my subscriptions and write more often.

For a few years, The Rothechilde Foundation has bestowed much generosity on a local elementary school. For five years, to be exact (maybe six?). Whatever the case, the group of fifth graders at this school had their “graduation” (which has to be placed in quotes or substituted with “celebration” in order to appease the Department of Education Bureaucrats) and I was fortunate enought to attend. This group is one of two very special groups to me: this group because they were all kindergarteners when The Foundation began working with the school and the other group is next year’s fifth graders, who were all pre-schoolers at the time.

I did not expect to be moved at all by this occasion. In fact, I had not even planned to attend. However, I was reminded that my coal black heart does hold a modicum of sentimentality and I attended the ceremony. The students were surprised to see me enter the gymnasium and all proceeded to run up and invade my space with their grubby hands and personal space violating hugs. “Mr. Rothechilde! Mr. Rothechilde! Thank you for coming! Will you sit up with us?” Of course, I could not do that, but I did sit in the front row (against my better judgement) and watched the proceedings.

The children were all dressed nicely for the occasion and were especially well-behaved. Who knows? Knowing that they were all about to get the fuck up out that joint may have spurred them to show some self-discipline. After a welcome from the principal, and an annoying speech from a local Middle School administrator (who stands about three feet tall, drives a hummer, and needs sixty kicks to the groin), one of the students approached the podium and whispered something to the principal of this elementary school. Soon, I discovered the misdoings afoot:

Principal: “Mr. Rothechilde, the students would like you to say a few words to them. They have grown to love and respect you and really want to hear something from you on this, their day.”

Hmm…me give an unprepared speech? Charlotte would approve. Madame Secretary would insist on writing a quick draft with a two minute time limit. Smeagol would be tazed to keep him silent, undoubtedly traumatizing a gym full of children and parents with his spasms and yelps. Manthony would have gotten the Hell out of that place, there was no air and it was roughly one hundred degrees with the fan blowing on me.

So, what the Hell, I approached the podium, and delivered this address, then hugged a few youngsters and then left the gym. With that as a precedent, I will write my words, hug my secretary, and leave WordPress for the night.

My Words to the Munchlings

“Parents, teachers and staff, and most importantly, future sixth grade students, I find it humbling to be standing here before you in this outrageous heat to celebrate the passing of these youngsters on to the next phase of their education. It seems like just a few minutes ago that I walked into this building for the first time and answered a billion questions from your kindergarten brains about my wondrous head of locks and penchant for black suits. However, it was not a few minutes ago, and you all have grown much in character and much in brain. As you leave this building for the last time and venture to the next stage of academia, remember that nothing is being given to you. What you want, you have to take. From your education, to future employment, the world is definitely not an ally of convenience. No, what you wish for success can only come from your blood, sweat and tears…then the world will gladly share her bounty with you. Remember, the system is no longer educating you for factory labor; it is now grooming you for poverty, ignorance and prison through cutting those important programs such as art, music, math, and science. You have to conquer the system. It is time to rise to the occasion, grab your rifle of enlightenment, and seek knowledge everywhere and anywhere you can. Take their theories and generate new ones, take their history and make it stories of truth, take their lack of compassion and shove it down their throats with a loving wooden spoon! Indeed the planet is yours to inherit, and now is the time for you to do so. I will miss you all terribly, and it breaks my heart to see you all go. However, it will be good to see you progress and I am sure our paths will cross in this life again. Take care and be well.”