A Certain Degree of Uselessness

In life, it is often necessary, when some cherished scheme has failed, to take up the best alternative open, and if so, it is folly not to work for it with all your might. ~ Winston Churchill

For four years I worked full-time.  When I got off work I went to class at Mississippi College.  And I studied. And I worked very very hard. I made the President’s List, I made Alpha Chi.  My marriage fell apart.  I lost pretty much all I owned, had to file bankruptcy.  Got roommates.  And still I studied.  I learned how to run a sound board.  How to que up a teleprompter.  How to work a television camera and studio board.  How to frame a photo.  How to build a solid budget and design a public relations plan.  I read Shakespeare, Ghandi, Gilgamesh.  I learned about ancient history. And modern psychology.  I studied Euler’s algorithm and Merton’s Anomie Theory.  I took on extracurricular activities, volunteered for marketing projects and charities. Did an internship at the Jackson Free Press.  Studied some more.  Finally finally finally, exhausted and exhilarated, surrounded by friends and family and proudly displaying my magna cum laude scarf, I walked across the stage and received my diploma.

And now, three months later, I am in the same job, doing the same thing and making the same money.  I have sent out close to one hundred resumes.  All for posted positions.  Not. One. Call.  I sent my resume to friends and family to critique and check for errors.  I networked.  I have not let even one day go by without doing something to further my attempts at a new career.  Send out a resume, call a friend who might have a lead, check careerbuilders/monster/bigfoot.  Social network.  Live network.  Blog.

I am on Facebook, Google+, Twitter and LinkedIn.  And what has been my response to this deluge of Deanna?

*crickets*

What. The. Hell?

I honestly do not understand. I would understand if there were no jobs listed.  I would get it if I were cold calling and sending out blast resumes without a known position.  I have not.  But I am about to.

I thought about law school.  I have the grades and the recommendations.  I could get in.  What I can’t do is pay for it.  And according to MC Law the Bar Association only allows a law student to work 20 hours or less while in law school.  They do not have a dorm or provide housing so how exactly does one survive on twenty hours? I mean, if you don’t have a rich relative to pay your way? More loans? More debt? The purose of bettering my self and my circumstances through education was to avoid having to live in a one room shack and eat Top Ramen for weeks on end.

I am getting frustrated.  Which is a good thing.  I generally go from frustrated to pissed in about 2.5.  And when I am pissed I stop at nothing.  I will be aggressive.  I will be fearless. And as God is my witness, I WILL be gainfully employed in my field.

In the meantime, I will work for shoes.

Just sayin.

You know you’re from Utah when…

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. ~ Maya Angelou

You Know You’re From Utah When..

Green jell-o with carrots mixed in doesn’t seem strange.You can pronounce Tooele.The U is not just a letter – Neither is the Y.
…
You have actually eaten funeral potatoes.You’ve gotten both heat and frost burns off your car’s door handle in the same month.You are not surprised to hear words like “Darn, Fetch, Flip”, “Oh, My Heck” and “Shoot”.

Your tulips get snowed on three times after they come up and twice more after they bloom.

Hunting season is a school holiday.

The largest liquor store is the state government.

You can go skiing and play golf on the same day.

30% humidity is muggy and almost unbearable.

Somewhere in your family tree is a polygamist.

You know the difference between a ‘Steak House’ and a ‘Stake House’.

The elevation exceeds the population

You’ve broken down on the highway and somebody stops to help you

You can see the stars at night

You have a bumper sticker that says “Families are Forever.”

You were an aunt or uncle before you were three.

Your spouse’s mother was pregnant at your wedding.

You have more children than you can find biblical names for.

Your family considers a trip to McDonald’d a night out..

Your first child was conceived on your honeymoon.

You feel guilty when you watch Monday Night Football.

Your kids believe the deer hunt is a national holiday.

You drink Coke from a brown paper bag.

You consider a temple recommend a credit reference.

At least two of your salad bowls are at the homes of neighbors.

You believe that you must be 18 or older to order coffee at a restaurant.

You wonder why fire truck drivers honk when you drive 35 mph in the left lane on the freeway.

There is a similarity between a ward basketball game and the L.A. riots.

You think Jack Daniels is a country western singer.

You negotiate prices at a garage sale.

You can make Jell-O salad without the recipe.

You’ve heard about BYU football in a testimony meeting.

You have two gallons of ice cream in your freezer at all times.

Your father-in-law thinks Ronald Reagan was a liberal.

A member of your family wrote in Lavell Edwards for president in the last election.

Cars in the slow lane are traveling the fastest; cars in the fast lane are traveling the slowest; cars in the middle lanes are always trying to exit.

Sandals are the best-selling shoes.

You have to ask for the uncensored version of “Titanic.”

Hotel rooms all have the Book of Mormon.

You buy your wardrobe at the local grocery superstore.

You learn about the Mormon Church by taking history in elementary school.

You live in a state where Democrats always come in third place, unless a zoo animal is running. Then they come in fourth.

You’re on your own if you are turning left.

Schools stay open, even if two feet of snow falls overnight, but close for the opening of hunting season.

People wear shorts and T-shirts if the temperature rises above 32 degrees.

There is a church on every corner, but they all teach the same thing.

The most popular public transportation system is a ski lift.

People drive to Idaho (or Arizona) to pick up a gallon of milk so they can play the lottery.

In-state college football rivalries are bigger than the Super Bowl.

Beer drinkers don’t shop on Sunday.

You don’t have to breathe cigarette smoke until you walk outside a building.

The cost of living rises while your salary drops.

Every driveway has a minivan and a pickup truck.

When you buy a new vehicle, cigarette lighters are optional equipment but gun and ski racks are standard.

Every time a new family moves into your neighborhood, the local elementary school has to hire a new teacher.

Your paycheck has an additional 10 percent deduction.

“Temple recommends” is acceptable identification for cashing a check.

More movies are filmed in your town than in Hollywood.

You’ve never had a Mormon missionary knock on your door.

Your neighbors complain about where they live, yet refuse to return to the state they moved from.

You make a toast with red punch at your wedding reception.

You have more raw wheat stored than some Third World countries.

Your idea of a good time is playing Pictionary in the cultural hall.

Your idea of a wild party is a six pack of Pepsi and a PG-13 movie.

You and all your friends come to your mother for a haircut in her kitchen.

You measure Kool-Aid by parts per million.

You think “You’re a 10 cow wife” is a compliment.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Utah.

(from the You Know You’re From Utah When… Facebook page and a million places on the www.)

I am embracing my inner bitch and together we are going to rule the world!

If you want to be somebody else
If you’re tired of fighting battles with yourself
If you want to be somebody else
Change your mind…
~ Sister Hazel

There I was, all fired up and rarin’ to go.

I was going to be deep, insightful, witty and just all that all over.

Then I remembered I had some gelato in the freezer.

And now? Nothing. Zip-zilch-scratcharoonie.

Which leads me to wonder just how much my diet, in all its fat filled crappiness, effects my day-to-day life.

Hmm. Less bacon equals more energy? God I hope not. I realllly like bacon.

Speaking of, I have had a straight up craving for butter beans ever since they announced at the cafeteria they were what’s for lunch. I saw butter beans on the big board and thought, Damn, I haven’t had those in years! So, I took my place in line and patiently waited my turn. As I approached the fogged over glass surrounding the steam table my eyes searched for the pearly white of my lunch. Squint. Hmm. I don’t actually SEE any butter beans. There are some gray looking lumps in the corner that are kind of shaped like a butter bean.

Excuse Ms. Emily, where are the butter beans?

Sure enough, she points straight at the gray lumps.

Um… those aren’t butter beans, I say.

Yeah, thems speckled butter beans, Ms. Emily replies. They not quite the same but they still butter beans.

I took a shot and ordered them. True enough, they are not quite the same.

And they are not, for the record, butter beans.

A few days later I am in Fresh Market, a rather pretentious but well-meaning whole foods store in Renaissance. (The fruit tarts were so beautiful I asked the bakery clerk if they were real or wax models for display – real was her reply- daYAm was mine) Certainly they would have butter beans? Nope. they did have cranberry orange scones though so not a wasted trip.

So.. still butter bean-less but I am going to find some, throw in way too much salt and a bit of fat back for flavor, maybe mix up a batch of cornbread, add some cold milk and sit down to supper.

Which would piss my ex off to know end as all I ever made for him was “Yankee Food.” I was trying to broaden his horizons. Mine are plenty broad already so I can eat what I damn well please.

In case you haven’t noticed I have been in a bad mood for …. oh… about six months.

I think it started when I quit smoking.  That is normal and I expected it.  The problem is it didn’t go away.  I stayed grouchy.  It may be hormonal; I am after all at that age.  It may be that I take less “me” time at work since I don’t actually have any where to go to get away from it all whereas I used to go smoke.   Or, maybe, just maybe, the entire world HAS been taken over by jackasses.

I think I’ll take door number three there, Bob.

See, there are still people out there, quite a few in fact, whose mere presence makes me smile.  Whose humor and warmth instantly melt away the anger and frustration and I snap back to my old self.  If I can still feel these things, if I am happy outside the presence of certain environments, then perchance it is not all me after all ? Which means I need to step up and get serious about finding a new job.

It also means I am going to have to learn to say the word, “no”, even when I don’t want to.  There are a million things I want to do.   I just cannot do them all at once.  I know. I’ve tried.

So, mission one, set priorities:

1. Find job wherein I do not feel an unhealthy affinity to Foster the People.

2. Focus on writing.  The excercise of art improves every area of my life.  The additional income will allow me, if necessary, to take a cut in pay to do what I really want to do.

3. Get laid.  (Just checking to see if you were really following or just skimming.  Although… )

4. Laugh at least once a day, exercise twice a week.

That should do it.  I’ll keep you posted.

No figs for you! Adventures at a so-called farmer’s market.

After voluntary exertions on the part of our people to which the history of the world furnishes no parallel, is the old root of bitterness still to remain in the ground, to sprout and bear fruit in the future as it has borne fruit in the past? ~ Robert Dale Owen

God hates figs. Matthew 21:19

I walked the aisle, lifting a peach, sniffing a cantaloupe, searching for a fig.  The fruit was a bit past fresh in several cases, flies buzzing about the outdoor market certainly did not add anything to the ambience.  But the tomatoes! Oh my.  Red, ripe, luscious and as fresh as a belle at a ball.

I snagged two, along with a carton of  shiny deep-almost-purple-red cherries, homemade cucumber dill dressing and peanut brittle still in one big piece that I had the unmitigated pleasure of cracking myself.

There is something special about cracking your own peanut brittle.

But no figs.  They are not ready yet, I was told. Soon though, very soon.  And there’s the rub.  This is not truly a farmer’s market.  This is a produce stand. And while the two are often used interchangeably they are most definitely not the same thing.

A farmer’s market, a true Farmer’s Market, is just that.  A market place with stall after stall manned by the very hands that grew the produce.  At one stand is farmer Joe with his prize-winning cantaloupe, at the next is Farmer Beth with her perfect Granny Smith’s and there is Tom, with his homemade peanut brittle just waiting to be broken by you.   And last but far from least is Farmer Dave with his just came in figs, picked at the peak of freshness just this morning and brought here to sell.

And so I came home, without my figs, and having bypassed the peaches that were well past their prime but happy with my tomatoes, which I sliced and ate all by themselves.  Not quite as good as my sister-in-laws and nowhere near my late mother-in-laws they were still a high step above the Kroger hot-house/no-flavor choices I am often relegated to when doing my late night, just got off work shopping.

And did I mention the peanut brittle?

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In the Don’t Know but Fully Intend to Find Out Category:

This week I caught bits and pieces of things that I really want to know more about. To wit:

• Peter Tosh.  I was only just introduced to Mr. Tosh via an NPR story that I landed in half way through.  What I heard I liked.  A lot. The music, the politics, the man.
• Roman Polanski – Holocaust survivor.  Is this possible? He is in his seventies, right? So I suppose so.  That and the horrible murder of his wife by the Manson gang make for a tragic life. Hard to understand how someone who has experienced that much pain and loss could rape a child and spread tragedy to another.
• Is the legalization of abortion responsible for the sudden drop in crime in the early nineties? Now this was fascinating.  Presented by economist and Freakonomics coauthor Steve Levitt, the theory is that with the passage of Roe v. Wade (who was the smart-ass that came up with “Roe” anyway? ), an entire generation of unwanted pregnancies never came to term, thus reducing the number of unwanted and unprepared for (and often under-parented) children, who are most likely to grow up and become criminals.  According to Levitt the numbers back this up.  In the five states where abortion was legalized five years before the national law went into effect had the same sudden and unexplained drop five years earlier.
• What would it take to change the name of damn near everything in Rankin County? Starting with the name Rankin? I was watching a documentary (which I highly recommend by the way) called Imaginary Witness, Hollywood and the Holocaust.  Fascinating.  It pointed out that Gentleman’s Agreement was actually written after the author heard Mississippi Senator John Rankin’s viciously antisemitic rants on the floor of the U.S. Congress.  And of course, there is the ever charming Ross Barnett and his namesake Reservoir.  I doubt the majority of people who go have any clue just how nasty a creature that man was, or how hateful the atmosphere had to be that he would be honored rather than condemned.
• Which leads me to a completely unrelated aside.  A man was given a “natural life” sentence and sent to Angola Prison in 1961.  He and another prisoner spoke eloquently of life in prison with no hope of ever leaving , telling how the lifer’s view of the world is so narrow, brought about only by what they see and hear on television and the radio. That IS the real world to them.  This man said that he watched the Crosby [sic] Show and could not make sense of it at all. The prisoner is a black man and when he went to prison a black man could not even ride in the front of a bus.  He cannot wrap his mind around the idea of going to anywhere he wants and being let in, much less served. That year, 1961, was the year he quit growing.  He is stuck there and it is tragic.

So, that’s about it for me tonight folks. I am hitting the sack and praying it doesn’t hit back.

I DO Believe

“Believe you can and you’re halfway there.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

I just got home from the Women for DuPree rally.

This is my second time meeting the Mayor.

The first time was as a favor to a friend. The campaign was having a meet-and-greet at the COFO building on the campus of JSU.  It was a small gathering.  Friendly and comfortable.  Since my friend was  a supporter I thought I’d be nice and toss the Mayor a couple of softball questions.

But then something unexpected happened. He didn’t bunt.  He hit a home run.  And we began to have an actual conversation.  About real issues. Education and the difference between how you teach a child who has every advantage versus a child who come to school as much for a meal as to learn.  These kids have different platforms that they build on and you have to bear that in mind.   Which he had.  He spoke of mentoring and follow-up and how to keep them here once they graduate.  He talked about Delta and how we have to work with and for all of Mississippi where they are and with what tools they have in place.   He spoke eloquently and passionately about Mississippi, her past and her future.

Mayor (Dr.) Johnny DuPree is quite possibly one of the most intelligent men I have ever met.  There was not one question that threw the man.  Not from me, nor from anyone else in the room.  He was prepared, knowledgable, sincere and honest.

I was hooked.  I signed up there and then to be a volunteer.  I go in on Saturdays and make phone calls or spend a Sunday putting up signs.  I am involved and invested in a place that, until recently, I could not think of much good to say about.

Let me back up a little.  I am not a native Mississippian.  In fact, I will admit to having been embarrassed to tell people this is where I live.  We have a horrible reputation with the rest of the country.  People on the outside think we are all bigoted, ignorant and inbred.  One of the things that first struck me about Mayor DuPree is that you do not say those sort of things about Mississippi around him.  He loves his state.  He is not a head-in-the-sand kind of guy.  He knows her faults but he will tell you straight up this is home and he will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of it.  I had become so used to politicians (and really everyone) apologizing for Mississippi, that it had not occurred to me that there were people who genuinely love this place.

Johnny DuPree loves Mississippi.  It shows in the way he speaks and the way he gives and the way he serves.

And with that love, Mayor DuPree brings hope.  For a better future, a brighter future and a Mississippi that does not have to stay on the bottom.  His message is so positive, so hopeful, so POSSIBLE that you can’t help but get caught up with him. He believes in a better Mississippi.  Mayor DuPree knows our faults and loves us anyway.  He also knows the way out.  I truly believe if we follow his leadership Mississippi will one day cease to be the bottom rung on every ladder.  In fact, we may just make it all the way to the top.

www.johnnydupree.com

http://www.facebook.com/dupreeforgovernor

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Author’s note.  I am a volunteer for Mayor DuPree because I believe in him and his message. I am not paid in any way nor do I represent the campaign.  My opinions are strictly that, mine.  Thank you.

Shiloh

There are remnants of her everywhere.  Flashes of pink where you’d least expect them.  Ruffles and bows hidden in drawers and teddy bears lurking under the dining room table.  My life has been invaded by love.  Every where I look, there it is.  Smelling of lavendar and Baby Magic for days after its departure.  I’m not quite sure what to do with it so I simply stop and wonder.  And smile.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation: The Prequel.

An adventure may be worn as a muddy spot or it may be worn as a proud  insignia. It is the woman wearing it who makes it the one thing or the  other.  ~ Norma Shearer

So, I have decided not to go to law school.  As it got closer and closer I realized that I just don’t have the dream any more.  Or, if I do, it is not strong enough to make the sacrifices necessary to bring it to fruition.  I love the law. I am fascinated by the intricacies.  But.

Let me tell you, when you are talking about thousands upon thousands of dollars and at least three years with no sleep and no time with loved ones there had better not be any “if”, “ands” nor “buts” about it.

So, a much less lofty goal is now on the horizon.  I want to do a chin up.  Just one.  Well, one to start anyway.  My entire life I have lacked the upper body strength to do even one chin up, (the flexed arm hang in junior high? Major loser stamp.)  In addition, I promise myself to journal regularly, hang out with friends and family and love my grand-baby until she is the most obnoxiously confident child on the planet.

These are the things I plan to do this summer:

• Audition at Black Rose.
• Hand-make a quilt for Shiloh
• Take a road trip
• Write at least one letter a week the old-fashioned way with pen, paper, stamp.
• Take yoga.
• Pull out my old Spanish 101 book and do the all of excercises over again.
• Meditate.
• Spend more time with God.
• Relax.

That’s what I’m doing.  What about you?