we're rotten fruit
we're damaged goods
what the hell we’ve got nothing more to lose
one burst and we will probably crumble
we're backdrifting
this far but no further
i'm hangin goff a branch
i'm teetering on a breaker
honey sweets so fall asleep
i'm backsliding
you fell into our arms
you fell into our arms
we tried but there was nothing we could do
nothing we could do
all evidence has been buried
all tapes have been erased
but your footsteps give you away
so you're backtracking
oh oh oh
you fell into our arms
you fell into our arms
we tried but there was nothing we could do
nothing we could do
you fell into our
you fell into a
we're rotten fruit
we're damaged goods
what the hell we’ve got nothing more to lose
one burst and we will probably crumble
we're backdrifters
When the lies start flowing from the top down, maybe it's time to worry.
I'm amazed at the lack of knowledge of some of some folks I work with.
I'm sitting there today listening to a perfectly amiable fellow telling me that I've been to one of these informative presentations every year. I've been with the company 10 years. I have never been to a presentation specifically geared toward sexual misconduct.
Now, I might have signed off on the "Federally mandated" sexual discrimination policy, given that it's in the employee handbook, and we've been asked to glance at a few pamphlets now and again and then sign off on everything from fire and HAZMAT safety to lifting properly.
But he's telling me I have.
All right.
Now he's telling me part of his job in HR is to write company statements of our position - statements to the effect of what "we" did or didn't do was the proper course of action regarding accusations of sexual harassment or misconduct in the workplace.
At this point let me clue you in on who the audience was: my peers. Nobody was a manager, just a few of us were salaried.
I won't go into the botched attempt and defining the differentiation in the company's eyes between "salaried managers" and hourly and regular salaried employees. There were no salaried managers in the room. What I gleaned from his attempt was the fact that salaried managers were bound to tell about someone's complaint of sexual harassment - even in passing at a non-company event, like a child's caretaker is bound to report any wrongdoing to CPS.
Anyway, what we have is a fellow speaking to the people he'd be writing against, literally, in case one of us brought a charge of sexual harassment in the workplace against our employer.
Last time I checked, most quid pro quo involved managers and their directs. "General" harassment occurs across the board, certainly, but it's certainly not mostly the lesbian new-hires harassing their female executive VPs ... if you follow me.
The fellow mentioned that we have a no tolerance policy towards discrimination of any kind.
When I asked him if the fellow that cost the company a few hundred grand for "allegedly" dropping his pants in front of another female employee was still working for the company, he asked the room if they knew what I was talking about (most of them groaned no) but the nice man said, yes the pants dropper was.
He went on to explain that the company feared retaliation from the man, should he be fired, now, two years after the fact.
Of course, "We" moved him to a different - better - shift to get him away from the woman he had his problem with.
The nice man in the front of the room failed to mention to the rest of the group the other important aspect of the case: A litany of other women came forward stating they had faced similar harassment from him: remarks, leers, tongue waggling, bragging about his sexual prowess.
So "We" moved him and gave him a whole new pot of women to pick on. Great. No wonder the judge ruled against "us."
The nice man at the front of the room said, in his opinion, not our company's, the judge ruled to heavily against "us." I got the distinct feeling that somehow because the harassed woman received perhaps an extraordinary settlement from the judicial trial and that "We" would be appealing the decision, that somehow this - not absolved - but emboldened the harasser’s case ...
Because "We" would never make it a habit of keeping or promoting people who behaved in such a matter, would we? Ah, but we have ... But that's a topic for another time, when I'm out of this joint ...
I feel "we're" setting a dangerous precedent here.
I love this company, really. I don't want to see it's image sullied and it's nose bloodied from cockamamie decisions. If "we" have managers in place who's best course of action is to separate the kids in the playroom - remember out "no tolerance" policy - then we've got a few more lawsuits coming before somebody starts rolling some heads at the managerial level, because THEY are the ones who ultimately are responsible for their employee's performance and conduct, are they not? Because we obviously can't expect the kiddies to play nice in the room together, can we?
I mean, that's why "we" pay 'em so well, right?
Enough of the rhetorical questions. We ALL can do better. Especially yours truly.
He's still funny as Hell, even beat to piss, his insides churned up, brain addled, rattled and thrown into drug-induced cognitive dissaray.
Seven ribs busted. Spleen? In a jar or the Biohazard refuse bin. One lung? Fully functioning. The other? Multiple punctures and lacerations (those little membranes heal remarkably well, however). The bend but don't break defense manifest in a human body.
Between the Caddyshack quotes, semi-lucid comments on the merrits of good gin and the continuation of sentences paused then continued after a few minutes hiatus to pain and druggy-land, the truth would come out.
We were there. Good, fine, hunky-dory. We were the middle relievers just holding the game together before the closer was warmed up and ready to go. His wife and children were on their way.
He had seen his children briefly Sunday evening - the accident was Saturday. He hadn't seen his wife since the lake.
It all gets upset and thrown to shambles when a good friend breaks the routine I've set for myself, with very little variation, for months on end.
In a hospital I realize that things aren't always as they seem. I'm forced to remember there are people ailing, being born, dying every moment of every day. It sounds trite in my head now, writing it down, but there is something powerful here. Powerful in the sense we are only a few degrees from each other. We're connected.
I'm asleep at 11:30 PM most nights - have been for up to 2.5 hours. But not that night. I was driving home from visiting with friends and giving them an update as to our injured commrade's status. It is what I'd want, and what I'd expect and what I know happened in a similar situation not too long ago - when it happened to me.
I stepped off a plane with my wife in child in San Francisco two days later and was struck again by the fury and swiftness of life going on around me while I'm normally at my desk at work, pounding away about some item or another. Open your eyes, things are going on around you.
From me, to my neighbors, to my city, to my region, to my country, to my world.
Then the memory struck me again: I'd been back a week, the moon was full, my windows down on a late Spring night. The jet lag was starting to wear off. My "new friends" were flip side. It was near midnight and for them, it was almost noon. Then thinking about my buddy from home and his girlfriend in Germany ... How many hours there? And the people on the plane I came home on ... where are they now?
When his girls and wife finally showed up with his brother-in-law, the relief was evident on his face. We made a quick exit, telling him we'd see him soon and to get better.
It's been a week since I've visited and he's still in the hospital. A blood clot behind his knee is contemplating things - his release date not yet estabilished.
I'm back to thinking outside of myself. Remembering what it is like on my beach in Hawaii, in the hospital rooms, at the camps and around the world.
Axiomatic - Universally recognized truth (axiom); self-evident, principle, postulate.
Wookies.
Get ready to strap one on son!
Grab ankles.
Are you ready for the Lord of my Pants?
How in the Hell does this guy manage to breathe?
Who are you calling white, Casper?
Tom "Mama's got a Girlfriend Now" Greuning
"Rode to Pateros and back ~92 miles. +105 degrees. Tired. Thirsty. Had a steak at the Duck Brand Restaurant. Drove home. Made it in Two hours, 50 minutes."
Average height (5' 9")
Average white man's complexion (light skinned)
Male patterened baldness
6.5-inch dick.
A little near-sighted
10 pounds overweight
Not a prom king
Not a pot head
Not an athlete
Works out three times per week
IT/Middle Management Professional
Scored 1000 on the SAT
Never got any attention for being stellar
Never got any for sucking it up too bad
Lost in the middle.
We have to believe in the stories we tell ourselves so we can cope and move forward with our lives. If we were to begin to see things from the outside, "as things 'really' are," some might say, then our sense of self would be usurped for ... what? The loss of plausible deniability, for one thing. Our pseudo, self-proscribed innocence.
We are taught that evil is concentrated in one source. Satan. The evil mastermind (Lex Luthor, et. al). That evil tends to gravitate to one particular area: slums, dark alleys, Pioneer Square in Seattle during Mardi Gras.
The truth we know intrinsically, yet sometimes gets clouded or covered up; maybe we choose to ignore it. But the reality is there is evil in every one of us - just as there is good in every one of us - waiting to get out. Suppress either one to successfully and for too long and an explosion of good or evil is bound to happen at some point.
Then again, sometimes people (Americans, even) make a big deal about how simplifying your life, or being easier on yourself or not working out as much have all changed their lives for the better.
What we tend to forget is the fact that "these people" had to make the money first to enable themselves to simmer down and simplify their lives through buying that ranch in Eastern Washington.
Athletes, especially tri-geek types (which I tend to know best), mention off-handedly that their performances went up when their overall mileage went down. No shit. "You" had to go through the pain and long hours to get your body to respond to doing less.
Suffering and hard work ultimately begat the most greatness.
Sex, Poetry and The Princess of the Romance Languages
In the poetic subtext lies the demeaning dementia of our Words and Times. It's all about sex.
No, my dears, I'm not speaking of loves spurned. I'm talking, rattling the headboards, swinging from the chandeliers freaky circus sex.
If you got your darling back, or if they had never left or died, or switched sides of the plate on you, you'd still be rattling the headboard - with THAT person.
Oh, sure the ache and myriad melancholy that marches in tight formation along side your Desire is requisite, and much time should be spent, cathartically, dealing with said emotions, but sheesh, kids, What I'm Saying Is: If things were good and you were still getting it on = no poetic melancholy.
Hell, I remembered even today, without any REAL poetry, my more than latent desire to be in the midst of wild, passionate love making with a woman continuously speaking a foreign language in my ear. And it can't be Russian, I speak enough of the dreadfully wonderful language that it has simply lost its coitus luster for me.
Now, the bit that got my fewer and farther between synapses firing in this regard was my passing of a trio of French Canadian Women (not a one I'm in the least bit intrigued by) in the midst of a heated conversation about something - In French. Admittedly, my French peaked at or around age seven in Mrs. Jones' Montessori class, so I, again, was lost in a world of soup armed only with a fork.
Ah, French, the Princess of the Romance languages, soft on the ear, flowing and, when wielded properly, far beyond intensely erotic. Well, at least to my undereducated buttocks.
My closest pass to realizing my junk (Chinese, not English) of a dream was at a party, whilst I was still attending Junior College. A woman (I can't remember if she was a French Major, or simply spoke) had become sufficiently inibriated enough to saddle up behind me and press her well-coifed head against mine while I was choosing more music to play (the stereo/sound system is usually the place you'll find me at a social event when I'm feeling uncomfortable).
She began rubbing her nose in my ear and speaking gently, softly some words I imagined were idealized passion of sorts - I was quite certain it had nothing to do with my music selection. I turned toward her and asked her - in English - to kindly continue.
And she did. Until her boyfriend returned, and stood looming in the hallway. They had a roe - in English - which confirmed my worst fears: I was not the first lad to have his interest peaked by this bi-lingual siren. Her "man" had caught her in the act once again and was none too happy.
He never turned his attentions to me - it was as if he pitied me - I lost out again.
"I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it"
The notion that gets bantered about, at least WAS bantered about by some friends, and in some (usually "liberal") discourse, is the "Case Against Babies" being that some folks don't want to bring a child into "a world like this."
A world like what? The one you've so dilligently built for yourself for 20, 30, or 40 years? Or, at least, let happen to you during the same time frame - drifting along on the Crunchy Baboochy - ending up on some delta of thought and idealogy?
Our world is the one we make of the one we've landed in. Yes, our circumstances, bend, mould and shape who we are, or we can, or might turn out to be, but ultimately it is our choices that get us to where we are.
Just listening to music, watching a few films and reading a few books will grant you an understanding that there are worlds out there that you cannot possibly imagine. So foreign from your existence, you or "they" might as well be living on a different planet. And I'm not talking about 3000 miles from you, I'm talking about more like within a 30 minute drive from your house - more like 3 seconds for many of us.
Sometimes it means that every time you flip on the Damn USA Channel you see Robert DeNiro and Christopher Walken in the Deer Hunter about to blow some VC away during their game of Russian Roulette. Sometimes it's seeing Pimps and Hos at work. Sometimes it's walkin' down the street when you're in highschool and having a brother come up to you exclaiming "Baby Stoners! What you want? What you need?" Sometimes it's getting Blotto at the USA vs. Venezuela match and screaming at Brian McBride to suck it up.
There are worlds out there we cannot fathom, let alone begin to imagine. If you, big adult that you are, are in a world where bringing a kid into it doesn't seem like a great idea, good for you. Don't.
But here's the flip side of the coin: breeding them out has got to work sometime. What I mean by that whacky-ass statement is this: If you are the kind of person who believes in a good, righteous and just world, then by God raise a kid or two who does the same. If that means adopting or being a Big Brother or Big Sister, or even trying your hand at being a foster parent, I say GO FOR IT.
Of course there are a multitude of reasons to NOT have children. I simply argue "the state of the world" isn't one of them. We make our reality. Go make yours.
