ONE YEAR LATER AND A LITTLE MORE TO SHOW FOR IT.

I am considering going back to school in order to become certified to teach. There is much research that still needs to be done, but I feel a lot more confident about it than I did a year ago. I took the job at the high school at which i work in order to gain that insight, and I would say that this past year has done exactly that. I thoroughly enjoy the interaction that I get on a daily basis with the kids.
Although I am more certain that I want to teach, I am also quite certain that I do not want to pursue a career in special education. Do not get me wrong, this past year has been incredibly rewarding. I would like to pursue general education, because I would be able to teach a more advanced curriculum to kids that would enjoy it more and get more out of it. (Hopefully. Ideally. Idealistically.) One of the things that I have noticed about special education is that in my opinion, there are many instances in which the best interests of the student are not being served. Instead of teaching many of these kids about earth space science, it would be more realistic to teach them how to manage a bank account, or some other skill that they might actually use later in life. There is a lot of bureaucracy involved, and frankly, it is rather disheartening. I am not naive enough to believe that the same element does not exist in general education, but I do feel like I would be able to make more of a difference there. Time will tell if this is something that will come to fruition in any rapid sort of fashion, but again, I feel fairly confident that it will occur eventually.

THE AGE OLD BATTLE OF GOOD VS. EVIL.

The college football season is now through, as is the basketball season. As was expected, both seasons were filled with a lot of talking shit, mostly between myself and other KU fans and University of Missouri fans. This is nothing new, as the rivalry between these schools has gone on for well over a hundred years. This year in particular was won hands down by the Crimson and Blue Crusaders. When it comes to shit talking, a BCS bowl victory and a national title in basketball go a very, very, long way.
If you didn't already know, the border war between the shining Free state Jayhawkers and the slave owning detestable Bushwackers that ended in bloodshed on several occasions has evolved into the college rivalry that we have today. Both sides take great satisfaction in lambasting the other side publicly. But that is what makes a rivalry such as the border war so enjoyable, or any rivalry for that matter. I detest the Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs, Raiders, Broncos, Lakers, Tarheels, Blue Devils, Tigers, Wildcats, New Jersey Devils, Detroit Redwings, and many other deplorable institutions of sport for a wide array of reasons. These reasons include being everything that is wrong with their particular sport, classless and cheap play, actions off the field of play, and although I hate to admit it, sometimes this hatred stems from jealousy. Of course, no one could ever be jealous of those tigers.
The team colors may have something to do with the innate revulsion that I feel when I see the trashy likes of MU fans or the "Raider Nation." One need look no further than literary archetypes to find the reason for this. The Yankees, Tigers and Raiders all take the field in garbs of black. Black is almost always worn by the villain in any tale, and it stands for evil, disease, famine, pestilence, sin and of course, death. It is no wonder that I am repulsed by those that adorn themselves in such filth. Add yellow to the equation in the case of Missouri, and the loathing that I feel in the pit of my gut is compounded. In the Middle Ages, yellow was used to symbolize the devil.
On the other hand, The crimson and blue that is worn by the Jayhawks exudes nothing but honor and pride. Blue is an established symbol for peace, unity, harmony, tranquility, loyalty, and dependability. Lastly, Blue has been used for ages to ward off evil spirits. The red that the Jayhawks wear is a classic exhibition of strength, heat, passion, love, and leadership. It is as simple as that. The colors that have been ingrained in our psyches to evoke different reactions dictate how we feel towards those that wear them today.
In short, society hates Missouri because of thousands of years of the perpetuation of the symbolization of color. That, and the entire MU program being filled with degenerate thugs who would rather spend their time gang beating bouncers of local bars and hitting people with shotguns than actually work on improving their pitiful basketball. Ironically, this does not deter Missouri fans from opening their cock holsters and spewing forth mindless drivel geared towards stirring up trouble.

Deposition is Spelled Redemption

Mr. Thurgood Harmony blinked his eyes as he looked into the hotel bathroom mirror. The anticipated headache from the night before had set in, and his temples pounded. His reflection showed what he had become over the years. Despite his thin arms, his belly rolled out over his boxer shorts. He looked at the faded, blurry spade that had been tattooed on his left arm so many years ago. His hair was gray, and long strands ran down over his left ear. He had never been a good looking man, but at least, when he was a younger man, he had a full head of hair. He ran a comb through the sides, pulled the long strands back over his bald crown, and held them in place with hair spray. Grace Harmony, Thurgood’s wife, hadn’t been out of bed yet. He would just as soon have had her stay in bed anyway. She always looked like hell when she woke up early. He looked at her form through the reflection of the bathroom mirror. She was still snoring and coughing. He walked back into the bedroom and as he dressed, he looked out the window of the Westward Ho, down the Las Vegas strip. It didn’t look nearly as majestic during the daytime. The Westward Ho was a dated, western themed hotel and casino on the very end of the strip. It was cheap however, and that was all Thurgood was really looking for.

As he rode the elevator down to the buffet, he thought about his wife’s lackluster committal to work, and their marriage for that matter. They had raised two boys, quite well, despite their relationship. Mrs. Harmony was a domineering and overbearing woman, and those qualities showed in Thurgood’s marriage to her. He was surprised that more of his tenants back at his apartment complex in Jersey hadn’t picked up on it yet. More likely, they knew, and chose not to comment. For all he knew, she was seeing someone else on the side, not that it would really matter. Their relationship was all but nonexistent. He hadn’t slept with his wife in ten years. They were bound simply because it was the path of least resistance, and that was the only thing that had kept them together. It was an odd sort of situation, he knew, but neither of them seemed to mind it enough to actually do anything about it, and so it went for several years. Thurgood was under the impression that she would leave at any time. Their kids were grown with wives of their own, and they seemed happy. He just let Grace continue the charade as long as she pleased, as it made little difference to him. He was afraid he would be lonely if she were to leave. How pathetic. He kept clinging to this abysmal relationship, because it was better than living alone after so many years.

The First National Bank was growing ever closer to foreclosing on his loan for his apartment building. That was the whole reason he was in Las Vegas in the first place. Pouring over paper work, to find a loophole, was the only way he spent his nights in Jersey after the diner closed. Many times he pondered employing his sons, or asking them for capital just to make payments, but he never called, so they never knew he was thinking of them.

One afternoon back in Jersey, a lunch patron had left a half eaten sandwich and an empty bowl of soup, nudged underneath them was a book entitled ‘How to win at Blackjack: The Greg Denton way’. Thurgood nestled the book in the lost and found bin, but only after reading the book jacket. Across the top of the book was a quote from one of the chapter titles. It read, “If all else fails, put it all on black!” It interested him, as he spent a great deal of time gambling as a young man. It was part of the reason his financial troubles were such as they were. He reminisced, thinking of the old nickname that got tossed around pool halls, taverns and casinos when he was younger. “Harmony behind the Deuce” was what they used to call him. It was an extravagant nickname for someone who spent more than he won. He and his buddy, “Timmy the Fish”, used to bum around Jersey and Atlantic City when they were in their twenties. Timmy got his nickname because regardless of where he was, he was always breathed through his mouth, and when he would lose a big hand, his gaping mouth would flap open and closed in frustration, and his eyes would roll around in their sockets until he calmed down. Thurgood had always secretly considered Timmy’s outbursts to be hilarious. They would blow Friday paychecks by Sunday morning, not losing, but spending what they won on expensive hotel rooms, cab fares, Cuban cigars, strip clubs, booze and other frivolous things. Winning money was never the problem. Money management was. Thurgood rarely finished with more money than he started with. It was a life of excess. Life finally caught up with him, and his trips to the casinos grew fewer and farther between. Timmy never slowed down, and last Thurgood had heard, he had moved to Las Vegas in hopes of making it big. Thurgood realized that if he had actually saved money consistently, instead of spending as soon as he won it, he could have turned his gambling into quite a lucrative practice.

Grace always bitched about his gambling. She called him a “compulsive gambler”. She never understood that there was a huge difference in professional gamblers and compulsive gamblers. Compulsive gamblers never give up, even when they win. Eventually, the house takes them down. Professional gamblers on the other hand, know when to lay the cards down when the odds aren’t in their favor anymore. That skill had enabled him to live paycheck to paycheck, and provided him with an extravagant lifestyle for many years.

The Greg Denton book sparked something within Thurgood. He had developed a plan to save the place, and if things went well, add stability to his family life. He decided to throw caution to the wind and go back to gambling. He already had a solid grasp on blackjack theory from his youth, and all that was needed was the spark in his mind to get him going. The book provided that spark. As soon as he picked it up, he felt the itching sensation, that voice in the back of his head that made him think about split tens up against a dealer’s six.

He had woken up so late that the casino was serving lunch. As he sat down with his plate of shrimp, he remembered the night that he explained his plan to her while she was in the bath tub. He had consistently made sure her glass of wine was full, and his tone of voice ever unconfident.
“We take our retirement fund, or what is left of it with us to Vegas, and I can make us the money we need to save the building! It can be like a vacation,” he had said. He kept filling her glass as the conversation continued. “You want to bring the kids?” she slurred her way through the question. “They aren’t kids anymore, they are both older than twenty-five, but I’ve already spoken to them. Neither of them can take any time off from work,” he said. “Kids are loud, stupid, annoying, ugly, and they smell like paste. They're always running around giggling and spilling punch everywhere. They waste their time and our money playing games like Football and kick the can. Always eating and costing us more money we don’t have. The little shits. It sounds like a good idea though. I like to gamble.” It had been obvious that the wine was getting to her. Thurgood stood up, and went out for some fresh air.

His sons hadn’t liked the idea of him taking the little savings he had, and going to Vegas. They didn’t like the idea of their father gambling with his future. When they voiced their concerns, Thurgood told them to leave it all up to him. As he poked his shrimp with his fork, he wished that his sons could have seen him back when he was a man. Back when he could beat the world. He wished his sons could be proud of him, but he had the feeling they were disappointed. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he was going to go through with it, but either way, he sure could use the vacation. Grace found her way to the table at that time. She was drinking already.

“Are you fucking kidding me? We can barely afford to keep that rat infested nightmare in Jersey running, much less blow money on seafood! I don’t even know why I agreed to this half-cocked hare-brained idea in the first place!” She spoke into her mimosa as she raised it to her mouth.
“I’m going to find something decent to eat.” Her mimosa sloshed onto the floor as she stalked off, her long dress flowing behind her. He tried to ignore her. He had a big day ahead of him the next day, and he wasn’t going to let her get into his head. He had his cashier’s check from the bank for 15,371.43, the total amount of his savings account, stowed safely in his suit pocket. It was a paltry sum when compared to the Thirty five thousand and change that they owed the bank. He finished his meal, and made his way back up to the room. Grace had raided the refrigerator for miniature bottles of booze and fallen back to sleep. He decided to look up his old pal Timmy.
“Timmy the Fish”. It took him a moment after all those years to remember that Timmy’s last name was Tullomelo. He had always called him Fish. He received the phone number from the operator, and dialed. “Hello.” Thurgood recognized the voice right away. After all these years, the New Jersey accent hadn’t faded one bit. “Fish! It’s Thurgood Harmony! How you been, you old cheat?” “Well I’ll be Goddamned if it isn’t Harmony behind the deuce! To what do I owe this occasion?” “I’m in Vegas! It’s been so long since I talked to you, that I didn’t even know if you were still in town. How have you been keeping busy, my man?” “Well…” Timmy hesitated. “I took a big hit a few years after I moved out here. You know how you always told me poker wasn’t my game? Turns out, you were right. I lost close to a hundred grand to some suits at Circus Circus. It cleaned me right out, and I never recovered. Since then, I’ve been working nights as a custodian at UNLV. Its good work, but nothing close to how we used to live, you know? I live in North Las Vegas now. I don’t think I really need to describe it to you. It’s where you end up in this town if you fuck up.” There was an awkward silence before Thurgood responded. “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. Actually, I was thinking about making a run while I was in town. I’m pretty deep in debt. If I can make a few big moves, I should have enough to save my business.” “Well friend, I don’t really think I’m in any position to be offering gambling advice right now. Have you kept up on your game?” “Not really, but hey! It’s like riding a bike right? I figure I’ll start out small and work my way up.” “Sure. But Thurgood, man, don’t think that I doubt your ability man, but just be careful. The casinos out here are different from the Taj back in Atlantic City. I always wondered what my life would be like if I had stuck around and got a decent job instead of coming out here. I’d hate to see you throw away a good thing.” Timmy’s tone was no longer the jovial one he had moments earlier. He had become quite serious. “Thanks buddy, I appreciate the advice. It was good to talk to you.” He said goodbye and hung up the receiver. He had a distinct feeling that he wouldn’t ever speak to Timmy again. He had called for reassurance, but what he got was doubt. He didn’t want to be reminded of the possible consequences of what he was about to do. Grace emerged from the bathroom in a wrinkled dress with her hair blown dry, and a cigarette in her mouth. They took a cab to a restaurant called Mustang Sally’s Diner for dinner, and another cab to the MGM Grand. They walked into the casino, avoiding the people out front passing out fliers for escort services, taking in the sights.
Thurgood inhaled the familiar scent of stale cigarettes and musty rooms. The haze of smoke around the lights reminded him of the late nights he spent as a young man, accumulating stacks of chips and throwing money around. As soon as he cashed in his check for chips, he realized that his wife had deserted him. She was looking for a spot that she could work two slot machines at once.

He made his way over to the blackjack tables and sat down. He bet quite small at first, counting, waiting for the amount of face cards and tens in the deck to become favorable. It was a simple method. He started with zero. Every time a favorable card fell, he would subtract one from the count. Every time a bust card fell, he would add one. A good count would be anywhere from eight to as high as fourteen because the ratio of high cards to low ones was great. Finally, when he felt he had the advantage, he unleashed his chips, betting larger and larger amounts, and his stacks became larger as well. After an hour and a half, his chip total was over twenty thousand, and by the end of the night, he was closing in on thirty. He decided to quit for the night. The pit boss was casting glances in his direction. Thurgood knew how they felt about card counters, and even though he only used the count as a rough estimate, anyone who won consistently drew attention. He cashed out, and gathered his effects. He smiled into his box of money, and the casino goers gave him congratulatory slaps on the back and hugs.

“About time you did something right!” He turned around, and saw his wife standing beside him. “Why are we leaving now? I’m not tired, and I was just learning how to play craps.” She said. “When we get back to the pitiful excuse for a hotel that we’re staying at, I’m going to play some more.” He started to comment, saying that craps was one of the most difficult games to win money playing, but she cut him off and brushed past him out the door and into the warm night. He followed with a look of disgust on his face. The door men looked at him as if they felt sorry for him, and he felt ashamed. What sort of example was he setting for his sons, letting this woman walk all over him? He followed her out, escorted by the guys in suits that the casino offered to protect his cash as far as the door. The cab ride back to the Westward Ho was surprisingly quiet for a couple that was substantially closer to their goal than they were just hours earlier.
Thurgood noticed Grace’s head bobbing on her shoulders as she looked out the window. She had more to drink than he realized. He didn’t dare say anything, because it would undoubtedly result in an argument.

When they got back to the hotel, Thurgood went up to the room, followed by Grace. He undressed, and got into bed. She pulled a meager ball of cash from her purse, and looked in his direction. Before she could even say anything, he pointed to his billfold on top of the box of cash next to the dresser. She walked over and snatched a wad of twenties. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up” She said, and was out the door. Thurgood was exhausted, and it took him very little time to fall asleep.

The next morning, his wake up call came at 9:30. He rolled over, lifted the receiver and set it back down. He realized that he was alone. Grace was up already, or more likely, hadn’t been back at all. He dressed in silence, and thought about finishing the task he had come to do. He rode the elevator down to breakfast. He rubbed his cheek. He hadn’t shaved since he had been in Jersey. He decided that he probably looked like a crazy person. Grace was sitting at one of the tables, wearing the same clothes as the night before, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. Her hair was in her eyes, and she looked like she had been crying. They sat down around the table. “What the hell happened to you?” Thurgood asked. After a great deal of hesitation, she said, “Well, last night I came down to play craps, and I thought I had it figured out, but I lost my money pretty quickly, so I came back up to get more. I dipped into our winnings a little bit.”

Thurgood already didn’t like where this conversation was heading. “How much did you lose?” he asked. His tone was becoming increasingly agitated. She started fumbling with her purse and looking away. “How much?!” he repeated, this time, much more stern. “Seven thousand.” She mumbled in a quiet voice. “WHAT?” Thurgood erupted. He stood up so fast that his chair fell over behind him. “Seven thousand fucking dollars? I’m almost back to where I started! Do you know how much this sets us back? How are we ever going to pay the bank back now?!” He pounded his fist on the table. Patrons at surrounding tables looked shocked. Grace also looked up in surprise. He realized this was as angry as she’d ever seen him. “God Dammit!” he yelled. “That’s fucking IT. I have had enough.” “You’ll win it back” she said softly. She started to light another cigarette. “You’re goddamn right I will.” Thurgood was turning red. “I’m going to do it alone though. As soon as we get back to Jersey, I’m serving your sorry ass with divorce papers. How many years have I sat idly by while you belittled me, lived off of my work, and contributed nothing in return? Well I’m finally fed up with it Grace. I’m usually a very patient man, as I’m sure you know, but I’ve had it.” He stormed over to the elevator, leaving his wife in shock. He fumed all the way up to his door.

He entered his room, and poured himself a glass of scotch. He felt surprisingly good, as if he had been building up to this day in his mind for quite some time. He sat down at the table with a smile on his face. His legs felt like jelly. He was so excited that his face was flushed, and his hands were shaking. He saw his reflection beaming back at him from the reflection in the mirror on the open closet door. Strands of his comb over hung down over one ear. The silence in the room was deafening. He began to talk to himself just to have something to listen to. “If I don’t make enough to keep the building, so be it. I’ve been miserable there for years. I’m a resourceful guy. It won’t be the end of me.” Thurgood said. He loosened his tie and poured another drink. He finished, and looked at his new friend and said “Raise your glass! Harmony behind the deuce has his second wind. Let’s hit the tables!” He toasted.

WHO WAS THAT MASKED MAN???

I just finished perusing a few of the other blogs that this site has to offer. Sometimes, I find it really interesting to read about complete strangers' lives. It sort of reminds me of postsecret, even though the blogs that I have accessed have been anything but confidential. In spite of the very personal writing, there is a distinct anonymity that comes with reading that ramblings of a person you have never met, and likely never will meet. I hope that like myself, the unrecognized authors out there get a little satisfaction from the prospect of complete strangers reading their musings and relating, if only for a fleeting moment. I realize that I might be a little idealistic and pretentious to think that a stranger may gain any sort of insight or satisfaction from reading the tripe that I publish, but I do not care. When I first began writing this blog, I didn't care one little iota whether or not anyone read it beyond myself. However, time makes fools of us all, I suppose. Now, I get a little comfort when I think that some anonymous individual out there may someday read my little insignificant corner of the internet, and perhaps, possibly, maybe enjoy it.

THE THINGS WE COME UP WITH AT 1AM

I was having a conversation with my friend Ryan last night over an independent film from the seventies and a few beers. The topic of conversation was literature and writing. We discussed what it takes for an individual to become proficient at writing. Since last night, I have given consideration to our discussion, and have reached the following conclusions. Writing is something that you are either good at or you aren't. Sure, there is room for improvement in all cases, and practice is always necessary to keep a mind sharp. However, I am sure that most knowledgeable people would agree with me when I say that proficient writers have an innate ability to relate their exact emotions to large amounts of strangers with little to be lost in translation. This is something that cannot be taught, although it may be refined. It something that goes beyond aligning symbols on paper. Kurt Vonnegut once described writing as idiosyncratic arrangements of 26 phonetic symbols and ten Arabic numbers in horizontal lines on a page. Given Vonnegut's penchant for satire and irony, it is safe to assume that he was speaking rather simplistically. Grammar can be taught to even the simplest mind, although more often than not, the simplest minds ignore grammar. In my opinion, the ability to write is based in a person's ability to recognize the common bonds between two people, living, or dead, real or fictional, and to evoke emotion, because that is what makes us human. Capturing this moment in words is was makes a good writer a brilliant one.

GAINFULLY EMPLOYED....SORT OF

I recently started a job in the Blue Valley school district as a special education paraprofessional. I know what you're thinking..not exactly my field, but it provides me with full benefits, and I am really enjoying it so far. I have considered going back to school to get a teaching certificate, and I'm fairly certain that this job will provide me with the insight required to make that decision. More importantly, it will allow me to save money until I can find a position in my field. Until then, my job is the tits. I work as the liaison between the teachers and the special education department. Basically, I report to the case managers on the progress of the particular students that I follow for that day. Obviously, some kids require more help than others, but most of them are actually really cool. I get to hear the gems that come out of their mouths. Aside from getting them back on task, or quieting them down, I really don't have that many problems thus far. Plus, the novelty of being the authority figure in the whole high school dynamic has yet to wear off. I suppose I am going to ride this one out and see where it goes, at least until something better (i.e. better paying) comes along. Who knows? Maybe I'll take a shine to this gig and something bigger will come out of it. It's too soon to tell.

WHAT LIES IN STORE FOR OUR HERO?

It has been several months since I have written anything for my little corner of the internet. Not that it matters. I am fairly certain that I am the only one that reads this tripe. That, however, is quite alright. I write for myself. Any feedback that I may receive is an added bonus. If my intentions were to receive pats on the back from the various people in my life, I would have left this business on myspace. Since my last installment, I graduated from KU, (hold your applause) and I am currently in the process of fine tuning my resume and searching for a legitimate job. Thats right! No more slinging pizza for this man. (hopefully!) As it turns out, finding a job can be rather difficult. I have reluctantly discovered that the summer can be a rather dull period for a person that has neither a job nor class to attend. My days are usually spent in front of the computer, printing and mailing resumes, reading, or keeping myself busy otherwise.
One problem that I have encountered is the question of what to submit a company as a writing sample. I have found that much of my writing is overly cynical, obscene or inappropriate in some other fashion. I have examples of schoolwork that I have written over the years, but I doubt that a potential employer would like much to read about quixotic figures in 18th century literature. Boring, uninspired writing such as this may be my last resort. Of course, this is not something that I even have to worry about at this point, as I have yet to receive interest in a writing sample from a potential employer in the first place. My current situation is quite disheartening, but I suppose it was never meant to be simple. I am sure that something will come along eventually. I just do not like to play the waiting game.