Jet Blach Jabber

This so-called blog was originally created to entertain those entrusted with the knowledge of Jet Blach and their friends. But it has simply become the random thoughts and stories of H.Wood that, hopefully, continue to entertain nonetheless.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

An Open Letter To B. Hussein Obama From A Home-Schooled Student

Dear Mr. B. Hussein Obama,

My name is Jonah Isaac Solomon Hatfield. I am 19 years of age, sir, and attend Pinewood High School in Charleston, South Carolina. I’m one of five students enrolled in my school. The others are my sisters. You see, Mr. B. Hussein Obama, Pinewood is the street my house is on, and I am actually home-schooled, as my parents know that the public schools are no place to get a proper education that follows the true teachings of the Bible.

Mr. B. Hussein Obama, I am writing this letter for two reasons. The first is for my application to Liberty University when I graduate Pinewood in another year. It sounds like you’ll be active in some of their affairs. The other reason, sir, is to help you find salvation.

If you are to become the next President of these 49 states (I don’t count Utah for obvious reasons), there are a few things you need to learn, as I’m certain were not a part of your curriculum at your Muslim Jihadist school where you were taught to hate America, build car bombs and were forbidden to wear flag pins. We’ll begin with the order of who’s getting through Saint Peter’s pearly gates following Jesus Christ’s return. You’ll need to know this in order to pick a proper cabinet and Justice Department.

Naturally, Republican-Christian-Americans who’ve been saved will have priority seating in Heaven. Next, anti-abortion undecided/independent voters will have a place next to Christ on his sofa in the sky. Then, there will be a place for those anti-abortion Democrat(s). Sure, they made some wrong choices, but as long as they repent their Michael Dukakis sins, they’re in. Following them will be Canadians who supported our efforts in Iraq. After those pinko, maple syrup-suckers are accepted, God will have room for smart animals like dogs, monkeys (as long as they recognize that we’re not cousins), and smart fishes, like dolphins.

Those not in these groups, according to my principal and father, will have to spend some time in either Purgatory or New York City during a Puerto Rican pride festival. After that, some might have an opportunity to get into Heaven. But they shouldn’t count on it. They’ll most-likely head straight to a place I cannot say or spell. But it rhymes with ‘shell’ and if you say it three times in the mirror, Barney Frank appears to turn you homo.

You know, Mr. B. Hussein Obama, there’s a good chance you’ll have the opportunity to select at least one Supreme Court Justice. It’s real important that you avoid one of those liberal, activist judges who legislates from the bench. Instead, you should choose a Justice who will vigorously fight to overturn Roe v. Wade and will lobby for the Eleven Commandments (we added one here at Pinewood: Thou Shall Not Watch Thou’s Sisters Shower) to be displayed in every courthouse, state house and city hall in this One Nation Under God.

As far as national security goes, that’s easy an easy one. Just make sure we have more and bigger guns than the terrorists. If they got a problem with us, just blow them back to the Stone Age. – Heck, on second thought, they might like that since they already live in caves. Maybe just nuke them enough to where they’ll appreciate liberty and freedom. I figure retarding their kids for a few generations ought to do it. After all, it worked when we did it to the French at Normandy. They’ve been tarded so long they’ve resorted to eating snails, and they keep forgetting to put walls on that tower of theirs in Paris. But now they love America and freedom. They even changed the name of their only famous food, French Fries, to Freedom Fries.

Down here in the South, some of my neighbors aren’t too happy that a black man could be in the White House. But some others don’t see it so bad. In fact, my granddaddy must be an optimist. He sees it as a sign of the apocalypse. After all, that’ll just bring Judgment Day closer, and that’s what we’re all here for anyway, isn’t it?

In closing, Mr. B. Hussein Obama, I want to wish you the best of luck with your pursuit of the presidency of these 48 states (I just heard about California’s new kind of marriages). If you ever feel like converting to Christianity, please stop by Pinewood High School. Our school’s above-ground pool can be used as a baptismal tank when not in use by the Swimming Against Sin swim team.

Yours in Christ,

Jonah Isaac Solomon Hatfield

Monday, June 23, 2008

Another Great Voice Is Gone

In tribute to the great George Carlin, I've re-posted my George Carlin JBJ piece that I wrote after seeing him perform in Detroit.

Monday, February 13, 2006
Buy George, I Paid 50 Bucks!

Was Socrates funny? While he was helping to create our modern, Western views of existence to the citizens of ancient Greece, did he slip in any zingers, use sarcastic tones or say “knock, knock” in his lessons?

Saturday night, I had the opportunity to see someone I consider to be a modern-day philosopher, George Carlin, perform in the Detroit Opera House. Now perhaps I’m giving a stand up comedian too much credit by comparing him to a fifth century genius, but times are certainly different. Socrates and other ancient, dead dudes (as he might have been described in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, which coincidentally featured Carlin), had a much broader and emptier canvas to paint on than a 20th-21st century Carlin. But, to me, Carlin isn’t just a funny man who talks about taboo topics with colorful words. Carlin is a philosopher.

Carlin has an insight into daily life that most others don’t. He not only says things which others won’t dare, he has a keen sense that allows him to make those off-color observations, which most don’t. Carlin isn’t afraid to call a lie a lie. He’ll call a crook a crook. Carlin will talk about everything from bodily functions (sex and flatulents – a winning combo) to our sometimes idiotic views as Americans. And he certainly isn’t afraid to comment on the holiest of all subject, religion. That’s the type of person he is. And that is part of the reason I appreciate his work. His views are his own. If you don’t agree, you don’t have to. You have the option to nod your head, or you can fuck yourself. Whatever. Cool.

Not everyone understood Socrates. Not everyone agreed with him. And apparently, many were threatened by his thoughts and teachings – hence forcing him to drink poison. That’s what happens with extremely intelligent people who have original, and possibly, unpopular thoughts.

Fortunately, Saturday’s Carlin crowd was all folks who paid $50 to hear the man’s routine, which many had already seen done on his latest HBO special, or in his latest book: When Will Jesus Bring The Pork Chops?. However, I had to scratch my head at some of the other Carlin fans in attendance.

Now I’m not trying to get on top of a soapbox and say that I understand Carlin more than someone else and no one is able to appreciate him as much as I do. But there were some guys in the audience who were clueless. In fact, there were a couple chumps sitting behind me talking about how funny George is and how great of a comedian he is. And that discussion led to which other comedians are as brilliant as Carlin, like Larry the goddamn Cable Guy. – I wish I was making this up, but I’m not. To these dorks behind me, the Blue Collar Comedy red necks are just as funny, insightful and witty as Carlin. – There could not be a comparison that missed the mark more than that. And I’d go into a further rant on how those dipshit Blue Collar guys aren’t funny, but there’s only so much room on the Internet.

Another aspect of the Carlin crowd that caught me off guard was the hooting and cheering to key words. When Carlin would say a few “dirty” words, or would make an obvious joke that someone driven blind by masturbation (a popular theme of his set) could see coming (lots of puns too), a large contingent of the crowd would cheer in the same fashion as they would when AC/DC would yell “we love you Detroit!” They knew what punchline was coming up and they prepared a “hell yeah!” for it. – Why? Was this a Pavlovian condition? If I carried a recording of Carlin saying “fart” and sneaked up behind one of these yuck-yucks and played it, would they salivate?

I thought the “rock star comedian” was an ‘80s thing. I thought that after Eddie Murphy was caught “giving a ride” to a transsexual hooker, the drunken hooting for comedians like they were Eddie Money was over and done. But I was wrong.

Going to a comedy show and hoping the comic will perform your favorite joke from your favorite CD, or god forbid, say his magical catch phrase like “Git ‘Er Done”, seems kind of silly to me. Is there a difference between hearing a comedian say it live rather than on CD? There’s definitely a great vibe when seeing a musical act perform live. But is comedy the same?

I guess part of my reason for wanting to drop $50 on a ticket to see someone I’ve respected for a long time is to say that I have seen him. Also, I was really hoping to hear some newer thoughts and jokes of his that weren’t covered on HBO.

Without wanting to sound too arrogant, I want to mention that I felt George and half the audience was laughing at the other half of the audience at times. He joked about how too many Americans are too dumb, obese and compulsive for their own good, as well as for the good of the world. And I couldn’t help but think about all the dumb and obese people in the crowd that took me all of 30 seconds to notice when I walked through the Opera House doors. – And they were laughing just as hard as the other half of the crowd, although not with it, necessarily.

Although the Blue Collar fans behind me were aware of all the current greats like Jeff Foxworthy and Carrot Top, they further disappointed me when they began talking about how there aren’t any others out there like George. There’s no one else who makes the kind of observations about society and without apology like George. When he’s gone, that’s it, no more. – All I could think about is a favorite of mine – another philosopher who just happens to be very funny and doesn’t give a rat’s smelly ball about being politically correct. And that funny man is Bill Maher – the Plato to Carlin’s Socrates. As much as Carlin and the Cable Guy are a bad combination, a Maher/red neck mix would prove lethal. -- Imagine a complicated meth lab in a trailer park being run by someone whose day job is testing drugs thought to be too harmful to test on monkeys. The end result is the same as what would happen if those dummies behind me at the show kept their Maher DVDs with their Foxworthy albums – kaboom! Lots of chemicals and cans of Spam everywhere.

So was Socrates funny? I don’t know. But I bet he wouldn’t find Carlin’s routine on suicide so humorous.

Posted by H.Wood at 8:39 PM

psquared said...

In the immortal words of Socrates “I drank what?”

Glad you had a good time.

Word Verification: gchoan
6:31 AM
kyle said...

Even being someone who would never consider himself a social or political genius and admittedly owned the first "You might be a redneck" Foxworthy cassette, I agree with you. Even seeing Dennis Miller on HBO tonight, some 'big' words and references were lost on me. I sensed that Carlin threw in the occasional dick and fart joke just to remind some of the idiots that they were at a comedy show. Yes, I laughed at them, but I also 'got' the rest of the show.

good post.
7:41 PM
Jeen Yes said...

gotta say shaun boy, i was sincerely disappointed in george's latest routine. however, i take solice in the fact that my boy, bill maher, will be in denver in april...with any luck, i'll pay $50 to go see him. without the gruff voice and the beard, some may call him "george, jr."

Friday, June 13, 2008

The Country Will Miss Tim Russert

After my retirement talk and a hiatus, I had planned on posting something to Jet Blach Jabber as I was feeling a little creative, and I really just felt the need to write. My initial topic was somewhere between humorous and slightly mean-spirited. But as I vegetated on the couch with coffee, as I normally do the mornings of my weekdays off (I used a comp day Friday), NBC News broke into its usual MSNBC coverage with a special report.

Of course breaking into a 24-hours news channel meant something big was going on, usual the death of someone important. Adding intensity to the breaking news was that retired newsman Tom Brokaw was delivering it.

Tim Russert died.

In my house, growing up, it was Peter Jennings weeknights and Meet the Press on Sundays. Every weeknight at 6:30, my family sat down for dinner in the dining room. My father was always the last at the table since it was his preference to walk into the living room to turn up ABC World News Tonight loud enough to hear while we ate. Occasionally, he would dart from the table to the living room in order to better hear, and of course see, a report. That was just the norm for the first 18 years of my life.

Jennings was a part of the family. Sure, none of us new him, but his voice was as familiar as anyone who was actually related by blood. Of course there were other evening news broadcasts and other anchors tuned-in on other people’s TVs. But there was just ABC and just Jennings in our home.

Sunday mornings were a little different. Sundays were the one day a week where my parents could relax in the morning. There weren’t jobs or soccer games to attend. It was a morning of black coffee, newspapers and Meet the Press.

What Peter Jennings was to our family’s dinners, Tim Russert had become for Sunday mornings when he took over the show. My parents were very interested in politics and very informed about what was going on in the world around them. And in turn, it rubbed off on my brother and me at young ages.

While we could have just as easily mimicked our parents’ political views, being able to listen to opposing arguments, and then watching Russert keep pundits and politicians honest, helped us to be able to form our own opinions. Naturally, political topics became easier to understand as we aged.

Even after I left my parents’ home for college in Southeast Michigan, I carried my political interests with me. There, it seemed, for every student involved in political or social causes, there were 20 who pleaded ignorant or apathetic. I didn’t understand that, as I don’t today. But I wasn’t going to fall into one of those categories. Every Sunday, my tradition of Meet the Press continued, even in football season when the rest of my day was dedicated to the Buffalo Bills.

I was aware that Russert hailed from Buffalo and was a huge Bills supporter. He made that clear on the air before all four of the team’s Super Bowl losses. However, for some reason I was unaware that my father grew up in the same Irish Catholic neighborhood in South Buffalo. Perhaps I never had my own journalistic hunch to ask, but Russert was a couple years older than my pops, which put him the same age as my uncle Jerry.

Turns out Jerry and Tim were friends growing up only a couple blocks away in a neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else, and everyone belonged to the same church and attended the same Catholic schools. That ethnic, old neighborhood isn’t something I experienced growing up in Ohio. In fact, the only time I experienced anything resembling it was when I’d visit my aunt, Karen, and her family. They live in the same South Buffalo neighborhood in a house that used to belong to my great-grandfather. A lot of her neighbors are second and third generation living in family homes as well. It’s a nice atmosphere and a real sense of community that I don’t think many people experience the farther west you travel in this country.

Although I don’t know how much Russert and my uncle kept in touch through the years, I know he and my father have had tie-ins through their lines of work. The pride of Buffalo never left either of them as each left the city for greener pastures.

A world without Meet the Press with Tim Russert will be different. It might be really pessimistic to say that things will worsen without him, but I actually worry about how our great country will fare without him.

After Jennings died, there were still some great and responsible journalists on TV. But now, Brokaw is mostly retired and Dan Rather is rarely seen on a high-def channel most don’t receive. Bob Woodruff seemed promising, but who knows if he’ll ever be able to meet his full potential after his head wound suffered covering the Iraq War. And now Charlie Gibson hosts ABC World News. And as good of an anchor he might be, he’s not Peter Jennings with the same journalistic skills.

Russert was at the top of the most difficult type of news programming. In an age where the Republican Party has an entire network in its back pocket and corporations own other news media, Russert was able to deliver America unbiased, tough questions to the men and women whose governing affects everyone. He didn’t allow bullshit. He wouldn’t settle for dodges. He got truthful answers out of many people who normally wouldn’t recognize honesty of it were growing out of their ears.

Is anyone up to par? Fox News can be taken out of the equation. George Stephanopoulos lost a lot of his building credibility after he and Charlie Gibson hosted what many consider the worst presidential candidate debate earlier this year. So how about David Gregory? He’s been known to ask some tough questions while a part of the White House Press Corp. But doubts were definitely raised when he did the hokey-pokey with M.C. Rove. And then there’s Keith Olbermann. I really enjoy his show and think it does a real service. But I don’t think there’s a question about which way he leans politically. Russert was skillfully able to deal the game without showing his hand.

There’s a dire need for responsible, accurate and aggressive journalism in this country, at this time. Lazy reporting and corporate influence, combined with sensationalism, slogans and soundbites far too often replace true journalism. Professionals like Time Russert realized a strong and honest press is essential to the American way.

The country lost a great man today.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

The End Is Near?

I never intended on using Jet Blach Jabber as a daily online journal. Ramblings and recaps of bloggers’ days are a dime a dozen on the Internets and are better off left as internal thoughts.

I also never meant Jet Blach to be medium strictly for bitching. While I’ve done my fair share of complaining about politics, Los Angeles drivers, race fans, and people I consider douche bags, among other things, it wasn’t my sole intention when I started this silly site.

As you might have noticed, I definitely have succeeding in keeping Jet Blach Jabber from becoming a daily log of my life. In fact, my postings are few and far between these days. I’ve managed to drop my readership from seven people to two people and a very smart horse.

Sure, I’ve been pretty busy with work, and I’ve done a bit of traveling. But my lack of writing can mostly be attributed to a lack of motivation and topics. A few good ideas have popped into my head, and I’ve actually started a couple of postings regarding a recent Black Keys concert and the band’s new album. However, they remain unfinished and the blog statute of limitations has run out.

Other blog ideas have crossed my mind. But upon further thought, the words that would have rolled off of my fingertips and onto the Web would have only been complaints – complaints without much creativity or humor. And, as I’ve said, I never wanted JBJ to strictly serve as my venting outlet.

Perhaps it says something about where I am in life. Maybe I’d have a more positive outlook in my online writing if I was being more positive in my normal life. – Or it might just be that I have a right to be cynical considering what’s going on in our country and in the world (I watch too much cable news).

This all is just leading up to my strong consideration of muting The Jabber. It’s been almost three years since I started this site to entertain a few readers with my thoughts and stories. And really, I think I accomplished my small goal, while also finding a creative outlet and exercising my writing skills (even though I’ve really bastardized so many writing rules in my postings).

Please, don’t step off the ledge and come back inside the building. I haven’t decided if I’m definitely going euthanize Jet Blach. There are actually a couple of funny ideas knocking around in my noggin. Plus, there are a few questions I’d like answered through Jet Blach, like, What is the meaning of life?, and What’s a Nubian?

Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep this up. I might have an opportunity to refocus my energy, free time, creativity and writing skills on another project soon. Jet Blach might then become a bi-monthly bliss of ignorance and lame jokes. Of course, my readership will likely be reduced to that really smart horse. He’ll hopefully understand whatever my decision will be. He's a good horse.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Motorcycle Diary

Before I moved to Los Angeles, I began looking into learning how to ride a motorcycle. I began pricing bikes (not crotchrockets) and reading about safety classes and how to obtain a license in Michigan.

I didn’t really grow up around motorcycles, or even dirt bikes, even though my dad had a small cc bike/scooter when he was in the service, a few years before I was born (I think he had it because he couldn’t afford a car). I’ve ridden on the back them, but being raised by my mother, a nurse who’s seen too many accidents, actually piloting one was out of the question, especially since my grandfather seriously messed up his legs on one many years ago.

My grandfather, from what I’ve been told, was a cool, James Dean-type, back in the 1950s and ‘60s with his Harley Davidson. He was somewhere between crazy and reckless. Grandpa was the type of guy who’d ride down the street standing on his bike. And when he wasn’t surfing on his saddle, he was lighting matches being held in my grandmother’s mouth by shooting a pellet gun over his shoulder using a mirror.

Alcohol and motorcycles aren’t the best combination. I don’t know if he was drunk, but there’s a good chance since he was/is an alcoholic, but my grandfather wrecked his hog and messed himself up in the process. After that, he didn’t ride again for another 30 years.

Anyway, when I was in Michigan, I really felt that there was a lack of excitement in my life. I worked, got drunk on the weekends, worked on the weekends, and returned to the office on Monday to work more. The freedom (pardon the motorcycle cliché) provided by bike looked like a great way to escape every day life. Sure, taking a drive in my Mazda on a gorgeous summer day with the moon roof open could be fun. But it paled in comparison to what I thought riding a loud, rumbling, two-wheel machine without the confinement of doors and a roof would be.

I was able to stash away a few thousand dollars during my last couple of years in Detroit. There were a few things I wanted to do with the money (saving for a rainy day or a house was not one of them). A motorcycle and a new MacBook were just crying out for me. But then the call came. The dream job in LA promised me a fresh start in the sun. Unfortunately, I was awakened by the sound of no relocation funds. The motorcycle fantasy was canceled, or at least postponed.

That was almost two years ago. The MacBook and I dropped some serious dough moving across the continent, putting down a deposit and furnishing a shitty apartment that happens to be on one of Los Angeles’ busiest boulevards, which leads to Venice Beach and the Pacific Coast Highway.

Every day and night, thundering bikes cruise and blow past my front door. And when they’re not waking me up, interrupting my phone calls, or muting my television, they’re teasing me. They’re saying, hey, this could have been you. This SHOULD be you.

I want to be the guy riding up and down the coast, stopping at remote diners for a cup of joe before heading out again to conquer the road. I want to be able to turn an ordinary Saturday afternoon into an adventure. I want to be able to leave LA without a destination or a need for one.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

A Cross-Section of Politics and the Media

Social etiquette disallows the discussion of sex, religion and politics among mixed crowds. But lately it seems that sex and religion are all we talk about in reference to politics no matter whom the audience. Elected officials possibly abusing tax payers’ money to have extramarital affairs (and knocking off the occasional stripper), along with men of the cloth spewing out unpopular and sometimes ignorant beliefs are filling the airwaves of our irresponsible media.

So Barack Obama is taking heat for fiery comments by his former, longtime pastor regarding his mistrust of the American government and beliefs regarding social and economical imbalances between blacks and whites. What’s Obama supposed to do? Those weren’t his comments.

On the other side of the political spectrum, there’s John McCain who’s not exactly the most popular man in The Bible Belt. After all, the less-qualified Ned Flanders, er Mike Huckabee, and his bass guitar won primary votes by reminding voters that Jesus rode a dinosaur and thunder is just God bowling. So to make up for his lack of his lack of snake-handling experience, McCain has insincerely played to the Pat Robertson crowd (although Pat actually worked a deal with Pro-Choice Rudy – probably a three-way trade involving the support of Lucifer). However, in an eager rush to find salvation, John Boy must not have done a background check. He enthusiastically accepted the endorsement of Jesus profiteer John Hagee, someone he probably didn’t know much about beforehand, who’s made a few anti-Catholic remarks. Oops.

Is it fair to hold either of these politicians responsible for the remarks made by men whose faiths and beliefs naturally are not going to please everyone? Imagine if there was a devout Catholic running. Under this kind of religious affiliation scrutiny, would his/her beliefs be fair game?

Senator John McCatholic follows a religious leader who was once a member of the Hitler Youth and a church that doesn’t support safe sex, doesn’t believe women should hold the same positions as men, and covered up the sexual abuse of children by its members for decades. And we won’t even get into the Spanish Inquisition.

Earlier in the parties' nomination open season, the media were discussing the impact of Mitt Romney and his silly, made-up religion that consists of Jesus vacationing in America (but only in within the U.S.’s borders, I’m sure) with the REAL Native Americans - you know, the Caucasian kind.

Is America ready for a Mormon president?, they asked. – Just like the similar question asking if America is ready for a black president, it allows ignorant people more time to remain close-minded. Well, the TV people bring up a good point. Maybe we’re not ready for a black president. I don’t know what exactly it would mean to have a black president, but I imagine it would have something to do with The Source Awards being held in the White House’s Rose Garden. And that would be bad.

Now imagine if Senator McCatholic’s (a fictitious character if you’re just now starting to play) religion was created within the past 200 years or so.

Senator McCatholic’s god sent his only son, who is also him, to Earth. After turning water into wine, he died, became the living dead, and now his followers practice cannibalism every Sunday by eating his body and drinking his blood. We’re not ready to vote for someone who might be a zombie.

Now I know the media have a job to do. It just happens to be that their job is to take side stories about sex and religion, and make them the front page fodder. But it’d be nice if we could stick to real issues and leave the preaching in the separate houses of worship.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Guiding Light

Fifteen years late, I could really use a guidance councilor.

I didn’t have a need for a guidance councilor in high school. In fact, the only times I ever spoke to one, other than the mandatory class scheduling, was either when I got in trouble or in search of money. And those weren’t exactly productive meetings.

I don’t recall what I got in trouble for, maybe it was when a few of us got kicked off our shuttle bus to the north campus for our vocational media class and had to walk to 2 miles. Or perhaps it was for something as simple breaking a stink bomb. Anyway, during my junior year, I had to speak with my regular guidance councilor but had a substitute instead.

Not that the usual councilor had any idea of who I was or what my post-school plans were, but this dude was really clueless. He inquired about my plans and I told him I was seriously thinking about art school. The sub-councilor then looked at my transcript and noted that I had not taken a single art class during my three years at Vacuum High. There was nothing on my classes-taken checklist to indicate that I was qualified for art school, but I tried to tell him that I wanted to be a film maker/special effects artist. I was enrolled in the vocation media program, which meant I spent all day playing with video cameras and still cameras. And since there wasn’t a true film school in the Midwest, the Art Institute of Pittsburgh was a good steppingstone. In fact, its recruiter had told me all about people who’d earned an associates degree there and then moved onto USC and Industrial Lights and Magic.

The only guidance I received from that dude was that I had better actually take an art class to meet my graduation requirements. – I actually convinced my normal councilor to give me an “art” credit for all the thumbnail sketches I had to do for the videos I produced. To be fair, most of the videos I contributed to in that class were artful, as they were awful. Why shouldn’t I get a “creative” credit for them?

My final guidance councilor encounter came in my senior year. I had just decided against a two-year art school degree. A bachelors in telecommunication and film at Eastern Michigan made more sense. Sure, it wasn’t USC but I was limited to school choices because I had never taken an art class… Well that and I was your typical underachiever in high school and had the GPA to prove it.

Per my dad’s suggestion, I needed to see about scholarships. There weren’t no brainy academic and ain’t no achievement rewards a-coming my way. Instead, I asked my guidance councilor if there were any scholarships given to the children of disabled veterans. Her response took me by surprise.

“You’re dad’s a disabled vet? That’s great!... I, uh, don’t mean it’s great that… uh he’s uh, disabled…”

After her backtracking, we figured out that in order for me to get some government cash, Pops would have to be blind, basically. He’s 40 percent disabled, which is 20 percent less than Uncle Sam’s checkbook prefers.

So here I am, some 12 years later looking for a Magic 8 Ball to give me the right answer about my future. And I’m aware that I don’t have room to complain. After all, I do have a dream job for some – if not at least for a dream company. But as year two approaches, I’m not sure how much longer I can be satisfied with it. There are aspects of it I really don’t enjoy and I don’t see myself in my current position for much longer. So the question now becomes, can I transition into another position within my company?

I’ve expressed a desire to work with another department and hinted about actually working in that department. In fact, I made those desires known this time last year. Unfortunately, nothing came of it. So I’ve been more aggressive about it this time around. And so far, I’ve been paid a bunch of compliments for the job I’m currently doing and lip service about new opportunities.

While many would take lip service as something positive, my last job taught me better, and perhaps, made me bitter. There were plenty of “give us time” and “just hang in there for a little longer” promises told for almost five years. Fuck that place. (Yep, bitter still.)

Dream company or not, if I don’t feel there’s a future there for me, other than the type of work I’m currently involved, then it might be time for me to move on. And that, of course, means what?

I have a few ideas of what I’d like to do next. Although the next thing might require more education and could take the type of planning and preparations that I won’t be able to do quickly. Graduate studies.

Fall deadlines are approaching and I haven’t even begun to prepare for the GREs. – A drawback of my job is that it consumes a lot of my time, effort and thoughts for about a six-month busy period. Now that the period is wrapping up, I find myself behind the 8 ball (not the magic one, though), and I want to figure out where my future is headed before the next six-month busy period begins.

The uncertainty is killing me.