Gen Xer Lesson #1: Hard Work is Not Rewarded

So wikipedia defines Generation X loosely as:

. . .They possess only a hazy sense of their own identity but a monumental preoccupation with all the problems the preceding generation will leave for them to fix . . .This is the twenty-something generation, those 48 million young Americans ages 18 through 29 who fall between the famous baby boomers and the boomlet of children the baby boomers are producing. Since today's young adults were born during a period when the U.S. birthrate decreased to half the level of its postwar peak, in the wake of the great baby boom, they are sometimes called the baby busters. By whatever name, so far they are an unsung generation, hardly recognized as a social force or even noticed much at all...By and large, the 18-to-29 group scornfully rejects the habits and values of the baby boomers, viewing that group as self-centered, fickle and impractical. While the baby boomers had a placid childhood in the 1950s, which helped inspire them to start their revolution, today's twenty-something generation grew up in a time of drugs, divorce and economic strain. . .They feel influenced and changed by the social problems they see as their inheritance: racial strife, homelessness, AIDS, fractured families and federal deficits

Fractured families and federal deficits indeed.

I once read somewhere that the difference between a Gen Xer and Gen Yer was that Gen Xers still think their hard work can make a difference.

Sadly, I continue to work hard and believe in what led the Boomers to their hallowed lifestyle of a paid-off home and 2 cars in the garage (not including the sports car), two successful grown children and a healthy retirement from years of sucking it up for someone else.

So where am I in all this mess? No kids, wrecks for relationships, a house (barely paid for), one car and mounting debt to pay for bare necessities in life (yes, like food and clothing - remind yourself I am not a Gen Y who thinks cell phones and cologne are among life's necessities...)

Isn't it amazing that despite how low you stoop in life that any necessary drug dependencies will remain satisfied? That or obsessions. I thank God every day I walk this earth that my only crutch is the occasional beer or vodka, but I know folks who can't get through the day without that line of coke or Xananx or thoroughly beating their wife, etc. Nevertheless, the necessities are always satisfied, regardless of economic stature or intelligence.

I've never been able to decouple from this feeling of responsibility in life, regardless of how many mistakes I have made. In fact, they AMPLIFY my debt to responsibility. Why is it that others traipse by as if nothing they've done, nowhere they've setfoot, has ever resulted in a mess or embarrassment that they might wince at while waiting for a traffic light to turn green? I'm sure the guy walking the dalmation down the street has had his share of failure in life - but his stride belies it. And what do we make of the folks who always seem to be on the cell phone in traffic? Not always smiling, but placid-looking nonetheless.

This must be what drives us - a desire to be like "them". Even though "them" aren't really happy. I'd wager that 1 out of 10 "them's" are probably happy, the rest languishing in thoughts of not having enough money, or children, or toys or God Knows What.

As a terminal Gen Xer, I'd like to believe that my hard work will pay off one day. However, I am seeing evidence to the contrary. Lately, politics trumps just about everything sane, and the every-changing landscape of the Tech Industry forces you to remain flexible into your 30's and 40's. Something most Boomers wouldn't have shed a shit about in their heyday.

Here's lookin' at you, Roy.

Wal Mart University

State the obvious, why don't you?

America's Most Overrated Product: the Bachelor's Degree

On this, the eve of work...

As is typical when returning to a workday from vacation, I woke with a start.

You know, those sit-up-in-bed mornings where you aren't sure if its Sunday or you are already an hour late to work?

You are getting old when two tablespoons of sugar in your coffee makes you sick. So you cut back to one and try not to powder the mug down with too much Coffee Mate.

And then you ponder the looming day while reading Fark.

One of the stranger things I pulled off this vacation was to see/drive a 1978 Trans Am. Ironically, in my own town. This despite expecting to fly to Wisconsin to see one if it ever wooed me enough on ebay. And yes, I know it makes no sense to contemplate the purchase of a car that gets about 3 gallons to the mile, but even in 1978 a Trans Am was an irrational purchase.

I can cut through the fog of morning thought for a moment and remember the sunny, warm sandunes of the Texas Gulf Coast in the late 1970's. When you could walk out on the beach at night and it was COVERED in sand crabs that would scatter when the beachlights were flipped on. You don't see that anymore. Probably a consequence of human encroachment, but I'm sure they lurk somewhere in the vegetation waiting for their day to return... But isn't it strange how every memory from childhood seems to sunny and warm? Could it be a consequence of how HOT the weather was in the late 1970's? All I can remember is beach, sand, swimming pools, and the confines of hot smelly cars. And fireflys. Where did all the fireflies go?

On every street it seemed was one of those ostentatious cars - usually a bright red or deep black. I can still visualize running into that one 1979 TA up the street on Meridian. The one with a giant gold phoenix on the hood. It was bright and hot that day, and that TA looked like a giant trophy on wheels.

The irony of that moment was that car represented the last gasp of the American Musclecar, especially in the face of the Iranian Revolution and Carter's price controls.

I was 9 years old, walking through real history witnessing a part of America that (for better or worse) was about to slip away forever...




This is probably why we hold onto memories of the past.

They are like footholds in the dark vortex of time we climb as we get older and forget who we are.

First the bees, now the bats are dying

Bats are dying by the thousands in the Northeastern United States.

So far, the malady known as "White Nose Syndrome" has not been spotted in the Texas bat colonies, but it remains a mystery as to whether the fungus is a cause or symptom of the dyoffs:

http://www.caves.org/grotto/dcg/white-nose.html

Will work for commission

At one point in my own Real Estate career, I actually thought this up:

International Male fantasy versus reality

I used to receive this catalog in the 1980's, and yes I've ordered from it. In fact, I think it was a black cloth trenchcoat that I wore.

To the video arcade.

So here is fantasy:



And here is reality:

Tuesday is the new Monday

Recently, I began a new contest with the City of San Antonio Sanitation Services. It's called "let's see who can fake the other person out first on TrashDay (TM)"

So it begins when I'm lying in bed half asleep and hear what sounds like the distant rumble of the trash truck. Or is it already on my street? Wait a minute - I think it's actually on my street! DID I PUT THE TRASH OUT LAST NIGHT? OH MY GOD! ...culminates with me running out the front door only to find that I DID put the trash out last night and it was no big deal.

or...

the trash can is NOT out and the truck is on my street happily munching through each can with its mechanical loader-arm and I'm running around looking for some pants because running outside naked to wheel your garbage can is probably against the law (and reminiscent of those scary dreams as a kid where you are in class and have no clothes on and hope no one notices while you c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y sneak out the door...) Finally getting outside with the can only to discover that there are TWO GARBAGE TRUCKS and they run in opposite patterns and the one rumbling you into consciousness is the 9:30 trash truck - the 7:30 truck - you know, the one that does YOUR SIDE - is long gone.


My favorite fake-out was when I actually got the can out the previous night and watched in the morning as the truck picked up the can, dumped the contents out into its massive belly, and moved on.

VICTORY!

Until I walked up to the can and discovered that half the trash had lodged in the can and nothing really emptied. I spend the next two weeks watching what is no doubt a 4 ton truck pick up a 30 pound plastic trash can with a 1-ton hydraulic arm and not be able to shake loose about 20 pounds of trash from the inside of the can. With no success.

So today is Trash Day (TM) and I'm up at 7am to once again supervise the non-taking of the trash. I've already gone out to confirm the can is still there on the street, but have heard no distant rumbling yet.

This is probably the day the truck arrives at 5pm.

May the Hand(s) of God Strike Them Down

I went to the auspices of a barbeque last night.

Auspices because it was more of a clever attempt at getting me to play Spades while arguing the finer points of 1) The US oil Oligarchy 2) why everything costs so much money 3) how traveling to other countries to "teach" and "learn" is "fun" and 4) why all the music I listen to essentially choruses into "RAWR" at some point...

I suppose it wasn't surprising that I immediately bonded with the guy wearing the Lamb of God concert T-Shirt. This despite an attempt to play a Killswitch DVD that had been ripped in 2-channel stereo on a Dolby 5:1 digital audio soundsystem that refused to lay out any bass from the resident subwoofer.

Can you say "booooooooooooooooo"?

Things only got worse when I was confronted by apparently-sorority-chick about "why I wasn't eating any dinner" that night - despite a pretty mean BBQ mahi-mahi and random sausage and potatoes and asparagi... I passively mentioned something about how eating food "interefered with my alcohol buzz" and got this sudden blank stare. Yes. About as unexpected as a dog peeing on your foot at a party.

And then things got weird.

Sorority-chick suddenly became very agitated and I caught her lambasting in mid-stream. Something about "I worked out ALL FUCKING WEEK so that I could eat dinner here tonight and not worry" blah blah blah... "How RUDE people are that can just COME IN and drink and be all SKINNY and " blah blah blah.

Anyway, I apparently pissed someone off despite wearing my size Medium Fallen skate T-Shirt and talking in a very baritone voice.

To this moment, I'm still not sure if she was serious or not. She was very cute, in a Strawberry Shortcake kind of way, but I would still not want to be anywhere near her in the same house on a night when the cable went out...

Meanwhile, the gang-of-3 Mortgage Brokers showed up at 1am, throwing ping-pong balls off the kitchen cabinetry while random drunk chicks somersaulted over each other on the back porch and attempted to pique interest in several guys staring at them with a threat to "pee on each other"

Why do I always leave my digital camera at home?

Dammit.

Anyway, ping pongs are flying off random objects while I delve into a discussion of what its like to sell mortgages to the haplessly insane nowdays. Suddenly a Drinking Game (TM) erupts, and there is something about a Little Green Man sitting on your beercan that throws me off and I get up and walk over to the living room to air my brain out for a minute.

In the end, somersault-chick (I think her name was Allison) decides to wrap things up for the night in a non-threatening conversation with Paul about global hunger or something while I sneak out the front door past the smokers sitting on the porch...

Hope you had fun, Amy. You might meet "Berrrt... Berrrrt Berrrrt Berrrrt" again one day.

Sam Adams is some good shit.

Imparting a spin

I can't help but notice that while periodically (no pun intended) reading the Business section of my local newspaper how overwhelmingly glum each newspiece is.

Typically, each story has something to do with mediocre profits generated last quarter by XYZ Inc., or how someone revealed rampant corruption in a local government institution years after leaving the place, or how real estate is languishing despite being "a good place for small businesses."

Whatever.

My goal is to comb through these stories and pick out something that will hold my interest for the 15 minutes it takes to eat lunch, then reflect on how shitty things have become in this town. Of course, this is from the narrow perspective of an employed government worker, so things are probably better than the way I see them.

Or worse.

I remarked to a friend on the phone the other day that I was getting worried I'd be "too old" to fight off the post-apocalyptic zombies when the shit finally hit the fan. To my surprise, he laughed out loud and agreed that he'd been worried about the same thing - working out every day gets tiring after 40. I'm not sure I could hold my own against a mass of shambling zombies, but I figure my chances are better in that scenario than constantly trying to hold the line against overwhelming ennui and stress just facing an endless chasm of underpaying and underwhelming job responsibility.

Does that make any sense?

Ninjas can't catch you if...

Caturday... blehhhhh

2 types of people in this world

sometimes i am led to believe there are 2 types of people in this world: losers, and losers masquerading as dreamers.

a humid April churns...

i find it odd that i cannot remember whether last year at this time was so humid or whether the sun shone or it rained like hell or what. this despite a well-documented and fairly predictable range of weather for the geographical area.

today was dominated by spurty CNBC broadcasts as well as CNN "i want to be like FARK" news network.

is it really news anymore?

between the random blonde-child gets kidnapped and 'what if' headlines (as in 'what if MLK was still alive? OMG ZLOL!) that change every 30 minutes, is it any wonder the general public doesn't care about the web-updates from various traditional news sources? you'd be better off RSS'ing news.google.com and sorting the bullshit from the bullets yourself.

on CSPAN right now is a congressional panel hearing on why Southwest Airlines trudged along with sloppy maintenance of their aluminum busses for so long before being caught and exposed. this is why i don't care to fly anywhere - given enough time and apathy, something will go wrong with a cherished institution, even though appearances may be kept up and assurances remain strong that all is well...

the dewpoint of the social consciousness is thick.

rain already.

B. A. Baracus says...

"Foo! You flyin' out on Knuckle Airlines - FIST CLASS!"

being social VS watching CSPAN

I found it interesting that CSPAN aired their somewhat forced interviews of the nation's top Executives of its standing oil companies and attempted to grill them over the high price of gasoline in 3 minute intervals...

I'm old enough to remember the lines of cars that formed outside of various gas stations in the late 1970's - a product of government rationing and not real scarcity. Yes - look it up. Gasoline was forced into rationing based on the trailing numbers of your license plate... You were left with the option of filling up on an odd-day or not filling up at all.

We were living near the beach at the time, and I poignantly remember the clumps of oil that mysteriously appeared on the sand around the same time - a weekend event it was.

Who is to say what comes next? I have been toying with the idea of buying a 1978 Trans Am to celebrate some unknown portion of my teenage life, but haven't found it to be very financially reachable at this time. You would be foolish to hold onto the dollar as it gets whittled away by the forces that be. In other words, it is time to buy something. Get off your fat ass and buy something Not Made In China.

Oh, and go be social.

God Knows we need more social people.