Thursday, June 20, 2019
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Submitted for your approval
I have reached the Twilight Zone. Twilight, as in the third and fourth dictionary definitions:
3.period or condition of decline following growth, glory or success.
4. a state of ambiguity or obscurity.
Lets call it a combination of both.
For over two months I have been attempting to enroll in online college. Too much time on your hands being unemployed can lead a person to strange decisions.
I have plenty of hobbies but they are pursuits of leisure. I figured at forty seven years old it was time to take advantage of opportunities to improve myself.
The first selection was Full Sail University. My Niece takes courses there. As part of the grant disbursement they provide you with a new computer and all the required software. Apple Mac book Pro. I am not a fan of Apple whatsoever. But my own new laptop computer and the chance of earning a degree in writing was just my ticket to a more rewarding future.
I can only describe that whole ordeal as a three ring circus. More phone calls, faxes, file transfers than if I ran a business from home. In the end, I got a letter of denial sent overnight by Fed-Ex. My application had to go in front of a review board due to my background as a semi career criminal. Don't forget, this was exclusively for an Online Degree! I've still got a bad taste in my mouth from that can of worms.
I framed the rejection letter.
Then started searching for another college.
The present college does not list a 'have you ever been convicted of a crime' question on their admissions application.
What they did require is something more ominous than the most heinous crime I have ever committed against humanity.
They wanted ten pages of my writing samples to preview.
Great.
Just great.
I want to pursue a dream.
Look to the future.
I didn't let all the skeletons out of the closet.
They only wanted a sample.
In my book, or books I should say, that's enough.
A padded room with no view would be a very conducive writing office.
But its hell to write when you are wearing a straitjacket.
+++
3.period or condition of decline following growth, glory or success.
4. a state of ambiguity or obscurity.
Lets call it a combination of both.
For over two months I have been attempting to enroll in online college. Too much time on your hands being unemployed can lead a person to strange decisions.
I have plenty of hobbies but they are pursuits of leisure. I figured at forty seven years old it was time to take advantage of opportunities to improve myself.
The first selection was Full Sail University. My Niece takes courses there. As part of the grant disbursement they provide you with a new computer and all the required software. Apple Mac book Pro. I am not a fan of Apple whatsoever. But my own new laptop computer and the chance of earning a degree in writing was just my ticket to a more rewarding future.
I can only describe that whole ordeal as a three ring circus. More phone calls, faxes, file transfers than if I ran a business from home. In the end, I got a letter of denial sent overnight by Fed-Ex. My application had to go in front of a review board due to my background as a semi career criminal. Don't forget, this was exclusively for an Online Degree! I've still got a bad taste in my mouth from that can of worms.
I framed the rejection letter.
Then started searching for another college.
The present college does not list a 'have you ever been convicted of a crime' question on their admissions application.
What they did require is something more ominous than the most heinous crime I have ever committed against humanity.
They wanted ten pages of my writing samples to preview.
Great.
Just great.
I want to pursue a dream.
Look to the future.
I didn't let all the skeletons out of the closet.
They only wanted a sample.
In my book, or books I should say, that's enough.
A padded room with no view would be a very conducive writing office.
But its hell to write when you are wearing a straitjacket.
+++
Monday, March 15, 2010
Keep your eye on the ball
Springtime. Spring training time for 'The Boys of Summer'. Baseball. In this case T-Ball, at the park down the street.
I never played T ball. I started later. The next step, Farm League. Then, two years of Little League.
Farm League was fun. Coaches let you play to your abilities, taught you basic skills and took you for pizza after the games. I played in the outfield and didn't have a care.
When Little League began, I wound up behind the plate as a catcher.
The second year both coaches' sons were the pitchers.
This may not be a true case of nepotism but I just know they were not the right kids for the spot.
They sucked.
The kid in left field that spent his time picking his nose would have done a better job.
I did not want to pitch but I sure wanted someone better than the two prodigal sons that sent me chasing stray pitches to the backstop fence.
I became surly.
Resentful.
Disgusted.
This earned me a new position.
Benchwarmer.
If I wasn't going to play, I wasn't going to sit around.
There were girls that came to the park and a concession stand to hang around.
I wandered from the dugout continuously.
Forget THE GAME, life so I thought
was better on the sidelines.
Soon after, I turned in my uniform and never finished the second season.
I had no drive.
No desire.
No dreams.
No goals.
Its been thirty years since my baseball days as a boy.
Watching them play
the other day in the park
I realize
I still don't know
what I want
to be.
When I grow up...
I never played T ball. I started later. The next step, Farm League. Then, two years of Little League.
Farm League was fun. Coaches let you play to your abilities, taught you basic skills and took you for pizza after the games. I played in the outfield and didn't have a care.
When Little League began, I wound up behind the plate as a catcher.
The second year both coaches' sons were the pitchers.
This may not be a true case of nepotism but I just know they were not the right kids for the spot.
They sucked.
The kid in left field that spent his time picking his nose would have done a better job.
I did not want to pitch but I sure wanted someone better than the two prodigal sons that sent me chasing stray pitches to the backstop fence.
I became surly.
Resentful.
Disgusted.
This earned me a new position.
Benchwarmer.
If I wasn't going to play, I wasn't going to sit around.
There were girls that came to the park and a concession stand to hang around.
I wandered from the dugout continuously.
Forget THE GAME, life so I thought
was better on the sidelines.
Soon after, I turned in my uniform and never finished the second season.
I had no drive.
No desire.
No dreams.
No goals.
Its been thirty years since my baseball days as a boy.
Watching them play
the other day in the park
I realize
I still don't know
what I want
to be.
When I grow up...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Dear Abby
Everyone wants to be an advice columnists. Or at least , I refer to the people that have advice, when you really aren't soliciting it. You share a piece of your life. Some minor dilemma or you just open up a little when they get tired of talking about themselves and insincerely ask about you.
Their immediate response is, "Oh, you know what you need to do..."
This is generally about the point where I want to respond, " No, but I know where you can go..."
I can probably count on one hand, at most, the times this opening line of advice was followed by something enlightening, inspiring or beneficial.
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