Tuesday, January 14th, 2014

I forgot I wanted to write a post about this article from December. It fills me with an impish joy only the antics of my fellow Ohio residents could supply. There won’t be any disagreement out of me, even if the study is a bit flawed. To do Ohio justice, calling large corporations with several layers of a phone system rarely leads to happiness. Not considering such actions provocation on the part of companies is a bit naïve by the survey team. Also Time Warner, AT&T, and Comcast (so I hear) can go play Frogger on I-80. I’ve just finished my fourth calling session with AT&T in the past 24 hours. Do you really think I’m going to be a cheerful bear after that?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear with nine interstates full of out-of-state traffic zipping by me at 80, 85, and 90 MPH?

No, I’m not. It’s hard enough to keep the state’s population policed.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear after hearing the general rage-spit about the 2004 elections, or more recently John Boehner of whom I had no ability to cast a vote against?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the coastal regions act like we’re some kind of step down to their genteel way of life?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear, when the industries we worked so hard to maintain are now shipped to China and Mexico with little left to show for it but dilapidated factories and unemployment?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when my own country deems my area too unimportant to fix health and safety issues on their body of water?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the four seasons end up to be Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction?

No, I’m not.

Do you think I’m going to be a cheerful bear when the rest of the country thinks this state doesn’t measure up their standards of courtesy?

The fuck I will.

With all that said, yes, Ohioans are fairly edgy overall.  I think the economic, environmental, and social stressors are getting to them. It has made people a little crunchy around the edges. There are deep divides in the political, religious, and philosophical canvases of which no one is really interested in closing. What else would you expect from a state that gave you William Tecumseh Sherman and Marilyn Manson? It has led to practice of staunch individualism with mediocre results.

I do get mad about the state of which I’ve lived in for over 30 years. I do make insulting remarks when I see preventable failure withing state lines, but it’s more in the form of wanting improvement out of a developed location. Outsiders simply want to make comments to feel better about their situation and birthplace. That’s why you see a seemingly double-standard when it comes to criticism.

If it weren’t so hacked up and shattered, I think several people would have chosen to stay. People get mad at other people. Other people leave to find better people. People get mad that other people left. It’s a vicious circle, or maybe a little like a downward spiral.

Nine Inch Nails… Cleveland band.

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Monday, December 30th, 2013

Giddiness is a rare commodity for me. If I seem such, then it means I’ve completed my “to do” list or I’ve pulled an impish prank on someone. The latter is often while being a complete moron. I’ve got my foibles.

I’m feeling better-than-usual tonight over the early completion of many year-end items. I’m just trying to track down a few other vendors for some tax information. That’s always a drawn out chore, because everyone else seems to be dimmer when it comes to their own business’s tax reporting. In a perfect world, I would be handed a W-9 form every time a new vendor does work for me. This isn’t the case. I always have to hound other companies for their information, even when they can be severely penalized for having unreported earnings. The sad part is that I would get backlash from the IRS, too.

I did write one more piece of flash fiction on Saturday night, as I watched middle-aged couples slurp down their dinners. That’s probably not true. It may just have been dessert. With it, a new aroma was added to the usual odors about me. That was the night I convinced myself it was OK to buy cologne, even if seemed expensive.

The winning fragrance was Bleu de Chanel which ended up being surprisingly light and fresh, as opposed to spicy or sweet. I could only permit myself to buy a 1.7oz bottle, as luxury items and I have a very strange relationship. It always seems irresponsible to spend out money for those types of items.

Friday, December 27th, 2013

Now that Christmas is over, I can go on being slightly less miserable. Wednesday night held an impromptu trip to one of the few open restaurants around, 20 minutes north of the Fields. The others were jammed with cars of what I assume to be early travelers or people trying to escape from their relatives. I had some beer in front of a searing HVAC vent while watching the Americans trounce the Canadians 5 to 1 in hockey. Yeah, that was amusing.

I also happened to have light conversation with a man from the California/Oregon area. He was a happy fellow, touting the virtues of craft beer his employer sold down the road. I welcomed the conversation though. He was enthusiastic to escape his roommate’s family, and I was fond of discussing something that didn’t involve reminiscing about family affairs before I was born. Christmas Eve dinner is really for my parents and their siblings. It’s a stale situation for the likes of me.

January’s fast approaching, and aside from getting another year older, it’s going to herald reporting season with the various Federal, state, and local governments. I’ll churn out more paperwork than I do in six months to appease the self-righteous bureaucrats who think preparing even more will do a world of good. It won’t though. Cheater’s gonna cheat.

No apologies here, as an accountant, the Internal Revenue Code needs an overhaul. Expecting people to file their own taxes appropriately has produced abysmal results. The filer is so overwhelmed, they don’t care how it gets done as long as the government agencies are happy. They are absolutely lost when it comes to reading their own 1040. Been there, done that. The individual shouldn’t have to purchase software or go to an HR Block-type establishment to complete this. This tax code is getting too complicated for its own good. Just set a tax rate, have the employer send a reconciliation to the IRS, and be done with it.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

The Fields are receiving a guest tomorrow. He’s not very welcome, but he arrives like a brazen relative at a holiday function. For decades, the river upon which the Fields rest has been prone to bouts of flooding and sees fit to do again soon. I remember the largest in quite some time was no more than six years ago. The city looked like a third-world country. Debris was laying everywhere as the river purged its contents beyond its normal boundaries. Ruined housewares lined the streets while bulldozers scooped them up into dump trucks. Scavengers poked around these mounds in a crass attempt to profit from mass misery. I remember feeling sick in the pit of my stomach watching them creep about town eying each pile as if it were the cover girl for Playboy. Filthy, wretched bottom-feeders.

The local government has not made much progress since then, and several floods have happened in the meantime. The next is predicted to be on the larger size, but not the worst we’ve had. This clarity of its detriment is unquestionable. It drives out business and lowers the value of the area, yet the movers and shakers haven’t done much of either to take care of it. It’s a likely case of self-interest. Washington D.C. has not come to our rescue as it would have every American believe. The Feds are so wrapped up in their own affairs they can’t see half-past the Beltway. They don’t care about some hick town in Ohio, and have demonstrated just that. We obviously don’t have the means to do much of anything, and not even our representatives are speaking up on our behalf.

So, we sit and wait. There’s not much else to do but watch the water rise and hope it doesn’t damage anything important. We watch our property values once again drop, because of apathy. We watch people get hurt because they don’t know how to cope with driving in these conditions. We watch another page in a sad chapter unfold. I’m often badgered into appreciating the luxuries of a first-world country. What about this? Will a hot cup of coffee fix my house? Will a dinner out bring our economy back? Will modest, personal transportation mend a fractured community? No, it won’t. There’s a pecking order of concerns and its time for others to admit that serious problems aren’t being addressed.

…and people wonder why I have a beef with this town.

On Dealing With Others

This is cliché, but I’m not a “people person.” That primarily has to deal with the misadventures of growing up the wrong way in a public school system. I’m sure of it. Regardless, being “outgoing” or “affable” aren’t my primary traits. Without you all being surprised, I had quite the tongue by the time I graduated high school. I was often hard to handle.

My family says I’ve mellowed out some since then, not much but some. It has taken several years to not instantly berate or rip apart anything that lightly smelled of an insult or slander. I still have my moments where I read things the completely wrong way and think “thanks, <expletive>, you can stick it up your <expletive> and do some jumping jacks.” I’m giving the benefit of the doubt to people more than before. It does help, because it has occurred to me that my wording is a lot more keen than many Americans. When I write or say something, chances are good it’s very deliberate and very sincere. That’s a deadly combination. Others seem to communicate as if they lost their brakes during rush hour.

My hair stylist explained to me this past Tuesday of my “no sass mode,” which apparently means there are times I just don’t take anything from anyone. I thought that was everyday, but apparently I get in a mode. She says she watches my statements and the harder they get the more she knows I’m having a bad day. She and I are friends on Facebook. So, she gets the pleasure of see my blistering comments on everything from politics to the hockey puck that couldn’t understand what “right of way” meant.

This may sound all tough and whatnot at first, but I’d change it if I could go back and do it all over. Far too many times have the lessons of the past scarred my actions of the future. That’s not to say there are events I want completely undone, rather just training to not automatically think the worst of someone and act upon it. History can repeat itself, but it’s better to work on making it not.

It affects my life in all sorts of ways, but my work needs me to approach the public in a different way. This isn’t just the general public; these are people who can’t help themselves. Often less educated and less trained than myself, many have no concept of manners or cooperation or civility. They take what they think is theirs, and feel free to mouth off in any way to get more. Sometimes it gets injurious, and that’s a big tripwire for me. I had one rather wonderful woman tell me “you’re afraid of me. ” What took the strength of a thousand men to keep in was “no, I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing my cool.”

There was an episode of Law & Order on a few nights ago I just happened to catch at the tail end. It dealt with bullying, and the criminal mastermind was seeking revenge upon his enemy. The police had him in the interrogation room wheedling a confession out of him by saying “the effects of long-term bullying last well into adulthood for the victims.” It’s the God’s honest truth. That stuff doesn’t go away for targets, even when the instigator has long since forgotten all about it. It can’t be wished or willed away, and all of the programming associated with it doesn’t simply dissolve. It take years, maybe even decades, to revise the mind to adjust well with the world around them.

I would like to stay positive about this, even in the face of permanent harm. It appears I have been given a better intellect than many of my contemporaries. Although I could have clocked a much higher IQ in school had I not been held hostage by a vicious community, what’s left is better than average. No matter how painful, I’m better a diplomat than a degenerate.

Do We Really Need Another Intergenerational Fight?

I love Paul Lynde. In fact, I do a mediocre impression of him. He’s one of the lost Hollywood personalities I miss today. He had personality; he was an identity. His uniqueness and camp gets me a little nostalgic when I watch Bewitched or clips of Hollywood Squares. It made me more than delighted to have a topic tied in to the above show tune.

Whether this was supposed to be a joke, satire, or just plain soap-box stomping, I’ve seen it many times before. There are older generations pulling the same routine their parents did in their prime. It’s always the same thing, a tired broken record.

My question becomes why is it that hard to stop this recycled nonsense? Is it that ingrained into a human’s behavior to think the “youngin’s ruining the country”?

In the near future, I’d like to put up some more writing. I have some house repairs to do, but there might be a little time to be creative.

Honestly…

More often than not I’m an honest person, and maybe a bit too honest at that. There are plenty of times where I can be thoroughly exhausted by form and diplomacy and simply spit out the thoughts in my head. Naturally, people get offended. Sometimes it’s rightfully so, and other times they’re just being too sensitive. It’s never the same reason every time, however I’m just too tired to care.

There are perks of being honest though. Much of my life has been filled with observations of cheating paying off, whether it’s cheating on tests, or a spouse (not my story to tell, but an interesting one nonetheless), what have you. There is a budding culture of “it’s not wrong, if you’re not caught.” I abhor this belief I see in my contemporaries. I’m not perfect, but I keep a good handle on things.

For example, yesterday included a trip to the bank. As I rolled up to the drive-through window, my eyes caught a glimpse of something flat, green, and rectangular. Backing up, I open the door to find a $20 bill lying on the ground. Being so close to the bank teller window, it’s obvious it was part of a transaction. No one would be out of their car to drop their purse or wallet. So, what do I do? I pick the money up and give it to the teller. I explained it was probably part of someone’s deposit.

With this information, she turns around to another teller. The speakers were off, and I couldn’t hear what she said to him. What I did see was the other teller frown and swipe the money from her hands and her laughing. I think I follow what happened only a few moments before my arrival. From the teller’s face, I could surmise there was a rather nasty dispute over the lost currency. It wouldn’t have been his fault, but people get nasty over money for some reason. 😉

Did I expect anything out of the deal? Nope. In fact, I knew I probably wouldn’t even get a thank you out of it. A rarity anymore is a mannered teller. However, I think I did find something of value in the whole ordeal. I righted a wrong. Not only did I spare him the headache of having to defend himself in the future, he has some vindication for when that person comes around next time. It’s a popular branch, and I think they’d be back. I don’t believe in karma, but this is a random act of kindness. This is the stuff I do, and it’s hard sometimes when it goes unnoticed. I suppose I won’t let it stop me from doing it in the future though.

So, would you pocket the money and not say a thing or would you hand it to the teller like I did? Twenty dollars will buy a nice dinner out with tip. It’s nothing to sneeze at. I can also hate the sin and not the sinner on this one, as it’s just part of my “control freakishness” (or so society declares :eye roll:). I’m not looking to browbeat anyone on this. I’m genuinely curious to see if others would keep it.

Hey! That’s not county fair!

A few months ago, I vowed a trip to the county fair to get a fresh batch of pictures. As fate would have it, I completely forgot it existed while it was here. That’s a little disheartening, but I can surely show the pictures I collected a few years back. There’s always next year, too. It’s not like this is its last hurrah… or yeehaw, as the case may be.

When I moved back from Charlotte, NC almost four years ago, I was bitter. Shocking, I know. While I still have my moments of frustration, the house has provided enough distraction to avoid sitting in self-destruct mode for days on end. That’s progress I think.

In an acerbic mood, I took it upon myself to document all the instances I saw the Confederate flag here in Hooterville. The county fair was rife with them.

Confederate Flag on faux mink.

Window sticker selection.

This space cliché not only likes the Confederate flag, but it likes to smoke pot while admiring it.

It would be downright blasphemy if it weren’t sold as a belt buckle.

There is a saying in marketing. “If the people want Cheetos, then they shall have orange fingers.” I can’t help but think this is a similar situation.

“Why, Nate,” I hear you say, “weren’t you just living in a Southern state?” To that I would say yes, however, it’s not the flag I’m concerned about. It’s the dim Yankees that display it on their possessions. Listen up, Ohioans. You were part of the Union. Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman hailed from your state. To any Southerner with a shred of pride, you will always be a God Damn Yankee. They’re not going to be fast friends with you, and carpetbaggers are greeted with a weary eye. They do not want you! I know this first hand.

The other reason I went to the fair is to witness all of the “that’s probably not a great idea” moments.

I love the smell of jingoism in the morning. It smells like “mission accomplished”!

This was the walkway to all of the insanely disgusting fried food vendors. Want a whole block of fried cheese? We can do that.

Say hello to “Buck,” the animatronic deer head. Its concept is like that of “Billy Bass,” but only to promote the virtues of this “mountain man” meat vendor. I don’t know… seems legit.

Here we have the local Republican headquarters shilling for more votes. Dead center, we see young Republican feathers. I didn’t think Republicans would be the ones supporting tribal representation.

This is all part and parcel of why I left town in the first place. I’ve met many on my travels that tell me, “you’ll find this anywhere.” To that I say, “you can also find a way around it elsewhere.” It’s the truth, too. The area’s too small to circumvent an attitude of which I loathe to watch. I see it everyday, and wish for higher standards of behavior. I know I won’t get it, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

At the end of the day, though, where else could you see something this majestic?

I now have a strong urge to play Megadeth.

All pictures © 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

I’m On the Nightrain

Guns N’ Roses indulged in the classic 80s excess Americans enjoyed before the ever-disappointed slab of alternative music cooled teen America in the 90s. I’m not being critical of the 90s music scene, as I was very much a part of it (and ever-disappointed) as anyone else. I loved it, and still do today. Here, have some R.E.M.:

That’s for mainstream America, because it’s accessible. Here’s a young Corvidae’s jukebox in the 90s:

Back to my original thought. The song “Nightrain” has the musical feel of the steam-powered battering ram that is my drive. I’ve been told several times I’m “intense” in conversation, and what people don’t understand is that it’s an extension of my ambition. It’s steady and slow to yield, much like a locomotive. If I retire for the night, you can be rest assured I’ll be back at it soon enough until the job is done.

Today marks the first anniversary of the purchase of Stonefield (my house). I’ve marked the occasion with the completion of the walnut table. It has turned out reasonably well, but has taken over two weeks and $150 to get it back into service. Not many of my contemporaries have that tenacity anymore. I often see people let tasks slide to the point of decay, as this house would have been a perfect testament to that a year ago. It’s far from remodeled, but it’s at least comfortable now.

Before

After

I find it very rewarding completing a job without quitting. In fact, I think my personality is primarily based on goal achievement. The happiest moments in my life were the times I have nailed all the goals I set for myself. The lowest were the times I couldn’t complete the simplest of tasks. I’m actually an active person. I need to sweat to feel good, and this feels wonderful.

Now that my chores are done for the day, I think it’s time to stop by the local bar and celebrate. Cheers!

Edifice

Well, worn masonry

Cimmaron square set with paste and algae

Dutiful to kinder and country

Served with quiet simplicity

With faith flaking a ruddy face

Bearing witness to a contract’s breach

Absentee care leads to rainy weeping

And glances askance by other parties

Clutched in fear with selfish concerns

Truer solutions are beyond one’s reach

Old and tired from a century’s work

Rest is the best rescission

In truth, expectations are nigh to nothing

When agreements are honored not

As time used to build one’s trust

Is never time prodigally spent

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

**********************

Last Friday I ruminated on the building decay in town and how other people aren’t willing to step up to the plate to prevent urban blight. This is not advocacy for mandatory civic duty in as much as it is a candid critique of American operating philosophy.

As I see it today in 2013, people are not acting with the due care needed in public. We have romanticized individuality to the point of caricature. This caricature believes that it’s someone else’s responsibility to keep and maintain anything of public interest. If one’s name is not on the title or deed, then one is not responsible for any of it. Even if it is, action is debatable.

The easiest, and most visible, proof of this is the amount of litter permitted to lay on the roads and sidewalks of this country. New York City is atrocious about this, but on the other hand it could definitely use a revamping of waste disposal methods. Albeit a fruitless endeavor, I keep to a belief of picking up litter, if I see it. Yes, this means getting one’s hands dirty. Yes, this means worrying about a mess someone else created, but I do I anyway. Just because I didn’t create the mess doesn’t mean I’m scot-free to ignore it.

Another phenomena is the wanton development of a municipality without consideration to the existing infrastructure, resources, or body politic. It is understandable that some people in the community may be reticent to demolish the older buildings, but it’s really too late to save them. There’s a time and place posterity, but there’s most certainly a time to start anew. History is, and always will be, in the making.

Someday I may take pictures of Hooterville, but for now my poem will have to do.