Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wow, that’s a heavy story.
And here, I’m telling it; a white guy one quarter Indian. So, you the fuck…I’ll tell it.
Black (okay, I’m going to say black, meaning African American, Okay; PC People?, Jesus fucking Christ; Oh I just pissed of the Christens.)
Now that I’ve pissed off most of America, let me state this one thing.
Black women have the hardest time in America…and they know it.
Let’s state the facts: Blacks are a down trodden minority. Women are the worst of that minority. They end up raising the young gangster boys without fathers. And, if they don’t, they’re just nasty.
Want to dispute this? Have you ever seen two black girls on a bus? They think they own it and break all the rules. Young black girls know they are the bottom feeders and will rebel.
Black mothers are much different then black girls. Black mothers have weathered most of this stupid racist shit. Depending on their age, they may have experienced terrible atrocities. Older black women can be mean. But, younger black girls will be bitches.
Let me explain. Both ladies have felt betrayed. But, not in the same way.
Do the math: Blacks are shorted, women have been shorted…Duh, Black Women are on the short fucking end of the stick…and they know it.
It’s the biggest fucking elephant in the room.
Older black women have it worse. They’ve seen Jim-Crow, weathered that shit, and seen their men treated like animals…they’ve seen that shit.
Both older women…well; okay. Have you ever told an older black lady, not to do something? It will never happen. They’ve been there and done that.
Have you ever told young black girls not to eat on a bus? They are too proud. They wont listen to you. For some reason, young black girls think they can break all the fucking rules. If you try to slap them down, they’ll only fight back. And they’re wrong, but they’ll never think they’re wrong…never.
Like her mother said (in The Karate Kid), “Dre, pick up your jacket!” Never, fucking ever, cross a black mother. We’re talking about the strongest women in the world. Black mothers are the epitome of the angry south. You never cross an angry black mother…ever.
This is the mess that we’ve made.
-- Without Wax
I love that opening line from "Lucky Number Sleiven"!
Old typewriters. That's my old school. Only they didn't even have letters on the keys...they were blank...yes, BLANK.
The only way you know what each meant was to look up at the pull-down. There was your only reference to where each key was placed. You had to imagine each key's placement.
It was a way to teach you how to type without looking at anything else but the source material. You can't look at the keys or the paper. You had to look at the source, type it, correct it, and do it without backspacing.
This was my early learning. And I still retain it.
I can easily take a piece of paper, hand written or typed, and just type it out at 60 WPM...spelling and grammar corrected.
And because of that training, I think that way. When I write a story, a blog post, or an e-mail; I think in typing. It's an early gift.
In fact, when I started my first UNIX programming job, I had to work with international keyboards. I had to program on their keyboards, when things got harry. Many times the keyboards swapped keys, like 'Y' for 'Z', and shit like that. But, being so young and flexible, I could easily compensate. I don't think I can do that now. However, I still maintain my 60 WPM speed.
And again, it's because of the early training. I learned how to type without looking at anything. It became learned early on in me. My hands have never failed. I've never experienced anything even close to carpal tunnel.
I think...and the words just come out. If I had to write something on paper, I don't know if I could do it. It's not that I don't know how to spell and need a computer to help me. I can type faster with correct spelling than anyone can really just type. I type at 60 WPM spelling corrected!
And I can't find a job.
I fucking hate that. I'm talented. I've got an IQ of 221. I can build a computer from scratch. I know motherboards, memory speeds, hardware compatibility, how to repair ANY computer.
And I can't land a job.
It's like every employer is scared of me. And I'll take any little job. I've had interviews, but no one calls back.
It's not like I have a criminal history. There's no problem there.
It's that I do not have a history of supporting myself. In this recession, employers are only interested in people that have not had a problem supporting themselves. The rest be damned.
Their looking for the finest...and they wont find it in me.
I need a job. I'm talented. And I'll do anything.
I just need a job.
-- Without Wax
Friday, August 27, 2010
He knew I could do it, better, cheaper, faster, cleaner, ...
He just knew I was to drunk too do it.
And then I found my ex-wife. She was not to found of me.
So, this day is much like this photo.
Actually, this photo makes me feel like...well like a way I've felt sometimes.
A sad girl I once cheered up....for a bit; but then, when reality set in...she got sadder....it sucks!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
There were so many girls I just laid with on top of life guard towers; I guess they were waiting for me to do something, make the first advance. I had no idea what to do. I was scared. I’d always been scared, of doing something with a girl I didn’t love.
The real truth is that I had no idea what love really was. More on that later.
I’d always loved the way the sun set in the Pacific. When I took astronomy in college, I’d done so to learn how we came to be. I learned that as the sun sets, light from the sun does a few things that makes it weaker…or different.
Sunlight that falls directly downward from the equator is the strongest, because of two reasons: One, any light that projects from an angle has a measured amount of decrease; Two, when light travels through the atmosphere it is filtered and weakened.
This second part can be explained like slicing an orange. If you slice an orange at its center, the peal is the smallest. But, if you slice it near it’s ends, the distance of the peal is deeper. Compare that to the amount of atmosphere light would have to travel to reach the surface of the Earth. The more air light travels through, the weaker it gets; and the more colored it gets.
This is how photographers find their color. It is so beautiful to see the Sun travel through the atmosphere. It goes from white, to yellow, to orange, to red, to dead…and people just pause to watch it.
I got pissed off, as a junior in high school student, when my leading photos didn’t make it to the yearbook cover. The cover was a generic shot of the Huntington Beach pier at sunset. What a common shot (I thought).
Fast forward to the day when I took June W. to San Diego shore, to let her experience a Pacific sunset. This is what I told her:
I had my camera. I told her that when the sun sets in the West, it happens very fast and that, if you want to catch it, you have to pay attention.
I said, “Watch the people, the couples, as they approach the shore. Just before the sun touches the waters, they will all pause, turn towards the sunset…and then just watch…”
And as they did, so did she. It took me back; It totally reminded me of that one time I was with this little young blonde 14 y/o on a lifeguard station. She was entranced. June was entranced. I saw a glow in her that I’d not seen since…well, since childhood.
Okay, well then, when June and I were on our honeymoon (years later), we’d gone up to the Upper Peninsula, on Lake Superior. It’s way North, so the sun sets much slower. When I’d first saw it set; that orange sun, I’d just had to get a photo of it. I’d had a few drinks and wasn’t thinking straight when it came to gathering the right equipment. It took me three trips to get all the right lens and equipment. But, because we were so north, the sun takes much longer to set, so it was in my favor.
Anyway, so I’ve got my 35mm camera, tripod, lens, and everything, and I’m set. So, I’m going to get the most romantic sunset on Lake Superior. And as I do that, a family approaches: mother, father, son, two daughters…one of which walk up to me.
She’s sixteen, has a T-shirt, “Lansing, Michigan”…and she has the same gaze. I’m sitting here firing off my photos as fast as I can before the sun sets, and she approaches me. Without looking at me, she says, “I’ve never seen a sunset.”
And that point, I realized that Lansing is land-locked…and she’s not looking away from the Sun. And I thought, ‘This is what June’s first sunset was like.’ This is her Pacific sunset, so to speak. This is her virgin sunset.
It was at that point that I realized that I should never take any image for granted.
I’ve thought about it a lot since then. I’d like to go back to college for photography. I’ve done a lot of self-studying on my own. There are a lot of dimensions to photography.
Photography was my first love. Computers were my second love.
And I just don’t want to not do what I love…I can’t.
-- Without Wax