My ability to tell a good yarn and my fast wit.
  

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Yes.  I tend to be nicer to people if they appear clean, groomed, and do not smell.  It shows that they have some sense of hygene and care about how they are perceived and received by people around them.

I am attracted to good looking people, though I trust people who look uglier more based on the first glance. 

I do not like, trust, or want to be around FAT people (50+ pounds overweight) at first glance.  I tend to lump them into the category of perpetually unhappy, neurotic, lazy, and generally negative type of people I don't need to be around.  That is until they prove me wrong, but as experience would have it, most people I know or work with like that prove my initial pre-judgement right. 

I can think of one co-worker right now whose predecessor said to me once, "My God, Sam, I can't believe the committee hired that woman!  She's so FAT!  She's going to be one of those unhappy ones.  That woman's going to ruin the ELD program.  Don't you think we have enough fat frustrated middle-aged women working in the English Department?"  I was too stunned by that comment and tried to be politically correct in my response.  Well now I've learnt that being politically correct just lets bad people use their minority or whatever "special" social status to walk all over the rest of us that have earned our keep through blood, sweat, and tears.

Well, sure enough that woman did live up to my Australian friend's assessment.  Every day it's a new complaint, or whine, or frown.  No wonder the school leadership has withdrawn support and cancelled half of the programs she supports.  I've made it my mission to curry at least ONE smile out of her a day, but frankly I think she likes being unhappy--sighing perpetually and flapping her arms on her sides like some bloated penguin looking for an ice shelf to fall off of.

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Yes.  I am different on the Internet.  It's just like those old D&D RPG days.  Or even stage acting days.  The beauty of the Internet is that I can totally create a persona through my words--words which I have complete and utter control over and I, through them, have the raw POWER to spin the perception of who I am to whatever I want the reader or viewer to believe that I am.  It can have as much or as little to do with reality as I want.  From my blog to my e-mail, residence, age, and etc.

It's role-playing in it's most potent form.  The funny and sad thing is that many people, young people, who haven't developed the sense of reality or the self or even an inkling of the danger of this type of RPG in the hands of someone who understands its power, fall victim to it.  This most powerful tool coupled with what Aristotle has said about their willingness to believe in the goodness of others (because of their inexperience at being duped and their naive belief that others are as pure or good-intentioned as they) make them a far too easy prey for those of a less--benign--nature as I.  Like fishing with dynamite.

Add to this delicious mixture the fact that they haven't been taught or do not--as most non-literate people, which includes a great many "educated" individuals with advanced degrees (all the more amusing) --understand the fiction of voice and as stated in a previous post: the separation of the writer, his intentions, and the writing itself; These "good" people falsely believe that writing reflects the whole and true nature of the writer's heart--which honestly, only God can know.

For the rhetorician (or the sophist whom I favor more often than not) it is an amusing game of invention and reinvention.  Of course there are times I am real and times when I am not--but who doesn't lie to themselves sometimes even in their own journal.  It's fun.  And lying is as much a skill as anything else--which demands practice, practice, practice.  To confuse a person about the truth, lies have to be interspersed between or be able to camoflage themselves as the truth.  And to do that is a most difficult skill that must be honed like a good stiletto.  You never know when you need it to brain an enemy. 

Some may feel this is dishonest.  To them might I recommend they join me for a good game of poker, Monopoly, or even Axis and Allies.  We'll bet real money of course.    Let's see how long they will remain  "honest." It's all a game as long as you don't try to kill, hurt, rob, or rape someone for real; as long as you're not from Nigeria that is (geesh those '419 e-mails' are the oldest scam in the book--those people should be hanged or shot or harvested for organs--strike that last one, they're from Nigeria they probably have HIV).

Anyway, I remember the first internet persona I created in 1995 was "Emily" a 12 year old girl with the icon of Alice in Wonderland.  It was in one of the new chat programs of the time that looked like a space station and one could walk around it.  You wouldn't believe the amount of predatory messages I received within the first 5 minutes of logging on.  Of course I did meet interesting individuals, who, like me, understood the charade that Internet allowed us to play. 

One of my collegues does the same thing.  She has set herself up ast a 54 year-old truck driver from Tennessee.  When in fact she is a mild-mannered school teacher in LA. She says its interesting to see all those people out there thinking they're talking to just another hick on the web.  And a guy at that.

I think there was an episode of According to Jim that had both Jim and his wife believing that they were someone else on the internet and actually having real conversations with one another.

Ah Internet personas.  The magic.  Heck it is better than D&D, GURPS, or MEKTON could ever be.  And I don't even need to munchkin my character!  Damned munchkins that's another reason I HATE on-line gamers.  They have no idea.  Hacks.  But I digest--

The only people that know more about me than I'd like is Amazon.com.  Cursed marketing people!

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Drinks.  No.  Just kidding.  Work.  Work is the cure.  Bury yourself in work.  Sometimes talking about it with someone, especially someone in a relationship, just makes it worse.  Moping around makes it worse as well.  Work is the answer, especially work that you like.  Good work creates a sense of purpose and necessity and significance which are things that the rejection of a broken heart have taken away from you.   

A broken relationship is a message on the most primal level that screams out that you have no purpose for the other person, that you are not needed, and that you are not significant or worthy--that you are an insect on the road of their life now--to be swated away.  That you are plucked from the bosom of their adoration and tossed into the dumpster of oblivion like a bad dream.  A footnote in their lives.  You get the picture.

Work!  Work brings significance, work creates necessity, work gives purpose.  Arbeit macht frei!  Le travail, c'est la liberté!

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Dixie/Bonnie Blue Flag - New American Brass Band
The Bonnie Blue Flag - 2nd So. Carolina String Band
Bonnie Blue Flag - Rick Garland & Bill Vitelli
The Bonnie Blue Flag - The Americus Brass Band
The Bonnie Blue Flag - Rob Carriker
The Bonnie Blue Flag - Rosland Bowie Hollaway
The Bonnie Blue Flag - The Union Confederacy
The Bonnie Blue Flag - Douglas Jimerson
The Bonnie Blue Flag - The Americus Brass Quintet Band
The Bonnie Blue Flag - Jim Gibson
Bonnie Blue Flag - The Princeton Trio
Bonnie Blue Flag/Kesh Jig - Black Irish Band
Dixie - Bobby Horton
Dixie - Various artists

I guess I'm on a Confederate States of America Theme today for some odd reason.  Tomorrow maybe I'll play my collection of Union Songs.  I think that I've got "Hail Columbia" stuck in my head right now. 

You know one time an African-American student walked into my room when I was playing my Civil War Playlist.  Well needless to say she didn't appreciate The Bonnie Blue Flag.  Still it's a catchy tune.  I first heard it in the movie "The Last Samurai" with Tom Cruise.  It's the song playing in the background in the beginning when he's backstage in San Francisco.  I heard that tune and thought, "Gee, that's a catchy march, I wonder what it's called."  Looked for it since and became somewhat obsessed about obtaining all the variations of it by as many artists I can find.  Heck was easier to find than all the Wehrmacht songs and marches from WWII.

   

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There was a time I did.  Not anymore.  Perhaps I'll believe there's such a thing when I see it.  In the mean time I've got plenty of money to spend.   Contrary to what some believe, money can by some forms of happiness.  Such as fine dinners and beautiful concerts.  Who needs another person to mess it up and break up that perfect silence?  Solitude has is beautiful moments of refelction too like a moment of clarity between you and God if you're listening.  Another person would just be a distraction that got in the way.

For some, not me since I like solitude, money can even buy companionship.  Not whores of course, but pretty or beautiful women that are perfectly willing because of the aura of wealth around you.  I suppose that's just another type of whore.  One that convinces herself that she doesn't do it for the money, but wouldn't care a spit about you if you didn't have it.

That sounds jaded, but I've known my fair share.  You'd be surprised at how many are churchgoers and Republicans.  Less though for Republicans, I guess.  They say the right words and pray the right sounding prayers.  And know all the right words.  They even look chaste, but in their heart of hearts they're no different than street-walkers.  Except most street-walkers are honest whores.

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I would nuke the world.  In this order, as if it matters:

1.  France (Paris first)
2.  Spain
2.  The rest of western Europe
3.  Eastern Europe including Russia
4.  The Middle East (Starting with: Saudi Arabia (Mecca first), Syria, Iraq, Iran, Israel (Jerusalem first), Egypt,  Jordan, Lebanon, etc)
5.  Central and South America (Mexico city first all others after)
6.  Asia & Pacific Islands (Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, all of Indochina, India,  Korea (both), Taiwan, China, Japan, etc)
7.  South Africa
8.  New Zealand
9.  Australia
10.  The rest of Africa (starting with Sudan, Swaziland, Ghana, Uganda, etc)
11.  The United States (Starting with San Francisco, New York, Boston, rest of New England. Utah.  Idaho. Then the Eastern seaboard, then New Orleans, and the Southern States, making sure that Atlanta is gone, lastly western seaboard starting with Los Angeles. 
12.  Canada
13.  Micronesia

With the missiles I'd have in my command as absolute ruler of the United States I'd do it over a few more times just in case I'd missed anything and hope that the fallout and nuclear winter that follows will be my legacy as Imperator and Death Incarnate.

I'm sure that the environment will readjust itself after we are all gone and the world would be a better place.

There's your world peace.

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Ah yes.  The first days of school.  The most important days.  Days where I break my new young'ens and try to make them into good citizens of our fair but overpopulated and under-worked People's Republic of California.  Keep 'em off welfare.  Keep 'em from having babies at 14.  Keep 'em from tagging up the place.  Keep 'em from stabbing, stepping, shooting, and generally killing each other.

Trying to find the decent bourgeois and the rare elite camouflaged in the mass of perma-proles.  Trying to fulfill the politicians' and the state's wet dream that everyone deserves a college education.  Trying to make a difference for those who want it.

I try to keep my biases under control, but there are days when I can't help but think that maybe we should send more of our under-worked, self-indulgent, trouble-making, violent, and lazy proletariat youth to Iraq.  Not for us to win the war, but for them to die so our quality of living can still remain high.  Winning the war is a bonus.  After all isn't that the real reason why wars are fought anyway?  To keep our quality of life high?

We make our money by sending our poor people to rape and pillage their poor people (some rich if we can get  our hands on them) and those that survive bring back the wealth so we can be rich--with less poor people and the enemy's wealth.  It's a win win.

But then I think that we'd have a lot more productive proles if we got rid of our dole (welfare) so they have to get off their asses and work like the rest of us bourgeois.  Why do we have to carry all the burdens they've heaped on themselves from their ignorance, lack of self-motivation, and lack of civic & personal responsibility?  If there's going to be welfare, I think it should be for the hardworking middle-class people that have run into unforseen problems.  Not for the proles who keep popping out babies like a vending machine does for Cheetos.

I could tell you the story of my buddy Trevor who's another hard-working teacher.  His hobby of stock car racing got him almost killed and he had to be in the hospital for almost a year.  When he and his family ran out of money for the medical expenses they went to the government for help.  Mind you he had a job, a kid, and a wife and two cars.  They told him he was:

1) the wrong ethnicity
2) too rich (2 cars)
3) he didn't have enough babies
4) he had a job--nevermind he was in the hospital

So the bottom line.  He had to sell his cars, move back home with his parents with wife and kid and start popping out the babies and lose his job in order to get money.  He also had to stay unemployed in order to receive any aid.  That was the advice the government clerk told him. Told him mind you.

What kind of message does this send to hard working citizens--good proles (uncommon) & bourgeois?  The lazy proles?

This is from my response to SeCret 07  (of course with proofreading and lots of editing now).  I thought it had some good nuggets especially about writing.

Friends = friends. That's it. Don't confuse it with anything else.
Don't get bent out of shape about it too much. I'm sure whoever you're
talking to understands this. If there were "feelings" I'm sure that
person would have shared them a long time ago. If not, then you're
right, that person is not worth your time.

Also, as friend to
friend: You can never "read" a person's intentions on-line. You have to
see them in real life. Don't ever confuse e-mails, blog posts, or
anything written with reality and a real person. That's the most common
mistake most people have confusing the writing with authorial
intention. People think that D.H. Lawrence was gay because he wrote
about naked boys, or that Heinlein was a Fascist for "Starship
Troopers." They were writers who did wrote for kicks--who knows or
cares what their intentions were.

And as a traditionalist I
believe, the man has to initiate. Don't bother him if he
hasn't--remember Helena from Midsummer's Night dream--it isn't a
woman's prerogative to do it.

I've learnt that if the other
person doesn't have the hots for you then don't bother pining away
about it. I don't. Some people mistake my poetry for something that happened to me in reality
(which I find amusing so I egg them on)--but much like Robert Herrick
(my fave--some my faves of his I can never, never teach ) most of my poetry is contrived and made up to capture a "feeling" as is
proper for an exercise.  None of it is real!  It's fiction.  Inspire by life, but fiction.   I write about that "one that got away" because it's fun, and because many of my target readers (mainly male--since I write from that perspective) can understand it or relate to it. 

One of my professional poet/writer
acquaintances, James McMichael, told me once: most poetry and writing
MUST have a "focus"
emotion and a writer has to choose his "problem" to write about. He
also told me to stop writing--a comment which I vehemently reply only
with invectives and rude gestures to UC Irvine (I love the
school, but he--oh he--is a bad, bad man--unless he was manipulating me
to try harder, then, he's a clever, clever man).  But that's another
story.  I chose the easier ones, bitterness & depression, for my
writing. The happy stuff well makes my readers gag and vomit--so I keep
all of those in my written journal--to amuse my writer friends if they
want it--most prefer the bitterness since I suck writing happy--the
Hallmark Cards were good though but that's all I can do right now--one
liners. Sucks.

Honestly, I don't like people that much, how can there be that many women?  Most times I just make one up and give her a name.  My favorite is "Starbucks Girl" also known as "Jenny."  Herrick had his "Julia" (and six others)  I have my "Jenny" (how Forrest Gump of me ) with her brown brown eyes.  So I write about her,  it doesn't matter that I'm stuck in a staff meeting in the school library and I'm drinking Arrowhead water--I pretend it's Starbucks and I'm savoring my favorite bitter Almond Mocha meditating on "Jenny" when I really should be looking and analyzing last years CST scores for incoming seniors. 

Any "infatuation" or "love" is strictly in my brain.  The feelings have to be real in order for me to infuse them into a poem so I have to summon them into reality.  Yeah I'm moaning and whining about "her" but she's a figment, my Muse, my Galetea. Read the Pygmalion story.  When I say she's real--or that she's some "new" girl--it's all summoned by my vast summoning power of the imagination.  She's real all right in my heart and on the page.  That's the extent of reality. 

Come to think of it--I don't think I've EVER written a poem about a real girl I've dated and then given it to her--that's insane--it'll make her far too conceited for her own good.  And the last thing I need is conceited person in my company--my own ego is big enough for the three of us: me, her, and me.  And, (now this is an example of ego) why would I want some rank amature critiquing my poem and even if she were the professional literary type (even worse) why would I want to ruin a perfectly good date giving her my crap to have it analyzed and killed to death--as if the result of killing were anything but death to the date, the moment, the ego.  Beside "Jenny" would be jealous--she's by far the purest, most mercurial, and hottest girl I know--every girl is compared to her, every girl.  And that's how I am insane.

But back to the subject:

As for that person you're having trouble
with: move on. If he isn't telling you anything he probably hasn't
learned what I've learned years and years ago since Kelly McNally in
'93: Always tell the person you like up front--since then I have always
told the person I like face to face, that I like them. If I haven't
done it in person at a cafe or other salubrious surrounding, well, then I don't like them. That's just fair for them.  I'd wish that some of the ladies I've dated figured that out
after the second date and I don't call them ever again--too bad
Christine, Mary, Jennifer, Michelle, and Angie.  I didn't like you enough to tell it to your faces.

I look up to my good buddy Trevor because he is so positive and lives life with such gusto.  He's a family man and loves his wife and children without sacrificing his "manliness."  He has a sense of humor, knows how to relax, and is totally politically incorrect to the point of insensitivity.    Of course he isn't perfect--he does likes NASCAR and country music. 

But then I suppose racing was is first love since he survived a race car accident with 3rd degree burns across 2/3 of his body.  But that's what makes him exceptional: he didn't just survive it--he emerged from it with his joy of life, love of family and God so intact that it astounds me how he did it without becoming bitter and forlorn.  He's taught me that being joyful is a choice as much as depression and bitterness.  And that that choice is comes from not holding onto, but clinging for dear life to faith, hope, and love.  Cheers.

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