10 Minute Rule

I’m starting with the blog so I don’t run into another last night situation where I was laying my head down to sleep and realized I had not blogged. This is not the way. Instead I’m going with the thoughts that plagued me when I woke up. I think I sussed out the issues I’m having with modern academia at the CC level. They may be endemic, and if so, they may be extremely difficult to correct.

Talking with the Lady Talis this morning I latched on to a line she said about people who are young and full of ideas and the fear others have of being old and dried out of ideas and how that idea spectrum (or tank) seems to correlate with how much they hold on to their ideas. This follows my issues at the CC or Community College level. It has been my experience that the majority of people hired that I have interacted with in my time as an instructor since 2006 do not have fresh and original ideas. Instead, they want to do what you are doing/have created and draft your wake until they overtake you can are the ones primarily doing the things that you, the idea maker, have created.

It sucks. It especially sucks now when I’ve begun to realize that I’m on the latter end of that idea spectrum and my tank is depleting. I’m not coming up with as much interesting, new, and cool stuff as I used to, and what I’ve been doing is the stuff that people are trying quite openly to snatch away and act like it is theirs. This has happened since day one, but it is only in the recent years I’ve begun to actually care.

This morning I was doing some research on Literary Magazines and looked bak on what I created with my not-sister for another college. Our words are still there. Every. Single. Line. Not one update has been made to the core information, taglines, mission, etc. We built that mag over a decade ago. The only changes are who is in charge and who the work of creating it is attributed to. The same can be said of many activities and ideas populating academia across at least two states. I don’t really care about the stuff I’ve left behind short of as a moment of recognition that the work survives, but the attribution–the metadata–doesn’t.

So, what to make of all this? Well, in the now of things I am faced with another magazine being wrangled away because someone wants something I have. That part doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that the wrangler has already taken shots at other aspects of my work identity, trying to snatch the classes I worked so hard to build and develop. This is the way of CC Academia. We don’t stand on the shoulders of giants. We knife the guy in front of us to get ahead in line. We are, as a past mentor once pointed out, sharks in a koi pond.

It isn’t Wednesday, but the wire is on my mind. There is a ton of sports going on, primarily in the Soccer world, but elsewhere as well. I’ll open with Senegal taking it to England… That was nice to see. From there to Mexico moving hotels in LA over violence concerns. That is definitely going to spiral out of control when the National Guard or more likely ICE mistakes someone on the squad for an immigrant and or (especially or) tries to raid the Gold Cup match to cull immigrants. That kind of wild stuff is the new normal in the USA. The fact that I’m even thinking it could happen and doing so casually should be an indication of where things actually are.

One thing I’ve learned on this journey is that the sports news is different wherever you go. When I’m not using a VPN I’m automatically routed to the Spanish version of sports sites and they focus on anything but American football. Even the NFL page focuses on the game that will be played in Barcelona. This amkes sense, given the audience. It is just nice to see that the news we get in the USA isn’t all there is in the world. I feel that more and more… especially outside of the sports stuff.

Some Thoughts:

1. Tomorrow is the last beach day in Spain. Gonna miss the sand and the wind and the clear water.

I’m really not one for hyperbole. I get how changes happen that can be devastating to some, but don’t actually spell the end of an era or a major turn backwards for a country. However, what I am seeing in the United States is definitely more than a course correction. We are making some huge changes, which once done will be extremely difficult to undo. This is not limited to the dismantling of the Board of Ed. This goes deeper, into the loss of several lesser-known groups such as the Federal Mediation and Conciliation Service, the group responsible for mediating strikes in the USA. The cuts even hit libraries. the Institute of Museum and Library Services was cut. It helps fund libraries and museums in all 50 states. So, what are we really doing here? This is nothing less than a cultural dismantling of America. We are stripping away all of the good in service of more money for the Military and lower taxes for business.

I have to say, the idea of a much larger and refitted military and national guard doesn’t sound like a plus–especially given how the president has recently deployed the guard to California despite objections from the state. Sovereignty is a legitimate question now. As is the idea of a two-party system. We are in real trouble. I am not personally equipped to fight. I am one of the millions of Americans who is likely to be crippled by these largely partisan changes. The goal posts moved. There’s not a clear way to get to them now… And this is only year one.

By year 2 we will either be dealing with extreme fatigue (the likely outcome) in which most people just lay down and take it because they are sick of hearing about it (thanks to how the news has built itself over the last 30 plus years) or there will be significant pushback, which will undoubtedly be labeled as domestic terrorism. They’ve already been throwing the terminology around and attaching it to anyone or anything that doesn’t align with their point of view. It’s bad. It is going to get much worse.

I don’t have a clue what to do about it.

There is a sound that cuts through the bird calls and the barking dogs. It drifts high above the other cars, not louder, per say, but more persistent, more familiar as though this sound belongs here more than all the others. It is the sound of the local bus drifting near. It is a reminder that you should be ready, stationed at the pole that marks its brief interlude. 

On Joan Maragall, west of the sights and smells of Barcelona, a yellow-framed bus eases up the slope of the street searching for passengers. The buses here are not like anywhere else in the world. They weave through streets barely two car lengths wide. There are cars parked on those streets, some pressed up so high against the sidewalks that pedestrians must turn sideways to get by. 

The bars inside are to be held, even when sitting, for these buses are known for taking hair pin curves like their smaller and lighter F1 cousins. On the downhills the back wheels might leave the earth, spinning freely for a second or two gripping fruitlessly at the air. Pebbles spray from the sidewalks of the nearby embankments, clanking down steep ravines rolling towards the clear blue ocean.

If you were to look out the window and over the edge towards the ocean you would see trains slithering by, sparking on rails that hold them in place. The buses of Castelldelfels are tethered only by their will and a desire to reach the designated stops on time. 

Sometimes they drift off course, meandering into the track of a different bus with a different name or number. When this happens a passenger will call out loudly to the driver. He or she will call back, and a heated conversation will begin in rapid-fire Catalan. Throughout the bus, passengers gripping the rails or seated with their hands folded neatly in their laps will nod along and murmur, always taking the side of the passenger. In time, the driver will relent and draw the bus back to its appointed route, never apologizing, but always correcting in time for you to make your stop.

When the sun grows heavy and slips from the sky, the dogs cease their barking. The cars fade from the road. The sound of laughter and music rises from households stacked in the hills like steps. Underneath it a separate sound persists long into the dark. It is a familiar sound. Persistent. It reminds you that there will always be a way home.

I was supposed to write microfiction here, but I just don’t have it in me. I am having one of those days where a momentary spat with the lady of my life casts a pallor over the rest of the day. Moreover, it highlights all of the bad things that came before it–from the bus crashing into another car, from seeing a giant cockroach clinging to the wall of my favorite coffee shop in Spain, on to recovering from a week of sidequesting that has left me entirely depleted. Add in a chapter that is in utter disarray, and I am having a classic bad day. So much so that it is making me wonder if this is like that moment in the theater when the lights go down briefly to let you know that the show is going to be startign soon and you need to take your seats… except in my warped nightmare the drop in lumination says, The real shit is about to go down, so buckle up.

In short, this has been a very bad week. This has been a very bad day to compliment this very bad week.

On the up side, I’m feeling a small inkling to craft again. Not a heavy tug, but an inkling. I’m searching for a seed I can use to generate a ton of loot in order to then generate whatever amazing structure I’ll build in that world.

I am in a particularly difficult place in my story. This is the area where my editor said the story fell completely apart, because the plot made no sense. The specific issues I cannot get into, but I can summarize it by saying that the characters could’ve saved themselves a lot of hassle by having a conversation. There was no reason not to. There was no reason for the rest of the story to take place as a result. So, now I am trying to fix this error and make things make sense without forcing things to make sense, all while trying to craft a handful of realistic character arcs that align with the story and the people in that story.

So, I’m stuck. I am locked down on a particular scene that could reframe the way the story is told, because of a handful of character choices. There needs to be a confrontation here, and there needs to be some action. I don’t entirely have a smart plan to leverage both of those things together, but as I write this blog I am realizing that it needs to happen in the singular moment, which means I am slowly coming up with a plan to do that in my mind.

Part of this will mean starting the arc of one of the primary characters (100 pages in) who has been at the most a secondary character or foil to the group throughout. He needs his moment and meaning, and this is the two-chapter area where it can go down. If I am good enough I will try to portray this as two primary characters moving in separate directions as a result of what is initiated in this chapter. We will see how it goes.

Storytelling is a lot like knitting. You are brings disparate threads together in order to create something beautiful and tangible. As I work back across this novel I am realizing how much I still need to learn about doing that, but also how close I am to seeing the full picture of what the story threads look like on their own and how they could fit together in any story. When I finally get around to writing my version of “the book on writing” I feel like I ought to call it Story Weaving (or Story Threading) and carry that metaphor forward.

It just makes sense as to how I see it.

I’m thinking about football with my kid’s college games less than 100 days away and high school possibly less than that. They’re both trying to get to the next level–one trying to get to a power 4 FBS and one trying to get to the college level. This year is big. Every year is big, but this is Sophomore college season and High School Jr. year. The time for excuses are over. This is the time to shine. While both are starters at their positions, there is room for growth beyond that. Both will have chances at Special Teams while the younger may get chances on an offense with a thin receiving corps and no big body speedsters to go up for the rock. So, I’m saying there is a chance for both of them to be successful, because the opportunities are there for the taking.

The Lady Talis and I have been discussing a quote “Act as if it were impossible to fail” with me arguing for this ideology and her arguing that it is more interesting if you act as if it is possible to fail. Her way makes sense because you have to recognize that this is your shot and you need to take it all the way seriously. You cannot act like there will be another chance. There won’t be. I know this from personal experience. Athletics doesn’t offer a ton of chances and even less now in the money driven ecosystem created by flashy NIL deals. You have to pop when you are given the shot or else you will no longer get the shot. The older one gets that. The younger one has a lot of work to do with growing into confidence and growing up in general in terms of understanding what it takes and what you must sacrifice to be successful. I believe he’ll get there. I believe both will succeed. My belief is positive energy swirling in their direction, but it won’t get the job done. That is on them.

Travis Hunter is getting the job done. Bro is already notching plays on both sides of the ball in practice. Oh how I wish it wasn’t the Jags, but here we are and this is what we need to accept. Hunter is the guy. In a magical world the Browns trade Sanders for Lawrence (and give up like 7 number ones…) and we get to see those dudes keep going, but that isn’t where its at right now. I don’t know where it is at with Sanders short of OTA Hype, but even in that he’s not taking many (if any) reps with the ones.

So, that’s football, and that is this blog. I’ll leave you with this parting sports note: Yankee hats are universal. I have been traveling for years and have never gone a day overseas without seeing someone in a Yankee cap. Here in Spain I see a slew of knockoffs, as well as a New Era store in Madrid that is almost entirely filled with Yankee ball caps. I don’t get it. Madness, I say. Pure madness.

Tossa de Mar sucked. It represents the first (and thereby worst) miss in the history of my relationship. It was a trip so bad that the stink of it followed us home by way of a series of travel mishaps entirely reflective of the journey to even get there. Nothing went right. The morning we left a lady staying next door to us was carted out on a stretcher after moaning (loudly) for a half hour. The beach was rocky and crowded with terrible humans. Yet for all of that, we managed to find moments. We also managed a few decent showers.

I say all of this as preface to the main point of the blog, which is reviews. At the end of any stay, you’re offered an opportunity to write a review. Ostensibly the goal is to create an ecosystem of feedback that raises the level of the establishments that want to do so, and to warn consumers of those that do not. I do not participate in the review process. For one, I’m lazy. Secondly, and most importantly, I’m scared.

Let’s take, for example, Airbnb. If I were to write a review of the place we are presently staying, it would not go well for the place we are presently staying. When we looked through the numerous reviews for the location prior to booking, none of them pointed out the issues that I find most troubling. I’m going to list them below and let you decide if these are worth being concerned about:

1. If you are above 5’10, you will be forced to stoop whenever moving around the loft area, which is where you sleep, bathe, watch TV, etc. None of these activities can be accomplished without stooping because the roof is too low. If my 6’3 self lifts my head, I hit my head.  That is made worse by the fact that the bathroom doorway is built for a hobbit. The 5’7 Lady Talis has to duck. Can you guess what happens when she doesn’t?
2. The floor directly above the space is where the kids hangout. Loudly. With a lot of late night tv and pounding of feet. This is mostly relegated to the weekends… Which is when the parties may happen.
3. No blinds on two windows that look directly into your sleeping area and bathroom respectively. It’s creepy.

There’s more but not a lot more time to wrap this up. The point is this: If I said all of that in a review (like nobody else did) I would end up as one of those Airbnb clients who has bad reviews on places. Who wants to have that client come to your spot? I’m scared of not being allowed to stay places. So I deal with this by not writing reviews.

I have this blog though… It isn’t connected to Airbnb at all. It also gives me space to voice my… opinions.

frankly, it terrifies me how much an entire group of nations are willing to look the other way when atrocities are being committed so long as the perpetrators are on their side. In fact I’m less surprised that a people that were decimated by racism would commit such atrocities. That part, at least, tracks: it’s a classic bullied kid becomes school shooter situation there. Yet in the situation I’ve outlined nobody stands by silently while the shooter takes lives or marks victim and sympathetic protests as anti-Semitic on spec.
You can believe what is happening in Gaza is an atrocity and a genocide without being anti-Semitic. Not standing by the destruction of the Palestinians doesn’t mean I hate Jewish people. Not basing or justifying everything off October 7 doesn’t mean I hate Jewish people.

I don’t hate Jewish people. I do strongly object to what is being done in the name of Jewish freedom and advancement. This is a clear atrocity that has lasting consequences and implications the majority of the US press is choosing to ignore.

An entire people are being displaced and slowly destroyed. All the while Israel is voicing intentions to seize more territory in the interest of safety. Civilians are being massacred at food lines, often in retaliation for the death of a soldier elsewhere. This behavior is codified. This behavior is known and while being broadcast, is being denied by the Israeli government, who refuse to let press anywhere near Gaza… so it’s their word vs the victims and the victims are people we are taught not to trust or care about. This is the lowest a people can go, given how their nation was formed.

Yet we arm them. We give them money. We support their war for military, political, and religious reasons. We ignore the evil because we don’t want to see them as anything but good. They are clearly anything but good. We know this, at least subconsciously. Thirty years from now I wonder if we will reconcile with that knowledge

Yesterday’s freewrite was an assignment I was completing for a class on microfiction. It wasn’t perfect. It might not even have been the proper prompt. However, once I began I was going to go down that road, because why waist the moment. That is how I am beginning to feel about the concept of acceptance. The past few days in Tossa de Mar have been extremely low tier. Tossa de Mar reminds of of Atlantic City at its most desperate and without the draw of Casinos. Everything is outdated and the crowd is the lowest of the low yet pretending to be of a higher status than they really are. We are eating full board, which translates as cafeteria food. Each meal the hundreds of elderly people cue up minutes before the spot opens and fill the tables with sadness and disdain–mostly towards myself and the Lady Talis. We do not belong in their eyes–not together and certainly in their sight.

I accept their disdain. I accept this place and moment. Acceptance helps me carry forward with my day. Today, for example, I had an amazing morning and afternoon. Come time for the return to the hotel, things fell apart. I discovered that I could not find a decent meal anywhere and the cafeteria slip that had been sustaining me isn’t available till much later this evening. I accepted that this is the case. I picked up a yogurt. Forgot the spoon, but I went back and bought one of those eventually. It was more steps, but was it terrible. No. It was meh.

Just like Tossa de Meh.