Cut Down All My Good Times, I Know Right from Wrong

I remember all the concern about the debt when Clinton got into office. I was a pre-teen, so I didn't know much about recent history, but I saw all kinds of numbers and pressure on Democrats to cut spending. John Stossel was always calling out government excesses on 20/20, and it shocked me. Then, there was a budget surplus in 2000, but I didn't care because I was a kid hypnotized by the "both sides are the same" rhetoric of the Green Party. They had their points, and my state went for Gore, but I won't make that mistake again.

Suddenly, the debt didn't matter. Then there was spending and spending and spending. Dick Cheney said that deficits didn't matter. I learned more about the Clinton years. I learned that the Republicans just became anti-Clinton, even for legislation that they supported during the Bush 1 presidency.

Then Obama was president, and like clockwork, all of the Clinton era crap came back. The national debt mattered and Republicans were lock-step obstructionists. I have no illusions that Republicans have the nation's best interests at heart because I've seen their real behavior. I've fancied myself a Republican, I've been a radical leftist, and now I'm in the center - ready to face real problems and create solutions where everyone benefits. I know that this means rejecting the Republican party and I'm not ashamed. History played out in front of my now 31-year-old eyes, and I paid attention.

Let Me Talk About the Pope

The pope retired today because modern science has allowed his body to live beyond his brain's ability to cope. The last time a pope retired was before Europe found the place where most Catholics now live. Now you know all that there is to know about this story.

The only way that additional news related to this story could be good is if the new pope is more to the left of Pope Palpatine and/or not from Europe (or of European Origin). If that happens, maybe the RCC can stop it's long, downward spiral into oblivion, but I'm not holding my breath.

More Musings

Friendship, friends. I've had many and few, none and a million. Best friends, former friends, good friends, friends that might as well have been enemies. I've fought, insulted, forgiven and been forgiven. But I still don't understand what makes someone a friend. Is it similar politics, interests? Could I be friends with my neighbor, even though we only talk in passing? Once, I was so desperate for friendship I'd be friends with anyone, even someone who nearly insulted me in each conversation though I couldn't see it. I know that not everyone will like me, but how do I tell if anyone likes me?

I feel as if my life has always been spent on the outside, looking in. Sometimes, I could be inside, but still felt like I was somehow not part of the group. Once, in Junior High, some girls made friendship bracelets and gave them to others as a symbol of friendship. There were seven of them, and somehow, I got one. It was orange. I wore it because I was flattered. I didn't feel like I deserved it, I didn't feel that close.

School seemed to breed friendships of necessity.  I made friends in my classes in elementary school. People in other classes were like the other, since I didn't see them on a constant basis. Even the kids in the afternoon kindergarten were strangers to me for part of first grade. Every year I had slightly different relationships with these friends, sometimes different friends. We had ups, downs, and heart-to-hearts, then the summer came. My life changed to revolve around the neighbor kids, making up games, sometimes chores, the farm, picking strawberries and raspberries with cousins, and the occasional sighting of that school friend. The summer festivals were good for that - Country Western Days, the Church Picnic, and one year, a barn fire* at a near-by farm.

A change of school brought new friends from new schools. I had always been on the fringes of the popular group in elementary school. Sometimes they let me play, sometimes not. I did this by choice because I noticed the social dynamic, and I wanted it to play in my favor. But Junior High was different, so I gravitated to a group of people who were sort of like me, but not quite outcasts, not quite the misfits. By the time I reached the end of it, I was flying high - not popular or anything, but everyone knew me, and that was how I like things. High School went pretty much the same way, as did college. I started alone and afraid, completely awkward and stupid. Made mistakes, gathered friends here and there, changed social groups from time to time, but always ended on a high note, feeling like the king of the school.

Graduate school broke the mold, probably because it wasn't like the rest. First of all, all of the first year students were of different ages, and I was the baby of them all. That wasn't really anything new to me, since I was the third youngest kid (by one and three days) in my grade in elementary school, but these people were a lot older than me, and had lived in cities that weren't Minneapolis or St. Paul. Still, it was easy to form friendships, since we all still had class together.

The other different with grad school was my accident. For the months after that, things seemed to be going well for me. Friendships seemed to be solidified and kept coming on. I was riding high, feeling good, making and rekindling friendships in person and online until the first blow, the first crack in the walls. I won't tell the details, but it was pretty offending, and it had me depressed for the first time in quite a while. Still, that was just an online slight, and I could learn from it. The people around me were still friendly, and inviting. We laughed, went out, had parties. It was all a great time until the great miscommunication.  It was then that my world seemed to fall apart, and I didn't know what to do. The main person refused to talk to me in person, then ran off to a foreign country for the summer. I took advantage of the absence to hang out with these friends as much as I wanted, but I knew that it wouldn't last. I remember the Last Time I got to hang out with them, and I remember knowing that it was the Last Time.

I tried to nurture other friendships that fall, and also tried to make new friendships, but something was off. I was also toying with dating and went out a lot. I guess that gave me some kind of reputation that I was unaware of. I was just being me, and trying to figure things out, but I was alone a lot. I got a boyfriend from shared politics, which was a mistake. I left graduate school on a serious low. I'd made some friends through that boyfriend, but like him, they weren't great and didn't last. My new home after grad school was thousands of miles away from the culture I knew. The people around me were much older, and now I realize that they were pretty disingenuous.

I made friends, lost friends, kept friends, rekindled friendships, but remain confused about who is being friendly and who is just being nice. Now I find myself with the prospect of leaving this place again and going into a new culture. I keep wondering if I'll get back to the Bay Area. I've never returned to a place after I left it except for home, except for one or two visits. If I did come back, would my friends still be here? Am I destined to always be a drifter? Wisconsin to Minnesota to Michigan to California to Texas, and then where? I was pretty set on living in Albuquerque when I was there.

* The fire was unplanned, an accident, but it drew a lot of locals and I remember it having a bit of a festival feel at the end. My family lived about a mile away from the farm. We saw the black smoke on the horizon and my dad said that it looked like smoke from a burning barn. He was right, and it turned out that it was the barn of a customer of my dad's. Volunteer Fire Departments from all over had to come to put the fire out. We eventually learned that it was caused by wet hay, which heats up under it's own weight and can combust.