GRSSK

Although I have never seen it, I am interested to know the premise of a show titled GRSSK. Probably some crime-scene-type, drama, acronym thing.

America's Got Individualists Who are Partially Blinded to Reality by Narcissism

Yesterday I jokingly posted that America's Got Talent should be called America's Got Weirdos; but today I am reforming.

The show should be called America's Got Individualists Who are Partially Blinded to Reality by Narcissism.

I know the title is a little long to totally catch on, but it all serves a purpose. Let's break it down.

It's no surprise that America has individualists. That is entirely apparent. The American dream is very individualistic. It's about me and what I can get and does not take into account casualties. It is probably what makes the remainder of this post relevant.

Now, "Who are Partially Blinded to Reality by Narcissism" is what I want to qualify. Time and time again on the show America's Got Talent someone takes the stage, gets booed off, and attributes their lack of success to jealously or ignorance. I do not liken them entirely to Narcissus, the handsome Greek mythological character who fell in love with his own reflection, because they are not doomed to stare at themselves for eternity. Rather they wish that others would stare at them. But the reality is that they are no good at singing or dancing or impersonation.

These people are not entirely blinded to reality because they realize that we do exalt individuals in our society, but they just can't understand why no one is worshiping them like they worship themselves. They think they deserve it. So they get up in front of some television cameras, an audience, and some semi-annoying judges, have 46 million Americans watch them be an idiot, get booed, and their ego remains intact. They fully believe that there is something wrong with the rest of the world; it just couldn't be their issue.

America's Got Individualists Who are Partially Blinded to Reality by Narcissism. Catch the fever.

Tree of the Week (7.7.09)

America's Got Talent...

...is more like America's Got Weirdos.

Tree of the Week (6.30.09)

γύνη μοί

Tree of the Week (6.23.09)

We Are Here

Don't worry, faithful reader. Rebekah and I made it to Louisville safely and for the first time we have internet.

Blogging will commence shortly. I will finish my "Goodbye, Fargo" series as well as update you on how things are in the Bluegrass State.

Goodbye, US Bank

US Bank Service Center, Fargo, ND

I have had multiple jobs throughout my time on Earth, but, as I have been a student for the majority of my life, none of those jobs lasted for very long, or were just part-time gigs. My time at US Bank was different.

Prior to my employment at US Bank, I never even attempted to get a full time job, let alone one that I hoped would sustain me and a wife. I was fortunate enough to land the job with minimal experience and maximum ignorance, although it did take me two tries.

I was incredibly blessed to be given the opportunity since Rebekah and I had signed a lease for an apartment across the street and the beloved Malibu was warning of its impending doom.

The job itself was tedious at times, but overall quite rewarding. I made some good friends and felt like I did have the opportunity to help people in need from time to time (even though some days it seemed like I was only aiding freeloaders).

Last Friday, on my final day (which happened to be my birthday as well), I was mightily encouraged by all of my co-workers who showered me with food and "good luck" wishes. I will miss them. We all got along quite well.

It was an honor to work at the US Bank Service Center. For the first time I seriously filled the role of "provider" for a family. I also had the opportunity to build some relationships and help some people along the way. It was a good job and a good year.

Let Them Eat Cake

Red Means Stop

I do not know how large a "Red Means Stop Enforcement Area" is, but I do know that within six blocks of this sign I saw a pedestrain get hit by a car running a red light, within twenty blocks I saw a biker get hit by a van running a red light, and within five miles I saw a car hit a biker after not stopping for a stop sign. You can sit at any stop light in a three mile radius and watch at least one vehicle run a red light on each cycle. I have never seen anyone get pulled over for running a red light in Fargo and, come to think of it, I have seen several police officers commit like offenses. 

In addition to these things, every time I ride my bike on Fargo streets my life hangs in the balance. People do not look for bikers or pedestrians because nine months out of the year it is too cold to walk or bike. The danger is inexplicable. 

This is one thing I will not miss about Fargo.

Goodbye, Malibu

1998 Chevrolet Malibu, (a.k.a. the Bu)

My '92 Chrysler LeBaron was a great car, but on the first day of my food-delivery job five years ago, it met its maker. I coasted into the Blaine Library parking lot, the car in jeopardy of combusting. From a pay-phone (these were pre-cell-phone days), I called my dad; he would come pick me up as soon as he could. I called work and explained the situation; they understood and told me to get back to them as soon as I could. So, there I sat. I had an overheated LeBaron and a food-delivery career in limbo.

"Having car problems?" said a voice from behind me.

What's it look like? I wanted to say as I stared down at the steaming engine. "Yes," I actually replied, looking up and seeing an elderly woman.

"Well I am selling my car, let me get you a flyer."

She meandered back to her '98 Chevy Malibu, a car that I immediately judged was out of my price range. "Here you are," she said, handing me a sheet of paper with some information on it.

"Thanks"

"You're welcome. Call me at the number listed if you are interested." She was a master at stating the obvious.

"I will," I replied, as she turned to return her books to the library.

My dad arrived. We added some coolant to the LeBaron and made our way home. I pulled the flyer the woman had given me out of my pocket. It read something like this:

1998 Chevrolet Malibu
New Tires
Power Locks and Windows
Clean
High Mileage
$1,990

That was most definitely within my price range. I showed my dad and he prompted me to call the woman. Soon we were on our way to look at the car.

We arrived and asked all the necessary questions to which the woman answered to our liking. We drove the car and it was in better shape than I could have hoped for. It turned out that she had bought a new car and wanted to sell the Malibu because of the high mileage, but we also learned the her father lived in South Dakota and had just recently died of cancer. So, she would make many trips there and back accounting for the excessive miles. That, I could deal with.

There was no hesitation in my dad's voice when he told me that I should buy the car. So, I did.

The car made multiple trips to the cities and back to Fargo and was a wonderful car for five years with minimal problems.

Recently, the high mileage of the vehicle reared its ugly head and it was soon beyond repair. Last week I sold the car to a mechanic for $300.

Cars are hunks of metal and gears that depreciate rapidly and yield no return. But if there was ever a vehicle that rose above that truth, it was the Bu.