Finally
just finally.
On days that merit some sort of historic reckoning you think back four years and then eight and are slightly astonished by the passage of time. Where was I and what did I do, where was I and what have I done.
Four year increments, I could have gone to university all over again, twice. Or high school. Twice.
In a conference room full of engineers, ranging in age, ranging political affiliation, we all watched a little bit of history being made. David Brooks, not my favorite pundit, described as wintry, and he was right. It is the winter of our motherfucking discontent. Is it apt that is was clear as a bell and cold as hell, who could not be moved by all of those people who stood up in the darkest hours before dawn broke to be a part of history on this day. If only to tell the story, to be passed down and embellished upon - I was there. I was there.
In talking to my father earlier, he said maybe I can start being less angry, uh huh, I said, and maybe I can start being a little less poor. I am a by-product of the sixties and the legacy bequeathed unto me is one of relentless optimism colored at the edges and the middle by the most cynical, cynical cynicism. So many opportunities squandered, the indomitable rise of the greed monsters and the passing glee in their fall as you watch your own livelihood disappear. The unemployment rate in Oregon just swelled to nine percent.
I wish you good luck, and I will support you how I can, I can measure my grace in ounces and I will promise compassion. I will sacrifice where I can for the things that I believe in. The right of good and free education. The promise of reasonable health care. The freedom of choice. The freedom to love whom you will, regardless of gender, regardless really of any societal constraints.
I will do this while I scrimp to meet my mortgage, when I look back on heady days of 1998 when everything was all about shoes and champagne. But I did get to have that, so there is that.
Shall I throw caution to the wind and flap wildly on the wings of exhilaration, I wish I could. It's still the winter of our discontent, the road will be hard and long. Lest the wheels not get stuck in the Spring thaw. If we are a little bit willing to take up the yoke and bare our knuckles to the elements, slough off our television complacency, then maybe there is hope for us yet. Either that or we are all Cylons. (for the geeks, no I couldn't resist)
In local news, my company party was this weekend. Did I play air guitar to Back in Black on a stage in front of the entire company. Yes, yes I did.
Yes we can.
just finally.
On days that merit some sort of historic reckoning you think back four years and then eight and are slightly astonished by the passage of time. Where was I and what did I do, where was I and what have I done.
Four year increments, I could have gone to university all over again, twice. Or high school. Twice.
In a conference room full of engineers, ranging in age, ranging political affiliation, we all watched a little bit of history being made. David Brooks, not my favorite pundit, described as wintry, and he was right. It is the winter of our motherfucking discontent. Is it apt that is was clear as a bell and cold as hell, who could not be moved by all of those people who stood up in the darkest hours before dawn broke to be a part of history on this day. If only to tell the story, to be passed down and embellished upon - I was there. I was there.
In talking to my father earlier, he said maybe I can start being less angry, uh huh, I said, and maybe I can start being a little less poor. I am a by-product of the sixties and the legacy bequeathed unto me is one of relentless optimism colored at the edges and the middle by the most cynical, cynical cynicism. So many opportunities squandered, the indomitable rise of the greed monsters and the passing glee in their fall as you watch your own livelihood disappear. The unemployment rate in Oregon just swelled to nine percent.
I wish you good luck, and I will support you how I can, I can measure my grace in ounces and I will promise compassion. I will sacrifice where I can for the things that I believe in. The right of good and free education. The promise of reasonable health care. The freedom of choice. The freedom to love whom you will, regardless of gender, regardless really of any societal constraints.
I will do this while I scrimp to meet my mortgage, when I look back on heady days of 1998 when everything was all about shoes and champagne. But I did get to have that, so there is that.
Shall I throw caution to the wind and flap wildly on the wings of exhilaration, I wish I could. It's still the winter of our discontent, the road will be hard and long. Lest the wheels not get stuck in the Spring thaw. If we are a little bit willing to take up the yoke and bare our knuckles to the elements, slough off our television complacency, then maybe there is hope for us yet. Either that or we are all Cylons. (for the geeks, no I couldn't resist)
In local news, my company party was this weekend. Did I play air guitar to Back in Black on a stage in front of the entire company. Yes, yes I did.
Yes we can.
posted by emma at
11:26 PM
|
0 comments
