Today was long and frustrating, with too many people making too many unrealistic demands with which I have zero intention of complying in any meaningful way.
The good news is that three solid weeks of mandatory meetings should give me plenty of time to work on my novel.
If you look interested and break your lines in odd places, the presenter is usually too self-absorbed to realize you’re not actually taking notes. Just sayin’.
So I’m driving through Sapulpa this afternoon when I see a sign in front of a business. The sign says: “WE FIX THINGS YOUR HUSBAND CAN’T.”
I was sorry the place wasn’t open, because I really wanted to walk in and say: “So do I. Isn’t that an odd coincidence? By the way, this is 2009.”
I’ve been waiting a year to do this:
We’re all still standing.
Eat your heart out, Eye Candy.
I don’t normally discuss politics on my blog, but an acquaintance has picked up an unfortunate habit of copying me in on his mass distribution list for snotty diatribes denigrating Mexican immigrants, and his most recent offering touched on one of my pet peeves.
Without getting into a long, complicated, and potentially divisive discussion about immigration laws, I want to point out a historical fact that seems to escape most of the anti-immigration crowd:
English is not this country’s native language.
Nothing irritates me any faster than to hear somebody start beating the “welcome to America — now speak English” drum.
English is no more native to this country than Spanish — and both languages found their way to North America through European immigrants who certainly didn’t have green cards.
Anybody who’s worried about immigrants from some other country coming in and mucking up the status quo would do well to remember that if such a thing happened, it certainly wouldn’t be unprecedented. I’ve yet to meet anyone who can explain to me why it was OK for Europeans to come in with guns and smallpox and take over an entire continent, brutalizing its inhabitants, stealing their land, and forcing them to speak a language that was not their own, but it’s not OK for Mexican immigrants to come to the United States with empty hands and ask for nothing more than a job — and perhaps a little patience with the fact that they are speaking a language that was imposed on their country by one group of European settlers, while we are speaking a language that was imposed on our country by a different group of European settlers.
Unless you are a full-blooded American Indian, at least some of your ancestors were immigrants who did NOT speak the native language when they came to this country.
Welcome to America. Now speak Cherokee.
Ron and I went over to the Rock Cafe this morning to help Dawn and the kids with the cleanup. To see where things stood when we started, check out Dawn’s blog.
Here’s how it looked when we finished:
Today was less about clearing floor space and more about knocking down the height of some of the piles. I worked primarily on the debris behind the bar, which used to be to the right of that row of stools. I also cleared out a lot of the debris behind the register stand, which isn’t visible in this picture.
Dawn re-enacts a scene from Office Space. (Excuse me … I believe you have my stapler….)
I started trying to clear a path from the late cash register stand (the raised platform on the left) to the kitchen. The pile is a little shorter, and I think I made about three feet of headway into the kitchen. It’s slow going, partly because everything we pick up seems to be attached to everything else, but it’s pretty satisfying to be able to see where we’ve been.
A few of the treasures Dawn and the kids unearthed before we arrived: three Rock Cafe mugs and a copy of a book called — I am not making this up — Eternal Route 66.
Ron catches his breath after a morning of good, honest work.
It was sad to see so much destruction, but there was something oddly therapeutic about being able to get in there and move some debris. As hard as it was to see the Rock in this condition, it felt good to be in there helping … and it felt even better to know that the thoughts and prayers of hundreds of people around the world were in there with us, supporting all of us as we moved the Rock just a few cubic yards closer to its rebirth.
We interrupt your regularly scheduled Folk Thursday to bring you this special disco announcement.
(Hey … it was this or Pat Benatar. Be glad you got off this easy.)
It’s a glorious day in Red Fork — dazzling blue skies, blazing sunshine, and warm temperatures. I’ve got Jimmy Buffett on iTunes, an afternoon off, a head full of dreams, and a grand old road calling my name. I’ll have some deep thoughts to share later today, but for the moment, I’m just going to get on my road and have a marvelous day, and I defy anybody to stop me.
(That’s right, Eye Candy — I’m talkin’ to you.)
Film at 11, kids. In the meantime … enjoy your afternoon, wherever you are.