Tag: writing

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Social Work Dreams

No. No, I don’t have time to write this morning. But since it is about social work and
“not enough time” is a something social workers are used to, it seemed like the right thing to do.

I had a social work dream last night. That’s new for me. There’s a few reasons it may have happened. I’m missing an important event today, our Social Work Appreciation Costco Pizza Extravaganza. I also had some work calls were my lullaby into sleepy time. Also yesterday included a conversation full of sage wisdom about desires to help and the limitations around it.

Since it was new for me, now y’all got to hear it.

I was in my backyard. A woman stranger was wandering in it. She was carrying a newborn baby. I asked her what she was doing and she said she was “losing her shit.”

The baby was hard to hold because it was so new and fragile.

The mom was detached and said “what am I supposed to do? Check myself into the hospital and detox?” I of course supported this decision and then thought about how to get her into detox immediately.

Then I was hit with the reality that I didn’t actually know how to do this. I was counting down to office opening time so I could check with our experts on drug addiction treatment. It felt like a very important window of opportunity was closing quickly.

At some point the mom wandered off. She said she’d be back so I continued to stare at the clock and consider alternatives. I also realized I didn’t know who she was so I looked in a backpack belonging to another child of hers to try to find a name. In doing so, I saw that “junior” carries a copy of custody orders in his backpack which made me long for a different normal for the family conjured by my subconscious. I made a note to find that child and check in with him.

The dream ended before I was able to help problem solve. But not before the baby also morphed back and forth from the dog from Deadpool (dreams are weird).

This situation is completely fabricated from my REM sleep but is also not unrealistic right down to the part where I feel like I let the family down.

Yesterday I was reminded that it’s really easy to “Monday morning quarterback” a lot of the things that happen in social work. All we can do is our best with the information we have at the time and learn from what happened. We also need to remember my very favorite principal in the Social Work Code of Ethics; client right to self-determination.

By nature, social workers are helpers and will continue to pour of themselves to be there for others. I’m very thankful to be a part of something like this and very proud of the people I’ve been lucky enough to work alongside. There’s no amount of pizza that can express that gratitude, but enjoy nonetheless. Sincere thanks for all that you give to help others.

Thanks for reading!

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Bunker Movie Night

I enjoy doing random things. This sometimes leads me to scour social media “coming events” pages.

My little town doesn’t generally have too many items on the calendar, so when I saw that a slasher movie was being presented at the militia clubhouse, I was all-in before I even knew the international director of said film would be present.

I don’t typically go out of my way to see gore, but it was Halloween week, on a school night, and the event simply checked too many boxes for me to pass on.

The event did not disappoint in the slightest.

It was off to a great start just seeing inside the clubhouse. I would say that I will go there in the event of the zombie apacolypse, but much like techno clubs in Berlin, I’m not sure I’d be accepted. However I am 100% sure that anyone who tries to get in there without express invite has not considered their decision well.

The ambiance continued with the greeters; teens with hockey masks and weapons, “bloody” faces and ninja garb. The group was not large, 11 people. Turns out the event was a late entrant to the Facebook schedule which is suspected to have impacted the turnout.

There was a horror film trivia game that I honestly should not have played. I felt an unmeasurable degree of asshole-ery when I vehemently blurted out answers. I assure you, I tried very hard to 1) not be that guy and 2) when I was that guy, not take all the major awards. But c’mon, man….! Who can sit quietly when the question is “what is the name of the daughter of the actress in the shower scene in Psycho?”?!

Before the movie started there was small talk including some other folks who decided their Wednesday night plans based on Facebook. They were curious about the clubhouse’s activities on other nights. Thanks to the host and my eavesdropping, I learned that there are a lot of classes that happen there such as natural uses for dandelion, medical training, survival skills. There were a lot of others but I probably couldn’t hear them over the crunching of my buffet of tootsie pops.

“Do they do any gun classes here too?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Can you come if you don’ t have a gun?”
“Everyone else does sooooo….”

There was an announcement before the movie started. The director is about to begin work on another film and a portion of the proceeds will go to the Cottonwood Education Foundation. There was a brief exchange in which an attendee asked what the film will be about. The director declined to reveal trade secrets and instead vaguely stated what it’s not about.

“It’s no woke shit.”

And with that, the lights went down and the TV volume went up. Literally, TV.

I don’t want to spoil this 3rd in the 4 film series Playing with Dolls for anyone hoping to start their journey, so stop reading now if that’s you.
“Playing with Dolls: Havoc” is something like the 38th out of 42 ish films by the writer, director, cinematographer and possible Cottonwood-ian.
The movie entertained as expected. Having the creator sitting at the Costco folding table next to you in the bunker really made me think about all that goes into making movies. Writing, choosing people, choosing body parts for the Asset to lob off or tear out, knowing when to have the first topless scene to develop plot (within the first 4 minutes), creating the right pace so people (me) will squeal at the jump scares. There’s a lot to it. I’m sure the scale is exponentially more challenging than my productions from my own “15 Second Films” studio.

The production quality was solid and nostalgic. It reminded me of Fall Saturday afternoons in my kid-dom when the landscape of limited viewing choices wildly expanded with the Friday the 13th series started on whichever of the 3 channels we had. I also felt reminders of the soap operas of all the grandmas I ever knew when the melodic piano established mood one singular key at a time. The acting was certainly better than I could ever do, though I’m working on my impression of “Mia’s” encounter with The Asset. I doubt I could replicate her eastern block sounding accent though. Based on their level of expertise, I’d be willing to bet that Mia and the other female lead have been on a casting couch or two.

The script entertained me. The Asset escaped from captivity to cause mayhem. But he kind of seems like sometimes he doesn’t want to kill. At one point, his handlers catch up to him. A damsel in distress calls out, “He’s killing people!” The handler replies along the lines of “That’s what he does. That’s why the boss paid big money to have him released from the insane asylum.” The Asset has barbed wire wrapped around his face, a very interestingly shaped weapon that looks cool, but doesn’t seem like it’d be a very efficient killing device IRL.

I was curious about him. I wondered if I could see an earlier chapter in the series to explain why he wheezes like he does or what is the genesis for his proclivity for pulling out veins.

Rarely do you get to see a movie with the writer present so upon conclusion I asked him, “Does the Asset have a back story?” “Not really. The boss paid big money to have him released from the insane asylum.”
Yup. That’s what he’d said in the script. Silly me for thinking I’d get info to write Asset’s biopsychosocial assessment.

And with that, a Wednesday night adventure was over.

It was super fun and I’m very thankful for people who create things and make opportunities for interesting experiences. What you got next, Facebook?

Thanks for reading!

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Hungry Like the Wolf

They say the post achievement depression for Neil Armstrong after his moon walk was nearly unbearable. I’m hopeful that’s not how I’ll feel next Saturday. Though my highest of highs won’t be space travel. It’ll be far more astronomical. Or at least as astronomical as things can possibly get at a casino events center in Lincoln.

As a child, I was obsessed with a little musical group called Duran Duran. This was in the 80’s when a guy really had to work at being obsessed with something. Instead of internet searches and tik toks, middle school me had to beg friends to record MTV and shark around Front Street Cottonwood counting down until the latest issue of Bop was placed on the shelves of Holiday Market. Thanks Bruce!

The magazine had tear out posters that lined the walls of my room all the way up to the glitter infused popcorn ceiling. Not everyone made the wall though. There was a very strong middle school celebrity crush set of rules. Shondell liked Duran’s John Taylor. He was only to adorn my wall in group photos. My crush was Simon LeBon, the front man who crooned his way into establishing my lasting fixation on good chins. Some others got to be on the wall, the classic Rob Lowe in the ribbed white tank and the black and white Soloflex man also in a ribbed white tank. Sort of. Both are worth a google. They were both only supporting characters in the DD shrine.

If there was something Duran Duran to be had, I had it. T-shirt? Yep. Scarf printed with the band’s picture? Also yes. Facsimile to the best I could pre-amazon of Simon’s hat from the Hungry Like the Wolf video? Absolutely. Shondell and I would also scour the button collections at Mt. Shasta Mall making sure we had as many as we could in our respective stocks.

I dreamed of being able to see them live, but it was a different time. Concert tickets were not to be had by everyone. At the time, getting them meant hundreds of thousands of people waiting in lines for the bell to ring at the local ticket master vendor and hope that the odds were in their favor. It was too elusive to even try.

But that did not stop my fan loyalty. I waited eagerly for the new album, and am still so thankful my poor father who had to take me to Sierra Sound in all my Duran regalia to procure a copy of VINYL Seven and the Ragged Tiger as soon as it released. If there was to be any coverage of Duran Duran discussed by John Tesh and Mary Hart on Entertainment tonight, I was transfixed, making VHS recordings of the “news.” I remember feeling an unworthy amount of pride when the news was about my band making the theme song to a Bond movie. I concentrated harder on that coverage than I currently do on presidential elections.

Shondell and I had gone in halves on purchasing “Duran Duran-A collection of Duran Duran’s first 11 music videos” in stereo and unrated. We’d ordered the video from Bowman Video and counted the days until it was in. Our funding was largely sandwich bags of coins gathered in part from bottle recycle fees. Division of property resulted in her keeping custody of the actual tape after making me a copy and me keeping the official box. Some of the 11 videos were played more than others. Planet Earth was a little too much eyeliner for me. The Chauffer and Girls on Film really had no business being in our possession so they were played less (also worth a google). Save a Prayer moved whatever soul my 12 year old self thought it had. I wanted to move to Sri Lanka and London.

As is still who I am, I was all in on Duran Duran. Full send, or no send.

It’s more than a little cringy to look back on, though I didn’t know it at the time. Back then I was just a fan who would likely someday meet them and be asked to join the band on tour and whatnot.

Not terribly long ago though, I was given a glimpse into how I came across outside my head. I was talking to someone who I had gone to elementary school with at little old Evergreen. I’m pretty sure we were together there for years.  Granted, I’m a look a bit different than I did at 13, but still…she simply could not place me no matter what context clues I threw down. Then, a dawning of knowledge slowly and fully spread across her face. “Duran Duran?” Yup. That was me. Not Crystal Palmer. Duran freaking Duran.

In the 1985 Evergreen annal, The Mirage, there is a picture of me in my DD vestments. The aesthetic is rounded out with my mullet perm and ear cuff. “Play it again, Duran” is the quote. The quote that as the editor gave me the opportunity to say “I’ll allow it.” Power like that shouldn’t go unchecked, but here we are.

Somewhere between 13 and now I grew up somewhat but that doesn’t take away the nostalgia from a far simpler time.

It’s been a minute since the biggest concern on my agenda was making sure that Shondell and I didn’t get the same buttons. But time changes also brought algorithms, the Bop magazine for the modern era. And the algorithms know that behind aged gym go-er is kid who loved D2.

There was nary a hesitative second between my phone showing me there was a concert coming and my debit card smoking with use. It’s not going to be 1984 for the performers or the fans. It’s not going to be the site of the Arena Live album; Oakland Colosseum. But Sally and I will see the band in all their glory. And even though I wish the show was earlier in the day because we all old, I can not wait! I’ll hold off on forwarding my mail to London, but if you don’t see me at work you’ll know why.

Thanks for reading!

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Möchtegern Musings

“Are you German?,” asks the incidental guide.

“Not yet” my internal voice declares.

My most important hobby right now is “walking around and looking at things.” And while doing this in Cologne, Germany, a random citizen, Uli, directed to something really cool too look at around a corner. Spoiler alert, this doesn’t end with me waking in an ice bath down one kidney.

Instead, when the corner rounded, the modern building revealed pristinely preserved Roman ruins. A passerby would have never known it was there so I was instantly appreciative (albeit suspicious) of Uli.

My default setting leans towards conspiracy, so I assumed Uli may be like people who try to sell you thing or emotionally terrorize you into supporting a side hustle of bottled water sales. ‘Twas not the case though. However, if anyone IS looking to swindle me in the future, know that  Uli’s tactic of “my kids would be so embarrassed if they knew I was talking this much to strangers” works well to convince me of trueness of character.

Uli’s daughter was on her honeymoon, by the way. Allegedly.

Anyways, I know it’s unfair to try to categorize a county based on a week of tourist activities, but the people and county that I did see, fit my little hamster wheel spirit like a glove.

Stereotypes I’d heard of Germany were that it’s efficient, orderly, and no nonsense. Aside from Instagram dirndl photo shoots at opening day of Oktoberfest by other tourists, I saw nothing to evaporate the Deutschland typecasts.

For example, the tour of Neuschwanstein Castle. In a very orderly fashion the English speaking tour headed in exactly at our appointed time and rounded the corner to see our guide in his Alfred Pennyworth aesthetic and pin straight posture unemotionally waiting for his group.

The whole tour  spoke to my soul with the baritone tour guide in his accented precise English quickly moving us from room to room. “In this next room, you’ll see a chandelier made to replicate a Byzantine crown. There’s not a lot space, move quickly.” And everyone did. And we still saw everything there was to see. Go. Do. Move on. Almost makes me tear up to remember it.

There seemed to be a flow and vibe in all I visited that was devoid of things that are unnecessary. Be it colors other than black and gray, or greeting those you pass on a walking trail. It’s not to say that people weren’t nice, there just seemed to be a refreshing level of authenticity in their interactions. Whether it was the man with the standard poodle was asking me if I needed help finding my train, or the post surgical retired steel worker lady who called us Hollywood, if seemed like it was all more genuine than what happens here.

My experience could be unique. And for all I know, I could have been invisible or violating all the cultural norms, but I liked it.

Grocery store clerks sit down behind the registers and they don’t tell you to have a nice day. My take on Germany is that you’re responsible for yourself. All my days were nice and it was also really nice to know that I didn’t need someone to tell me they needed to be. There seems to be a greater emphasis on autonomy. The trains are “honor system” and still everyone pays. Everything I saw was clean, everywhere I went I felt safe.

To further define the orderliness, think of the Shasta District Fair. Stay there any length of time and you are guaranteed to see a fight of some fashion. Estimates for daily attendance at Munich’s Oktoberfest are 300,000 people. IN A DAY! Not only did I see zero fights at this free event, I had no waits in line to get my sausage (and then later my pretzel) and my coke zeros. Also, I ditched my beer superfan there and he too showed back up still with 2 kidneys.

So no, Random Citizen, Uli. According to 23 and Me, I’m only 7.6% German. I’m pretty sure that an assessment of my whole biology. However, yesterday I was in a meeting that started with “would you like to talk about…” and without permission my German heart made be blurt “No.” before I even heard what the proposed subject was.  

However, when I see how many words I’ve typed to say just the following “Germany was truly great” I realize I’m maybe not so German after all.

Thanks for reading, and go see some cool shit in Germany.

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Tall, Darth, and Handsome

The other day I found myself chatting with a 4 year old and was reminded that keeping 4 year olds in your social circles is important. The conversation included super heroes. Because it should. I asked him who his favorite super heroes were and he responded as quickly as if the answer was a clear to him as knowing his own name, “Darth Vader. And Spiderman.”

As a superfan of Darth Vader, I couldn’t agree with him more even though some folks would say that characters whose story includes murdering young Jedis and cutting off your son’s hand aren’t exactly traditionally known as shall we say, “heroes.”

If you’re familiar with Vader’s story arc, you know he brings it back around to becoming a kinder, gentler bad guy, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what makes him cool.

It made me think about how neat it is that we’re drawn to different things.

Google says people are captivated (metaphorically) to Darth Vader in part because his status as a fashion icon. His glossy black outfit makes him a standout in a sea of white stormtroopers. It’s aesthetically pleasing. As a person who considers wearing gray stepping out into wearing “color,” I couldn’t agree more.

Apparently people are also pulled in by the (wait for it) power of the dark side. There can be intrigue associated with thinking about bad behavior. I’m sure most of us haven’t robbed a bank or throat punched an annoying person, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t thought about it. Ol’ Darth doesn’t worry about not giving into the intrusive thoughts. He just acts on them. The character triggers a thought line of wondering what you’d do if consequences were different or didn’t exist. Sure, we all want to be good people. But sometimes even good people think about doing bad things.  

The rabbit hole search of why Vader fandom exists stopped here. Partly because I don’t want to ruin his coolness by over thinking why he’s cool. But mostly because the search results included things such as “Why am I in love with Darth Vader” and I really don’t need whatever that would do to my algorithms. Like, really.

Unlike my conversation buddy/co Darth Vader fan, I’m not as likely to pick up sticks today and wield them like light sabers. Although it is possible. I’m also not going to sing the praises of Spiderman. He’s neat and all, but red and blue?! Garish!

Anyways, thanks for the reminder Mr. 4 and thanks for reading!

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What do 35 Million People Know

They say that travel changes you. And by “they” I mean people who 3 weeks ago I would have scoffed at.

But either I’m still completely loopy from yesterday’s 26 hours of travel to get home, or perhaps travel does have an impact on a person’s existence.

When this plan was loosely hatched, I had no idea if it would turn out okay. But on the other side of it, I KNOW that I can wander around foreign places for nearly 3 weeks with only what I can carry on my back. And even though I can’t pretend that I was any sort of pioneer, everyday was an adventure of trying to learn how to navigate a million unplanned puzzles.

I knew I was in for some battle when I tried to use my debit card on day one and realized that life is easier when you can read what the pin pad is saying. We learned how to negotiate metro systems in 3 countries. They’re well organized, but the way my brain reads “Canilljas” and the way it’s said on the PA are two very different things. This lead to going the wrong way on a train, getting off too early on a bus, getting off too late on a bus, and irritating enough bus drivers I may never be allowed back in Spain. I was scolded for improprieties in no less than 4 languages. I wished for a shirt that said in Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese, “I’m not trying to be rude or dumb, I really just can’t understand a thing that’s happening.” I didn’t know how restaurants worked (sounds basic, but they’re different), I didn’t know when I was being called to a cashier in grocery stores, I had to learn new bathroom things, new things about hostels, and so much more it makes my head spin.

But we did it.

And with the knowledge that we can comes a level of confidence and self-reliance that is welcomed beyond measure.

Add to this the feeling that comes with a healthy dose of understanding one’s own insignificance, and you get a recipe better than Napoli pizza sauce.

Hang with me. Feeling insignificant is not a bad thing. It’s a needed perspective shift.

On this trip, there were a million and one ways to remind yourself of what a blip on the radar we all are. For instance, we rode the train from a stop near our hotel to “Piazza del Colosseo” which is (you guessed it) near the Colosseum. This was on our 2nd day in Rome. By this time, we’d seen a staggering amount of ancient architecture in Spain, Portugal, and Rome.

“There’s this thing” we would gesture to some splendor as our comedic attempt at creating our own walking tour. Each corner you turn in any of the places we were was littered with historical beauty. It was far too much to take in appropriately. So we were already at a level of saturation for being wowed. But then,…

At the Piazza del Colosseo, you walk upstairs from the train directly across the street from a engineering miracle.

The scale of it all can’t properly be understood until it smacks you in the face. If there are words to describe how it feels, I have no idea what they are.

Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s bad that Romans used slaves to build it and that killing in the name of entertainment are bad. I’m not endorsing either of those things. What I am saying is that it’s incredibly impressive that 2000 years ago some sandal wearing dudes decided how to put rocks together in a way that would hold 65,000 people, as many as the new Allegiant stadium in Vegas. Two. THOUSAND. years ago And it’s still standing!

It boggles the mind to think that in 10 years’ time they built something that far outlasted their civilization. For comparative purposes, the courthouse in Shasta County took 6 years to build. And that’s with computers and tools and such.

Overall on our trip, Rome was not my favorite place. The amount of people and absence of spatial awareness only led to me stiff arming one lady though many others had it coming. Despite the city getting 35 million visitors per year, we only found one public bathroom. Even if you’re a train ticket holder, you still have to pay about $1.70 to use a toilet at the station. Regardless, seeing that structure was completely worth it.

I will remember the way it felt to see that magnificent landmark for the rest of my life. However, time will not remember that I was there. And that’s where the healthy level of insignificance comes into play.

I know that when I reenter reality here in couple of days, my zen state will be tested and I’ll probably cave at the first inconvenience, but I really shouldn’t. WHEN someone cuts me off on the 44 interchange, it shouldn’t matter. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme of things. No one cares if you haven’t done your hair or worn a proper bra for 3 weeks. It doesn’t matter that the peer said the thing that they knew would get your goat. None of that is what any of this is about.

In short, “they” are right. Travel does change you. Leave it to me to think 35 million people might be wrong.

Sorry for all the words, I have even more to come, but I appreciate this forum (get it, like the Romans!), to catalogue my thoughts on the adventure.

If you’ve read along, thanks for being a part of the trip. I’ve enjoyed writing about it and hope you’ve liked it as well (“Are you not entertained?!” -Maximus Decimus Meridius bwah ha!).

And now to plan the next adventure!

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Resolution as Low as Scrambled HBO

It’s safe to say that 2023 had some peaks and valleys.

I don’t typically wait for a new year for reflection or goal setting. I’m not adverse to setting “new hour’s resolutions” if needed. But plotting course seems like a good antidote to tether-less floundering.

I also don’t typically share my goals. This stems, in part, from the time that I was asked in a group setting what my resolution was. My answer of “be less competitive” was met with uproarious laughter. I punted and quickly came up with an alternate answer “I want to do a better job of cutting my vegetables more uniformly.” I failed on both of those that year.

Nonetheless, there’s something about peer pressure or shared accountability helps trigger us to stay on the path we’re hoping for.

With that in mind, here’s the things I’m hoping for out of 2024. Some are easy to measure, others are those pesky goals that are more challenging to track but more valuable to undertake.  

The challenge stemmed from those second variety of goals is what leads folks to do thinks like cut bangs or get a tattoo. You say to yourself “self, I want something different” then you go to the place and get the thing and, voila! You’ve instantly attained your goal.

Whereas, if I make a choice that my specified behavior is stealing my sparkle and decide to disengage from that behavior, that’s a choice that’s not a one and done. I have to actively decide every day to be different. This is much harder to do than getting a tattoo or bangs.

But since I am sooooooo obsessed with marking things off lists, my goals have some of those “immediate gratification” type as well as the long term, subjective measurement type. All of them are intended for me to sit somewhere next year, look back and feel like I lived well and tried to be still a better person in all my situations. My version of trying that includes, but is not limited to:

  • Work on self respect
  • Less social media, more in person contact with friends
  • Less consuming (don’t worry Amazon,…I’m okay), more experiencing
  • Find a way to recalibrate my purpose
  • More ink
  • Taking whatever classes Shasta College will allow me to and TRY not to be the classic older student stereotype
  • Become a dual status County (This could be the year, BABY!)
  • Do the stupid paddle triathlon that I wish I’d not heard of
  • Try to land on the precisely right number of fucks to give (you know, the balance between “this is an outrage. Let me send my entire energy to it” and “I literally don’t care that I haven’t shaved my legs or spent the entire day immobile”)
  • Undo some of the damage from my “no fucks given” last couple of months. And by damage, I mean my 21( thus far!!!!) extra pounds I’ve packed on. Don’t even think for a second that it’s muscle. It’s really not
  • Read those books I’ve heard people talk about, Harry Potter.
  • Paddle McCloud
  • Paddle Siskiyou
  • Fix the Camaro. Even though she was smashed up all the way back in 2020, thoughts about her destruction are still “too soon”
  • See the fighter planes fly over Danny’s house in San Antonio
  • See Bloomington, Indiana
  • Swim more
  • Say “yes” more
  • Say “fuck” less
  • Work out with a famous drag car racer
  • More yoga
  • More acupuncture for emotional resets
  • More aggressive recovery for physical resets (Sorry Phase 5, imma be your problem this coming year)
  • Have an elective IV treatment (You guys know this was a thing?!)
  • Improve my sleep hygiene (I think I CAN break my record of 40 minutes of deep sleep)
  • Host more meals at my house
  • Learn how to properly make menudo
  • See the sun rise from behind Mt. Shasta

Reality has a funny way of not always going according to plans. As a result, there could be changes in my goals for the coming year. Plot twists,…whaddya gonna do? 2023 knocked me down with some needed humbling and reminder that I’m really not special. With any luck, I’ll carry those essential lessons into 2024. My hope for the coming year is that I can look back on this chunk of time and be thankful for feeling more settled and progressed.

What are your goals for 2024?