Idiot JWs

The title is low on creativity, but high on "true dat."

So, yeah, my uncle died about a week ago. He was blind, severely autistic (think of a blind Rain Man), and diabetic. Among other things. Sister and I always told Mom he needed to go to a nursing home, mainly because he liked to go walking around town, and when he got home, he’d go to sleep, skip lunch, and wake up to find himself in the throes of really low blood sugar shock. Plenty of times he hollered so much the neighbors called an ambulance to come and get him. They had to break his window and crawl in over the trash (he collected everything—literally), but they hauled him away to the hospital. Plenty of times Mom walked in and found him stretched out on the floor in the middle of a low sugar period, pretty much incoherent. Sometimes he had gone to the bathroom on himself. His heart was weakened because of those attacks, and recently he had surgery for it, which landed him in the nursing home for what seems like six months. After he was well, she insisted he stay living on his own in that apartment with a nurse coming to visit him a couple of times a week. She let him do that because, quite frankly, she liked getting his groceries on a Sunday and talking about what a burden he was. She liked being a martyr about it. She hauled him to JW meetings he never cared to go to three times a week. If that sounds harsh, I’m not in a particularly generous and loving mood. And facts are facts.

She found him a little over a week ago just as Sister and I always said she would: lying in the floor just like any other low sugar period, but stiff and dead. She found him two Sundays ago. She isn’t sure if he’d been dead since Thursday. She only checked on him for meetings and groceries. His funeral arrangements ensued. She was making them, which I appreciated. My experience with JW funerals is that they spend very little, if any, time on the family member’s life and much more time on describing what that family member believed. It’s a chance to proselytize. So, I told my mother I wanted to speak for five minutes at his service, to thank people for the little kindnesses they showed him over the years (he could be very difficult to deal with) and follow it with a poem. I said nothing about doubting how the JWs would treat the service. She said she’d check to see whether it was “OK.” I told her anything the family wanted to do should be “OK,” as it was the family’s choice, not the preacher’s. She hates when I call them “preachers.”

Late that night I get a call from her that starts with “Virgil, I want you to promise me you’ll do me a favor.” I knew right then it was going to be all downhill. She had spoken to the JW preacher. He had said he would refuse to do the service if I got up and said anything. He didn’t want the “platform” tainted by me. He said a paraphrase of that. He also said it was a “serious” event, which should be held with grave “respect.” As though I was prepared to do a dog and pony show. The more she told me to shut up and sit down, the angrier I got. It was just one more example of the JWs using a moment of grief to take advantage of the family in some way. He was holding the service hostage to his wishes. To cut a long story short, the call didn’t end well. I told her I simply couldn’t discuss it anymore, I was too angry, too insulted, and I couldn’t believe she had sided with that blackmailing religion over her own flesh and blood. I left her with something to think about: “His behavior is outrageous. What is the rest of the non-JW family going to think when they find out about this story?” Because that’s the real witness, not what comes out of their mouths from a pulpit.

I didn’t talk to her the rest of the week. She tried to get Sister to run interference with me. I hope she was scared to death. I know she was, or she wouldn’t have bothered with Sister. I hoped that she and that idiot preacher Tom were stone cold terrified of what I was going to do when I came in. I hoped they lived in dread, because that’s what people like them do to all the people like me whom they turn away and shun in the name of “teaching us a lesson” while they get up and spout pious nonsense about how God tells them to love everyone regardless of reason. I was good and pissed.

But I didn’t want to scandalize my uncle’s funeral. I realized that making a power grab for control was basically the same damned thing they were doing. There was next to no time to get another preacher. Mom had already threatened to move the service to the Kingdom Hall and not tell me about it. But, I was also determined not to let them get away with it. So, I printed what I would have said on nice paper. Once I got to the service, I pulled the funeral director aside and told him I had written it, that I was my uncle’s legal heir (which is true), and that I wanted it with the program. As people came in, JWs and non JWs alike, they filed by and took one of each. I selected the busybodies of the room who would be most likely to spread your personal business all about town, and I told them in my most amazed and naïve voice, “I’m so glad you picked up one of those copies. You know, I was going to read that out loud, but their preacher said he wouldn’t do the service if one of the family got up and said something. You can’t blame Mom, he practically held her hostage! I have no idea what we’re going to do when something happens to her. Those people are so difficult and they really took advantage of our grief to push their own religious agenda.” By the time the idiot took the “pulpit,” he was getting the stink-eye from many different directions. This will bounce around town for months. My aunt’s eyes positively glittered when I told her.

Har.

To add insult to injury, the idiot preacher PLAGIARIZED me at the beginning of his stupid speech. He used the metaphor I had come up with to explain how my uncle functioned, and referred to it as though he came up with it himself. He also used my examples without crediting me or asking my permission. Fortunately, everyone had already picked up a copy and knew it was mine—some of them even commented about how he had cribbed it from me. So he just made himself look bad. Neither he nor his hardcore wife came up and talked to me and Sister. I made sure to tell people about that, too. They were appropriately outraged. His “flock” will have a hard time picking up extra sheep the next time they go god-bothering.

The other JWs in general were pretty well-behaved. The ones who, I think, felt bad for their behavior seemed to make open amends with me that night. They stayed and talked for a while, not that stupid brief nod they’re required to do. Sister had a couple of different experiences. But only the hardcore can stay mad at you when your life is going so well away from their influence. Most of them saw the announcement I put in the local newspaper back home (blog on that later). They knew life was going well. At that point they’re just haters, to borrow slang from some of my favorite music. One of my favorite made up expressions is, “revenge is a life well lived.” That was really very true in this case.

I’m still very angry with my mother over this crap. But for the first time in our relationship, other people have gotten a peek at what’s on the inside of our family struggle and have seen it for the one-sided view she always presents to outsiders. For once, people saw just how wrong things were. It was a long time in coming, but it was very satisfying.

-- DV (still not answering the phone)

Back in the Saddle Again

So, some people have been a bit miffed that I haven’t blogged recently. Well, I’d like to have blogged recently. I’ve just been a bit too damned busy in real life to do so. Or too mad to do so. As to the mad part, I’ll blog very soon about my uncle’s funeral in all its Jehovah’s Witness drama, so stay tuned for that. Life has been a bit of a flurry for the past few weeks.

Mainly, I’ve been settling into my new job. Mondays equal a painful five sections of class to teach. Wednesdays are four sections and Fridays are three. In theory, I have Tuesdays and Thursdays to grade and plan. But mostly they’ve been sucked up with meetings or fixing administrative snafus. I have a busy schedule for a lower rung prof, really. I’m teaching what’s called a 4/4 load, which is pretty much the accepted maximum that you can give somebody. This fall, I’m technically teaching six classes, not four. But because the hours work out to be the same it’s considered 4/4. Normally, your work load would sort of stop there, if you were hired just to teach. But...considering I’m also supposed to be putting out almost the same level of research that my other PhD’d colleagues are doing (as a higher up basically informed me), I’ve got to figure out a way to fit that in somehow. I'm being strongly encouraged to publish. Already. I’m required to do “service,” which basically means sitting in on a committee. My committees are full of deans, so it’s important not to drool on my shirt when I go in. That seems to be one of the harder parts of the job. I’m also expected to conference it up every now and again, and I’m scheduled to go to the biggest composition conference in our field in March. As a presenter. *Gulp.* I’m trying my damndest to hold to a normal 9-5 schedule (more like 8-5, really) and not work on the weekends. That will be a new experience for me.

The kids are interesting. They’re all first generation college students, so they come with their own sets of skills and weaknesses. Only about 25% of them are expected to make it to graduation--a stat I'd like to change. They don’t like talking in class. It’s harder to draw them out of their shell. But I like them all. Which is a first. Normally, there’s a few duds I’d like to get rid of. Maybe my social worker gene is blinding me to their true flaws, or something.

The job comes with its own set of perks and social drama, which I may blog about in much further detail later. I have one office mate, but she never shows up. So I basically have the office to myself. It’s a sweet set up, too. JP and Batmite! would be really jealous. Or maybe not, since they got the hell out of Dodge already. So is the person who lost the job to me, I think. She’s been acting weird around me, and I was actually afraid that this would happen. Originally, we were supposed to share an office. I thought that was a bad idea, but I think she actually asked to be moved. I’ve gone out of my way to be nice, but she’s acting really…weird. Sigh. Someone who is faculty who had been really snotty to me (no, not the Balrog) all last year has come by my office to introduce himself. Four times. I have three teaching assistants that I control. Mwa-ha-ha-ha. One of them is a drama queen, and I may have to put the smack down on her behavior. A forthcoming blog on that will commence.

But mainly, I’m busy trying to rise to the expectations I’ve been given, trying to reach a bunch of teenagers who are scared to death, all the while maintaining a part of my life that’s my “own” without fully getting absorbed into academia.

Take Friday, for example. I taught until about 12:30. I had a couple of hours in the office of getting copies made, prepping for next week’s classes, making final funeral arrangements, blah. At 3:30 I had a committee meeting. At 4:30 there was the required face time at the department beginning of year function (where apparently the chair had announced my award and my appointment, so the snotty dude introduced himself and his entire family to me again at that function). Then I rushed back to pick up D/B because there was a new faculty welcome event at the local woman politician’s house. I thought about ditching out, but I’m glad I didn’t. The first two people I met when we got there were the dean of my college and her assistant. That’s basically the CEO and the VP. They called me by my first name. I was glad I showed up. Then at 7:30, a rush to the local elementary school to meet Dante’s new teacher. Then at 8:00, Fight Night! Woot. At that point in the week, I needed to see people beat each other to a pulp for my entertainment to feel some sort of “balance” in my life. Sheesh.

More later.

-- Dante’s Virgil

Maybe He Does Already?

I normally don't really care for email forwards. I just don't find them to be as funny as everyone else seems to. At least it's not as bad as a few years ago, when a Christian acquaintance spammed me with every prayer request and Gawd is Good spam email known. She broke off all contact with me when she found out I didn't celebrate Christmas as a kid. She never even gave me a chance to tell her the good stuff.

But this forward from Sister hit the spot. See what you think:

Powerful Women

Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders and says...


'Oh shit ...she's awake!!!'

Ha! If only I believed in him, I would wonder whether he didn't do that already.

-- Virgil

From G's to Giggles

MTV really has some great mindless television lately. Anyone who knows me knows how much I like reality TV. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's the stupid indulgence factor. Who knows? My favorite reality show of all used to be The Flavor of Love. It was just so full of weird, fail and funny. After all, it was mainly about a bunch of leand-over tennis shoe women who were all competing for a burned out, semi-literate crack baby who wore giant clocks around his neck. Sadly, nothing in the previous statement is considered libel, because it's all true. One woman even pooped on the floor while everyone else was in the room. Equally as sad, he seems to have found some happiness recently with a baby-mamma who wasn't even on any of the shows to begin with. The spin off I Love New York was pretty much just as good, because it took the most dramatic contestant from The Flavor of Love and gave her an identical set up with a bunch of equally ridiculous men with interesting names like "12 Pack" and "Buddha". Sadly, she also found what she was looking for in "Tailor Made," which was basically a spineless, well-to-do white boy looking for a dominatrix. For the ultimate in lols, the losers on both these shows plus a couple of rejects from Rock of Love are in a new show called I Love Money on VH1 where they all live together and compete in teams over cash. It's pretty funny.

So now that my expectations are known, I have to say that I find G's to Gents to be one of the best new reality shows I've seen in a while. You can watch a trailer of it here: linky. Fonzworth Bentley is the host of this show--Puff Daddy's umbrella holder. That alone should be sufficient reason to tune in. The premise is that 14 gangsters move into this mansion to learn how to become gentlemen--style, manners, etiquette, speaking, etc. with the prize at the end being $100,000. The aim of the show is purportedly to seek out the men who really need the help and to get rid of the "wanna-G's" like Mikey P. and last week's J. Boogie in favor of people for whom this might be their last chance at a successful life. Presumably. In a way, it's kind of like Ruby Payne's idea of generational poverty and how the middle class needs to teach the poverty class the skills they have that make them successful at life. But enough of my work life seeping into my entertainment!

In practice, the show does seem to follow that rule. Men who don't seem to be in real trouble (like Mikey P. who owns a house and has a good job) or people who are probably off in the head (like "Truth," who seemed like a schizophrenic) get sent home. The ones with anger management problems that all the rest of the men want to see go home get to stay because if they don't change, they'll likely end up in jail. I don't think the rest of the men have figured out how the system works yet, unsurprisingly. The way the voting process works is that each man gets a black sphere to drop in the wooden box of the person he thinks needs to leave the "Gentlemen's Club." The top three nominees get called to the mat, but Bentley gets the final say in who goes. They then have to hang up their club jacket, as their "membership is revoked." They all at least know that means they have to leave.

There is definitely a sense of democracy about the black spheres--most of the contestants call them "spears", but even the mispronunciation makes a point. Most men "spear" the one they want dead on the show. It's still funny to hear "Who put that goddamn black spear in my box?! Which one of you motherfuckers done it?!" There was also a startling sense of importance and gravity that came after Bentley announced the spheres and their purpose. One of the men said, "Wow. I count now. I have a say, and I have a vote. Better not mess with me, sucker, 'cause I'll put that black spear on you." I was really struck by how many of them seemed pleased at the fact that they got some say in the direction things would go. It made me wonder if they voted in their regular lives--the delight they showed in "finally getting a say" made me suspect not. I don't think any of them are felons, so I wonder why voting seems so new and powerful to them. But I can't help but wonder, being the academic that I am handicapped by a social worker gene.

The most flap seems to be over who is a real G and who isn't. For that, we have to first agree on what a "G" is. It's arguable that most of them aren't really "gangsters." Hoodlums, maybe. Rough necks, certainly. Gangsters, doubtful. There are a few, though, who have probably seen the inside of a police station a few times. One of the men is living out of his car. There are some who are just sleazy, like Cee. He's a self-described con artist. His reason for coming on the show is that he has a little girl, and he doesn't want her growing up thinking "daddy is a guido." My favorite, and the most "real" in my opinion, is "Creepa." Creepa's dad was shot and killed when he was just a baby, and his mother is disabled, so he basically had to figure out how to make things work on his own from a young age. He thinks that justifies the way he's lived his life, and frankly, I don't blame him. He's obviously more intense than the other guys, because they're all scared to death of him. He doesn't really do much to intimidate them other than sit there with his sunglasses on so people can't read his eyes and give off vibes like he could beat the crap out of you for fun. But when he talks to Bentley, he really seems like he wants more for himself in life and just doesn't know how to get it. When they first dressed up in suits, it was his first suit experience in his entire life. He had a big grin and said, "When I get back to the hood, they're gonna be hatin' on me, 'cause I'm gonna be rockin' suits every day!"

There are quote opportunities galore on this show. When Cee came down the hallway where all their photos were framed, there was a commotion about someone having drawn a black X over his face. "Who would do something like that?" He screamed. "When you draw that crap on there it's like you're defacing my face!!" Turns out it was all an elaborate con by Cee, who drew an X over his own face to plant suspicion about another house member he wanted gone. It almost worked, as that guy was on the chopping block, but Bentley chose to save him because he needed the help. One of the newer things MTV is doing with this show is that you can interact with cast members over the internet. This seems like an incredibly bad idea, somehow.

On the otherhand, I might just strike up a conversation with Creepa. It would make great blog material.

-- Virgil

Fat Lady Sang Saturday

Sigh. What a way to end. My last three days at my literacy job involved 1) the end of year statistics report (for both counties) where we count up everybody we served, etc., 2) the second annual golf tourney, at which I was ranking staff member, which means I ran around most of the time keeping people's heads from popping off and shaking the hands of important people and 3) participating in a mandatory United Way fund raising event that starts at 6:30 in the bloody morning.

Someone asked me how I felt about it being my last day (which was Saturday). My response was, "I'm too tired to notice." I certainly gave up my pound of flesh. Right now I've got two weeks of no real job until school starts back. Well, that's not exactly true. I need to shore up my lesson plans and my syllabi for this semester--it's mostly done but not complete. It's in the dotting of the i's and crossing of the t's phase. I've already been to several important committee meetings, where everybody else on the team outranked me by a lot--as in really high on the administrative scale (deans & assoc. deans). It's a weird feeling being the known puppy in the room. I think they're looking at me like I have big paws that I should grow into. Bizarre.

So for now, I'm at home with the kittehs. Yep, there's two of them now. A grey poof of fuzz named Lady Jane Grey, whom we call Jane for short. I have pics of her on my new digital camera, if only I could figure out how to get them out of the camera and onto the computer. Stand by.

It's a really interesting time in my life. I've worked two jobs and gone to graduate school for two years. This will literally be the first year in my life where I wasn't working two jobs at once. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

-- Virgil

...

Tired now. Blog later.

Hey, new people. It's normally faster paced than this. Stand by.

-- DV