We Carry the Fire

This time of year we are reminded of family. So many holidays smashed into 3 consecutive months will do that. Naturally, as the snow begins to fall, I start to think more of my family. The other day I was shoveling the parking lot at Planet Rock (you're welcome Nick) when I spontaneously looked down at my hands, I thought they looked remarkably like my dad's. I spent the better half of an hour shoveling and thinking of the first time I ever met him. 

I was young, probably sixth grade, so a lot of the details are fuzzy, but I'll never forget him standing there in Summit Place Mall (currently known as Scummet Place). Since that day we've gotten together on several separate occasions, different holidays for stints of two or three hours. I remember meeting his new wife for the first time, a spontaneous red head who outranks anyone I know in the realm of physical activity and pure, unabashed energy levels. I think though, the first time we really met, in other words, the first time we really knew each other, is when I went out to visit him in Seattle, WA. 

To set the scene I was a book worm in college, struggling (in the most relaxed definition of the word) to find an identity that I was comfortable with. I was not active, I didn't run, bike, jump, swim, climb or even really walk that much. I was always under the impression that having severe asthma and allergies as a child I couldn't do these things. So for the most part I gamed, I read, I drank (in healthy amounts) and I hung out with my girl friend at the time. Obviously, I worked and went to class too. There was nothing though, that I really felt defined me, I didn't even have a drivers license. In July I had a week to go out and visit him, I would fly out there and spend about 5 days.

If you've ever flown into Seattle you know that there is nothing like seeing Mt. Rainier protruding up past the clouds, nothing like seeing the Mountain Ranges crowd the night lights of the city. It was dark so I was unaware of my surroundings, but I could tell by his excitement that this place meant a lot to my dad. He couldn't wait until it was light outside and I could see the natural beauty in everything around me. I closed my eyes and imagined my dad, not much older than I am now, coming to seek shelter in this city. It seemed really comforting, all of the mountains paternally towering over you. My dad lives a little less than an hour outside of Seattle, he told me to look out the window when I woke up in the morning. When I did, there was a straight up mountain outside...well not a mountain mountain, but being from Southeast Michigan it was the closest I've ever been to one. It was a truly perfect setting to find myself in.

Over the next few days, my dad and I set about exploring one another. This was the longest we've ever spent together so we talked while we hiked, watched movies, went fishing, hooked the dog up to the mountain board and let it pull us down a dirt path (though, there wasn't that much talking during that last activity). He showed me his favorite spots on the river, where he lived when he first moved there, a couple goofy tourist spots and the best, most breathtaking view of Mt. Rainier. He introduced me to some amazing characters; his best friend he lived with for awhile, his Montana bred boss named Cleave, and his incredibly capable dog Max. Every person and every place I met I experienced as a part of my dad's narrative and subsequently as a part of mine. Everything out there became a part of me and remains that way to this day.   

 

One of the last days out there my dad took me surfing. The weather was colder (not compared to Michigan though, suck it up people!) so there was no one out there, but us. We used his paddle board to try and ride out some waves, but surfing is tough and the paddle board was big and cumbersome. He was able to paddle his way out there and ride out a couple of waves. I'm sure if you surf, that may not be impressive, but if you've never surfed in your life, take my word for it, it was an incredibly difficult task. I tried and got my ass formally and politely handed back to me every time. Each time I washed back up on shore my dad would fine tune everything I did, pick me back up, show me a better way to stand or mount the board, then send me right back out. He probably watched me take a beating about 30 times before finally I got up and rode a wave about 25 feet back to shore. The whole time I was on the board I watched him jumping for joy and pointing in my direction. That moment meant the most to me, I felt a true sense of pride swell up in me, pride in being his son and I felt a pride swell in him too, that pride met mine and they crashed together like the waves on the shore.

When I came back to Michigan there was a fire in me. I picked up mountain biking and rock climbing. I began running almost everyday. I saw this untapped athletic potential and I meant to use it. Not only that, but I got my drivers license, I took to my job and my school with a new passion. I discovered this identity that existed in the mold of my dad's. I no longer feared disappointment from others or guilt, the pride in me burned away the old and left room for a new Kyle. I filled this space with confidence, happiness, awareness and acceptance. Everyday I am more and more comfortable with myself for this reason. Having known my dad in this capacity has been and will be the single greatest thing to ever happen to me. 

When I went back into Planet Rock after shoveling the parking lot, I wasn't just warm, I was burning from the same fire lit two years ago.

The Sound and the Movie

While at the book store looking for gifts I found a favorite book of mine in high school. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner, I remember I picked it for a project at school and I was a little daunted because The Sound and the Fury, by the same author, was a pretty tough read. Any way, I'm not trying to boast, but the book had some importance to me. That being said, when I say it was being made into a feature length film with James Franco, I had mixed feelings.

Now Hollywood has always made books into movies, for some reason though it's just now starting to get to me. I was never so elitist to complain about this inevitability. Yet, there was something about seeing this book turned into a movie as well as this rumor that David Foster Wallace is going to be played by Jason Segel in a potential biopic, that really pushed me over the edge. I don't really understand how this movie carried with language, can be turned into a movie with the impossible task of capturing the attention of an audience who is largely looking to be visually stimulated. I went over to Book Riot to hopefully find some fellowship in my anger, but was met instead with Jeff O'Brian's interesting take on the matter.

O'Brian posits that movies are logistical nightmares and therefore the story is best left up to an author. He believes that books are the best of story making technology because there is the least amount of friction between creation and imagination. It is up to the movie to create a vivid world of format for the story of the book to exist in. The two should be working together creating a parallel of form and contact that will convey a more whole and immersing message. The film's job is to captivate and the novels job is to enlighten. I thought this was an interesting perspective, but I feel as though the storm is not quite over.

In part I agree with O'Brian, but I don't like the fact that there is an infinite cache of books for producers and production companies to choose from. What this means to me is that there will be a very real effect on both works of the past and works of the future in addition to the literary world as a whole. If a great work of fiction written some time ago is today coupled with a terrible movie, our reaction to that book is forever changed for generations to come. Similarly, today a lot of authors seem like they're just writing screen plays in book format and publishing companies are quick to raise those books to the public eye because movies are what sell. I don't want the literary world to continue this indentured servitude to the film industry.

Technically I have no proof any of this is happening or will happen. I just hope when future teachers play the Great Gatsby film to accompany the book, someone is there explaining directorial decisions. I hope that the poetry of As I Lay Dying is not lost because "who needs it? James Franco is hott!"

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Eek! A Homeless!

Living in Metro Detroit, having worked in Downtown Detroit and currently working in Pontiac, Michigan, I have had plenty of experience with homeless people, poor people asking for money and panhandlers. The amount of pure, unabashed chastising I have gotten for giving to others, ranges somewhere in the infinity range, as it will probably continue to occur. Apparently there is just no right way to feed someone, but I don't buy that (no pun intended). There are a series of experiences I would like to share that may alleviate some of  the "protection" people feel they need to dish out whenever I'm asked for money...or anything for that matter.

Let me first start out my admitting I am a grade A sucker. If someone says they need money for the bus, I tend to believe them. Do I give them money? No, not always, but I do believe they need money for the bus and not heroine or something. That being said if someone is asking for a little spare cash for some food, that is different. I would also like to start out with another disclaimer: not all people begging are homeless. For example, this dude who asks for money in Downtown Royal Oak, is my neighbor, he has a home, but I think many think he is homeless. I think this is an important distinction to make. When someone comes up to me and asks me for money, I don't just assume they are homeless, but I do assume they are in need, my neighbor most certainly is.

Another important thing to consider is that 842,000 adults and children are homeless in a given week. This means that sometimes a homeless person will be truly homeless one moment, have additional resources the next, but could go right back to being homeless and the number will continue to fluctuate. This is another important disclaimer because we need to acknowledge the vast amount of homeless in America, but we don't necessarily need to isolate them from the poorest population as though they are separate problems that are not interconnected.

Anyway here's an argument I hear all the time: the ole' teach a man to fish axiom. You don't want to make begging more lucrative and working less lucrative. I do think it is important to give people jobs, but you can't just pick up a homeless man or woman and put them in a factory to start working, that era is dead (well, it moved to China and other high producing countries, but that's a separate blog post). If you have the skills and resources to pick up, provide transportation and job training as well as a job to a homeless person, then by all means please do it. I personally don't have this capacity, but I do have the ability to help others with their day to day burden of life.

For example; Uncle DD frequently stops into the climbing gym I work at in Pontiac. Usually we give him a gigantic bag of returnables to go make the deposit on. Sometimes he asked for money, but mostly he wants pizza, so we'll buy him some every so often. DD has been coming in for as long as the gym has been in existence. I've talked to him, given him rides places, fixed up his bike and bought him pizza. DD is only homeless sometimes, but upon talking to him, I think he resents the word homeless, which you know...makes sense. One day he comes in and asks for bottles, I go downstairs and grab some, when I come back up he's talking to someone. She's trying to give him the phone number for an organization that can help, she's telling him it doesn't matter what his story is because he can get help regardless and she's handing him a brochure. I give him the bottles, he also asks for a winter hat and I give him one of mine. That night, the woman he spoke to told me that she knows I think I'm doing good, but that he needs real help, not hand outs. I don't necessarily disagree, but I gave him a hat and a means of making some money for his kids, that I know he has because I've built a relationship with him. She gave him a phone number and this idea that his story doesn't matter. I'm not saying I helped more, but I did make sure that he doesn't have to buy a hat, that he doesn't have to worry about food that night and I think that is important. For the record, I've helped DD find housing programs as well, when he wanted it.

I'm not trying to ride my high horse through Pontiac. I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do, but believe it or not, homeless people are our neighbors, they are members in our community. Get to know someone you see on the street everyday. Afraid your money will be spent on drugs? Why don't you get to know someone, then you'll know if they have a drug problem. All it takes is an acknowledgment of what kind of help should be given, which only takes one conversation, which is not necessarily that hard. Sometimes you might not be able to give money, ask if you can help in a different way, when you can't do that just give your condolences and walk on. But if you can spare the time to talk, I can promise that it will be far more well spent than one dollar. So back off, I'll do it my way, you do it yours. I can promise you my moral fiber and I do not need your help, they do.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Congrats, You Are Officially an Elitist!

On Tuesday I had an interview with Oakland County Government. I'm incredibly excited and it went far better than I could have even hoped. Keep me in your thoughts.

It seems lately that I've had a lot of conversations with people about the value of college. It seems I'm always either defending it to my friends or I'm convincing them that some job will come up that allows them to use their brain. Being the optimist is becoming harder and harder for me. Soon I will have to be paying my immense debt back to some collections company the Government sold it to. I've really been racking my brain about whether or not it was worth it.

 On the one hand, if my life is a series of statistics, going to college was a good idea. According to the O.E.C.D. as a graduate from a four year university I'm supposed to make 84 percent more than a high school graduate. Maybe. In fact it only really puts me in the right odds to do this. It essentially gives me more chips to put on the roulette board, but I could still be making all of the wrong decisions here. As you can see I'm not the only one in the casino. It's also infuriating to see that the only one who doesn't seem to be profiting here is me. Again, according to the O.E.C.D. the government makes a profit of about $231,000 on each American who graduates from colleges. I would be fine with this fact if I were any closer to using my degree in a career setting and making a higher income to be taxed. But I'm not.

And it isn't for lack of trying. I've hit the job Market hard, really hard. The problem is, once again, I'm not the only one. According to the United States Labor Department, the percentage of Millennials who are unemployed is a whopping 16.2. Follow that up with the Harvard study that says most of them are employed with a part time job anyway and you have a recipe for hopelessness in the job market. We are told time and time again that we'll make more money with a college degree, but, correct me if I'm wrong, I think we need a job first. The problem I foresee is that everyone has a degree, there is supposed to be a staggering 1.8 million additional bachelor degrees given out in the next YEAR, suddenly my degree feels less like a golden ticket to a career and more like admission to a rat race. 

But maybe that's not why I went to college at all. Maybe I went to college for awareness. If you believe as David Foster Wallace does, then maybe you went to college for awareness too. Maybe you feel that the life lessons, lifetime friends, appreciation for your capability and belief in your mental discipline is essentially invaluable and whether you finished College or not, maybe those things can't be quantified or qualified with where you are in your life right now. Maybe you loved college and you're just scared that a promise has been broken to you and maybe you know you need to make new promises to yourself to help you get through this. Maybe you'll never trust a promise from generations "wiser" than you again, but you can promise yourself that you're going to do everything in your power, every little thing, to get that worth back one tiny, insignificant moment at a time. Maybe you think this is naive and stupid, but without it you'd drown in your crippling monetary debt and the debt you think you owe in expectations. Or maybe you don't think any of this and you're just really angry. I think maybe that's O.K. too. 

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Catching Wind of Catching Fire

I caught the new movie Catching Fire last night and it was pretty...not that bad. I might even go so far as to say I was pleasantly surprised! Probably not enough to convince myself to read the books, but definitely enough to see the third one. While I will be no where near as scathing as this review, I would like to point out some interesting and unexpected aspects of the movie. No spoilers if you haven't seen it.

The movie seems to feature every classic dystopian stereotype you could imagine. Oppressive governmental regimes, a complete lack of privacy, revolution cusps...the list goes on and on. The Games themselves are really just a gladiator style starving people pacifier. One where people watch violent entertainment to distract them from their real problems, namely: starvation. While that is always usually pretty interesting, I feel the idea, having been used since ancient Rome, is a little tired. What I did enjoy is the idea of fashion and public image as either a means of pacification and distraction or a subtle nod to dissension or revolution. Katniss's (spelling? Who cares!) stylist was always using her wardrobe as a canvas for government subordination, but also subtle acts of rebellion. I enjoyed that the upper class was obsessed with what the famous pledges were wearing. Phillip Seymour Hoffman (What?) had an interesting spiel about destroying public image, how when we juxtapose our public heroes' seemingly lavish lifestyle from their ideas, we distance them from the very people they fight for. Think Michelle Obama for instance, do a segment on her wardrobe following a story about poor people and suddenly she's a villainous bitch. Thanks Fox News!

I also feel that I finally understand the Hunger Games. Usually in a dystopian novel, you observe some criticism of the world we currently live in, like in 1984; it seems the government is infringing on our freedom of speech, ten years later, here we are. I never quite saw what was happening in our current day and age that would eventually lead us to forcing kids to kill each other. As a result I always thought it was a cheap way to add sentimentality to the gladiator style, distraction, cheap, dystopian story. After watching this movie with an outstanding adult cast that essentially did nothing and watching these kids bear the emotional acting weight of the film, I realized that is exactly the point. It's a generational allegory! The youth are meant to bear what the adults can't handle and the adults sit idly by because of guilt or disenfranchisement or pure hopelessness. I thought that was way more exciting and interestingly toyed with.

Overall though, I felt pretty lost. Having not read the books was frustrating, I thought the first movie was so full of holes and awkward that much of the excellently crafted symbolism in the second was lost on me. I also didn't really care about many of the characters, there were too many with fragmented back stories that came out of no where, but that I was expected to care about. When certain characters died it played out like it was sad, which people dying usually is, but I mostly found this sucking the development time away from characters I actually wanted to see and learn more about.

One more thing! I thought the way the score was used is really interesting too. It's a triumphant and short little tune complete with royal sounding brass and base drums. What I liked is that it was only really played in moments of extreme gaudiness or to honor dead people within the actual games. This made the theme song that sounded victorious seem desperate and haunting. I thought that was neat.

I think the whole movie is neat. Go ahead and read the Wikipedia article about the first movie, then treat yourself to the second.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

F*** Your Campus Bookstore!

This past weekend I decided I will probably get most, if not all of my friends books for Christmas. I think books can be personal, they give you something to do and, even if you're gift receiver is not the most avid reader, they also make good decorations. Another thing I realized over the past weekend is that I don't have near enough appreciation for independent bookstores as I think I should have. Although, I'm not sure I think I should have any appreciation at all.

It actually occurred to me on business Saturday, when I heard that, in honor of the day, a handful of famous authors were working a shift at local independent book stores. I thought that was super cool. In some ways I think it's very important to shop at your local bookstore. For one, it helps promote local authors, people who aspire to be writers will often hand bind there books and float them in their neighborhood bookstores. Jane Roper  and many other contemporary authors claim that they would not have been able to get published in the online shopping world of today. It's also good for local economies, fairly recent studies show, without taking inflation into account, that if you spend $100 at a local store then $68 will stay in your local community, but when you spend $100 at a chain only $42 will remain in your local community. Not to mention there is a certain aesthetic appeal to shopping at bookstores, they're warm, they have a nostalgic up north cabin smell and perusing through books can be cathartic in a way that most retail shopping experiences can't do for me. Though I wonder if the bookstore is really more a novelty (no pun intended) than anything else.

The local bookstore is often used as the stand alone poster child for this new local-vore trend that seems to be sweeping the nation. Though, I was reading Farhad Manjoo's recent article in Slate, and I felt he offered up some interesting points. For example, should we really be demonizing large online retailers like Amazon? Amazon is selling books at an alarming rate. I think some authors and readers like to believe that there is something more to books than just sales and while that might be true, without sales, there would be no authors or readers. If you enjoy the bookstore experience, please go there and buy your books and please, shop local whenever you can, but let's not romanticize book stores in the eyes of authors and consumers. In my experience, book stores are largely inefficient for the consumer looking to purchase specific books. If you've ever been to John K. King's Book store, you'll learn soon enough that there are no databases designed to help you find whatever book you're looking for, you have no choice but to browse or ask a slightly less confused sales associate. Even large independent bookstores like the Strand in New York can't afford to pay for rent, property taxes (in New York) and employees without jacking up their prices. At Amazon, the book prices are cut in half while still providing a fair profit to the authors and publishing companies. When comparing the two, it seems that the institution that sells more books at a fair price is doing the author and the consumer more justice.

Honestly I would steer people in the direction of libraries. Libraries are all about access, they often support local authors and even if you want to buy books, they often have affordable book sales. There is nothing more community driven than a library in my mind, but that being said, I can't necessarily buy all of my Christmas books at the library right now... Odds are, I'll probably get some really old, grubby books at the local bookstore. Fresh clean books are almost too impersonal for a gift and I like the surprises that I might not have found if I had gone the Amazon route. I just thought I'd drop in to give my two cents: Bookstores offer a very unique, but specific enjoyable experience, but don't let that fool you into thinking that buying your books anywhere else, like Amazon, is going to ruin the literary world.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Like a Young God

I've been looking for a new job since August now and I think the most frustrating thing to come across are these, apparently abundant, pyramid schemes. I've even interviewed with one of these "companies". Coming up; I'm almost recruited to be a cog in an incredibly well oiled machine and how I almost become the next Willy Loman. Stay Tuned. 

First of all, what is a pyramid scheme? According to Dave Roos, a contributing writer at How Stuff Works, there are two kinds of schemes. The first is a product scheme, this operates by getting people to buy a package of products from the distributor to turn around and try to sell. These usually don't work because the product won't sell, or doesn't sell very well. Those of you who watched Hey Arnold might remember the episode where Gerald tries to sell watches. The other is a naked scheme, in which no product is sold, but people are tricked into investing money into a company. On the other, other hand, there are these Multi-Level Marketing companies as well. MLM companies might seem more legitimate because they don't require an up front cost like training or starter kits, they focus more on selling product for money than recruiting people and they allegedly work you on commission without stealing your money. Many believe that, although the MLM and the pyramid scheme share very similar structures, the MLM is far more legitimate. This is how I got roped into applying at Detroit Business Consulting.

Detroit Business Consulting (warning, website will play bad music at you), is a multi-level marketing company located in Troy, Michigan. Basically their job is to sell companies to other companies. What was explained to me is that I would be traveling around selling AT&T or Resteraunt.com to businesses. Each sale I would make a certain percent back on commission. Once I was with the company for so long, I could have my own team of sales personnel make money for me, then when they got their own sales team, I would take a chunk of their profit as well as the team's profit after that. You can literally see the pyramid being built. But let me back up. 

I just graduated college and I'm trying desperately to get a job. I started applying for jobs via Linkedin, when all of a sudden a recruiter messages me that a position has opened up at Detroit Business Consulting. I hit their website and do some looking around. The engineers behind the site did a good job keeping exactly what the company does extremely vague as well as plastering the Better Business Bureau's seal of accreditation. So of course I accept an interview. Basically there were two interviews, I show up to the first one and talk myself up to the "Independent Business Owner" whose job it is to hire new recruits to make him and his boss's boss "rich". I make it to the second interview. This time I meet with a sales executive, the guy I'll be working Making money for. He takes me out to coffee and explains to me exactly how this works. 

While all of this goes down, the interviews, the phone calls with the recruiter, the coffee, all I saw was sadness. I had coffee with Trevor, according to the website it doesn't seem like he's with that company anymore. Trevor wanted me to be a part of his team. We talked about music and being young looking for a job. I could tell he really enjoyed talking about this stuff too. He excitedly told me how fast I could move up, how he saw traits in me that he saw in himself, that I could have my own sales team in no time. Then we started talking about music some more...and coffee. I realized Trevor just kind of like talking to people, Trevor was a cool guy, but Trevor needed me to be part of his team so he could make money, so Trevor had a crazy look in his eye. I can't look at the website without getting bummed out, it seems so sleazy and so desperate, but that's kind of how I feel when I'm looking for jobs. No wonder why they appeal to young, vulnerable college students, it's operated by young vulnerable college students with agendas. We both had a desperation in us and I think that's kind of sad.

I turned the job down and went to work for Quicken Loans for a short time. While I was working at Quicken I met a lot of people who had applied at DBC before too. They seemed to be utterly disgusted with what it wanted them to do; traveling sales, making money for other people, using other people to make money for yourself. They all had the same story, they had just graduated college and this company sought them out. The Multi-Level Marketing company seems like it is a pyramid scheme; it dilutes the market forcing you to hire other people to sell to their circles for you, it seems that only people at the top make money (1% of the company according to Roos) and they are a recruiting machine. Ultimately though, I think we were so mad at them because they tried to find this fear in us, this fear of being unemployed, of going no where in life and tried to use that fear to work us into their system. While I agree that it is frustrating, I can also see that these people were in the same position as me some time ago, people who broke down and took the job because it made them feel good enough, now they're just trying to make ends meet too. I can't be mad at that, I can't even blame them.

WILLY: Biff Loman is lost. In the greatest country in the world a young man with such—personal attractiveness, gets lost. And such a hard worker. There’s one thing about Biff— he’s not lazy.

LINDA: Never.

WILLY: [with pity and resolve]: I’ll see him in the morning; I’ll have a nice talk with him. I’ll get him a job selling. He could be big in no time. (Act 1)

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Empire of Gratitude: The Power of Thank You Notes

It's my freshman year of college and I'm issued up a challenge. Write 1 thank you note a day, everyday, for the entirety of the school year. Was this the greatest lesson in humility I've ever learned? Probably, but to be perfectly honest, I'm not really sure what to call it. Coming up: how a single thank you note, turned into an empire of gratitude...stay tuned.

The challenge was simple, I felt I could easily write a thank you note a day. But lets back up a second. Why was I even doing this? My buddy Cam got me hooked on the idea, he explained his own experiences with thank you notes and the power they seemed to have. It did seem pretty alluring, this idea that I would be documenting my appreciation of the people in my life. Challenge accepted. So I set to work, the first thank you note I wrote was on a standard size, 3 by 5 note card to my roommate Luke. Sometimes I wonder if he still has it. It was incredibly simple, I just thanked him for being a good friend, signed it, then put it on his desk for him to find. From then on, day by day, I wrote a thank you note.

There were rules I set for myself. The number one rule, the very standard, was that I could not be seen giving the thank you note to the designated person. I didn't want this to become some vain, self centered endeavor and I was afraid that if I received the instant gratification from handing someone a thank you note, then that's exactly what this would become. Other rules included: only writing the notes in pen because I wanted to come across genuine and erasers don't really help that cause, only 2 thank you notes per person because I didn't want a crutch and no holiday/birthday notes, because that is sappy as hell. Very soon after my first week of thank you writing it started to dawn on me that this would be much harder than I thought. I was going to have to get creative.

After I burned through all of my closest friends and my family fast enough, I began to write thank yous to people outside those circles. I wrote a thank you note to all of my professors and slipped it under their office doors. One professor I couldn't find so I showed up early to class and slipped it under the locked classroom door. When class started he found it laying on the ground; he bent down, picked it up and put it in his pocket. That was his last year at the university before he retired, I hope that thank you note meant something to him. I know his class meant something to me, it was the single hardest class I have ever taken in college and I tried my hardest because I knew it was his last class ever and I didn't want it to be filled with total duds. The academic community only extends so far, I took 4 classes a semester, that only amounts to 8 thank you notes total (math!).

I wrote a thank you note to two cafeteria workers. Rosetta, a friendly African American woman who had the best friggin' mac and cheese, mac that reminded you of home, made you warm inside because it reminded you that the only time your mom let you watch TV at dinner was when you ate mac and cheese. This made me feel slightly better about eating in a cafeteria. So Rosetta got a thank you. I had another cafeteria worker give it to her. The other was a man everyone referred to as Chef Jeff. Jeff was a spit fire cafe worker. Other than making subtle alcohol references to students, singing loudly to himself and making fart noises, Jeff worked the pizza station. I genuinely enjoyed Chef Jeff's ability to take students outside of their heads while they were walking around the cafe. I literally watched a shy girl run away from the pizza station at full speed because he asked her how her day was going. Hilarious. So Jeff got a note. After placing it on the counter and hurriedly walking away I heard him ask another worker "you think there's money in it?" Success. I even wrote a thank you note to the cafeteria itself by sticking a note card in the suggestion box.

Each note was personalized, there were always at least three sentences expressing heart felt reasons why I was thankful for that person. I wrote a thank you note to the maintenance crew in the residence hall I lived in for keeping the halls clean. I wrote a thank you note to my Resident Assistant because he really worked hard to make a difference on his floor, but we were freshman so we didn't care, but I wanted to show him that I cared, so Sean got one. Musicians I thought were particularly good at the open mic I attended, got one in their guitar case. My step dad, got one on his dresser. Old high school friends, got one in the mail. Food court Subway employee, got one...somehow.

I'll never have a way of knowing if some notes made a difference or not, if my feelings of gratitude were taken seriously or even if some notes got to the correct person. Some people wrote thank you notes back and a couple people from there even started a writing correspondence with me. Some people would tell me they appreciated the notes, others I could see appreciated the note, but we kept it at that. My mom, in pure mother fashion, was concerned as to why I was writing them. In some ways so was I. I know that everything I wrote was genuine, that I meant every word (this was in pen after all), but I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I was just doing this for myself. I don't want my ever wise hindsight to decide this though and I never could figure it out then. All I know is that I never missed a day, not one, and if that's the case, there had to be something meaningful driving me to do it.

The last thank you note at the end of the year was to Cam, for getting me started. There have been several times in my life that I have desperately wanted to start again, but the challenge does not seem repeatable. I've tried to get others to do it with me, I've tried to give people thank you notes as gifts in hope that they could try it too, I've tried to pick up a pen and a note card and try again, but the momentum is not there. My days of writing thank you notes are over, but the lessons I learned in gratitude and appreciation will continue to stick with me.

And sometimes, very rarely, I run into someone who says they still have one hanging up or stashed away some place

 and that always means the world to me.  

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Minimum Wage, Rock Climbing and Pizza

For anyone curious as to why I haven't posted in the ole' blog for awhile, it isn't because I was attacked by Turkey Tom, but it is because I've been camping and climbing in the great state of Kentucky. This past trip, with my good friend Brad Barr, really opened my eyes up to what climbing has been to me over the years and why it has evolved into such a love hate relationship. Coming up, stories of minimum wage, rock climbing and pizza, stay tuned!

There are tons of reasons why I love to climb. The amount of self confidence and discipline it has taught me is essentially invaluable. The very idea that when you're climbing, you are in total control of your body is exhilarating. I love the physical fitness aspect of it, the accomplishment and the inevitable goal setting. I also make ends meet working at a climbing gym in Pontiac Michigan. I essentially have two responsibilities: one is to teach first timers everything they need to know to keep themselves safe in the indoor climbing world. The pure amount of psych I see on any given day is truly inspiring. The second is to coach the climbing club for young kids. Teaching young kids that they are capable of doing so much more than they give themselves credit for, then proving it by testing their skills against things their parents can't even climb is easily the most enjoyable thing I have ever had the pleasure of doing. It truly is a great job, I wish I made more money, but who doesn't, right? Climbing is very much ingrained with my life and the lives of others, yet this world of confidence and achievement, seems to me to be shrouded in something else entirely.

It's late, it's cold and Brad and I are holed up in the basement of a pizza place that doubles as a campsite for climbers. We had just finished up our first day of climbing and we were in the middle of an exhausting attempt to warm up inside. I was reading and Brad was messing around on his phone.We were both also subtly listening to the conversation behind us. Two climbers were lounging back at a table and tearing down one of their friends. They ripped on this guy for everything; his technique, the fact that he said his hands hurt, what he warmed up on and how hard he climbed. Brad and I had come on this trip to do some really easy climbing, not to crush some difficult stuff, I can't speak for him, but it was like these guys were talking directly about us.

Now normally people are nothing but supportive when I climb easier than them. Those who can climb incredibly well like to encourage those with high ambition, at least where I'm from. Yet, it seems when climbing on the same level, often times, not always, but often, there is a resentment of confidence. Everyone enjoys stating that climbing is a community and helps build confidence, but I've observed on numerous occasions people demonstrating said confidence, only to be ripped apart in private conversation within there communities at another time. I've witnessed  tons of climbing communities featuring that one dude that everyone hates because he's really braggadocios. I've even felt it bubble up in me a couple of times! I can feel this aura in certain people, people who want their climbing partner to fall on certain moves so they can be the only one who hits the move that day. How does a world of such competition and contempt breed a world of  such confidence and community?

On our second day, it was almost the same story, but worse. This time we were eating pizza with sweet potato, tomato, artichoke and banana peppers and playing a game of chess in the main restaurant area. I watched a super buff climber mercilessly pick on this skinnier guy. The buff climber told the skinny kid he was disgusting, said he had filthy, clammy hands and that if he touched him with those hands he would fight him. This didn't even have anything to do with climbing, this was like I was watching a PSA about bullying right before the camera freezes and we learn that what was happening is wrong. The skinnier climber just took it in a way that we often accept bullying from people that we believe we admire. This began to boil up a loathing for climbing and climbers that I think I had been sitting on for awhile. While I understood that this is not all climbers, this is not the first time I've seen this or other selfish behaviors in the climbing community and I wondered if it was even a community I wanted to be a part of at all. If it was a community I wanted to continue to usher young kids and innocent first timers into. That night, I had some serious doubts about my all time favorite hobby.

The next day Brad and I woke up and got ready to leave. We were going to do three more routes that day, some really easy, good to end your trip on, stuff. When we got to the location we walked up a 5.6, a 5.7 and a 5.8, all fairly cut and dry. The entire time we were climbing I could feel Brad's eyes move to this 5.10a called Dynabolt Gold just slightly to our right. When I finished the .8, I told him we could give the 10 a whirl, we thought it would be good to end the trip on. For those of you who don't climb, 5.10's are harder, but not the hardest, it was also cold outside and the route was slightly overhung, so you couldn't really rest on your feet and your hands were pretty numb. After the previous night, I was severely lacking in the confidence to climb it, so Brad led it first. He took one take, meaning he rested on the rope one time, probably because his hands were cold. When he came down, he pulled the rope back down with him and told me to go for the send; this meant, no rests on the rope and no falls. I tied into the rope and began climbing.

The 10 was harder than I thought, everything I grabbed was good enough, but the moves were big. There were good natural points to rest, like a giant flake or a double knee bar (where you jam your knees into a horizontal crack and take all your weight off your hands). Brad walked me through every move that was remotely difficult, any time he heard me exerting effort I heard his voice crack like a whip, telling me to "come on". He pointed out the knee bar and victoriously cheered when I clipped the final two bolts on the route. We were one of two groups in the valley that day and our sense of community, our confidence, could be heard in echoes all across the gorge.

Climbing has given me a lot; a job, a hobby and a hell of a work out, but after this trip I realized where I went wrong. Climbing never gave me confidence or a community, Brad did, or any number of my climbing friends who are encouraging and genuine. I think because I enjoyed climbing so much I tried to pull out of it these qualities that are not unique to climbing, but are unique to friendship. You can't really climb alone, you always need a partner and in that way climbing has given me friendship. But I will never again believe that climbing alone is what has inspired in me to drive myself, it is everyone I love that's done that, climbing is only an immensely fun vehicle in which to get there.

 And now, a poem:

Imagine you are Alex Honnold climbing the north face wall of Half Dome, 2000 feet and no rope or safety precautions. 60 Minutes’ camera crew is trained on you. You climb the mountain the way God intended it, you climb to feel a part of the sky. You trust your body and it responds by squeezing out the last of your adrenal gland. Pain begins to ignore you as you dance up the side of the cliff. You begin to make the mountain uncomfortable; you are a breath of hot air on its cheek. With less than 50 feet remaining fear begins to catch up with you. You are racing up the cliff now, taking all manner of gray matter into your wet bloody fingers so you can place your feet on dew drop sized marbles glistening on the rock face. Your foot doesn't place just right and you almost die. The cameras roll none the wiser as you pull yourself to the peak.

The white wind sings past

Trees purr, the sun drums feebly

The mountain is deaf

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Imagine There's No Context

A couple days ago I came across this cartoon floating around Facebook:

It's a pretty adorable cartoon rendition of John Lennon's "Imagine". I like the song and I even kind of like the cartoon too. Though, it called to mind a debate that occurred in one of my poetry classes. Essentially one of the poets in the class decided to evoke the image of Hitler. Our professor posed the question to the class: is the use of Hitler as an idea, image or context...cheap?

I would argue yes, unless your work is about the holocaust, I think utilizing it as a vehicle cheapens not only your work/argument, but it also sort of trivializes the holocaust as well. That sort of serves for anything in my mind, whether you're just in a Reddit debate or writing poetry. Essentially, I'm saying you're not going to be the next Wilfred Owen if you've never served in a war, so write about something closer to you. In my opinion you don't need a universally recognized image to conjure up a universally recognized idea. Now for the Rorschach test, what comes to mind when you see this:

As is the case with the a fore mentioned cartoon, I think in using the image of some great figures in society is cheapening. Bob Marley, Albert Einstein and MLK Jr. I understand all have similar messages and are appropriate for the cartoon representation of the song itself. Though, I think in the age of bad emotional outbursts on social media, there are quite a few  people with the "what about Gandhi? syndrome". The WAGS is a serious condition in which many people believe they can manifest absolute good on their side by simply throwing the name out there. 

WAGS is a serious condition. People within my generation love to prattle on about love being this ultimate force...or something like that. The Beatles, Bob Marley, Gandhi, they're all used as posters for exception to societal expectations. I wear a Bob Marley T-shirt so I'm subversive enough to smoke weed and the government can't touch me. I have a picture of Gandhi as my wall paper so everyone can see I have a vague understanding of civil disobedience. I have a John Lennon bumper sticker so people know that I'm a friendly atheist. I think you're cheapening their causes by turning the focus on your own trite little struggles as opposed to keeping them centered on what they originally meant. Maybe I'm just bitter. If you're fighting for, writing about or arguing in favor of the gay rights movement, by all means quote Milk, but if you're arguing about whether or not it's OK to litter, it might be a little out there.

The WAGS is a watered down appeal to authority, maybe an existential fallacy too. Although, I'm not sure where to take the argument with Jesus. Seems like I'm more understanding of people using him, like Jesus is more outside the realm of WAGS. Maybe it's because the idea of using Jesus as a model on how to live your life is more institutionalized. Or maybe it's because I see Jesus used less to prove a point than I do John Lennon. Although I do see quite a few floating Jesus quotes out there, as though I'm just supposed to think the matter is settled because someone bust out divinity with an absolute lack of context. 

My advice, even though it's easy and even though it's cool and even though it might even work, think about what you're doing. If you're going to live your life like these people, please do, but don't use it to attempt to sway others. If you're going to write about these people write about them, but don't call up emotions that are predetermined, that's like...plagiarism.

Today I'm listening to Minimum Wage and wondering who let a wolverine loose in my bank account. 

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

I Am a Character in a Fyodor Dostoevsky Novel

Going over some poetry I had written in college I found a piece I wrote about Fyodor Dostoevsky and how I used to read him in high school. Sometimes I wondered if I would have made it through high school without him.

Dostoevsky was a Russian writer in the mid 1800's and while I did not wholly understand the intricate play of ideas and the complex phrases, I sensed a strong, true purpose behind the words and I felt that I almost understood. I could follow the plot fairly well too. I remember my first encounter with him. It was toward the end of ninth grade and I didn't have many friends, I was extremely self conscious and I felt this burning desire to call something mine. While I had a great family and a small group of really great friends I felt estranged from them, as though I could not call them my own, but only that we were present together. I did like to read, but I had never really read anything outside the Harry Potter series and a few other fantasy books. Then one day I was sitting in my friend Tony's basement,  he tossed me Notes from the Underground off his pool table and told me to "read something great." I did, I read it twice.

There was something in Notes from the Underground that was as self conscious as I was, as scared as I was and as longing as I was. The novel is split up into two parts. The first part is the writings of an unnamed narrator who has gone underground, away from society. There is nothing fantastic about it though, it isn't some banal desire for a more deliberate life like Into the Wild, but it isn't a retreat either. There is some sort of real fear there, masked by intelligible, but somewhat depraved philosophy. Next was Crime and Punishment, which seemed to showcase an inflated version of my desire to call something I did my own action. Finally, there was The Brothers Karamasov, the greatest book I have ever read. It's hard to explain what the Brothers K was able to do for me in high school, but essentially it gave me an identity I can never lose. I will never stop identifying with every character in that book and exactly what they had to go through. This identity was something I could call mine, I didn't have to be self conscious any more, I could be self aware. Reading this book instilled into me a stubborn confidence that was far from perfect, but was at least enough for me to grasp until those early years of high school were over. I imagine I was pretty insufferable, but in the end it was worth it.

In 1849, Dostoevsky was arrested and condemned to death. He was even brought in front of a firing squad. At the last minute, his life was saved and he was released. I would imagine that to be very terrifying, but I wonder if Dostoevsky knew he had saved my life in high school, if he would have thought the whole thing to be worth it.

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit"

I Am a Character in a Fyodor Dostoevsky Novel

Madness and Disease creep hand in hand
down a hallway littered with bloody kerchiefs
soot covered jackets and the many white faces
of men and women limpid against the wall
But I am not there
I am staring in a mirror
Staring back at me is a painfully skinny 9th grader
his clearly visible rib cage stains his self confidence

And that 9th grader with his plebian tastes
thought he was better than everyone because he
could read Dostoyevsky
He fancied he was the object of envy
This helps him get through 9th grade without a girlfriend
without guy friends
without sports
without a single extra curricular activity

Godlessness takes the shape of an opaque turquoise
fog settling over St. Petersburg  
Poverty dances with the children
Worthlessness dwells in every wrinkle
pockmark and scar that Life has branded Russia’s people with
But I am not there
I am staring in a mirror
Staring back at me is an anonymous narrator
ashamed of his post-pubescent body
but proud to know the only literature that
suffered as much as he did

Guy Fawkes and the Eternal Smile

This past weekend at work I had an interesting discussion having to do with the supreme court case featuring a christian wedding photographer versus a lesbian couple. I would detail for you exactly what was said, but this New York Times article outlines both points far more intelligently than I think I could. I have always believed that both sides in any debate between discrimination vs freedom of speech could provide me with a compelling enough argument on each side to leave me with an utter lack of opinion. Prime example: the Westboro Baptist Church, the most sinister example of a (physically) non-violent western religion. They are most known their "God Hates Fags" message and for being so absurdly infamous that their official webpage has a whopping 1.7 stars on Google review. I do not agree with what they are saying in any way shape or form, but I can't disagree with their right to say it. The simple reason being that I would not want anyone to be able to take the right away from a gay advocate group, it should only stand that the opposite must hold true. However, I have such a disdain for hate speech that even acknowledging this truth is such a difficult task that I would rather not discuss the matter at all. Too many times have I felt entirely too helpless to move. This debate and my inability to respond to it has manifested itself many times in my life in the form of Barack Obama with a Hitler mustache:

The picture seems to be primarily used by young activist members of the LaRouche political group. They believe Obama to be a murderer requiring immediate impeachment. Let's get one thing straight, I am an Obama fan, so the picture offends me, but it is offensive to see a Hitler Mustache on any American president. Hitler analogies should not be cheapened with every drastic political view and our president, like him or not, is definitely not deserving of such a gross overstatement. In addition to that he is of mixed race and I believe the offense goes without explanation. If you don't believe this to be offensive I find that strange, but I ask you to bare with me none the less.

I remember the first time I ever saw this sign. I was visiting my dad in Seattle and we were just walking to our car after a really pleasant afternoon. A man carrying one of these signs and a clip board for signatures approached the two of us. My dad, whom I have the most respect for, who never looses his cool and who probably did not vote for Obama looked this man straight in the face and said "if you come any closer to me with that sign I will kill you.." Apparently this is how most of Seattle reacts to the political group. I remember thinking that this was the appropriate response, that we, as individual American citizens, have a duty to make these people feel as uncomfortable as they make us feel. As a disclaimer, my dad would not have killed that guy, he is a very smart man.

When I returned to college after that summer, I was absolutely furious to see that this group was grass-rooting right in the middle of our campus with that sign. This was absolutely appalling to me so naturally, several other students and I all separately declared war. I walked straight out of class and began to argue with these people right away, but knowing nothing of their political philosophy I was quickly at a loss of what to say. The next time they were on campus I began arguing with them about the logical fallacy that the sign presented, but it was obvious they didn't care and one of the men had me reeling when he said "don't you get metaphors man?". Ouch. 

Other students on campus didn't have much luck either. Some took the hands on approach. I once saw a student snatch the sign and run clear across the campus with it, only to find two on display the next day. One female student got the police called on her for dashing her coffee into the face of a guy asking for her signature. Still they kept coming. One day I watched as a student mobilized what seemed to be the entire smoking community on campus to simply crowd around the table and laugh. The political group simply laughed abjectly back. The best result seemed to be when an extremely brave group of students decided to use their right to free speech against that of LaRouche's. They made t-shirts with Obama wearing a halo over his head, made signs that simply said "NO HE ISN'T" and took to standing approximately 15 feet away shouting "OBAMA IS NOT HITLER!" This stroke of genius caused such an amazingly huge stir on a small campus that inevitably the campus police were called. Everyone cheered when we observed one officer tell the group it might not be a good idea for the group to show up on campus anymore and, in order to preserve safety, they needed to pack up and go.

And for while it worked. I practically forgot about LaRouche and the Obama sign altogether. Then the next year they were back. There were more of them and there were way more signs. One dude was even wearing a card board cut out. Online they've made the picture their quintessential image:

That's when I realized there was never any war, just a platform. We were not fighting the image we were empowering it. The LaRouche political group was not exercising its freedom of speech, it was exercising ours. We were helping their cause reach the masses even more. It was then that I realized exactly how important free speech was. I had failed the way countless oppressors have failed before, I tried to silence a group, revoke their right to say what was on their mind and instead made what they were saying so much more powerful.

In some ways this ends the debate for me. The more we try to stop the Westboro Church from saying "God Hates Fags", the more it becomes their mantra, the more it becomes their battle cry. If we force a New Mexico wedding photographer to limit her free speech in taking pictures she doesn't want to take, we are making her the poster child victim of limited free speech when the real victim is the lesbian couple who was denied wedding photography services. In some ways though, I'm left with this feeling of discontent. My helplessness is not subsided, if anything else I feel more helpless. Am I supposed to smile in the very face of what offends me? Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone. 

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Up in the Huff

A couple of weeks ago I applied for an entry level recruiter position with a company called Huffmaster. I was attracted to the job posting because it was entry level, recruiting, and in the description big bold letters wrote, "PERFECT FOR RECENT COLLEGE GRADS". It was a really quick process, one I've done so many times I forgot that I even applied for it. You can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from the recruiter yesterday. Next thing I know:

 Huffmaster, is a company that provides temporary employees for companies when their full time employees go on strike. To be fair, there are a few occasions where Huffmaster will lend out its services to companies in need after a natural disaster or if their business picks back up after a massive lay off, but for the most part they specialize in replacing employees on strike while the unions and the top dogs hash things out. Back in the day these replacement workers were called scabs, as a recruiter with this company I would essentially be a scab picker.

I received a call yesterday evening from the head recruiter. She told me she had my resume on her desk, that she has an immediate need and has to schedule my interview right away. Without a moments hesitation I agree and she signs me up for an interview at 10:00 AM the next day. That night I am all over Google. I'm trying to figure out interview questions, see where the company is going, where it has been. After about a half hour of doing this I began to face some major moral dilemmas.

I started to wonder if I could be OK with doing this job. One major problem I had was that I would be hiring temporary workers. I know first hand how difficult it is to have a job for an unknown amount of time with the constant threat of it ending at any moment. Most of all though I had trouble with the fact that I would be replacing people who have a problem with their benefits, their wages or the overall way in which they are treated. I believe in their right to strike and if their employers won't feel the pain of them leaving, am I helping to deafen their cause? Do I want that on my conscience?

On the other hand, maybe I would be like George Clooney from Up in the Air. This is a job after all and I kind of need one of those. I know I would be very good at recruiting, I would be able to help people find jobs, people who need jobs and can take advantage of the work experience, if only for a short time. Sure the work I would be doing wouldn't be glamorous, but then again, that seems to be a pretty privileged place to come from. Should I really be casting my judgment down on this job? Or should I work it, get the experience and the inevitable stories then move on?

I went into the interview today. It was a small office building in Troy, Michigan. There was no receptionist in the main room so I rang the security door bell. A massive, friendly security guard came to greet me. I told him my name was Kyle and what I was there for. He said "one moment Jean Claude, I will go get them, best of luck to you" and was off before I could tell him my name is not Jean Claude. I sat in a tight little waiting room and reviewed my notes, thinking about whether or not I would want to do this. Then the recruiter came out and greeted me, we went into an empty office and she asked me a few questions. I could tell she really liked my past experiences, she had a couple more interviews that day, but if I were selected, she would want me to start right away. When I left I felt like my head was full of cigar smoke.

Ultimately I don't think I'm going to take the position. For one, I would be a contingent employee, basically I would always technically be working for them, but if there wasn't any work I wouldn't be getting any hours. The other, more logistical reason, is that I can't start right away. I need to give my current employer two weeks. I did learn a lot though, in talking with the recruiter, in seeing the people around the office. I learned that I shouldn't weigh my character on the contents of my career or whatever job I was doing. My career, the things I own, where I live they all seem so transitional. My character needs to be subjective to all of these things, I should strive to be a good person no matter what I do, where I live or what I own. So next time a job comes around, I'm going to look at the logistics and whether or not I would enjoy doing it. That being said, fingers crossed for my job interview with Oakland County Government on Tuesday!

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle
   

Pickle Sucking McGillicuddy

Before I begin, I would just like to state, I am a firm believer that video games do not make young kids more violent. That being said, I am incredibly curious about trash talking in video games. I'm not so much concerned with F-bombs or the fact that my roommate just accused a fellow Halo player of  "camping his dick off", but rather comments that seem to come from a more violent place. For example, avid gamer Justin Carter was just released from jail this past July after serving five months for a felony terrorism charge. First off Justin is 19, so he isn't exactly a child, but he did post on Facebook, in context to a video game, that he was going to shoot up a kindergarten. I personally think a 19 year old would have better sense, but since there are probably 19 year old kids who have actually killed people....I'm unfortunately not that surprised. Today I want to find the mother flippin' line, a line where, once crossed, can land your arse in jail with a terrorism charge.

Perhaps my curiosity with the subject derives from my little brother. Mike is a ballin' gamer and, in my opinion, a pretty creative trash talker. I say creative because he seems to take it to the next level. Like playing the new Call of Duty game, characters can get guard dogs to fight along side them in online play. After melee killing another character's dog my brother plays this commercial into his headset. Nice one Mike, I thought it was genius. On the flip side I've heard him tell a kid he was going to kill their mom, which some people might think is inappropriate. While I do agree, it is inappropriate, both instances have something in common; they both are incredibly gratuitous. In this way I think of my brother's trash talking like a Tarantino movie. There is something so ridiculous about it, so over the top not going to happen, that it is not only harmless, but it's pretty freaking funny. Though I can't bring myself to condone it too much because I would rather my brother not be accused of being a terrorist.

One thing that I'm not down with are the millions of homophobic and racist comments being made all across the air waves. Now I am about to make something real clear: there is nothing OK about shooting up a kindergarten. Clear? That being said, it is an overly gratuitous statement, uttered by a stupid 19 year old. The threat should be assessed, but the jail time was a little excessive. On the other hand, why are kids allowed to call each other faggots? I appreciate language and know that words have meaning, the word faggot is incredibly offensive, derogatory and used in any other context other than acknowledging it exists, is hate speech. Last I checked hate speech is the closest thing to terrorism you could probably get in real life while playing a video game. Again, people should not be thrown in jail for saying the word faggot, but I would like to see more concern from the gaming community. Why was Justin Carter in jail? Because he posted something on Facebook that, due to fairly recent tragic events, made a lot of important people feel like they had to do something.

Trash talking has always been a part of competition. Even threats have, remember when Mike Tyson told his competitor he would eat his children? People went nuts! Now I'm sure things of that nature are said on a fairly regular basis. The threats and insults come in a constant stream in online gaming. Sometimes when things get too out of hand other players can flag your account. But what the slug?! Racism is still very prevalent online, I've heard the N word on multiple occasions. There are adults who play these games! Why aren't more people flagged for blatant racism? Because it hasn't come to the attention of the right important person. My point: lets not throw idiots in jail and deem them terrorists unless we know they're terrorists. Maybe, we can use our power and resources to work with the gaming community and try our best to moderate and educate the trash talkers of the world. If we harnessed all of that trash talking creativity who the hell knows what we can do with it. I'd like to see my brother become a comedic radio talk show host, maybe if given that kind of hope, Justin Carter wouldn't have felt the need to vie for acceptance through shock value. Or maybe I'm just a douche.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

The Temp is a Lonely Hunter

Most people don't know that I worked for a staffing agency. Most people don't know, because I've been too ashamed to admit it. For six months I began to believe I was employed by Quicken Loans, but I never was, I was employed by a temporary staffing agency known as Aerotek. Working for Aerotek has been an experience wrapped in more deceit, mystery and anguish than what I would imagine a love affair to possess. In an effort to get this dark secret off my chest and into the open, I'm going to detail what it meant to work as a temporary employee and why I was so ashamed to let anyone I love find out. Stay tuned.

I would ideally like to start out by sharing what it was like working for Quicken Loans. However, since I never technically worked for Quicken Loans, I will let their web page designated for the Awards and Kudos they've received speak for itself. They've time and time again gotten praise for being such a great company to work for. I can clearly see why too; they invite you in with open arms, their anti-corporate ideology is incredibly enticing to young people and regardless if you work for or with them, they treat you like one of the family. On the flip side, according to Aerotek's website "traditionally staffing agencies were used to provide employees on a short term basis" So I should have entered into the situation knowing that I could be cut and would be cut, at any given moment. But I didn't, so where did I go wrong?

Simple; I just graduated college, I was looking for a career, I applied at Aerotek and was given a job. A real JOB. My first real JOB. During my interview it was made clear to me that I would be working on an open ended contract. This meant there was to be no time limit for my work there. It was implied that if I worked hard maybe, just maybe, I would be hired on through Quicken. This is where I made my mistake. I believed that if I worked hard enough I would be hired in, the gates would swing open, Quicken Loans would adopt me. Even when I started working, began to get to know everyone I worked with, realized they had all been temporary employees for at least a year, I still thought that as long as I worked hard I would be ushered into the greatest place of employment that Detroit has to offer.

That's right, there were others. In fact according to Alexandra Karaer, Director of Research for the American Staffing Association, 2.91 million people are employed by a staffing agency every day. We were the forgotten children...and in our haste to get in, we were blind. Blind to the fact that every month we would lose anywhere from 2-5 temporary staff members who weren't keeping up with the work load, to the fact that despite hard work and dedication not one of us was being hired on, blind to the words "temporary team members are not eligible" at the bottom of every email offering us some cool perk. We just kept working.

Although we couldn't have been that blind right? I know I couldn't have. I told everyone I know that I worked for Quicken Loans! Never did I mention Aerotek, my open ended contract or the fact that at any given time I could be laid off. No, instead all of my friends and most of my family thought I had a career. My dad, my best friend, my little brothers, they were all so proud of me. I couldn't break it to them that my job, my career, was more like a paid internship. That I would most likely not be with Quicken for the rest of my life. I had an answer for everything: no benefits because I was still on my mom's insurance and didn't need them, the people I worked with were just getting laid off, if I worked there long enough I would get a raise and all the other employee perks Quicken advertises that it gives to it's employees. I lied to them, probably because I was lying to myself so spectacularly. Then, I simply got the call.

 I'll probably never forget the day I got the call. This is how you knew your contract was up with Aerotek. Let's say that you were at the grocery store after work at about 7:00 P.M. Let's say you were shopping for a team pot luck you would be having the next day. You would get a call from a 313 number and you would know exactly what it was regarding. Your whole world would seemingly come crashing down around you and you would think of at least 7 people you would have to explain your "being laid off" to. You would answer the phone: "Hi is this ____? Hi ____, this is _____ from Aerotek, I'm calling with some unfortunate news". And ___ would go on to explain to you that your contract has ended. You would be cordial and polite, you would answer any questions ____ had to ask. After all, you've never met ____ and this is probably an incredibly hard job to do. And then, just like that, you are unemployed. You wouldn't be buying anything at the grocery store that day.

In the end I'm thankful for my time at Aerotek. I, like most temporary employees, believe the experience has made me more marketable. I got the experience of working for Quicken Loans, which is an incredible company to work for, or with, or whatever and ultimately I made some really great connections. Right now I'm between jobs, looking for work and trying to be as proactive as possible. My advice for anyone looking to be employed at a temporary company is to know what you're getting into. It is not a scam. Just don't fool yourself, make the most of it and work hard, but don't lie to anyone. Don't lie to yourself and buy a bunch of new things because you have a career now and you can, don't lie to the people you love and tell them that you are in with a great company for the rest of your life and don't lie to the rest of the job seeking world because you're frustrated that you lied so hard and didn't pull it off. At any rate, Quicken Loans is still on my resume....Anyone want to give me a job?

Thanks for listening!

Kyle

All Men Seek for Thee

I wish to be a brilliant writer. The way I see it there are four things that are getting in the way of this. The first is that I do not write well, the second being that I do not write, the third is that I have a lack of ambition and the fourth is that I have no context. The goal is simple, post at least 800 words a day into this blog. Write book reviews, write what I did, what I'm going to do, journalistic endeavors all the way to what I had for breakfast. This blog is for no one else, but me. I will be striving to find context and to actually write something. Strive to hone in my skills. It is often told that we can move mountains and I believe this. If it is true that people can moves mountains than it is true that I can move myself.

If you want to help me, find me writing exercises, give me a topic, teach me how to copy write something, teach me search engine optimizing techniques.

Why am I doing this? Because I want to be a brilliant writer. I graduated college almost 1 year ago with a degree in English. This creates a series of assumptions in the minds of employers, parents, friends, family, strangers and lovers. Most assume I can write and while I have a basic comprehension of the English language, my degree does not make me Shakespeare incarnated. My degree helped me read and analyze literature, which essentially has done nothing for me. Yes, I had to write papers, I had to write analysis, I had to send the occasional email. I, however, was never taught everything there is to know about writing. So here it is: a documentation of my journey to become the writer I have always wanted to be. In blog format.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle