My subconscious must be in denial. I saw you come back to me. As though you had simply gone missing for months, but returned alive and well. I told you of many things that happened while you were away. Including, of all the strangely random things, the results of your .. not colonoscopy, but that similar thing where they make you swallow a camera and then take a bunch of pictures of your digestive tract and stuff. Which you really did have done not that long ago.
We embraced, but it was fleeting. We spoke with words of silence and in quickly forgotten whispers. Then we settled back into some oddly normal routine. You asked me to make you a fruit smoothie. Also with a tiny camera in it. Apparently you weren’t satisfied with the results the first time?
And then, as most dreams do, it got strange..er. We were in bed; a night had passed. I was trying to get up. I did, and you had rolled over into my spot and lay there sleeping so peacefully, comfortably. I stroked your arm and whispered a word of comfort as it looked like you had a bad dream for a second. Scene re-set. I’m trying to get up from the same position again, barely able to move. You’re no longer there. I stumble and turn back to see myself still sleeping on the bed. Not you. No more you.
Scene re-set. I’m stuck in a position but trying to get up again; the dog is next to the bed, but when I finally wrest myself from the pillow and stand, the dog is on the bed too — a replica? Scene re-set. This time I’m truly struggling to get up and awake. One more time. Some kind of strange background noise, almost like elevator music, seems to have been playing on repeat this whole time; I get a flash of an announcer-style voice saying “thank you for trying such-and-such wake-up tunes; this has been a free trial, but if you’d like more, please call and subscribe.” The hell? I literally drag myself out of the bed one last time, barely moving, almost purposefully trying to fall over to cause some kind of jolting motion in hopes that, like Inception, it will trigger a “real” wake-up.
It does. And I’m alone. Well, except for the dog. And she’s not replicating, thank God.
Here is the rest of last week’s poem from K. It’s fantastically clever, in my opinion. Moving too. However, I seem to be missing a page. There is mention of three riddles but this only covers the last two. And “the gentleman retorted” to something but we’ll never know exactly what. Still, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Love and light. ❤
And the gentleman retorted “I have come to wage a duel, To confirm that my intelligence is far above a fool.”
“Now I’m sure I heard you wrongly – thou has voyaged here in vain, To engage thy wits in combat just to classify your brain?”
“Thou may mock my motivation, but I’m known throughout the land For the genius that I govern and the quickness I command.
Does thou fancy thee deserving of the challenge I propose?” “Very well, my bold opponent – I accept it, I suppose.”
“Oh how wonderful!” he rallied through the rapture in his voice, “Thou has granted me a purpose by the nature of thy choice.”
“I’m contented to oblige you, but I’m sure that you will see, I am truly not the intellect you hold me here to be…”
“Let us start!”, he said, “But start at what? – You’ve yet to choose a game That will prove the greater aptitude upon the victor’s name.”
“Very well,” the man responded, “as it follows we shall play: I will ask of you these riddles to embark us on our way.”
“Please commence with thy enigmas – I will truly try to win.” “Listen carefully, my rival – let the duel of wit begin.
‘Three informants, clad in black – running forward, never back; All unknowing where they’re going – simply following the track.
One is thinner than the others, he is young and fast of pace – Clearly swifter than his brothers in this never-ending race.
Then the runner in the middle, standing tallest of the three, Is the second of the triplet that we always seem to see.
For the one of most attention is the shortest and the last – Tells most slowly in the mention of the moments that have passed.
Always going, always there – they, the victims of our stare; These familiar friends of time and space that keep us in their care.'”
With that rhythmical advancement of the colored man’s design, He asked of his opponent, “Give your answer or resign!”
“Thou art truly apt and skillful in the puzzles you invent! But I fancy me familiar with the riddle you present.
Yes, I guess of thee the mystery you read to me in rhyme, That the answer can and only be the triple hands of Time!”
Now, enraged by his continual decipher of the maze, Twas forced of him his last of strength to camouflage his rage.
“Does thou think of thee so clever that can scoff at what I ask?! Well, I challenge thy discernment with this third and final task! –
‘Tis a thing of great importance when its features are not known, Yet a thing of little interest when the face of it is shown!'”
His breath was short and labored as he spoke the final line, Then he leaned a little forward and awaited a decline.
But a moment past the brief and blunt recital he had made, The opponent now responded with a logic he relayed:
“Such a transient accretion to the two achieved before. Though no lesser of confusion that the prior pair had wore!
The solution, I imagine, is unlike the common lot – ‘Tis a thing of great importance when you know its features not…’
Not an answer of the riddles in the books upon my shelf – Why the answer to your riddle is a Riddle in itself!”
Bloomed a sudden realization that occurred upon the two: One aware of his achievement, while the other sank in rue.
The aggressor fell in failure, on the ground upon his knees – “Dear sir, from whence thy wisdom comes, I’m forced to question, please…”
And the winner, only humbled by the victory achieved, Looked upon his fallen partner whose disdain had taken leave.
“Through the toils of our endeavors hide the wonders of the land. These astonishments reveal themselves to those who understand
That the greatest revelations will be shown to an elite: Those who welcome comprehension and dispose of their conceit.
Walk in modesty of knowledge and the wisdom will appear; Go ye softly through the clamor and the music you shall hear.”
It’s been 15 years since the original Guillermo Del Toro adaptation of the comic-book anti-hero Hellboy, a demon-prince-turned-good-guy who fights the forces of darkness for us here on Earth because he was raised to be SUCH A GOOD BOY! by his adopted father. And if that premise sounds cheesy to you, these movies are probably not your cup of tea. However, Del Toro is a master of his craft, and can turn just about anything into a decent movie, if not a visually striking and emotionally compelling film proper.
So quite obviously, the remake/reboot/whatever-you-want-to-call-it drew heavy comparison and criticism for not “living up to” or “being as good as” its predecessor. Most remakes do. But this review isn’t about that (mostly). I’m also NOT a comic book reader; thus, I have absolutely no basis to relate either movie to their comic counterparts, nor to judge them based on how closely they resemble them. And frankly I don’t care. A movie is a movie, nothing less, nothing more.
Cool? Great, let’s get down to it.
There are a lot of things to like here in this 2019 reboot. The actors are charismatic and well-cast, and their chemistry is good. The creature design is stunning and otherworldly, in some ways harkening back to the Fae world of Maleficent, albeit with a much darker evil bent. With an R rating, we get a hefty helping of satisfyingly gory action and blood violence — the giant fights are super crunchy — all set against a thumping soundtrack that reminds us not to take it all too seriously. It is, after all, fantasy.
As most reboots do, it attempts to pay tribute to and acknowledge its origins. We get the infamous “horn-breaker” scene, the flashback to Rasputin’s occult-fueled demon-portal-opening (despite the horrible interjection of a completely unnecessary character; more on that in a minute), and even a direct re-quote with “Hey! I’m on your side!”
Then of course we have the inner turmoil of the Hellboy character himself — If he’s a monster himself, why does he fight monsters; does he really belong in this world? SO EMO. The dialogue and sub-story there is fairly satisfactory, if a little overplayed. I mean, he’s gonna have a tantrum at some point — that’s a given — but did it have to be so angsty? But ultimately he does, as we expect, lean on the teachings of his father and make the right choice.
Unfortunately, there are plenty of things to dislike, too. Pacing and consistency of ambiance being one (or two?). Half the time I felt like I was watching a blood-pumping action flick, another third of the time felt like a grimdark horror-fantasy, and the other.. whatever fraction is left.. of the time, I wasn’t sure how to feel. It wasn’t necessarily jarring, but it was definitely noticeable. My favorite scene, though, by far, was the very end, where our three protagonists just rampage through a baddie hideout to the tune of Kickstart My Heart.
Secondly. Ugh.. CGI. When will Hollywood re-learn that “less is more”? Have we just lost the magic of practical effects and the kind of backbreaking work that went into VFX masterpieces like Lord of the Rings and The Walking Dead? I guess it’s just cheaper these days to throw everything at the supercomputers. And to be fair, it’s usually just fine. But there IS such a thing as over-use. The Star Wars prequels (1-3) did it, probably even before it was a trope; and here, it’s a bit over-the-top. And the problem, when that happens, is that it takes you out of the fantasy that you’re supposed to be engrossed in and enjoying.
A small nit. Plot-holes don’t generally bother me too much. But the amount of blood sweat & tears that went into finding out this key piece of information — that the Blood Queen would return to the exact same spot in which she was slain, to be reborn, was pretty ludicrous. I mean, was that not obvious to anyone, EVER?
Speaking of ugly, Baba Yaga? Gawd, I needed to shower after her main scenes. Shudder. If they were going for gross, they really nailed it. Anyway.
I have two major problems with this movie. One of them is likely dismissed as “but they were being faithful to the comics” — again, don’t care, but that’s fine if it helps you. The other is such a teeny part of the movie that it’s not a deal-breaker; I just need to point it out because of how god-awful it was before I took a minute to purge it from my brain so I could enjoy the rest of the show.
Firstly, the likely-dismissed problem. Mixing too many mythologies. Good lord, am I watching a King Arthur retcon, a Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland, if you’re completely unaware) spin-off, or freakin’ Hellboy?!? Pick something and stick with it! The sword in the stone is now a key to the demon apocalypse? Really? And don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the character of Alice, but did we need the explicitly emphasized call-out to the rest of the Carroll-verse? I think I could have lived without it.
Secondly, the teeny part that drove me bonkers for half a minute. In the flashback to Rasputin’s demon-portal-summoning-ritual, the Nazis are ambushed by an Allied hero named “The Lobster”. He’s supposedly this super-elite soldier-hero commando. But… OH. MY. GOD. The cheese on this character.. you could cut it with a damn Pampered Chef knife. “Beware my claws!”?? No. Just no.
Also, the body-count during this little scuffle (same scene) was unsatisfactorily low. Especially at the hands of the legendary evil assassin Karl Kroenen, who, while shown on screen, is not named nor hardly acknowledged; which again, is fine, since it doesn’t fit this narrative, but still! You know, he has blade-arms, wears a menacing black faceless mask, and is really half-machine and runs on some weird combination of pocket-sand and black-magic…
I’m not bitter, I swear!
One thumb up. Despite my criticisms above, it’s still a decent movie — if you go into it without lofty expectations and don’t try to compare it to Del Toro’s work. It’s a fun little supernatural action romp through vaguely familiar territory, mixed with some brand-new characters and blended mythos that feel mostly complete, if a little rushed. Reminds me a bit of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, which had the good fortune of NOT trying to “live up to” any precedent or source material.
Plans for a sequel? The ending scene points to “maybe” — they discover an aqua tank with a nameplate that keen viewers will recognize as a reference to Abe Sapien, the half-man-half-fish character from the original film. However, due the abysmal box-office performance, it’s not likely to materialize. And that’s not a bad thing. =)
I’d like to share another one of K’s works. Sadly, it is also incomplete. As was her life here with us. She and I had so much left to do, to experience together, to share. But these little pieces of her that she left behind for me to find, do, for a brief moment, by a small fraction of measure, help heal my soul. And I hope they do so for yours.
The paths of two equal and opposite men Had crossed on an evening so fair. The wind was aloft in her heavenly den, And soft was the breath of her hair.
Each equally clever and gifted in thought, The men had agreed to a duel – A match to determine the answer they sought: Which one of the two was the fool?
A gentleman clad in exacting extremes, Consisting of darkness and light: A monochromatic portrayal of schemes, From black to the starkest of white.
A colorful figure of yellows and blues, With bold interruptions of red: Symbolic of all in the spectrum of hues, From down on his shoes to his head.
And so they contended to reap the reward Of bearing a title so grand, But only the sharpest of wit would accord The rank that the both would demand.
The paths of this equal and opposite pair Had crossed on a unit in time. And during this moment the couple would share A daring discussion of rhyme.
It is here that we see a gap, a break in the verse and the tempo. There must have been a missing page, which I of course regret not being able to find. The poem does continue, albeit with a different meter and rhyming scheme. Thus, I will share that with you next time. Until then, love and light. ❤
This is something of a love-letter, to the band that defined my teenage years and still, even into adulthood, continues to be on regular rotation in my playlist. A band that almost none of you have likely heard of, let alone have heard their music. They never received much radio play. Nor did they garner much media attention. Until they reunited and launched a Kickstarter campaign to tour and ultimately self-produce a brand new album, which at the time and in their particular market was nearly unheard-of.
Growing up, my exposure to music was, let’s say, sheltered. Quite. My parents pretty much listened to Country and Churchy music with little exception. You’d think, having grown up in the 60s – 70s, they’d have at least a bit of disco or classic rock in their repertoire, but nope. Randy Travis, Clint Black, Alan Jackson, Reba McIntire, Shania Twain, etc. Now, as most children of the 90s did, us kids had a boom box — a combination CD player, tape player, and AM/FM radio. And what did we do with this? Mix tapes, obviously! But it was never much of a “mix”. I’d try to ask for the “jazziest” songs from the various western albums. My dad even branched out to Steven Curtis Chapman and some no-name Christian soft-rap-rock-worship hybrid mess.
Then some of the
other kids in the youth group introduced us to DC Talk, the Newsboys, Audio
Adrenaline, Skillet, and other acts of the late 90s contemporary Christian
alt-rock spinoff movement. This was
where Switchfoot and P.O.D. got their start, you know; before they sold out to
corporate or got caught with their pants around their ankles. These were okay, but ultimately forgettable,
like so many waves on the sand.
My friend Michael, from across the street, had an older brother, Brian. One day when I was over, waiting for Michael to do something, Brian let me come check out his CD collection and his computer games. I asked if he had any music recommendations, and he pulled out a few albums by this band I’d obviously never heard of called Five Iron Frenzy. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I was in eighth grade; appropriate, since the first line of a verse in one of these songs was exactly that. Brian loaned me their first three CDs. I knew the parents would approve because they were a Christian band, but I’d never heard of this “ska” genre before. Five Iron Frenzy’s album art was wonderfully done: deceptively simple hand drawings that held such deeper weight behind them. I got them home to the boombox, and popped in the first disc. From the blast of that distorted guitar chord, the blare of those horns, and that absolutely biting sarcasm of the intro track, ‘Old West’, I was hooked. Between the boombox and a couple disc-mans (disc-men?), those CDs played dozens of times throughout my teens and early 20s.
In sophomore year, their next album came out, and boy was I excited. All the Hype That Money Can Buy was the first CD I bought with my very own dough, hard-earned at the Burger King down the street. Being a Colorado based band, they were heavily influenced by the Columbine school shooting, which shined through in the track ‘A New Hope’. Once, in college, thinking I was being profound, I would sneak into one of those larger lecture halls and write the lyrics to its refrain on the big chalk board for the next attendees to find and ponder. “Peace floods us, by hope we steer; our dark hearts salvaged, we live without fear.” That line can still give me goosebumps. Although, it’s not quite as impactful as the conclusion to The End is Near‘s ‘On Distant Shores’, which cleverly calls back to their second album’s final track, and builds to such breathtaking catharsis that I can still feel the lump in my throat every time I sing along with it. But more on that in a minute.
Later, in 2001 or
early 2002, I was lucky enough to attend their concert at the Glass House in
Riverside, CA. I even made an iron-on
tee with their name on it to wear to the show.
They were horribly late to start; I think we stood there almost an hour
and half past the scheduled time. But it
was worth it. Super high energy, loud,
slightly mosh-y, and all my new favorite songs.
I would later come to realize that they weren’t all that spectacular as
a live act — they tended to rush tempo during shows to get more songs out in a
limited time, and the quality suffered a bit — but still, that was a memorable
Let me take you on a little journey through the ‘FIF’ (as their fans affectionately abbreviated) albums themselves, in a small tribute to the journey of musical discovery that they sparked for me.
The first album, Upbeats and Beatdowns, seethed with sardonic wit like nothing I’d ever heard before, in tracks such as ‘Old West’ and ‘Beautiful America’. It juxtaposed nicely with the humble sincerity of ‘Where Zero Meets Fifteen’ and ‘Milestone’. And heck if I don’t belt out those la-la-la’s from ‘Cool Enough for You’ every single time. Sure, there were some throwaways, like ‘Combat Chuck’, and they suffered a bit from the lack of lyrical enunciation, like most third wave ska did at some point in their career, but it was pretty solid.
That first album was good, but the second, Our Newest Album Ever, blew me away. More cutting sarcasm in ‘Handbook for the Sellout’ and ‘Fist Full of Sand’, more silly antics like ‘Where is Micah?’ and ‘Oh Canada’, and more heartfelt sincerity in ‘Suckerpunch’ and ‘Second Season’. This is where their own little inside-meme began with ‘Blue Comb 78’. You could also see a developing theme in ‘Banner Year’, where for the second time in as many albums, they denounced the historically covered-up atrocities committed against Native Americans. But the crown jewel has to be ‘Every New Day’, the final track, which takes upon itself the pressure of striving to be a good example of God’s love yet trying to just fit in with your peers, and builds it up only to release it again with the realization that it’s perfectly okay to not be perfect.
Most listeners, outside the die-hard fans, could be forgiven for forgetting about Quantity is Job 1. It wasn’t really an album, technically; it was an ‘EP’, old-timey record-store lingo for ‘Extended Play’, meaning somewhere between an ‘Single’ and an full ‘LP’ album. It mostly consisted of seven-ish tracks parodying all different musical styles with a ridiculous ‘Whose pants are these?’ mini-song. The two shining stars here have to be ‘One Girl Army’, a sharp anti-chauvinism tune that gave their lone female member a well-deserved spotlight, and ‘All That is Good’, an encouragement to be more open-minded and think critically in the face of blind dogma. Also, I used the innocently hopeful theme of ‘Dandelions’ as an inspiration for an English paper.
Now, as I said, when
their next album released, my anticipation was high. When I brought home that maddeningly
shrink-wrapped disc and its bright orange themed cover with a funny little
picture of a white guy in a fro trying to dunk a basketball, I knew this was
going to be good. But I had no idea what
I was in for. It starts with some truly
upbeat positivity in ‘The Greatest Story’ and ‘Solidarity’, and you can sense
the Latin influence in some salsa-esque beats as their producer yips and yelps
‘Oi!’, culminating in the decidedly Hispanic-flavored ‘Hurricanes’. We get some expected silliness, and a bit of
hair-metal, in ‘Phantom Mullet’, and a self-deprecating banjo-twanged song
about their home state. Plus a batch of
freshly crisp criticism of the church’s bigotry and inbuilt phobias in
‘Fahrenheit’ and ‘Four-Fifty-One’.
It wasn’t until ‘Giants’, the bleak outcry against mega-corporations’ takeover of society, that the subtly subversive hook truly sunk in for good. I knew that I needed more. And the title track ‘All The Hype’ surely delivered. Followed by a seemingly random cover of ‘It’s Not Unusual’, which ends hilariously with Reese saying ‘more reverb!’ as his ears get pummeled by bad guitar outros. Finally, we have the concluding tracks, ‘A New Hope’ and ‘World Without End’. There is a palpable pain there from the school shooting that, in manifesting our worst fears, seems to have become an American trend. Yet, it ultimately gives way to a heartfelt peace and love, expressed as a choral refrain with bells, for a reassuring sense that everything will eventually be alright.
By this time, the
band was maturing, knowing that the ska wave of the 90s was ending, so they
made a small shift towards pop-punk (with horns). If the previous album was a whimsical
mish-mash of musical experimentation, this was a truly polished experience with
a consistent theme and sound. Vol. 2: Electric Boogaloo, as the name would
suggest, signaled a reinvention, a sequel that would be different enough yet
still true to its roots; and unlike the movie, not widely regarded as
terrible. This is the album that
embossed their talents well, and established that they were not just some
passing fad. The self-deprecating humor
returned in ‘Pre-Ex Girlfriend’ and ‘You Can’t Handle This’, the struggle of
attempting to live a Godly life in ‘Spartan’ and ‘Eulogy’, and the inveigh upon
immoral practices in the name of religion through ‘Blue Mix’ and ‘The Day We
Killed’. Much like ‘Giants’ in the
previous album, ‘Vultures’, another blighting critique of excessive capitalism,
tipped my fandom from a ten to an eleven.
Three years went by. College, other musical discoveries, my palette shifting to classic rock. Yet their special place in my heart never grew cold. Unfortunately, through some bad combination of ignorance, busyness with college, and obsession with Warcraft 3, I completely missed the fact that they quit touring in 2003. They released the double-disc set The End Is Here in 2004, a culmination of their last studio album and their final concert from their hometown of Denver. I learned about it a few years later from a coworker, and while I was a little heartbroken that they were gone, I was absolutely enamored with the work itself.
Right from the
start, the blast of ‘Cannonball’ kicks up your eardrums with aplomb. ‘New Years Eve’ feels so incredibly
true-to-life that I literally thought it was about me. Of course there’s the usual fun antics with
‘At Least I’m Not Like All Those Other Old Guys’ and ‘Wizard Needs Food
Badly’. The searing criticisms, first of
religious dogmatism/legalism with ‘Farewell to Arms’, then of fear-based news
media in ‘Anchors Away’, still hit home more than a decade later. And ‘Something Like Laughter’ serves up
another faithful reminder that Feminism is not
anti-Christian, and visa-versa.
Finally, we come to ‘On Distant Shores’. At first, it sounds a little too upbeat to be goodbye. But as it builds, the permeating theme of divine forgiveness in the face of failure, which ultimately defines much of their catalog, rings truer than ever before. With such beautiful poetry, the pulsing acknowledgement that what we do with our lives is so often marred with selfish intent and shortcomings, cathartically transforms into that quintessential refrain from ‘Every New Day’, as both the listener and the band itself are invited to rest their weary heads in the solace of God’s infinite love and mercy. In this understanding that every day we live is another gift — another opportunity to build up our fellow man and woman instead of tear them down, and to be that light, however dim or scratched or scarred, to a world that so desperately needs it.
Since then, I will admit that I originally missed out on their Kickstarter-fueled 2013 reunion and album Engine of a Million Plots. Yet, thanks to that same coworker and fellow fan, I knew of it, and I gave it a solid listen. So far, ‘Battle Dancing Unicorns with Glitter’ is my favorite song title of recent history, and it’s the one that’s stuck in my head at the moment. ‘Zen and the Art of Xenophobia’ is perhaps their most biting critique of American cultural pitfalls to date, which feels hauntingly prophetic when you realize that it was written before the Trump White House. And ‘Into Your Veins’ turns the self-parody up to eleven, as they proclaim to feed your addiction to their very words, knowing full-well that it’s a completely ludicrous notion.
Truly, Five Iron has always been ahead of their time. And as they go about their mid-lives, hold down actual careers while balancing the occasional weekend concert or two, and reflect back on their glory days, I hope they will remember them as fondly as I do. Because their music had soul, in a market where, ironically, that was lacking; and silliness, in a market that often took itself way too seriously. It had an encouraging undercurrent of questioning the status-quo, which, however aged and comfortable we become with our tired traditions, is essential to an active mind and a productive person. Above all, may they never lose sight of what made them great in the first place: love. For each other, for God, for the youth, for people in general. And for the sometimes thankless, seemingly futile task of trying to bring some spark of peace and hope to those around them. Indeed, ‘It Was Beautiful.’
Today we have another guest post from Arlene! Show her lots of love. =)
I belong to several professional groups just for members with a certain outlook, either contained within a larger group, or a separate one. These allow a bit of social interaction where certain words, terms and expectations are common to the group. I still belong to some wider ones – and sometimes I forget that not everyone knows how software works; other than what they hear on the news or have read about.
In looking over the groups recently, there seems to be an emerging awareness of identity and what we do with it – outside of creating, in some spaces, a personal brand around some aspects of that identity.
One of the people shared a link to Identity Stories, and I thought I might share a couple of my related experiences, in hopes that my awkward blunders would bring awareness to others. Or in some situations, at least a smile of empathy. And I’ve made many blunders over the years – along with a few things I did correctly.
One of the ones I handled badly enough to make me blush years later was at a local shop that I frequented. I had brought someone in there, and saw the new hire, with lovely long hair that I instantly envied (both thicker and longer than mine, which was only mid-back at the time) and made the assumption that this was a female. I admit it was bolstered by the fact that the owner had mentioned that he had received only two applicants, both female. I guess I missed this one – the greeting of “Hello, ma’am – It’s good to have you here!” shocked the young man, and it showed on his face when he turned around.
Recovery was slow – looking back, very much too slow. I spent a good five minutes mentally kicking myself for my presumption. Okay, to anyone else, it looked like I was hiding in a corner – and that would have a ring of truth, too. The truth that I had likely hurt his feelings finally came to the forefront of my mind, and I made my way to the front, trying desperately to rehearse what I could say to apologize. What actually came out was parts of three potential things: “I’m an idiot. I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you can forgive me.” None of which was put together, mentally, so I figured I’d failed.
And looking back, the only thing that would have been better was to have said something – anything – then, rather than wander off with my mouth open like an out-of-water fish.
I’ve done this since. I’m looking at a reflection of vested, hard-hatted, and dressed nearly the same construction workers – and one has a full beard – I still sometimes hold the door for “the gentlemen”, even if one is female. The last one that this happened with giggled at me – I had noticed this wasn’t a gentleman, looked horrified, and blushed. Which helped. I need to watch this: the season where workers are out and mud-covered has started, and I am trying to improve.
The one that still baffles me was a blind person with a cane. We were on a narrow temporary walkway while the sidewalk was being refurbished, and I scrunched up on the railing to avoid the cane. (That thing looked like it would hurt! And I didn’t want them to need to apologize for tapping me with it.) I still haven’t figured out a better response – if you know, teach me!
Located where I am, there are not always a lot of different people, nor languages, nor cultures that are obvious (which saddens me). Unlike some here, that try and force a conformity on everyone they meet, I do make an attempt to listen, and empathize as much as possible with people that are unlike me – which, if you think about it, is everyone. If you hear someone making a statement, presume that they do know what they are talking about – context is everything. And empathize. And don’t try and solve the issue, unless asked; they may trust you to simply listen, and let them work it out in their own mind. And now the hard part: be aware of this for a while – you may see it unspoken in other people.
I guess what I’ve learned over the many years is “Mistakes happen. Own up to them quickly, and try and do better. And don’t kick yourself for mistakes, once you’ve acknowledged them.” This applies to so many areas of life; I still have a hard time with this.
Recognizing differences can be a tough thing. Even something as obvious-to-me as the examples I’ve given here, might get overlooked by another, and be deeply effecting for someone else. This is a good place to apply the golden rule of “treat others as you want to be treated,” and take the time to learn from your stumbles.
Excellent and poignant reminders. Always treat others with respect and dignity, and if you aren’t sure how to handle a situation, or you stumble, don’t be afraid to admit it and ask for help! Love & light.
Another piece from K. This is a letter to all her fellow women, but specifically to those who are either ignorant or insensitive to the issue of infertility. It’s often not purposeful, but it still hurts, and this is one voice willing to stand up and make known something that is difficult to talk about and difficult to hear.
I don’t understand what it’s like. I never will. It’s a foreign concept to me. I don’t understand having a conversation with your husband or significant other regarding the timeline of when you want to have kids, and having it actually go according to plan. I once thought that is how my story would be, but nearly 5 years later and I can tell you, it’s not that way for everyone.
5 years. Can you imagine waiting that long? The truth is, I don’t want you to imagine. It’s painful and it’s hard. I’m writing because I want you to know how many women all over the world would do anything to be in your shoes, including me. Anything? Yes, anything. Spend tens of thousands of dollars. Inject medications in their bodies daily. Fly across country to see a better doctor. It’s not uncommon for their marriage to be on the line because of the turmoil that infertility brings.
Or maybe they are like me, and are trying to follow God’s direction, to be still and trust Him for a miracle. Yet it’s been almost 60 months and there is still no miracle. Finances, dreams, hopes and desires are surrendered. And after all that? Still waiting. So many women are still waiting. The reality is that 1 in 8 experience infertility. And even after enduring the emotional, physical, spiritual and mental pain, many women still don’t see that positive test; or if they do, they miscarry, which leads to more pain, and more waiting.
We are heartbroken. We are crushed. Our bodies are tired. Our minds are tired. Tired of it all.
To have this dream, that you’ve had since childhood, take so long to fulfill, as you wonder if it ever will be, is really very hard. Especially knowing that same dream comes so easy to so many. Add not being able to leave the house without seeing that one thing desired, dreamed of, and hoped for — seemingly everywhere — that is even harder.
I am writing you to remind you to consider it a gift and a blessing that your story is not like mine. I am writing you to remind you that, even on the hard days, there are millions of women who would trade places with you in a second. I am writing you to remind you to please be thoughtful of your words. And maybe, instead of complaining that it took you 3 months to conceive, consider it a blessing. Or instead of grumbling that you have 3 children of the same gender, consider it a joy.
Maybe, instead of complaining of how sick/nauseous/big/uncomfortable/miserable you are, think of those women, myself included, who would gladly feel all that and more, if it meant that, at the end of the journey, we could hold our precious child in our arms.
Just like I will never understand what it’s like to get pregnant when I want, much less “on accident”, you will never understand what it’s like to wait, painfully and longingly. Our stories are very different, and I find peace in that. But whatever stage of motherhood you are in, please remember the ones who are waiting — the moms in-the-making.
There are women are all over the world who, month after month, even year after year, are told “not yet”. And just like every month before, we have to pick up the pieces, and hope that next month will be different. Hope against hope, for a month that will end with joy, instead of heartache. A month that will end with celebration, instead of tears. A month that will end with a positive pregnancy test, instead of another period.
Finally, please remember, this is not directed ‘at‘ anybody, so don’t take it that way. This subject is supremely hard to talk about. It’s not that I want to talk about it; it’s a very private matter, for the most part. I don’t ask for your sympathy or condolences or anything like that. I merely ask that you take a moment, before you post yet again, to consider those women, like me, who silently hurt, as they read and hear the constant pregnancy/baby-centric buzz around them, from their friends and loved ones. And who cry out against the unyielding night, “Why, God? Why not me?”
Yes, my friends, occasionally the world of tech will spill into this blog as well. But this is not related to my career at all; this is something I experienced while helping out a family member. And I thought I would share the frustration — and the solution.
He has a Microsoft account, based on a Hotmail address. There are 3 devices: his phone, an old laptop running Office 2013, and a new laptop running Office 365. He has some work email accounts, which all remained working fine, plus the personal email — that being the Hotmail account in question.
One day, he does.. something. Let’s say he forgot the password, or perhaps typed it incorrectly too many times. This leads to a slight spiral of confusing actions, involving a password reset and a recovery code, which he faithfully, per instruction, prints on a physical piece of paper (not that we ever needed it). However, something is still amiss.
Outlook 2013 is now continually prompting him for his password, for the Hotmail account. Strangely, also, this old machine still lets him log on to Windows with the old password, even though it’s running Windows 10 under the MS account (not a local user account).
His phone still receives and sends emails just fine — he didn’t even have to re-enter the password there, as far as I know. Also strange. Or perhaps he did re-enter it at some point shortly after he re-set it, but forgot to mention it. Who knows. The point is, he can’t get his personal emails in Outlook anymore, on the old laptop.
Nor the new one, as it turns out. He just hadn’t tried it until I got there. So during my troubleshooting efforts, we turned on the Surface and discovered it, too, in Outlook 365, continually begged for his password, which we of course entered correctly, to no avail.
I tried a lot of troubleshooting, including repairing the account in Outlook’s account properties, removing it and re-registering it, and even removing it from Windows entirely, followed by setting it up again. None of that worked of course.
The actual solution is rather boring, as it turns out. It just took us forever to arrive at it, because MS in no way made it at all obvious, nor provided any direction toward it, until I actually asked for help with Outlook’s support-chat snap-in. The agent replied next-day, which meant I had to tell my uncle to literally let his Surface sit out, open, on, logged-in, all night. Thank God for TeamViewer, is all I can say.
What we found out, thanks to the agent, is that he (the user, not the agent) had somehow enabled Two-Step Verification. This was NOT OBVIOUS anywhere. What it means, apparently, is that after you enter your password, you’ll need a security code that either gets texted to you or uses the MS Authenticator apon your smartphone. This is very similar to Two-Factor Auth, but not exactly the same.
So where do you go to check on this? Again, not obvious. Go to your MS account page in a browser — https://account.microsoft.com/. Then click on ‘Security’, of course. Then.. uhh.. wait, there are only 3 big buttons here. “Change password”, “Update your security Info”, and “Review recent activity”. Well those don’t sound like what I want. Maybe the 2nd one, kinda? Nope.
Read the fine-print. I mean it’s not “fine print” like super-dinky legal jargon, but small enough compared to those big 3 buttons that most people would overlook it. Right underneath it says this:
Yep, there you go. Once you click that link, ‘Two-step verification’ is the 2nd option on the list. So, once we disabled that, he was back in business — his current (recently changed) password was now the only thing needed to configure/re-connect all Outlook apps to his Hotmail account.
More specifically, why is this a thing? Well, 2-factor authentication is actually a very good practice, security-wise. For example, when you log in to your bank’s website from a computer that you don’t normally use to do so, they generally want to text/call/email you with a “security code” to make sure it’s really you. Awesome! That means if someone guessed your password, they still couldn’t get in, because if you got that text/call/email while you yourself weren’t logging in to do some banking, you’d say “Not today, Satan!” and deny that sucker.
Now, let’s take the Microsoft account. Sure, it probably has some pretty important stuff — billing info, for one thing, if you’ve ever bought anything from them, like Office 365, or a game on the Xbox. But even if not, there’s still a lot of your personal info there. Plus, your email itself can be used for nefarious purposes, such as.. oh right, that banking example! If you hadn’t set up your phone as a “2-factor auth” contact-point, they might be using your email to send you those security-codes. And if you’re no longer the only pair of eyeballs on your inbox.. Ruh-roh.
So is this “Two-step verification” thing with your MS account all bad? No, of course not. Like anything, consider it holistically with the rest of your online presence and identity management. If you’re particularly worried about hackers, and you understand the trade-offs, go ahead and use it. If you’re fairly confident in your password strength, and you don’t have a ton of ‘risky’ information/connections involved in the account, maybe it’s overkill.
I personally use the MS Authenticator app, because I work in IT and it’s something I’m accustomed to. I have a lot of devices, and I know that the risk of me losing one is higher than most. But this family member’s situation is much more limited and much simpler. Therefore, we decided, he can live just fine without it; all he needs to remember is his password.