Since Max falsely accused me of having a type A personality, I had to find a most likely inaccurate and totally invalid personality test to validate me....or to invalidate Max. I'm not quite sure which.
Anyway. I scored a B+. yay.
***You Have A Type B+ Personality***
You're a pro at going with the flow
You love to kick back and take in everything life has to offer
A total joy to be around, people crave your stability.
While you're totally laid back, you can have bouts of hyperactivity.
Get into a project you love, and you won't stop until it's done
You're passionate - just selective about your passions
Damn straight.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Safety
Here's a word that's been tossed around a lot the last few days, mostly in the form of a yes/no question. A yes/no question is about the most useless way to probe for information in our culture, right up there with the alien anal probe.
"Are we safer now than we were five years ago?"
Yeah. I can't answer that with a yes or a no. Maybe? Sometimes?
By virtue of about 10,000 changes in the way I get on an airplane, I'm safer than I was five years ago when I fly.
However, I'm still not completely safe. "Safe" to me, would mean that any exterior threat to my safety was removed. We are never "safe."
Being Safer, at this point, requires real imagination.
We've locked the cockpit doors, not just anyone can wander into the airport concourse, we're all more alert to danger, and most recently, our toothpaste has been banned from the cabin.
And that's just the airport. Given the fact that the airport is one of the few places I can not only feel secure, but sense security. I'd venture to say--if required to answer a yes/no question--no. We're not safer than we were five years ago.
I get queasy when I drive by unguarded water filtration facilities that serve major cities like Atlanta or Savannah.
In Savannah, down by the river, boats pour goods in from around the world. Not a lot of security or screening there either.
Lonely border patrols, illegal immigrants, and "patriots" converge in the sparse desert in frightful night scenes. Shadows slip through.
Men of Middle Eastern descent film their children on a roller coaster in an amusement park and I profile them in my mind.
Dark figures, wisps in rocky darkness, willing to die in order to kill. We don't know their names, we don't understand their motivation...and they don't line up in trenches and tanks as targets for us to shoot down.
The targets, I'm afraid, remain on our backs.
"Are we safer now than we were five years ago?"
Yeah. I can't answer that with a yes or a no. Maybe? Sometimes?
By virtue of about 10,000 changes in the way I get on an airplane, I'm safer than I was five years ago when I fly.
However, I'm still not completely safe. "Safe" to me, would mean that any exterior threat to my safety was removed. We are never "safe."
Being Safer, at this point, requires real imagination.
We've locked the cockpit doors, not just anyone can wander into the airport concourse, we're all more alert to danger, and most recently, our toothpaste has been banned from the cabin.
And that's just the airport. Given the fact that the airport is one of the few places I can not only feel secure, but sense security. I'd venture to say--if required to answer a yes/no question--no. We're not safer than we were five years ago.
I get queasy when I drive by unguarded water filtration facilities that serve major cities like Atlanta or Savannah.
In Savannah, down by the river, boats pour goods in from around the world. Not a lot of security or screening there either.
Lonely border patrols, illegal immigrants, and "patriots" converge in the sparse desert in frightful night scenes. Shadows slip through.
Men of Middle Eastern descent film their children on a roller coaster in an amusement park and I profile them in my mind.
Dark figures, wisps in rocky darkness, willing to die in order to kill. We don't know their names, we don't understand their motivation...and they don't line up in trenches and tanks as targets for us to shoot down.
The targets, I'm afraid, remain on our backs.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Sweetwater Creek
We came upon a woman on the Factory Ruins trail, a trail marked in red. We were orienting ourselves to a rougher, rockier section of the hike we'd planned--past the ruins of the old textile mill left vacant since Sherman's March to the Sea and somewhere between "overlook" and the "falls overlook"--when she came out of the woods nervously.
"Do you have a phone?"
Immediately, I sense danger and disater and look back to Dawn for her cell phone.
"There's a guy back there with a gun. I think he's committed suicide."
I got no signal on the phone and immediately began to climb the hill next to the trail. I saw two bars popping in and out on the phone screen and dialed 911. I got an operator and nervously described what I'd been told.
I wasn't able to complete the call, but I had their attention and gave them some basic information. A start.
Dawn felt a scary vibe from the woman and the situation. Good to be suspicious in retrospect.
When I came back down the hill, I knew that at some point the 911 operator would call me back. We started to steam out of the trail, we were probably in 1.5 miles or so.
I was walking so fast over the rock and dirt with a great sense of urgency and insecurity, but at the same time--my footing was very sure and strong even without paying that much attention to where I was going.
Dawn had seen the man's legs lying there. I hadn't.
"Pressure.....coming down on me, coming down on me..." Dawn's Queen ringtone. Appropriate.
Just past the ruins again I was able to get back on the phone with 911 and they were sending rescuers and police into the trail. We were to meet them on their way in.
As we came near to the end of the trail, we saw uniforms and atv's, badges and guns, a backboard.
We stopped and talked with the Park Ranger, and African man of stature who was clearly disturbed, but cleanly focused. He asked us a few questions then asked us to wait at the visitor center.
We waited. And got curious. Reflected, wondered.
Eventually we wandered out to get more to drink from the car, and Dawn, who has handled situations like this and worse before in her residence life career, began asking questions.
"We're 80 percent sure its a suicide," said the sherriff's department investigator.
Why here? it's certainly beautiful...isolated. I puzzled over the location--right along the trail. Maybe he wanted to be found. Maybe it as a special spot for him--from his youth, with a love he'd lost...
And I wonder why I want to know.
"Do you have a phone?"Immediately, I sense danger and disater and look back to Dawn for her cell phone.
"There's a guy back there with a gun. I think he's committed suicide."
I got no signal on the phone and immediately began to climb the hill next to the trail. I saw two bars popping in and out on the phone screen and dialed 911. I got an operator and nervously described what I'd been told.
I wasn't able to complete the call, but I had their attention and gave them some basic information. A start.
Dawn felt a scary vibe from the woman and the situation. Good to be suspicious in retrospect.
When I came back down the hill, I knew that at some point the 911 operator would call me back. We started to steam out of the trail, we were probably in 1.5 miles or so.
I was walking so fast over the rock and dirt with a great sense of urgency and insecurity, but at the same time--my footing was very sure and strong even without paying that much attention to where I was going.
Dawn had seen the man's legs lying there. I hadn't.
"Pressure.....coming down on me, coming down on me..." Dawn's Queen ringtone. Appropriate.
Just past the ruins again I was able to get back on the phone with 911 and they were sending rescuers and police into the trail. We were to meet them on their way in.
As we came near to the end of the trail, we saw uniforms and atv's, badges and guns, a backboard.
We stopped and talked with the Park Ranger, and African man of stature who was clearly disturbed, but cleanly focused. He asked us a few questions then asked us to wait at the visitor center.
We waited. And got curious. Reflected, wondered.
Eventually we wandered out to get more to drink from the car, and Dawn, who has handled situations like this and worse before in her residence life career, began asking questions.
"We're 80 percent sure its a suicide," said the sherriff's department investigator.
Why here? it's certainly beautiful...isolated. I puzzled over the location--right along the trail. Maybe he wanted to be found. Maybe it as a special spot for him--from his youth, with a love he'd lost...
And I wonder why I want to know.
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