Just saying...

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The Four Chambers of a Home

Thanksgiving is, perhaps, my favorite holiday of the year. And I love holidays! I love pretty much everything about them.

I love the mixed bag of gifts that is a family get-togethers. The uncouth cousins. The mothers who try too hard. The dad's who don't try at all. The uncles that get drunk. The tee-totaling aunts who try to make up for the drunkeness by being completely lacking in a sense of humor.

I honestly love it all.

Holidays are really important to me. They're the spice in the meat and potatoes of the year. They are the moments in our grinds where we stop and, for whatever reason, we take time to appreciate that which means most to us. Family. The reasons we work and grind and push and pull.

In the last 5 years, I've spent Thanksgiving in five different places. Five different families other than the one that raised me. Five different sets of drunk cousins and stuck-up brothers and crazy aunts and accommodating mothers and incontinent elderly family dogs, hovering with graying whiskers for the next piece of turkey or stuffing to fall from an overloaded plate to the floor.

Families are very sacred and real and utterly unchangeable (no matter how hard you try) type of things. So when a friend is willing to share that with someone else... its much like exposing yourself (unfortunate wording, but I liked it so much after I typed it I just kept it... you know what I meant anyway). You can't really lie about family. "Uncle Ted isn't a drunk, he's just had a stroke recently." Or "My cousin Andee isn't a bitch, she's just getting into character for a movie part... she's playing the lead in a sequel of 'Mommy Dearest'... no really!"

Like I said, these lies don't really work. And to be honest, we're usually so consigned to the ugly truths about it, that we don't even think to warn our friends. So when someone is willing to share that with you, expose their origins and lay their lives bare, it means a lot. And the fact that I've had 4 friends think highly enough of me share themselves like that... it means that either I'm doing something really right, I'm just REALLY pitiful.

I suspect its a little of column A and column B.

It hits me when I think about that. 5 years since I've had Thanksgiving at my Grandma's in Hamilton, Illinois. My back to the big picture window with a view of the Mississippi winding through the bluffs with Iowa beyond. I haven't enjoyed my favorite holiday with the family that made me love the day the most. I remember flying kites and having experiments with my Aunt Theresa and her friend, Jim... (and never wondering about them having one of the inexplicable and androgynous relationships I've ever seen).

It causes me to pause my typing mid-word to think about it.

I've been at the mercy of others for the last 5 years. I've been floating around for the last 5 years... maybe this explains a lot about me and where I am in life. I'm so desperate to put down roots. I had an amazing support system in Eric and Steve and Shiznit in Waco. Myles and my studies.

I'm really beginning to love and appreciate Galveston. I fought it. Then I gave in... and then I had to work at it. But my relationship with Galveston Island is strong. I have an amazing job with an even better group of co-workers and a boss that has become a dear friend and confidant. I have good friends in Brian and Kristen and Will. I'm getting to a place where I'm happy with my situation. Even after the fucking storm.

I had a really good time time this Thanksgiving with Amanda and her family. Her mother, Melinda is sweet as the day is long and bent over backwards to make me feel welcome. She tried her hardest to embarrass Amanda for Amanda's sake. Turns out Amanda was too big a wuss to really misbehave growing up. Amanda's father, Barry, is incredibly laid-back. Seriously an incredibly accommodating and guy. He's done as much to make me feel comfortable as anyone. I got to meet Amanda's brother, Tyler and his wife Shari. Really cool young couple. I'm guessing they've been married 2-3 years. They have a beautiful son, 10 month old Kane. Seriously, two of the biggest, most lovable brown eyes I've ever seen. And I'm a sucker for the eyes.

And Amanda. She was a pro about the whole thing. I'm not sure if she actually wanted me around but she was cool as hell. As she almost always is.

I'm really thankful for her influence in my life. She's more than my best friend. She's sort of a lifeline into the world at outside of mine. She's smart and strong and while I think we share a sense of humor, I don't know anyone who provides a better counter-point to my point of view of the world. She's really fun to hang out with. And I defy you to spend time with her without laughing.

Besides that, she's off-the-charts hot. That don't hurt none. Like I've said. I never punch my weight.

But back to the point. I talk all this mean game about how much I love it back home, but I know that if I were to go back, I would hardly be able to spend a week without wondering why I would ever bother stepping foot in the city's limits. And even so, I've only just gotten to the point where I'm interested in seeing anyone besides my family members when I do go back.

I guess what I'm saying is that home is where the four chambers of your heart is. Wherever my mom and dad live will be home. Whether that's in Illinois or El Paso or wherever they're talking about moving.

Wherever I can go and say my stupid jokes and get laughs and people telling me I'm not nearly as funny as I think I am, will be home. (so thanks, Amanda)

Wherever I can go and feel loved, and just as importantly, known, will always be home.

So home is where my heart is. And as long as it's with those who would hold a piece of it, maybe I don't need to worry so much about roots. I'm leaving cuttings of myself wherever I go!

Four chambers of a home. A heart indeed.

TAMUG news!

TO EVERYONE I TAGGED IN THIS NOTE -
Please share this information with your fellow Sea Aggies. Thank you!
Originally Posted 6:30 p.m., Sunday, September 14, 2008

The current situation: TAMUG officials were granted limited access to the Mitchell Campus on Pelican Island and the Fort Crockett campus on Sunday. Initial reports are that our campuses fared well during Hurricane Ike; however, we will be sending assessment teams of engineers and facility specialists from College Station to conduct a building-by-building analysis over the next two days. On the Mitchell Campus, there is some damage, but it appears to be repairable at this point.
We know that the roadway leading to the bridge to campus has eroded and is impassable at the current time. The roof to Mariner Hall has been partially damaged, as has the roof to the Sea Aggie Center. The academic buildings appear to have made it through the storm relatively unscathed, other than some broken glass. There is no evidence of the storm surge reaching these buildings.At Fort Crockett, one of the highest points on Galveston Island, we did not see any visible structural or water damage. We have not been able to access the Teichman campus as of Sunday afternoon.The key point to emphasize is that the City of Galveston’s infrastructure has been severely damaged, according to preliminary reports. This means that we are unsure as to when the island will have basic services such as electricity, water, sewer and telecommunications.

In addition, the approaches to the causeway from the mainland to Galveston Island have been compromised by debris. Public access is prohibited at this time.Our current plans:Our campus will remain closed throughout this week. Our next steps depend greatly upon the campus facility assessments, as well as the availability of basic services on Galveston Island.Be assured that the Aggie Spirit is alive and well, and we have begun implementing our contingency plan for the continuation of the fall semester at Texas A&M University in College Station. We will be able to share much more information about this implementation over the next two days.

The next update: Please continue to monitor www.tamug.edu for the latest official information from our administration. We are working to have our plans for the fall semester finalized by Wednesday, and provide several days’ notice for our faculty, staff and students.

I know how the Fires of Hell taste...

I was originally going to send this to Amanda in text form... but balked for obvious reasons. Enjoy:

I'm going to blog about this later, but I thought you might enjoy a story of how my doe-eyed trusting nature screwed me once again.

So Danielle, an anime/manga freak of a student worker whose only discernible skill is avoiding work, starts giggling and bickering with her boyfriend, Guy another student worker. Naturally, I eavesdrop. They're debating whether "Neil will try it or not."

So I walk up.

"Oh hey Neil!" Danielle says through eyes devoid of conscience, "want to try this hot sauce? It's really spice but REALLY good."

"Sure," I say, "I like spicey stuff."

"Great!" Danielle, that succubus of innocence, exclaims. "I saved you a chicken tender. Go to town."

So I dip a healthy dallop of the dark-dark red sauce and took a bite.

Now in retrospect, perhaps I should have noticed the relatively TINY size of the container of supposed "Hot Sauce" compared to the gallon containers of ranch that this girl USUALLY subjects her food to. Or maybe perhaps I should have noticed how Guy's eyes grew to the point where they could have doubled for rims on Shaq's Bentley...

But alas, I noticed nothing until I started to chew.

My mouth was aflame. I can only honestly describe the feeling as a cross between a Rampage Jackson hay-maker to the mouth and a passionate make-out session with the rusty tailpipe of a overheated '69 Chevelle.

But I'm a man, and this wasn't my first rodeo. I soldier up, for the sake of the troops, and swallow. (yes, I'm fighting the use of a "that's what SHE said" joke as well).

I'm cool for the most part. No tears. But my mouth, literally, hurts and I've already downed most of a nalgene bottle of water. I'm ignoring their hoots of approval and I want to slap the looks of pure adoration for this manly deed right off their still pubescent faces. I'm currently doing a mental inventory of alkaline substances at my disposal as I sit down and try to go back to work. No milk. I honestly consider gurgling chlorine... (shut up, I still run the pool)...

So, after what I feel is enough space to give me some distance, I excuse myself to "go to my apartment and also check the pool numbers." I go to my apartment, chew a few antacid (years old, I think they still have a picture of "uncle joey" from FULL HOUSE on the box) and I have some cottage cheese and take a few mouthfuls of that. It helps.

So, feeling better, I go out to the pool and do what I do best: make fun of students.

After 5 minutes and bragging about how awesome I am for hitting this sauce described as "barely legal in the U.S.", Karma hits.

My gut first starts to tingle, then burn, then full-out viva la resistance revolt. There are French people in torn pirate shirts singing songs of rebellion and building barricades in the banlieue.

I honestly get a flash in my mind of Tom Skerritt in ALIEN.

Mumbling some fucking lame excuse, I start to walk towards my apartment. I trip on something before I realize that my pupils have honestly begun to dilate.

I pull out my FUCKING ID and honestly don't know if I can make it to my apartment. So I stop, try to catch my breath and lean over a trash can. But wait, after 30 seconds of exponentially increasing pain, I realize that I'm about to full-on yak into a recycling bin. Yes. I get the irony. I actually slipped a laugh out between gasps.

Bad move. Turns out, my abdominal muscles are the jealous type.

I hear a sound come from my bowels that would make a StarWars nerd applaud. It might have been Klingon, but I knew what it was saying "get this fucking shit out of me you worthless mouthful of cock." (sorry for the language)

I throw up everything I've had in the last 10 minutes. Water? Check. Cottage Cheese? Check. Red bits of Uncle Joey's worthless antacids? Check.

Chicken tender? No dice.

I'm in a cold sweat. My legs quite literally, are wonkier than a newborn colt.

I make it into my apartment and begin an immediate evacuation from my clothes. Everything... almost. Socks are a bitch to get off and the floor was kinda cold.

I'll spare you the rest of the gruesome details only to tell you that I'm only NOW fully recovered. I robed and went back to work. No one the wiser after being gone for 30 minutes. I stayed until around 6 and then came back and took a short nap.

I don't know what I did to deserve that habenero sauce. I honestly don't know.

But I'm sorry, Jesus. I really, truly am.

Fin

Education with "a Capital E."

I love my job. I love working with students.

College is such a dynamic time in one's life. I'm absolutely in love with how hundreds of people come here from nearly every walk of life, rich, poor, fat, smart, hot, cold, local, international, black, white, mixed, Christian, Muslim, even Mormons who aren't afraid of learning show up sometimes -all come here with different world views trying to leap all kinds of different hurdles to gain an education for a myriad of reasons.

What I think I like most, is the education aspect. I am enthralled by how everyone learns. It might be the one thing that every human being has in common.

But speaking of commonalities, no matter how different all our students may be, there seems to be a lot of the same mistakes made. The psychologist in me wants to talk about Piaget or Erikson or Kholberg or Chickering, but I'll just save you the tired dogma and nerd-talk and drop it like this: Students are a lot like people.

I have a lot of the same conversations about mistakes and dumb decisions, etc. I also hear a LOT of the same excuses. That's cool. Students make mistakes. They should. For some reason, there are lessons out there to be learned that can only be taught through the pain of consequence. Drinking too much = hangover. Not studying = bad grades. Taking turns with your best friend's brother shooting each other in the chest with a paintball gun = bruise on your sternum that makes breathing painful.

Y'know, the basics.

I expect the bone-headed lack of thinking from students. Its comforting. Like the changing color of leaves in the Fall, or the snow in winter, these are things we've all come to expect and plan for. In fact, I would say these are things, students screwing up, are almost depended on by us. While we're disappointed to see them, fixing them working through them gives us a sense of efficacy and job-well-doneness.

But something that really chafes my ass is when PARENTS are behaving badly. You, gentle readers, have no idea how often it is that the parents of a student are completely to blame for their behavior or trouble.

And I'm not just talking about questionable parenting. I've seen girls with enough hard alcohol in their fridge to intoxicate the Irish National Soccer team and while watching them dump out their gallon bottles of tequila, bacardi 151, and vodka complain "my mother JUST bought this for me for my [18th] birthday tomorrow." I've seen parents who send their children to a very stressful first year at college on more drugs than Heath Ledger spending Flu Season at Keith Richard's house (too soon?) and not feel the need to tell anyone that their child might be under stress.

But today, a good friend of mine sent me an email that sorta summed up what we, as professionals, have to sometimes deal with.

"My daughter has expressed interest in attending [your institution]. She is a very good student (SAT 710 math 720 Verbal - member of American MENSA). My brother lived in [this town] for several years and he expressed concern about crime in the [this town] area. Since only about 35% of your students live on campus it follows that should she attend [your institution] she will at some point live off campus out side the safety area provide by the University. Please speak to the safety issues I have mentioned."

Please speak to the safety issues I have mentioned... I honestly don't know what I would have said if this lady, who has every right to be concerned about the safety of her daughter, would have suggested to me that I start worrying about the safety of students as if that weren't already my #1 concern already.

"Oh, make things safer?!?! I hadn't thought of that. Let me go get my tazer and bullet-proof vest. And ma'am, do you mind if I keep your number so that I may call you back for future sage advice? I might be chewing some food later, and while I get the whole 'move the jaw up and down' thing, I sometimes get confused on how my tongue works into the equation..."

I've been told my sarcasm is sticky.

The worst part is that I completely understand how these parents have a right to be concerned. I understand that they want to give their children everything and how they're giving up control and how that can be incredibly scary and the anxiety caused by such can sometimes cloud reasonable thought.

I understand parents who simply don't speak the "college language." It is a whole new world here of forms and FAFSA's and deadlines and housing deposits and core curricula. I can completely understand how the confusion of a first-time college parent can cause the eyes to cross and the straight-forward to bend.

What I don't understand is the consumer culture that college seems to have adopted. Just because you pay to attend, does NOT mean you pay to have your happiness guaranteed. Good grades are a product that can be purchased only through effort, not cash.

Perhaps it is I that needs to change my attitude. Perhaps I need to realize that in today's fractured family unit, a student is not the only one receiving the education. Perhaps my inability to understand that not every parent is like mine, and expects me to deal with my messy roommate or the dude down the hall who watches animal porn "because it's funny, dude" on my own. Perhaps I am the strange one for thinking that my dealing with these issues without having my parents call the President's office made me a little better equipped to deal with the world at large.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

One cloud is enough to block the sun

I guess my approach to my faith and the faith of others can be summed up in the thought that one cloud is enough to block the sun.

But the Sun still exists.

I understand that some people have gotten the shit end of the stick more often than not. And the hurts vary from a broken home to parents who cannot see past their own needs to atrocities I cannot understand. I can truly understand how some people can have trouble seeing the good for all the clouds that block their view.

But the Sun still exists.

But how can a small cloud block the sun, an object 864938 miles in diameter, it's 109 times the size of earth. It's a matter of perspective, quite literally. When you're closer to the little thing than the big, the big thing can get boxed out.

But the Sun still exists.

I guess I'm just saying that no cloud has the balls or gumption to outlast or outshine the sun. I guess at some point it just comes down to your ability to recognize the sun for what it is. Especially when you've never seen it shine before.

But it exists. I know that much.

I just really want everyone to enjoy a tan.

Haven't posted in a while...

Been tossing around the idea of getting back into the mix. We'll see how it goes.

Some people have asked me to post the speech I gave at the Leadership Banquet last week. And you all know how I love to give the people what they want...

2^nd lieutenant Benjamin Warren Golemo, 101^st Airborne, United States Military Academy at West Point class of 2007 left this morning for his first-ever platoon command somewhere in Baghdad.

My best friend. My closest soul. My biggest fan. My favorite person in the world. God’s greatest gift to me. My brother.

He’s leaving to fight a war about which I don’t think anyone knows exactly how to feel to defend a country, that while I love it with all my heart… I don’t know is always right.

And the job my brother is doing. His M.O.S. is without a doubt the most dangerous job in all of the Allied forces. He’s leading a platoon whose job it is to find, disarm or discharge the IED’s (Improvised Explosive Devices) that are responsible for nearly 40% of all of our soldiers killed or injured during Operation Iraqi Freedom.

And he fought for the job.

When he told me this, I screamed at him. “The world’s got enough heroes, Ben! And you’re not good-looking enough to have your face plastered on the dollar. Cause your nose is huge.” (He has a beak, I’m not kidding. The man can smoke a cigar in the shower.)

I asked him why? Your degree is in mechanical and electrical engineering. You should be behind a desk. A big, metal, desk…. Behind concrete walls… underground.

And he told me that there is no way he’d let someone else take his bullet. Those men need people who do, not assign. I’m here to lead.

Yeah.

Well never one to let the fact that I’m completely wrong keep me from making my point, I responded to him to spare me the “Hooah Army Poster-boy shhhstuff” and I reminded him that he has a family to worry about. I told him what it would do to me if he were to get hurt… or worse…

And he told me that he couldn’t think of a better way to honor our family than to lead where others might falter. What’s more, he said that he learned this not from weeks at Boot camp, or 4 years at the Point, or much less, an Army of One poster.

He said he learned it from a lifetime of watching me.

Yeah. Life has a way of putting you in your place.

He began to talk about my job and where I went versus where I could have gone and why.

You know, the best thing I have ever done in my life is be the big brother in a family. I went to Baylor, 854 miles from my doorstep, because a hot girl talked me into applying and I didn’t know a soul.

I became a Community Leader on that campus because I missed my family. I missed being a brother. That was one thing I knew I was good at it. I believe we are all called to honor each other; to be brothers and sisters to one another.

And then I found out I could get paid to talk other people believing that load, too.

I’ve got the best job on campus. Maybe I don’t get to sit in my Ivory tower… I mean CLB. Maybe I don't have a really intimidating nickname like "The Grinder." Maybe I don’t get a snazzy office with a sorta creepy Paper Mache Sarge to make my head look proportional by comparison... And no, maybe I don’t have the honor or contumacious grit to pull off the bow tie.

Yeah, Ricki, I said contumacious…. You DON’T want to play me in facebook scrabble.

I have the honor of working with a group of students. 15 fine young men and women willing to put their hearts and butts on the line, 15 men and women with hearts set for service, 15 men and women trying to be big brothers and sisters worrying about the rules only because they inform the safety and well-being of the community on campus.

15 men and women trying to be big brothers and sisters to people who sometimes don’t want a big brother or a sister… and they can be quite vocal about saying so.

William Quillen. What’s your number one job? (God, I hope he says: "To know all your residents.")

Why? (Because if we’re all doing our job, there’s not a single resident on campus who can say that someone doesn’t know their name.)

I have the privilege and blessing of rolling out of bed and walking 40 yards to an office full of people who refuse do put up with anything less.

I look around this room and I see the knowing glances that we don’t lead because it looks good on a resume, or because it gives our egos a nice stroke. We lead because, leading in right direction, is a service to our brothers and sisters.

As I look around this room, I see that the idea of honoring each other by being brother and sister to one another; to get in each other’s way and cheer them on when they’re doing well and maybe kick them in the rear when they’re living a little left…I can see that see very clearly in the eyes of each of you, each and every one of you, that this idea is not lost on a generation.

I don’t care what Todd Sutherland says.

(The speech went over well)