February 14: Rougher Where You Are Going, Valentine's Day, Actual Reality

Santiago is injured . . . 

You did not stay long, the man thought. But it is rougher where you are going until you make the shore. How did I let the fish cut me with that one quick pull he made? I must be getting very stupid. Or perhaps I was looking at the small bird and thinking of him. Now I will pay attention to my work and then I must eat the tuna so that I will not have a failure of strength.

"I wish the boy were here and that I had some salt," he said aloud.

Sometimes, I make dumb mistakes.  Just like Santiago.  Do things I know I shouldn't do.  That's often why I remain silent when I get angry.  I prefer not to say or do things in the heat of a moment.  Because words spill out of my mouth that I later regret.  Better just to eat my tongue and not make a stupid mistake.

Today is Valentine's Day.  I have to admit that I didn't do anything very Valentine-ee today.  I worked.  Taught.  Worked some more.  The one Valentine thing I did was host a Valentine's Day concert at the library where I'm the Adult Programming Coordinator.  For one hour, I sat and listened to love songs.

Of course, my Facebook feed was full of Valentine posts.  People proclaiming that their significant others are the best partners in the whole world.  Pictures of flowers and chocolates and steak dinners and weddings.  My favorite this year:  a picture of dog eating a heart-shaped biscuit.  Love is in the air.

If you detected a little bit of sarcasm in that last paragraph, it was intentional.  Here is where I may be making a dumb mistake.  I find posts on holidays like Valentine's Day and Christmas a little difficult.  Like teenage girls looking at pictures of models in magazines, adults see posts featuring rose petals on pillows, boxes of Godiva, candlelit dinners, and they immediately feel shitty about their lives.

So, for everyone experiencing this annual ritual of Valentine shaming, remember that perfect love doesn't exist.  There are always squabbles and differences.  Outright arguments.  Relationships are living things.  They breathe, love, cry, hurt, get depressed.  Sometimes they betray.  Sometimes they buy you chocolate and take you to a movie.  

And, sometimes, it's simply better to be unattached.  In a relationship with yourself, finding out what makes you happy or sad or upset.  The good thing about this arrangement is that you always get what you want for Valentine's Day, even if it's a nap and the next episode of Breaking Bad.  

There.  That's my dumb mistake for today.  I hate Valentine shaming.  Facebook tends to promote a version of reality that is only tangentially related to actual reality.  Because, let's face it, life is messy, difficult, and painful sometimes.  Love is, too.

That's Saint Marty's Valentine's Day wisdom.

September 21: Compulsion, Profit, Poetry

"Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, "conduct me where you will.  I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now.  To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."

This version of Scrooge is quite humbled.  He's addressing the Ghost of Christmas Present and is obviously a very chastened man.  He has had the opportunity to view the mistakes he made in the past, and now he is ready to learn a few lessons from the next Christmas spirit.  Scrooge is no dummy.  He is trying to save himself from Marley's fate, and he knows the key to his salvation are these yuletide phantoms.

We all have made mistakes in our past, just like Scrooge.  I have made so many mistakes that I could start a separate blog completely devoted to them.  But my screw-ups are not the main issue.  The main issue is what I do in response to my screw-ups.  In response to his past, Scrooge became angry and bitter and mean.  While I can be all of those things, I prefer to learn from the mistakes I've made.  That's how you grow as a person.

Last night, I made a mistake.  I was tired and hungry when I got home.  My eleven-year-old daughter, who is in a state of constant adolescent hormonal imbalance, sat down on the couch to watch TV and do homework.  My daughter started struggling with her math problems.  I suggested she turn off the TV so she could concentrate better.  That was all it took to send my daughter into a fit of angry tears.

Now, you may have read the above paragraph and thought, "Saint Marty, you didn't do anything wrong."  I would agree with you, if the story ended as above.  However, after my daughter launched into her tantrum of weeping, I lost my temper and started saying things like, "You don't need to cry.  If you want the TV on, I don't care.  I was just trying to help you out.  You can sit up until midnight watching TV for all I care."  It escalated from there, until my daughter ended the episode by asking, "Why are you being so mean to me?"

I was a bad father last night.  I should have recognized my daughter's frustration.  I didn't.  I gave into my baser instincts--anger, sarcasm, and dismissal.  That unholy trinity has gotten in so much trouble in the past, I should have known better.  I need to learn from my mistakes, especially when it comes to my daughter.  Last night, she needed love, understanding, and compassion from me.  I think I was just afraid she was going to ask for my help with her math homework.

Saint Marty has learned his lesson.  Math and America's Funniest Home Videos don't mix.

If only it were this simple

September 12: Sarcasm, My Natural State

I have a sarcastic streak.  I can't help it.  It's my natural state.  I think it comes from being the youngest of nine children.  I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism.  I'm not proud of this character trait, but it does come in handy when something or somebody is annoying me.

For some reason, I find myself being incredibly sarcastic today.  Just a few minutes ago, I was viewing pictures of newborn babies on a local hospital's website.  Instead of cooing and ooohing over each and every photo, I found myself pointing out flaws. 

"Oh, look how cute that one is."

"If you like kids with points on their heads," says I.  "That kid could double as a tent spike."

"Oh, look at little Penelope."

"What's with that hat?" says I.  "She looks like a damaged Cabbage Patch Kid."

"Little Tyson is so cute."

"Tyson?  Really?  What is he--a slice of chicken?" says I.  "Maybe his mom was hungry when she named him."

"Lulu is absolutely adorable."

"If you're into dumplings with eyes," says I.

You get the idea.  I didn't see a single cute baby.  I really pity my students today.  When I'm in this kind of mood, I generally don't hold it back in the classroom.  I hope nobody irritates me.

Saint Marty needs to watch what he says today, lest he offends some unsuspecting bystander.

The cutest little boy in the world--no sarcasm involved

December 17: Why Don't You Stop Annoying People?

Oh, why don't you stop annoying people?

George Bailey says this to Freddie Othello (Carl Dean Switzer of Little Rascals fame) when George starts to dance with Mary, his future wife, at a high school graduation celebration.  Freddie, of course, has his own ideas about Donna Reed.  Who wouldn't?  But George just swoops right in and trounces Freddie/Alfalfa's dreams.  Freddie keeps talking, and George and Mary dance away.  Of course, Freddie gets back at George by sending him into the pool for an unexpected swim, but Freddie never does get his dance with Mary.

In my lines of work (adjunct English professor and registration person at a medical office), I deal with a lot of people.  Different people, with varying levels of annoying/endearing qualities.  Some days, I can muster up a lot of tolerance for student/patient idiosyncrasies.  Other days, I want to be like George Bailey talking to Freddie Othello.  I know it's not a very Christian attitude to have, but I sometimes want to tell people to just sit down and shut up.  In the last few weeks, with the end of the semester crunch and Christmas fast approaching, I've had a very difficult time controlling my naturally sarcastic tendencies.  If you've been reading my blog for a while, you may have noticed my penchant for biting humor.  This character trait could get me in a great deal of trouble professionally if I don't control it.  Plus, it's just not very attractive.

I'm trying, in the waning days before Christmas Eve, to be more positive, less George Carlinesque.  I genuinely like most people, and I genuinely want most people to like me.  Therefore, to all the Carl Dean Switzers of the world, I vow, as part of my Christmas duty, to try to treat you nicer.  I vow to not point out your annoying habits.  I vow to tolerate your stupidity with a grin and a nod.

Just try not to piss Saint Marty off too much.  Please.

Here's a new cartoon for you:

Confessions of Saint Marty