April 29: Delousing Station, Creature of Habit, Tight Times

Billy and the rest were wooed through gate after gate, and Billy saw his first Russian.  The man was all alone in the night--a ragbag with a round, flat face that glowed like a radium dial.

Billy passed within a year of him.  There was barbed wire between them.  The Russian did not wave or speak, but he looked directly into Billy's soul with sweet hopefulness, as though Billy might have good news for him--news he might be too stupid to understand, but good news all the same.  

Billy blacked out as he walked through gate after gate.  He came to in what he thought might be a building on Tralfamadore.  It was shrilly lit and lined with white tiles.  It was on Earth, though.  It was a delousing station through which all new prisoners had to pass.

Billy did as he was told, took off his clothes.  That was the first thing they told him to do on Tralfamadore, too.

A German measured Billy's upper right arm with his thumb and forefinger, asked a companion what sort of an army would send a weakling like that to the front.  They looked at the other American bodies now, pointed out a lot more that were nearly as bad as Billy's.

Another lengthy section from Slaughterhouse.  Billy being herded through the prison camp with other American prisoners, toward a delousing station.  Now, Billy knows he's going to survive.  In fact, he has already survived, gotten married, become a father, and been abducted by aliens.  Certainly, he also has knowledge of concentration camps and the Holocaust.  Yet, this delousing station is frightening.  It could be a gas chamber.  In description, it certainly fits the bill.  The shadow of genocide looms in this passage.

I have written about Billy's unique perspective on time before.  The fact that the past, present, and future are fairly liquid states for him.  Yesterday he was born.  This morning, he's a German POW.  This afternoon, he may die.  Tomorrow morning, he'll be seeing patients in his office.  Billy doesn't fear death or tragedy.  He's not going to die in a German gas chamber.  Billy already knows what has, is, and will happen.

I have never been a big fan of uncertainty, as many of my faithful disciples know.  I am a creature of habit, embrace daily sameness.  When a new school semester starts, I quickly work to establish a schedule for my days and weeks.  Having two full-time jobs sort of requires ruts, tire tracks that I can follow easily for a few months.  And it's comforting to know where I have to be next Monday morning at 6 a.m., when I have to teach on Wednesday, what my office hours are on Tuesday.

Soon, I will be establishing a new daily schedule for myself.  The winter semester is coming to an end, and I'll be transitioning into summer mode.  No teaching.  Early work days.  Afternoons of relative freedom.  Time to read what I want, without having to grade it for grammar and organization.  And, of course, the loss of a teaching income for four months.  Tight times for this saint's household.

However I will enjoy the warmth and sun and relative calm.  Sure, about mid-July, the money worries will be piling up, and I will start counting down to that first paycheck from the university in August.

Right now, though, Saint Marty is thankful for the prospect of his summer rut, with all its hidden secrets in unlikely places.

September 8: Strange Voice, Tight Times, New Cartoon

The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter.  He obeyed.

These two sentences appear immediately before Scrooge's encounter with the Ghost of Christmas Present.  Scrooge has no idea what he's about to encounter.  By this time in the book, he's encountered all kinds of phantoms, some frightening, some not so frightening.  If I were him, I would be hiding under the bed with the chamber pot.

You know, the future is a scary thing sometimes, especially if you're not sure what the future holds.  For instance, at the moment, money is pretty tight for my family.  Really tight.  Coming off the summer, when I never get classes to teach, September/October is always a catch-up month when it comes to bills.  By the end of August, I'm usually pulling out what little hair I have left over every dime I have to spend.  I know it's bad when I look at a fifty-cent pack of gum and say to my daughter, "You really don't need that."  Yes, it gets that bad.

I don't like living that kind of existence, in a constant state of worry.  I feel like Scrooge, always on the threshold with my hand on the doorknob, not knowing what kind of ghoul I'm about to meet.  I'm hoping that my wife's new job will alleviate some of this stress.  She gets her first paycheck next week, thank God.  It won't be huge, but it will help.

This is one area of my life where my faith and trust fall a little short.  Even though I've received unexpected checks in the mail before, I just can't look at a bill and the balance in my checking account and think, "God will provide."  I just can't get to that place.

Saint Marty hopes that strange voice on the other side of the door, calling out to him, is the Ghost of Oprah Present, offering him a multi-million dollar contract to write for O magazine.

Confessions of Saint Marty

July 19: Tremendous Family to Provide For, Tight Times, Cheapness

"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.

"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.

"Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?" pursued the Phantom.

"I don't think I have," said Scrooge.  "I am afraid I have not.  Have you had many brothers, Spirit?"

"More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost.

"A tremendous family to provide for!" muttered Scrooge.

This little exchange between Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present seems pretty trivial, an offhand joke to lighten up the proceedings.  After all, the previous stave had ended on a pretty serious note with Scrooge basically smothering the Ghost of Christmas Past.  The current Phantom is decidedly more jovial, resembling the Victorian version of Santa Claus.  Yet, this Ghost also touches upon one of the weightier themes of the novel:  the plight of the poor and working class.  Bob Cratchit has a tremendous family to provide for, and he does it on the measly salary Scrooge pays him.

In election years, I get a little annoyed with all the rhetoric that's thrown around.  For instance, this year, one of the hot button issues in the United States is unemployment.  The tactic that annoys me the most is blaming the unemployed for being unemployed.  For the most part, people who are unemployed aren't lazy freeloaders, looking to live off welfare and unemployment checks and federal assistance.  No, most unemployed people want to work to provide for their tremendous families (as Bob Cratchit does).

You may be wondering where I'm going with this discussion.  Times are pretty tight for my family right now.  I don't teach during the summer at the university, and I depend on a lot of overtime at my other job to make it through June, July, and August.  My wife isn't employed at the moment (not from lack of trying to find a job), so these twelve-hour work days are making me really cranky.

The hardest part, for me, about not having money is disappointing my wife and kids.  I have a vacation coming up the first week of August.  We're not going anywhere.  We're not doing anything.  My daughter thinks I'm cheap.  She doesn't get that it has nothing to do with cheapness and everything to do with her mother's unemployment checks running out.  And no checks coming from the university.  And the checks from my other job barely paying the summer bills.

I don't need a millionaire President of the United States telling me how he's going to make my life better.  I don't need millionaire senators and representatives telling me how they're going to provides jobs for everyone.  I don't need a millionaire governor telling me how he's going to control state labor unions.  I don't care about any of that shit.

Here's what I need:  a job, one job, that pays my bills.  That pays for my daughter's dance lessons.  That maybe buys me a good book every once in a while.  That allows me to spend time with my family--good, quality time.  That lets me write without feeling like I should be doing something else, something more productive.  That allows me to sleep in past 4 a.m. every once in a while.  That makes me feel good about myself.

That helps Saint Marty provide for his tremendous family.

Does anybody out in blog world really care?