Lately everything I write is angry, venting rants. And while it does feel nice to let it all out I thought I would try something different.
The weather has taken a turn for the nice, and it's odd how suddenly I love my life. I have been able to go on long walks with Jameson in Keegan everyday since the weather had been nice. We take pictures of things that are weird, and we walk for hours in the beautiful weather. Some people get to do that on weekends (not me) but the fact that I get to sleep until 10 and get up and enjoy the beautiful weather "makes me, Amber Atkins proud to be an american," no scratch that just happy.
I also love my car in the early spring (or February?). When the weather is nice I can open my sunroof and listen to kevin devine with the windows all down. It's lovely. And my car is clean so I love it even more than normal right now. I know a lot of people love their cars, but I think I am one of few people (even fewer people with my income) that are close to owning their dream car. Nigel is my dream car. He is all I could ever really want. I can fit 3 sets of golf clubs in my trunk, or 2 car seats and a 40lb bag of dog food. I have non-leather heated seats. I get 20 miles per gallon in town, which would suck if I had just bought my car, although I think 20mpg still counts as good if its an SUV, but my car is 21 years old. He's perfect. Except not really. He's rusty and he needs new ball joints and lower control arms. But I think he'll make it. We'll replace each part slowly and carefully and then when his suspension isn't deteriorating anymore we can give him a shiny new paint job (maybe with glitter too) and he will be my dream car. So close....
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
continued again....
A week of nice weather (continued)....
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
a week of nice weather...
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Why my dog is a better person than you are.
I like to think that I am a passionate person. I care about many things very passionately; one of these things is sports. i love sports. I love watching them; I love playing them. And on this particular Superbowl Sunday I tried so hard to not care at all, because I was tired of being disappointed in things over which I have no control. So I really didn't care if the Packers beat the steelers of vice versa. I wanted to care, I did, but I wasn't going to invest too much energy into it.
Some might say that you can't be that rational about the things you are passionate about, because really how many of the things in this world do we really have a say in? Not that many. But I like to think when I buy organic shade grown coffee from Nicaragua I am helping support the economy of one of the poorest nations in central america. I like to think that by buying my books at Eagle Eye I am keeping some of my neighbors from loosing jobs, or even worse, maybe their house.
I feel passionately also, that people shouldn't eat meat. The idea of eating a dead rotting carcass is pretty disgusting to me and it's one I can't wrap my head around, and haven't been able to for the last 9 years of my life. Every time I smell wings at work, and think maybe those would taste good, but I look at the bones sticking out from the smothered meat and think those are bones of an animal, bones of a once living, breathing, thinking, feeling animal. It makes me not so hungry. I don't have to think about all the horrible practices of a factory farm to make me lose my appetite for meat; I just have to think of an animal, any animal and think "would I eat that?" But I still don't get how so many people can be so willing to ignore what is so obvious.
I know not everyone is horrified by the idea of eating an animal. People hunt, and they eat it and that makes sense...maybe...a little bit, but not to me. If I could chose to eat an apple or go kill a deer. I would always chose the apple. Even if those were my only two choices for the rest of my life. Every time I would chose the apple. People will argue that we are meant to eat meat, because we are human and we are at the top of the food chain. because we are smarter we should eat meat. But I think because we're smarter doesn't that mean we shouldn't eat meat? my dog can't make the connection that his food used to be a living animal. he sees a squirrel and he chases it but he doesn't really understand why. I don't chase a squirrel, I don't have that instinct. or his teeth/jaw for that matter. doesn't that mean I shouldn't be eating meat?
People are always telling me they are just stupid animals, that they don't matter. It is more important to have and taste bacon than to assume that a pig is actually a really intelligent animal, smarter than your three year old kid. But where are they getting this?
One night when I was walking my dog, Jameson, we heard the squeal of an animal, probably a dog being stepped on accidentally in front of a neighbors house, and we continued walking. My dog pulled so hard to go back to where we heard the noise, and for the next ten minutes once we arrived back home stood in the window looking out and howling. he stopped only when I took him back out and walked to the neighbors house. They were outside with a tiny new puppy. Jameson saw the puppy we had heard, and when he saw it was ok he was fine and walked back home with me and went to sleep.
If my dog can care that much about a puppy he's never met, how can people tell me that we are better than the animals we eat. Why are we so special that we get to decide which animals life is worth taking, based on taste? based on intelligence? My dog has a clearer moral conscience than michael pollan.
Some might say that you can't be that rational about the things you are passionate about, because really how many of the things in this world do we really have a say in? Not that many. But I like to think when I buy organic shade grown coffee from Nicaragua I am helping support the economy of one of the poorest nations in central america. I like to think that by buying my books at Eagle Eye I am keeping some of my neighbors from loosing jobs, or even worse, maybe their house.
I feel passionately also, that people shouldn't eat meat. The idea of eating a dead rotting carcass is pretty disgusting to me and it's one I can't wrap my head around, and haven't been able to for the last 9 years of my life. Every time I smell wings at work, and think maybe those would taste good, but I look at the bones sticking out from the smothered meat and think those are bones of an animal, bones of a once living, breathing, thinking, feeling animal. It makes me not so hungry. I don't have to think about all the horrible practices of a factory farm to make me lose my appetite for meat; I just have to think of an animal, any animal and think "would I eat that?" But I still don't get how so many people can be so willing to ignore what is so obvious.
I know not everyone is horrified by the idea of eating an animal. People hunt, and they eat it and that makes sense...maybe...a little bit, but not to me. If I could chose to eat an apple or go kill a deer. I would always chose the apple. Even if those were my only two choices for the rest of my life. Every time I would chose the apple. People will argue that we are meant to eat meat, because we are human and we are at the top of the food chain. because we are smarter we should eat meat. But I think because we're smarter doesn't that mean we shouldn't eat meat? my dog can't make the connection that his food used to be a living animal. he sees a squirrel and he chases it but he doesn't really understand why. I don't chase a squirrel, I don't have that instinct. or his teeth/jaw for that matter. doesn't that mean I shouldn't be eating meat?
People are always telling me they are just stupid animals, that they don't matter. It is more important to have and taste bacon than to assume that a pig is actually a really intelligent animal, smarter than your three year old kid. But where are they getting this?
One night when I was walking my dog, Jameson, we heard the squeal of an animal, probably a dog being stepped on accidentally in front of a neighbors house, and we continued walking. My dog pulled so hard to go back to where we heard the noise, and for the next ten minutes once we arrived back home stood in the window looking out and howling. he stopped only when I took him back out and walked to the neighbors house. They were outside with a tiny new puppy. Jameson saw the puppy we had heard, and when he saw it was ok he was fine and walked back home with me and went to sleep.
If my dog can care that much about a puppy he's never met, how can people tell me that we are better than the animals we eat. Why are we so special that we get to decide which animals life is worth taking, based on taste? based on intelligence? My dog has a clearer moral conscience than michael pollan.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Anything you can do I can do better.
I applied for a job today. I haven't done that in almost two years. I applied for lots of jobs when I graduated college. I got this itch like I was supposed to be a grown up. Wake up early in the morning, not get drunk on wednesday nights. It eventually went away. I realized I wasn't in any hurry to grow up. I love getting drunk on weekdays. The bars are emptier and the beer is cheaper. Who wants to be a grown up? Not me. I have two jobs, none of which is in any way "real." But I pay my bills. I get by. But lately....the itch is back.
My friends from high school have real jobs: as physical therapists or working in nuclear power plants. The friends that don't have real jobs are getting doctorate degrees. The kid I pick up from school everyday, his 5th grade teacher is two years younger than me. And my favorite person to work with on Saturday mornings, just quit waiting tables with me.....to get a "real" job. So I've got that itch again. I don't want to be a grown up. I want to write a novel and become rich. I want my boyfriend to create an iPhone app and become rich. I want grown up things like a house, and a yard. But I don't want the 9-5. It doesn't work. I don't fit in that box. But I applied for a job today because it made sense. I scratched the itch, and now I hope it goes away.
My friends from high school have real jobs: as physical therapists or working in nuclear power plants. The friends that don't have real jobs are getting doctorate degrees. The kid I pick up from school everyday, his 5th grade teacher is two years younger than me. And my favorite person to work with on Saturday mornings, just quit waiting tables with me.....to get a "real" job. So I've got that itch again. I don't want to be a grown up. I want to write a novel and become rich. I want my boyfriend to create an iPhone app and become rich. I want grown up things like a house, and a yard. But I don't want the 9-5. It doesn't work. I don't fit in that box. But I applied for a job today because it made sense. I scratched the itch, and now I hope it goes away.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
This week, and maybe last week I've realized I hate a lot of people. Maybe that makes me sound, grouchy, but... lately I have been very grouchy. After a nice walk home in the cold after work on Sunday, I found myself crying for absolutely no reason. No one was particularly cruel to me at work, no one flagged me down or yelled my name loudly across the restaurant to tell me their diet coke tasted flat. But I think anyone who has ever waited tables for a significant amount of time starts to hate people. My father used to always say something along the lines of "Your mother waited tables for one summer, and I've been paying for it ever since." It makes sense now. I judge someone as soon as they walk in, what they're wearing, how they walk, all telling me whether they're going to be worth my time. I love to be proven wrong, and it does happen, sometimes.
Lately it seems that I am just over my neighborhood though. I got yelled at by some guy unloading his car, that he parked on the wrong side of the street, but he decided to yell loudly at me because I didn't fully stop at a stop sign, on the bottom of a hill. It was late. I was tired. If he had been a cop, I would have thought it appropriate, but no he was just a stupid guy who bought way too much bottled water.
And then there's the emails. I joined a neighborhood yahoo! group a few years ago after a friend got mugged. Its helpful because they send emails, a run down of the crimes in the neighborhood, who's having a sale, if someone needs a babysitter. A lot of good has come from it. I found my leather repair specialist from kind neighbors who shared their experiences with me. But then there's the guy who gets all upset because someone put dog poop in his trash can. And I want to scream at him, because if his biggest problem is dog poop in a city of Atlanta Herby Kerby than I think we should all be so lucky. I want to take my dogs on walks only by his house and leave all the poop in his lawn because he said that would be preferable to it being in his trash can. And then there's the Grassfed beef guy. Anytime a restaurant mentions grass fed beef he emails us all to tell us about it. I don't think he realizes that the grass fed cow who died to make his hamburger is just as likely to be skinned while alive and fully conscious, and just as apt to be butchered and have their feet cut off while they are still breathing as a cow that lived on a feed lot it's whole life. If he ever comes in to moes and joes I'll let him know.
I know I'm sounding bitter again, like when I hated christmas. But I do hate people. I used to only hate five people in the world, now I feel like it's everyone with a palin sticker on their car. I think the more I know about the world, the more I grow to hate it, but sometimes I like people too...
I was dreading getting my oil changed. I was preparing for the lecture of how I should have done it 700 miles ago, or the one about my brakes, or tires, or even just my headlight being out (I bought a bulb I just need to put it in), but they never came. My oil change took thirty minutes and if I hadn't had the bright idea to go for a long walk in the cold with the dogs on a busy street it would have been one of my most pleasant car experiences ever. As it was, my hands went numb and I yelled at the dogs a lot for pulling, and for pooping SIX times.
After, I went to buy coffee at Atlanta Coffee Roasters because I had so much time and I am never in that area, but they have a huge variety of beans so it's always worth the trip. The guy in line three people in front of me had ordered five pounds of coffee all ground finely. I hated him I'm not going to lie. Why did he not buy a coffee grinder and do it himself? He was obviously a coffee snob because he said this was the only store in the area (the whole atlanta area, as he was already driving thirty minutes from home) that had good coffee. He said every month he had to make a coffee run. Well dumbass, if you bought yourself a grinder that coffee would stay fresh longer, it would be easier to store, and you wouldn't be holding up the line. But I will say that I loved everyone else in that line with me. The girl behind him ordered two coffees, and even though she really wanted cream she waited until I said something when it was my turn in line instead of charging back to the front to tell them they had run out of cream. The guy behind her kindly waited while the man made him a swiss chocolate latte, that he had clearly never made before, and was surprised to see it on the menu. Both of them tipped him, and were nice even though it had taken much longer than they probably would have liked to get their beverages. And I loved the man behind the counter too. Not just because he looked like Santa Clause, but possibly because he reminded me of my own father. He wasn't supposed to be making lattes that morning, but one of his employees was at the doctor's and he listened patiently while she explained on the phone that she will be there as soon as she could. It wasn't a warm tingly feeling that I got or anything. I loved them, just as much as I truly hate all the others. But it was very real. I knew that man, his employees, the people in that shop, they were all real that day. They all had real problems, places to be, wives, kids, jobs, and I saw more of in fifteen minutes than was normal. I spend hours with people while they sit and eat, never thinking that they are real. They are just customers that maybe will tip me. The people in my neighborhood are just emails, or people yelling at me, sometimes their women with jogging strollers, but they're not real. They don't have problems. I wanted to jump behind the counter and help the owner make espresso, pour coffee, find the creamer. I could have done it. I could have helped. I could have been real too, but I didn't.
Lately it seems that I am just over my neighborhood though. I got yelled at by some guy unloading his car, that he parked on the wrong side of the street, but he decided to yell loudly at me because I didn't fully stop at a stop sign, on the bottom of a hill. It was late. I was tired. If he had been a cop, I would have thought it appropriate, but no he was just a stupid guy who bought way too much bottled water.
And then there's the emails. I joined a neighborhood yahoo! group a few years ago after a friend got mugged. Its helpful because they send emails, a run down of the crimes in the neighborhood, who's having a sale, if someone needs a babysitter. A lot of good has come from it. I found my leather repair specialist from kind neighbors who shared their experiences with me. But then there's the guy who gets all upset because someone put dog poop in his trash can. And I want to scream at him, because if his biggest problem is dog poop in a city of Atlanta Herby Kerby than I think we should all be so lucky. I want to take my dogs on walks only by his house and leave all the poop in his lawn because he said that would be preferable to it being in his trash can. And then there's the Grassfed beef guy. Anytime a restaurant mentions grass fed beef he emails us all to tell us about it. I don't think he realizes that the grass fed cow who died to make his hamburger is just as likely to be skinned while alive and fully conscious, and just as apt to be butchered and have their feet cut off while they are still breathing as a cow that lived on a feed lot it's whole life. If he ever comes in to moes and joes I'll let him know.
I know I'm sounding bitter again, like when I hated christmas. But I do hate people. I used to only hate five people in the world, now I feel like it's everyone with a palin sticker on their car. I think the more I know about the world, the more I grow to hate it, but sometimes I like people too...
I was dreading getting my oil changed. I was preparing for the lecture of how I should have done it 700 miles ago, or the one about my brakes, or tires, or even just my headlight being out (I bought a bulb I just need to put it in), but they never came. My oil change took thirty minutes and if I hadn't had the bright idea to go for a long walk in the cold with the dogs on a busy street it would have been one of my most pleasant car experiences ever. As it was, my hands went numb and I yelled at the dogs a lot for pulling, and for pooping SIX times.
After, I went to buy coffee at Atlanta Coffee Roasters because I had so much time and I am never in that area, but they have a huge variety of beans so it's always worth the trip. The guy in line three people in front of me had ordered five pounds of coffee all ground finely. I hated him I'm not going to lie. Why did he not buy a coffee grinder and do it himself? He was obviously a coffee snob because he said this was the only store in the area (the whole atlanta area, as he was already driving thirty minutes from home) that had good coffee. He said every month he had to make a coffee run. Well dumbass, if you bought yourself a grinder that coffee would stay fresh longer, it would be easier to store, and you wouldn't be holding up the line. But I will say that I loved everyone else in that line with me. The girl behind him ordered two coffees, and even though she really wanted cream she waited until I said something when it was my turn in line instead of charging back to the front to tell them they had run out of cream. The guy behind her kindly waited while the man made him a swiss chocolate latte, that he had clearly never made before, and was surprised to see it on the menu. Both of them tipped him, and were nice even though it had taken much longer than they probably would have liked to get their beverages. And I loved the man behind the counter too. Not just because he looked like Santa Clause, but possibly because he reminded me of my own father. He wasn't supposed to be making lattes that morning, but one of his employees was at the doctor's and he listened patiently while she explained on the phone that she will be there as soon as she could. It wasn't a warm tingly feeling that I got or anything. I loved them, just as much as I truly hate all the others. But it was very real. I knew that man, his employees, the people in that shop, they were all real that day. They all had real problems, places to be, wives, kids, jobs, and I saw more of in fifteen minutes than was normal. I spend hours with people while they sit and eat, never thinking that they are real. They are just customers that maybe will tip me. The people in my neighborhood are just emails, or people yelling at me, sometimes their women with jogging strollers, but they're not real. They don't have problems. I wanted to jump behind the counter and help the owner make espresso, pour coffee, find the creamer. I could have done it. I could have helped. I could have been real too, but I didn't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)