Crap-TA

It seems CAFTA (Central American Free Trade Agreement) was passed recently. It was a bit of a stretch to pass, from what I've heard. The voting session had to be prolonged and holdout voters bribed to pass the bill.

I don't see how any good will come of this. Allegedly, it would help boost industry and agriculture by forbidding tarriffs. However, if NAFTA and Mexico have taught us anything, CAFTA will just be a means for rich corporations to outsource their plants to Central America and exploit the poor and desperate for their labor. The small farms in the area will likely be driven out of business or forced to lower their prices below a level that will make for a sustainable living. The farmers CAFTA is alleged to help will end up being the victims.

sports and culture

There's something wrong with our sports culture when a T-Ball coach pays one of his players to injure a retarded kid so he won't have to play him in the game.

I mean, these kids are like 8. Now, there's nothing wrong with being a little competitive to teach the kids hard work and dedication, but what's more important for these kids is to be learning how to work together. Teamwork and compassion are things at least as important as ambition. No wonder so many people are cheating and using steroids these days. There isn't an emphasis on hardwork and self-sacrifice. The emphasis is on winning at all cost.

What's also sad is how this translates into other aspects of our culture, like business and the economy. Running a business isn't about offering a great product that benefits society so naturally it sells well. No, it's about running everyone down and hoarding all the resources. Let's stomp on the little guy. We might as well just buy out those small, family-run businesses. All we need is a wal-mart, gas stations, and shopping malls. Let's forget about culture; the small businesses that support families and bring life into the community. Let's tromp on the little guy so he doesn't hold us back. That doesn't sound much different from hitting a retard in the face with a baseball.

I'm back after a pretty long hiatus. Here's something I started last night, a work in progress.


I'm not a bad looking guy, but I'm definitely a writer.

Sure, I mighy have my moments where my charm shines through, but most of the time I fail my words. I'm a pretty intelligent guy and I can think of plenty insightful, interesting things to say. But maybe I have too much to say. I never know where to start.

Here's my chance. A girl invites me to eat lunch at her table. She looks legendary. Confident and gorgeous, but sweet and intelligent. I decide that I'd be delighted to eat with her. Definitely, I'd say. Only that's not what I say.

"Delefinitely, I'd really like to eat lunch at door yable. Your table." This all rushes out of my mouth like the world was going to end in three seconds. I think it came through in time.

Man, why do I have to rush these things?
Damnit, I always smell like Chlorine.
While I'm thinking this, awkward silence.

So I follow her to her table and sit next to some of her friends. Some I've never seen before. Others that I've seen around. Two are people I've met before and have forgotten their names. They greet me, "Hey Kyle, good to see you." They use my name in every other sentence, as if to rub it in that I don't know their names. I'm horrible with names.

This is why I write. In a book, you can always go back if you happen to miss a few details the first time around. And to a book, it's never rude to ask a third or a fourth time. A book would understand your hearing loss and you wouldn't have to explain yourself so you won't come off as a prick.

Back at the table, she introduces me to one of her friends.
"Hey, this is my good friend..." Shit, I can never hear in this cafeteria.
"Hey, nice to meet you." I shake his hand.
"Nice to meet you, too. What did you say your name was?"
"Uh... Kyle... Umm..." It takes me a few moments to piece together what he said. A few moments of awkward silence.
"Akylum? That's a cool name. Is that African or something?" He's not being sarcastic.
"No, my name is Kyle." I feel like an idiot.

This is why I write.

So I start to eat with them pretty regularly. Between awkward periods of silence, I learn things about these people. Childhood stories. Details about their families. Their goals. Their girlfriends and boyfriends. They're great people.

I'm a good listener.
A focused eater.
And I still don't know that one guy's name.

This is why I write.

I also tend to have a hard time connecting with some people. You know those people. They always seem to be wearing a mask, some kind of disguise. They pretend to be fearles. They try to look pretty, as if it were the only thing that mattered. They mistreat the misfits so they look cool or rebellious. They act happy or depressed. Or they try to look dramatic. Whatever will make them feel like they stand out or fit in. Or feel invisible.

Sometimes we are those people. We all have some front to hide our feelings and never have to face rejection.

You never fail if you don't try.

She'll never be able to reject me if she never really gets to know me.

But then, she'll never really love you if you never let her get to know you.

It's a defense mechanism. You can try to reach out and connect with them. Find out who they really are. But these people don't want to be reached.

The worst thing in their minds is to be rejected for who they really are.

At least we have our own little world that we can fall back on. That's why I write.