This isn’t some doom and gloom foretelling of the future, nor is it a missive from the mind of a depressive. It is merely an observation, and some desires of mine. And it may not be pleasant.
Death
It’s gonna happen. It happens to everyone. As I saw on a television show the other night, everyone has temporary immortality, it’s called life. It was funnier when the cast said it. But I think about these things. Yes, partly because I am an untreated depressive. How much that colors the rest of my thoughts, I honestly don’t know. I’ve only ever tried one anti-depressant, and I wound up getting almost no sleep, even though I took it first thing in the morning. It helped my mood, but I was exhausted. Ah the joys of ADD and the paradoxical reactions. One of the other reasons, what I think is the primary reason, I think of death a lot is the fact that I’m sick. I have Polycystic Kidney Disease. I have kidneys the size of toddlers, that each weigh the same as a small bowling ball. They’re supposed to be about the size of a fist and weigh a quarter pound. And it hurts. Always. To some degree, I’m in pain. Some days it’s worse than others. Some days, I am merely uncomfortable, others I need to take something just to sit up. There are nights I can’t sleep because of the pain and discomfort. And clothes…that’s a tough one to handle. I always had an hourglass figure. Even when I was over 240 lbs, I had an hourglass figure. I had muscle tone. Clothes looked good on me. Not any more. As my kidneys grow, I think more and more that I’ll be shopping in the maternity aisles for my pants. I’ll have to.
After watching my mother, and her mother before her, suffer from diseases that took their lives long before they died, I wondered. My grandmother died from things she’d done to herself. She was a smoker. Of course, at the time she started, doctors were saying it’s good for you, so I honestly don’t believe it’s her fault. If I had gotten emphysema, it would have been. By the time I started smoking, we knew the hazards. I would have no excuse. Anyway, I watched them both waste away. And the reality is, that could happen to me. It’s more likely to happen to me than to anyone else in my immediate family. I don’t know what my current kidney function is, I haven’t had health insurance since November of last year. I haven’t taken my blood pressure pills since about April. And even then, I was only taking them occasionally. Can’t afford them. As of February 2007, my function was estimated at about 65%, but that was before my annual pee-in-a-cup day. I have to collect my urine for 24 hours and let them take about 3 quarts of blood. Might be only half a pint, I usually don’t pay attention once they put the needle in. That’s the test that tells my function. I’m exhausted all the time, and as mentioned, always in some degree of pain. I could live like this for another 30 years, or I could go south in just 5. No real way to know. So I think about it. That’s the background out of the way.
What do I want? I have no children, no boyfriend or husband to mourn me, I have very few assets, no foundations are relying on my presence to make them run, and there are a lot of times I feel like a part of my immediate family wouldn’t really miss me for long. Basically, I feel completely expendable. So I don’t want a grave. No point, really. Who would visit? I wouldn’t , I’d be dead. My friends wouldn’t, they’d be too far away. If I were buried anywhere, I’d want to be buried in Cincinnati. But I don’t want to be buried. Besides, I am an organ donor. Not many organs anyone would be able to use, unfortunately, but maybe a medical school could have a field day with my kidneys and other cyst-covered organs. There’s plenty of them. After that, I want to be cremated. Have a funeral if you want. I’d prefer a Presbyterian funeral, but I won’t be there, so it’s up to whoever’s stuck planning it. Again, I have very few assets, so it won’t exactly be elaborate. Enjoy. Try to remember the happy times. If you can’t, then just sit around with the uncomfortable silence of everyone going “Wow, we really did hate her.”
Taxes
I have no earned income this year. There are still five months left in the year, and if I don’t want to go into foreclosure, there will have to be a job somewhere in there, but until that happens, I have no earned income. The bulk of my money comes from a student loan, an insurance settlement and a pension plan, on which I HAVE paid taxes, and unemployment, on which I paid partial taxes. I suppose I’m lucky I decided to take a tax accounting class this quarter. The whole issue of insurance settlements is actually covered. But I’m not looking forward to doing my taxes for this year. Might be a bit of a challenge, that. I’m up to it.
Aside from that, taking my tax accounting class has reinforced even more that I don’t want to be a CPA. I want to be a Fraud Examiner, an auditor, a Forensic Accountant, something not dealing directly with doing someone’s taxes. It’s boring to me. The research is interesting, but I’ve found so far that I can get lost in the research, a particularly valuable trait in the other three paths I mentioned. The other three closely-related paths.
Really, that’s all I have to say on taxes. I just put it in there because the title worked so well, I had to write something. It’s a little lighter, anyway. And yet…I wonder about my own future. Will I be healthy enough to realize my goal? I don’t know. But, even though I’m depressed, I’m also an optimist. That’s why I’m going to school. I could die tomorrow, I could get bedridden, or I could have another 30 years of being a fully-functioning part of society. I’m planning for the last.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Accounting...it's kinda fun
No, now, wait, stick with me on this. I'm in school to get an MBA in accounting. There are days when I wonder if I really made the right choice in 1) going back to school and 2) going back to school to become an accountant. I mean, let's face it, I wasn't the best student.
I graduated college with a 2.7. That's after 7 years and several classes like choir where you got an A for showing up. I nearly failed out my first year. I was on academic probation for three semesters. My first semester, I got a 1.3. In order to avoid suspension or expulsion, I had to bring my grades up. In order to get off of probation, I had to bring my GPA up over 1.7. Cumulative. In most of my academic classes - that includes Music History - I got a C or worse. I had two classes that I had to retake, one of them three times. The thought of providing my transcript to anyone makes me anxious. I mean really, how would you feel about someone if they handed you a transcript with all those Fs and Cs? That includes classes where I was deeply interested in the subject matter, or worked my tail off trying to learn and complete the assignments, study for tests, et cetera. High school wasn't much better.
Honestly, one of the reasons I chose my school is because they didn't require a standardized testing score, and they weren't fussed about my transcript. They wanted to see it, but it wasn't a deciding factor. Another reason is it's regionally accredited, so I can still get financial aid.
There were so many arguments against my going back to school. I have difficulty with reading and auditory comprehension. If I don't write something down, it didn't happen. Even when I'm interested in something, I have a hard time remembering it. It's just the way I'm wired. I'd love to be able to eliminate that, but I can't. I never learned how to study, so my study habits are, at best, abysmal. I'm nearly 40, so it's not like I have a whole lot of time left to earn money for my *ahem* retirement. Disability, more like. I need to spend my time finding a new job, not getting an education. There's no guarantee that I will find another job, particularly with our economic downturn. Okay, you can say it, economic depression. It's been going on for several years. It's a depression. So why in the world would I want to go deeper into debt, when I just finished paying off my undergrad student loans, for something that's not assured to pay off?
In September of last year, I was laid off from yet another dead-end job. It sounds elitist and snobbish to say so, but it was beneath me. Most of my jobs are. I know that. I've been underemployed most of my life. But I never had the confidence to sell myself to an employer with a better job. Anyone who's paid any attention would know that I'm seriously lacking in the self-confidence department, and just dripping with insecurity. When dating, the worst guys possible sense that, and the sharks begin to circle. It's a big reason why I'm not dating now.
In November, I decided to take a trip. I visited my aunt in Tulsa. Long drive down, long drive back, good, restful visit while I was there. I got to hang out with one of my cousins and my aunt, and had a great time. I can't wait to go back. The only black mark on my trip was the accident the day before I was planning on leaving. Fortunately, my car is mechanically fine, and the door still opens and closes securely. While I was at my aunt's house, I decided that I would, in fact, go back to school. By the end of December, I was enrolled as a student. An MBA student. MBA-Accounting.
The graduate-level accounting courses assume you have some accounting background, either in practice or degree. Because I had neither, the dean required me to take undergraduate accounting courses. I checked with financial aid, and found that as long as I took at least the half-time equivalent of graduate-level classes, I could also take undergrad classes. I wasn't thrilled about it at first, I figured it would lengthen my time at school, and cost me even more money. In order to save time, I was taking the first two introductory courses simultaneously. It got confusing, but I managed to pull it off.
And it was fun.
Yeah, it was fun. It wasn't easy, but it was fun. There was the challenge of understanding the concepts, of putting them into textbook practice, and of completing a project, and taking a graduate-level statistics course at the same time. Also fun. The next quarter, I had a graduate finance course and intermediate undergrad accounting. I had to take an incomplete in my accounting course, I had a couple weeks where I felt really miserable. It happens, sometimes. Just another concern of mine.
This quarter, I'm taking the second part of intermediate accounting, the first part of tax accounting, and a graduate economics course. The graduate course doesn't start until August, and it's completely online. I'm a little worried about that, but I want to get as much done as possible, and I have to take a grad class to keep my financial aid.
Tax accounting doesn't really appeal to me. I want to get into fraud and forensic accounting. I wasn't particularly looking forward to taking this tax accounting course, but the dean required it for me, so I had little choice. Tonight was our second class, and for the second time, the class was over long before we were ready for it to end. As with most of the classes at CTU, the instructor is actively working in his field of instruction. Because of that, his information is current. And he's a dynamic speaker. Very knowledgeable, and has a wicked sense of humor. He enjoys his job. A lot. And it comes across.
Nights like this are when I realize that yes, I did choose the right major, yes, I did make the right decision to go back to school. Now all I have to do is find a job that I can do until I graduate, 'cuz the money's running out. It doesn't even have to pay well. It just has to pay something. I'm a little worried about working while going to school. I tire easily these days, and I'm still figuring out how to work with my learning difficulties. Last time I was in school, I was also working. Grunt work, but working. Granted, I was also going out all the time, but I didn't do that until I found that working my tail off wasn't getting me anywhere. My grades improved when I spent less time on my homework. Irritating. Currently, I have a 3.94 out of 4.00. At no time in my academic life after 6th grade did I ever have anything approaching that. I don't want to jeopardize that. It's the first time I have a tangible display of success. But, since I can't find someone else to pay my bills, I don't have much of a choice. I have to find a source of income.
Still, I will continue with my schooling. I'm enjoying it immensely. I may have to try and sell my house before I finish, and I may have to give up my satellite and even the high-speed internet, although I need that for my classes. But I'm going to finish. And I'm going to do well. Because this is fun. It really is.
I graduated college with a 2.7. That's after 7 years and several classes like choir where you got an A for showing up. I nearly failed out my first year. I was on academic probation for three semesters. My first semester, I got a 1.3. In order to avoid suspension or expulsion, I had to bring my grades up. In order to get off of probation, I had to bring my GPA up over 1.7. Cumulative. In most of my academic classes - that includes Music History - I got a C or worse. I had two classes that I had to retake, one of them three times. The thought of providing my transcript to anyone makes me anxious. I mean really, how would you feel about someone if they handed you a transcript with all those Fs and Cs? That includes classes where I was deeply interested in the subject matter, or worked my tail off trying to learn and complete the assignments, study for tests, et cetera. High school wasn't much better.
Honestly, one of the reasons I chose my school is because they didn't require a standardized testing score, and they weren't fussed about my transcript. They wanted to see it, but it wasn't a deciding factor. Another reason is it's regionally accredited, so I can still get financial aid.
There were so many arguments against my going back to school. I have difficulty with reading and auditory comprehension. If I don't write something down, it didn't happen. Even when I'm interested in something, I have a hard time remembering it. It's just the way I'm wired. I'd love to be able to eliminate that, but I can't. I never learned how to study, so my study habits are, at best, abysmal. I'm nearly 40, so it's not like I have a whole lot of time left to earn money for my *ahem* retirement. Disability, more like. I need to spend my time finding a new job, not getting an education. There's no guarantee that I will find another job, particularly with our economic downturn. Okay, you can say it, economic depression. It's been going on for several years. It's a depression. So why in the world would I want to go deeper into debt, when I just finished paying off my undergrad student loans, for something that's not assured to pay off?
In September of last year, I was laid off from yet another dead-end job. It sounds elitist and snobbish to say so, but it was beneath me. Most of my jobs are. I know that. I've been underemployed most of my life. But I never had the confidence to sell myself to an employer with a better job. Anyone who's paid any attention would know that I'm seriously lacking in the self-confidence department, and just dripping with insecurity. When dating, the worst guys possible sense that, and the sharks begin to circle. It's a big reason why I'm not dating now.
In November, I decided to take a trip. I visited my aunt in Tulsa. Long drive down, long drive back, good, restful visit while I was there. I got to hang out with one of my cousins and my aunt, and had a great time. I can't wait to go back. The only black mark on my trip was the accident the day before I was planning on leaving. Fortunately, my car is mechanically fine, and the door still opens and closes securely. While I was at my aunt's house, I decided that I would, in fact, go back to school. By the end of December, I was enrolled as a student. An MBA student. MBA-Accounting.
The graduate-level accounting courses assume you have some accounting background, either in practice or degree. Because I had neither, the dean required me to take undergraduate accounting courses. I checked with financial aid, and found that as long as I took at least the half-time equivalent of graduate-level classes, I could also take undergrad classes. I wasn't thrilled about it at first, I figured it would lengthen my time at school, and cost me even more money. In order to save time, I was taking the first two introductory courses simultaneously. It got confusing, but I managed to pull it off.
And it was fun.
Yeah, it was fun. It wasn't easy, but it was fun. There was the challenge of understanding the concepts, of putting them into textbook practice, and of completing a project, and taking a graduate-level statistics course at the same time. Also fun. The next quarter, I had a graduate finance course and intermediate undergrad accounting. I had to take an incomplete in my accounting course, I had a couple weeks where I felt really miserable. It happens, sometimes. Just another concern of mine.
This quarter, I'm taking the second part of intermediate accounting, the first part of tax accounting, and a graduate economics course. The graduate course doesn't start until August, and it's completely online. I'm a little worried about that, but I want to get as much done as possible, and I have to take a grad class to keep my financial aid.
Tax accounting doesn't really appeal to me. I want to get into fraud and forensic accounting. I wasn't particularly looking forward to taking this tax accounting course, but the dean required it for me, so I had little choice. Tonight was our second class, and for the second time, the class was over long before we were ready for it to end. As with most of the classes at CTU, the instructor is actively working in his field of instruction. Because of that, his information is current. And he's a dynamic speaker. Very knowledgeable, and has a wicked sense of humor. He enjoys his job. A lot. And it comes across.
Nights like this are when I realize that yes, I did choose the right major, yes, I did make the right decision to go back to school. Now all I have to do is find a job that I can do until I graduate, 'cuz the money's running out. It doesn't even have to pay well. It just has to pay something. I'm a little worried about working while going to school. I tire easily these days, and I'm still figuring out how to work with my learning difficulties. Last time I was in school, I was also working. Grunt work, but working. Granted, I was also going out all the time, but I didn't do that until I found that working my tail off wasn't getting me anywhere. My grades improved when I spent less time on my homework. Irritating. Currently, I have a 3.94 out of 4.00. At no time in my academic life after 6th grade did I ever have anything approaching that. I don't want to jeopardize that. It's the first time I have a tangible display of success. But, since I can't find someone else to pay my bills, I don't have much of a choice. I have to find a source of income.
Still, I will continue with my schooling. I'm enjoying it immensely. I may have to try and sell my house before I finish, and I may have to give up my satellite and even the high-speed internet, although I need that for my classes. But I'm going to finish. And I'm going to do well. Because this is fun. It really is.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Going Home
My fourth of July weekend was spent in Cincinnati, my home town. I was a little apprehensive about going home, considering some of the things I’ve been feeling and thinking lately, but I still was happy to be going. No matter what, it’s home. Before I’d even checked into my hotel, I had to go to White Castle and have a couple double cheeseburgers and fries. Nice, late-night snack. The next day, I met with a friend of mine and her boyfriend, a nice guy who’s worlds apart from her ex-husband. Thank God for that. Anyway, off we went to enjoy other foods I can’t get here, like Skyline Chili and Graeter’s Ice Cream. I was surprised to find that no one in Colorado knows how to make a soda, or even what one is. It’s not a soft drink, it’s an ice cream treat. The closest equivalent would be a root beer float. Trust me, though, it’s not the same. My time was short, though, so I didn’t get to visit all the places I wanted. It’s okay, I got to hang out with friends.
Later on the 4th, I went to my father’s house. There’s something I finally realized this weekend. Even though there are times I feel that my family is demanding too much of my time or energy, it’s just not true. It finally occurred to me that the time I was spending with my family was by my choice. How liberating that revelation was. I could enjoy the time I spent with them instead of thinking I’d later resent it, something else I never did. Really a ridiculous thing to think, but hey, when you’re in the throes of denial, anything seems logical. Nevermind denial about what, that’s for another post. Or maybe not. Mostly, it’s unimportant right now. Anyway, Friday I went to see Hancock with my father, stepmother and the twins. I’d recommend it. It’s not Citizen Kane, but it’s worth watching. I’d go again. Even full price. And I’m cheap. It was raining all day, so there were no fireworks displays. That wasn’t a huge problem, I got to see one on my way down from the airport. From I-75. While driving. Yeah, sure, giant fireworks directly in front wasn’t at all distracting…NOT. At least everyone else on the highway was watching, too.
Saturday was a picnic I didn’t really think I wanted to attend. I’m not much of a people person, and going to parties, even with people I know, isn’t always fun for me. Mostly, I wanted to go because my stepmother’s sisters would be there, and I enjoy visiting with them. As is usually the case with me, I was glad I went. It’s probably the main reason I force myself to go to these things, even if I don’t think I really want to go. I invariably enjoy myself and am glad I went. I did wind up leaving earlier than most everyone else because I wasn’t feeling all that well, but lately, that’s nothing new for me.
I took a slight detour and I found myself driving to my old neighborhood, stopping by the house where I spent 29 years of my life. I’ve always contended they were, on balance, good years, but as time goes by, it seems less and less so. Again, for another time. Mostly, I just wanted to see the place, see if the new owners made any other changes. The tree we brought back from Colorado all those years ago was pulled out almost immediately. They kept her irises, although this time, they were in a different place. Still, it was the same color, mostly. And the tree I used to climb, one of them anyway, was still there, too. It was the first time I’d been back there with a camera, so I was even able to immortalize the occasion. One of the few pictures that came out well was my first church. The first one I joined, that is. I’d been to other churches while trying to decide what I wanted to be, spiritually. It was such a good experience that I maintain the same religious preference today, some 26 years after my confirmation. After, I continued through the area where I learned to drive, on through Norwood, and finally, back to my hotel.
My last day, I spent time shooting Eden Park, something I haven’t done for over 20 years. I’d spent a lot of time driving through or just finding a quiet spot and relaxing there, a bit of heaven in the middle of the city. Or maybe, a bit of Eden. Later that morning, I met a friend and hung out downtown for a few hours. We visited the Contemporary Arts Center and spent a good amount of time atop Carew Tower, currently the tallest building in the city, before finally winding up at Devou Park in Covington, Kentucky, where most of the pictures of the Cincinnati skyline are taken. After I dropped him off, I went to spend the third day with my family. Originally, we were going to have a family reunion this weekend. I put off making my flight and hotel reservations for as long as possible, partly because I really wanted to drive, partly because I was trying to decide if I really could afford the trip. Well, I couldn’t afford the trip, but I set it up anyway. Less than a week later, I was told the reunion was cancelled due to lack of interest. I suspect it had to do with the costs more than anything. The hotel we were able to reserve cost $129/night. I don’t know anyone who can afford that. No, that’s not quite true, I just don’t know anyone who can afford it who’d be willing to pay that. Not for the hotel they’d reserved, anyway. Unimportant. My father had a picnic on Sunday, for any who were in town for the reunion. I was the only one from out of town, and mostly, it was my immediate family. Still, it was, as always, a good time. There were some things that were discussed that could have put a damper on things, but again, not important now.
All in all, my weekend was good. In spite of the oppressive humidity – which wasn’t as bad as usual according to those who still live there – I thought I’d be moving back to Cincinnati before too long. But when I saw my mountains from the plane, I realized I wouldn’t be moving back too soon. I suppose that means I have two places I can call home.
*If you’d like to see the photos I took of Eden Park, visit my Photobucket account.
Later on the 4th, I went to my father’s house. There’s something I finally realized this weekend. Even though there are times I feel that my family is demanding too much of my time or energy, it’s just not true. It finally occurred to me that the time I was spending with my family was by my choice. How liberating that revelation was. I could enjoy the time I spent with them instead of thinking I’d later resent it, something else I never did. Really a ridiculous thing to think, but hey, when you’re in the throes of denial, anything seems logical. Nevermind denial about what, that’s for another post. Or maybe not. Mostly, it’s unimportant right now. Anyway, Friday I went to see Hancock with my father, stepmother and the twins. I’d recommend it. It’s not Citizen Kane, but it’s worth watching. I’d go again. Even full price. And I’m cheap. It was raining all day, so there were no fireworks displays. That wasn’t a huge problem, I got to see one on my way down from the airport. From I-75. While driving. Yeah, sure, giant fireworks directly in front wasn’t at all distracting…NOT. At least everyone else on the highway was watching, too.
Saturday was a picnic I didn’t really think I wanted to attend. I’m not much of a people person, and going to parties, even with people I know, isn’t always fun for me. Mostly, I wanted to go because my stepmother’s sisters would be there, and I enjoy visiting with them. As is usually the case with me, I was glad I went. It’s probably the main reason I force myself to go to these things, even if I don’t think I really want to go. I invariably enjoy myself and am glad I went. I did wind up leaving earlier than most everyone else because I wasn’t feeling all that well, but lately, that’s nothing new for me.
I took a slight detour and I found myself driving to my old neighborhood, stopping by the house where I spent 29 years of my life. I’ve always contended they were, on balance, good years, but as time goes by, it seems less and less so. Again, for another time. Mostly, I just wanted to see the place, see if the new owners made any other changes. The tree we brought back from Colorado all those years ago was pulled out almost immediately. They kept her irises, although this time, they were in a different place. Still, it was the same color, mostly. And the tree I used to climb, one of them anyway, was still there, too. It was the first time I’d been back there with a camera, so I was even able to immortalize the occasion. One of the few pictures that came out well was my first church. The first one I joined, that is. I’d been to other churches while trying to decide what I wanted to be, spiritually. It was such a good experience that I maintain the same religious preference today, some 26 years after my confirmation. After, I continued through the area where I learned to drive, on through Norwood, and finally, back to my hotel.
My last day, I spent time shooting Eden Park, something I haven’t done for over 20 years. I’d spent a lot of time driving through or just finding a quiet spot and relaxing there, a bit of heaven in the middle of the city. Or maybe, a bit of Eden. Later that morning, I met a friend and hung out downtown for a few hours. We visited the Contemporary Arts Center and spent a good amount of time atop Carew Tower, currently the tallest building in the city, before finally winding up at Devou Park in Covington, Kentucky, where most of the pictures of the Cincinnati skyline are taken. After I dropped him off, I went to spend the third day with my family. Originally, we were going to have a family reunion this weekend. I put off making my flight and hotel reservations for as long as possible, partly because I really wanted to drive, partly because I was trying to decide if I really could afford the trip. Well, I couldn’t afford the trip, but I set it up anyway. Less than a week later, I was told the reunion was cancelled due to lack of interest. I suspect it had to do with the costs more than anything. The hotel we were able to reserve cost $129/night. I don’t know anyone who can afford that. No, that’s not quite true, I just don’t know anyone who can afford it who’d be willing to pay that. Not for the hotel they’d reserved, anyway. Unimportant. My father had a picnic on Sunday, for any who were in town for the reunion. I was the only one from out of town, and mostly, it was my immediate family. Still, it was, as always, a good time. There were some things that were discussed that could have put a damper on things, but again, not important now.
All in all, my weekend was good. In spite of the oppressive humidity – which wasn’t as bad as usual according to those who still live there – I thought I’d be moving back to Cincinnati before too long. But when I saw my mountains from the plane, I realized I wouldn’t be moving back too soon. I suppose that means I have two places I can call home.
*If you’d like to see the photos I took of Eden Park, visit my Photobucket account.
Cornhole?!?
Okay, so on my way home this past weekend, I was faced with an interesting discovery. On the longest leg of my flight, Colorado Springs to Atlanta, I sat beside a woman going home to Richmond, Indiana. I’ve been to Richmond, it was close enough to my college that my choir actually had performances there. Really interesting during Daylight Savings, since Richmond didn’t change their clocks and we did. One weekend, we were going to Richmond on Saturday and Sunday, the weekend of Daylight Savings. On Saturday, we had to arrive by 7:00 AM eastern. On Sunday, 8:00 AM. It was kinda nice, considering I’d been out partying the night before. I can’t remember if that’s the infamous drunken singing incident, but that’s not important right now. Actually, none of that had a thing to do with the topic.
The woman beside me was going home to Richmond. Somewhere in the conversation, she brought up Cornhole. Huh? She explained that Cornhole was a game involving a board and corn bags – that’s bean bags filled with corn instead of beans – tossed at a board with a hole. The ultimate goal, somewhat obviously, is to get the bag through the hole.
I didn’t really give it a second thought. Just figured it was some rural Indiana thing. Lots of corn grown out there, and not much else to do unless you’re near Indianapolis, Cincinnati, Louisville or Chicago (a lot of places aren’t), gotta do something to pass the time. I landed in Dayton, drove through the 4th of July fireworks – on the third – to Sharonville, suburb of Cincinnati, got my White Castle (nummy) and went to my hotel. Friday, I went to my father’s house and hung out with them for a bit. There was a white board on their deck that I didn’t pay much attention to. Their house has always been the Kool-Aid house for our family, so they tend to have all sorts of random stuff. For those who aren’t old enough, or too senile to remember, there were commercials back in the 70s and 80s for Kool-Aid, showing a house where all the neighborhood congregated.
Saturday, I went to a picnic at my stepmother’s niece’s house, where there was food and family and games. Off to one side of the yard, there were four boards with holes set up, and the men were pitching beanbags at them. Well, not quite, I now know they were corn bags. Yes. There was a lively game of Cornhole going on. My naturally-keen sense of observation let that pass me by. For some reason, my brain just thought of that as horseshoes. I didn’t connect it to the conversation I’d had on the flight in two days prior.
Sunday, back to my father’s house for another picnic, this to take the place of the cancelled family reunion. Pretty local, and most of the people there shared at least one parent with me, so really it wasn’t that much different from other large gatherings at my father’s house. Off to the side of the house, by the driveway, my nephew had taken the white board I had previously ignored, along with another and some bags and set them up. At last, I made the connection. Cornhole? Here?!? Can’t be! My nephew called for players. This wasn’t even new! This had been going on for some time. Both my nephew and my youngest brother knew how to score, had strategies and even tips for novices! So I hear about this game from a woman who lives in Indiana, originally from California, and see it at my father’s house. He had a “pocket” version, too, with teeny little bags and teeny little boards.
But wait, there’s more!
Cornhole is apparently an old game. From the American Cornhole Association website:
What is Cornhole?
I must admit, its provenance of being from Germany has me a little concerned. I don’t seem to recall a proliferation of corn in Europe until after the US was invaded by the British. It’s a new world grain. Still, I suppose they could have used something else.
Just the same, there’s yet more. From the American Cornhole Organization website:
That’s right, there are two Cornhole groups, and they both have tournaments. They do, however, also have different throwing distances. The ACA requires 33 feet between platforms, while the ACO only requires 27 feet, 24 for amateurs. Both groups are official, both have rules and regulations, and the aforementioned tournaments.
From the ACA homepage:
The American Cornhole Association was established by a small group of dedicated Cornholers from the west side of Cincinnati, Ohio. It has grown over the years and, to the best of our knowledge, now represents the largest organized Cornhole / Corn Toss association in the United States.
Nothing on the ACO page about their founding. I’m a little disappointed about that. But there is this:
Cornhole the Movie Is Coming Soon!
In case you missed it, the movie trailer is on You Tube – Cornhole: The Movie. Or you could go to the official website – Cornhole: The Movie. All I can think of is Simply Ballroom.
This is really disturbing. I’ve watched the trailer a few times, and I recognized some of the sponsors they show in the tournament section. Cincinnati brands. And the quick shot of the city skyline? Cincinnati. Yep. I can name those buildings. I’ve been in some of them. I have pictures on my Photobucket account from the top of one of them. I went on to the rest of the site. It confirmed my worst fears. The movie has the Cornhole Championship in my hometown, Cincinnati, Ohio. Well, at least we’re good at some sport.
I’m not. I played with my nephew, youngest brother and his fiancée. I’ve found yet another sport I suck at. Once, I thought I might be able to master a sport, of any type. No. Extreme right field in softball, a team happy to see me rotated out in volleyball, good only as a distraction in basketball, and now, unable to hit the broadside of a…Cornhole board.
I’m so embarrassed.
The woman beside me was going home to Richmond. Somewhere in the conversation, she brought up Cornhole. Huh? She explained that Cornhole was a game involving a board and corn bags – that’s bean bags filled with corn instead of beans – tossed at a board with a hole. The ultimate goal, somewhat obviously, is to get the bag through the hole.
I didn’t really give it a second thought. Just figured it was some rural Indiana thing. Lots of corn grown out there, and not much else to do unless you’re near Indianapolis, Cincinnati, Louisville or Chicago (a lot of places aren’t), gotta do something to pass the time. I landed in Dayton, drove through the 4th of July fireworks – on the third – to Sharonville, suburb of Cincinnati, got my White Castle (nummy) and went to my hotel. Friday, I went to my father’s house and hung out with them for a bit. There was a white board on their deck that I didn’t pay much attention to. Their house has always been the Kool-Aid house for our family, so they tend to have all sorts of random stuff. For those who aren’t old enough, or too senile to remember, there were commercials back in the 70s and 80s for Kool-Aid, showing a house where all the neighborhood congregated.
Saturday, I went to a picnic at my stepmother’s niece’s house, where there was food and family and games. Off to one side of the yard, there were four boards with holes set up, and the men were pitching beanbags at them. Well, not quite, I now know they were corn bags. Yes. There was a lively game of Cornhole going on. My naturally-keen sense of observation let that pass me by. For some reason, my brain just thought of that as horseshoes. I didn’t connect it to the conversation I’d had on the flight in two days prior.
Sunday, back to my father’s house for another picnic, this to take the place of the cancelled family reunion. Pretty local, and most of the people there shared at least one parent with me, so really it wasn’t that much different from other large gatherings at my father’s house. Off to the side of the house, by the driveway, my nephew had taken the white board I had previously ignored, along with another and some bags and set them up. At last, I made the connection. Cornhole? Here?!? Can’t be! My nephew called for players. This wasn’t even new! This had been going on for some time. Both my nephew and my youngest brother knew how to score, had strategies and even tips for novices! So I hear about this game from a woman who lives in Indiana, originally from California, and see it at my father’s house. He had a “pocket” version, too, with teeny little bags and teeny little boards.
But wait, there’s more!
Cornhole is apparently an old game. From the American Cornhole Association website:
What is Cornhole?
It has been called many things, Corn Toss, Bean Bag, Bean Toss, Soft Horseshoes, Indiana Horseshoes, but to many of us born and raised in Kentucky and the southern part of Ohio, the game is passionately referred to as Cornhole.
It has been said that the game originated in Germany in the 14th century, and then was rediscovered in the hills of Kentucky over 100 years ago.
I must admit, its provenance of being from Germany has me a little concerned. I don’t seem to recall a proliferation of corn in Europe until after the US was invaded by the British. It’s a new world grain. Still, I suppose they could have used something else.
Just the same, there’s yet more. From the American Cornhole Organization website:
But Wait! Is it corn hole or cornhole. Official Corn Hole Rules or Official Cornhole Rules. The Official Word for this Game of Fun and Sport of Challenge is Cornhole one word not Corn Hole two words. So get with the Program and let's move on.
That’s right, there are two Cornhole groups, and they both have tournaments. They do, however, also have different throwing distances. The ACA requires 33 feet between platforms, while the ACO only requires 27 feet, 24 for amateurs. Both groups are official, both have rules and regulations, and the aforementioned tournaments.
From the ACA homepage:
The American Cornhole Association was established by a small group of dedicated Cornholers from the west side of Cincinnati, Ohio. It has grown over the years and, to the best of our knowledge, now represents the largest organized Cornhole / Corn Toss association in the United States.
Nothing on the ACO page about their founding. I’m a little disappointed about that. But there is this:
Cornhole the Movie Is Coming Soon!
— A Message from Director, Tim Clarke —
Tim Clarke, Director of Cornhole The Movie, tells us they are just days away from finishing up post production!...Check out the cornhole movie trailer at YouTube and pass it along to friends, family, and any other cornhole fans you know!
In case you missed it, the movie trailer is on You Tube – Cornhole: The Movie. Or you could go to the official website – Cornhole: The Movie. All I can think of is Simply Ballroom.
This is really disturbing. I’ve watched the trailer a few times, and I recognized some of the sponsors they show in the tournament section. Cincinnati brands. And the quick shot of the city skyline? Cincinnati. Yep. I can name those buildings. I’ve been in some of them. I have pictures on my Photobucket account from the top of one of them. I went on to the rest of the site. It confirmed my worst fears. The movie has the Cornhole Championship in my hometown, Cincinnati, Ohio. Well, at least we’re good at some sport.
I’m not. I played with my nephew, youngest brother and his fiancée. I’ve found yet another sport I suck at. Once, I thought I might be able to master a sport, of any type. No. Extreme right field in softball, a team happy to see me rotated out in volleyball, good only as a distraction in basketball, and now, unable to hit the broadside of a…Cornhole board.
I’m so embarrassed.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Observations
I spent the holiday (Independence Day) at home, in Cincinnati, and I made a few observations, about the differences between Cincinnati and Colorado. These observations are, of course, my personal opinion and experiences. YMMV (um, that’s Your Mileage May Vary for those who haven’t chatted or hung out on message boards).
The main difference I noticed was a feeling of gentility that is missing here in Colorado. People here are nice, polite, and incredibly generous as witnessed by the various donation opportunities (9/11, 2004 Tsunami, Katrina, etc), but that gentility is missing. I suppose it’s best described as a southern politeness, different from others. Mostly evident in interactions between men and women. I really never paid much attention to it, but I knew something was missing out here. Let’s say a man and a woman approach a door at the same time. Unless his hands are otherwise occupied, the man will automatically open and hold said door, waiting for the woman to pass through. It’s expected. I’ve even caught myself waiting for it. Now, I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door, and I’ve made a point of saying as much. But I will admit, having a door held is nice. That’s the most common example. I’ve also had men rush to pick up something I’ve dropped. While I’m no troll, no one’s going to mistake me for a super model, either, so it’s not a flirting thing. It just is.
Then there’s the greetings. Whenever you encounter someone, whether walking down the street or wandering through a building, there must always be an acknowledgment of their presence, if not an outright greeting. It might be as simple as a nod, or as elaborate as asking how you are doing that day, even evolving into a brief conversation about the weather or some other inanity, but it must happen. People get offended if it doesn’t. I think that’s another southern thing. It carries over into other interactions, too, like phone calls and sales at a cash register.
Okay, I suppose it’s really only one observation, not multiple ones. Cincinnati is part of Ohio, technically a northern state. And it’s above the Mason/Dixon Line at latitude 39 N. Southwestern Ohio is on the edge of Appalachia. Southeastern Ohio is actually IN Appalachia, complete with people that look like that inbred kid with no eyebrows in Deliverance. To be fair, I’ve seen those in Cincinnati, too. And while I appreciate the Southern and Appalachian influence – the very strong influence – I never really thought it was so prevalent. Not until this trip, when the differences between here and there became so clear to me. That behavior, by the way, crosses class, race, social and economic lines. While not everyone acts that way, those that do don’t seem to fit in one group moreso than any other. Not in my experience, anyway.
Really, that’s all there is about this. There are the other differences, like humidity, lack of infiltrators (out-of-towners), abundance of free city festivals and large concerts and so forth, but the biggest one I noticed was the way people treat others.
The main difference I noticed was a feeling of gentility that is missing here in Colorado. People here are nice, polite, and incredibly generous as witnessed by the various donation opportunities (9/11, 2004 Tsunami, Katrina, etc), but that gentility is missing. I suppose it’s best described as a southern politeness, different from others. Mostly evident in interactions between men and women. I really never paid much attention to it, but I knew something was missing out here. Let’s say a man and a woman approach a door at the same time. Unless his hands are otherwise occupied, the man will automatically open and hold said door, waiting for the woman to pass through. It’s expected. I’ve even caught myself waiting for it. Now, I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door, and I’ve made a point of saying as much. But I will admit, having a door held is nice. That’s the most common example. I’ve also had men rush to pick up something I’ve dropped. While I’m no troll, no one’s going to mistake me for a super model, either, so it’s not a flirting thing. It just is.
Then there’s the greetings. Whenever you encounter someone, whether walking down the street or wandering through a building, there must always be an acknowledgment of their presence, if not an outright greeting. It might be as simple as a nod, or as elaborate as asking how you are doing that day, even evolving into a brief conversation about the weather or some other inanity, but it must happen. People get offended if it doesn’t. I think that’s another southern thing. It carries over into other interactions, too, like phone calls and sales at a cash register.
Okay, I suppose it’s really only one observation, not multiple ones. Cincinnati is part of Ohio, technically a northern state. And it’s above the Mason/Dixon Line at latitude 39 N. Southwestern Ohio is on the edge of Appalachia. Southeastern Ohio is actually IN Appalachia, complete with people that look like that inbred kid with no eyebrows in Deliverance. To be fair, I’ve seen those in Cincinnati, too. And while I appreciate the Southern and Appalachian influence – the very strong influence – I never really thought it was so prevalent. Not until this trip, when the differences between here and there became so clear to me. That behavior, by the way, crosses class, race, social and economic lines. While not everyone acts that way, those that do don’t seem to fit in one group moreso than any other. Not in my experience, anyway.
Really, that’s all there is about this. There are the other differences, like humidity, lack of infiltrators (out-of-towners), abundance of free city festivals and large concerts and so forth, but the biggest one I noticed was the way people treat others.
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