Holding Out Hope for a Flying DeLorean with a Flux Capacitor

Hello, humans. It’s been a while. And truth be told, it’ll probably be another good while before the next self-indulgent rant. Not that this will fit that description. Shit. Now I’ve probably gone and gotten you all hot and bothered for some dark, sardonic wit.

Sorry to disappoint.

I’ve been doing some thinking (don’t worry, I won’t let it happen again). I think I hate this city. I think I don’t belong here, and I think there aren’t enough redeeming qualities to warrant any affection or devotion to this city. The city of my birth. My proverbial hometown. Perhaps I’ve merely outgrown Miami. But I’m not quite sure when this would have happened. My best guess? I outgrew this city the second the doctor spanked my sexy, amniotic-fluid-covered ass.

You might be saying right now, “Well, Marc. You should move, then. Get out of there if you don’t like the place you’re living in.” And my response is twofold. Fold One: don’t end a sentence in a fuckin preposition, unless you’re looking to get grammar-slapped. And Fold Two: you’re probably maybe sorta absolutely right.

But I have a confession to make. I’m scared to leave. Not out of some immature fear of failure. But because I’m afraid I’ll never stop moving. I’m afraid of ending up a sad, cranky drifter, going from city to city, never finding a place where I feel I belong. Which would mean, of course, that maybe I just don’t belong here at all.

Maybe the problem isn’t the city or the state or the country or the planet. Maybe I’m in the wrong time period. The wrong era. I own a turntable. I write on a typewriter. I hated Transformers. I drink cheap wine. I think modestly dressed women are sexy. I don’t understand this world, or why people do the things they do or think the things they think. Or hurt the people they hurt. And all these ideas I have about love and life and everything worth living for just seem foreign in this place. This world, it seems, is no place for a man willing to give everything to be everything to someone.

And without that? Well, I can’t seem to find much else worth fighting for.

Now it appears I owe myself some sort of punishment, as I’ve just ended a sentence with a preposition. A pox upon me and my home. Wherever that may be.

John Freshwater (finally) Fired

After a long and arduous trial (that should really have been open-and-shut), the poster boy for over-zealous religious douchebaggery in the public school system has been fired:

A middle school science teacher accused of burning the image of a cross on students’ arms has officially been fired.

The Mount Vernon school board voted 4-1 Monday night to accept a state hearing officer’s recommendation to terminate John Freshwater.

The Columbus Dispatch reports the firing took effect a few hours later, at midnight.

Freshwater had appealed his earlier firing by the board. An internal investigation found he had preached Christian beliefs in class.

He was also accused of using a scientific device to mark several students with a cross and of keeping a Bible on his desk.

Personally, I’d have canned the dude just for being a science teacher who doesn’t teach science. Of how much use can one possibly be, if one cannot even perform the duties contained within the name of the position you hold? That’s like being a president that refuses to preside over anything.

But on top of that, he pushed fairy tales onto his students. Which might be fine if you’re teaching, say, Greek mythology or first grade story-time; but it’s a little out-of-place in an environment that’s supposed to be endorsing facts, evidence and critical inquiry.

And as if that weren’t enough, he admittedly used a Tesla coil to burn religious symbols into the arms of some students, which he claims was part of a science experiment. Which I find strange, since I’ve never taken any science course that featured either religion or bodily mutilation as part of the curriculum.

Then again, my degree is in civil engineering. What the hell does that have to do with science?

(Wait for it.)

Look, if you want to believe that evolution isn’t true and that human and animal life began 6,000 years ago in a garden with a talking snake, that’s your prerogative and you’re more than welcome to believe that.

Just as long as you’re aware that millions of pieces of historical and empirical evidence are stacked against you, and that your argument, in the end, amounts to nothing but a massive conspiracy theory.

These ideas do not belong in a public school classroom, especially in instances where they’re being pushed onto unwitting students by a sadistic mother fucker like John Freshwater.

(Out of curiosity, is anyone taking bets on when that Christian Persecution Complex is due to kick in?)