Americans may have no identity, but they do have wonderful teeth. -- Jean Baudrillard
The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy piety nor all thy wit, can cancel half a line of it. -- Omar Khayyam
Apparently 1996 was a good year to be me.
Or, it wasn't, depending on your point of view. To be honest, I remember very little of 1996. There was a lot worth forgetting. I had somehow managed to talk myself back into school, with the intention of finishing my Bachelor's degree. My only intention was to get out of the Blue Ash, Ohio pillow factory I was working in. The job itself wasn't bad, but I was tired of leaving at the end of my shift looking like I'd been tarred and feathered. Moreover, I was tired of FEELING like I'd been tarred and feathered.
The late 90's for me were mostly a matter of trying to untangle myself from the decisions of the early 90's. An early marriage that had turned into a bloody fucking divorce. Attempts to drown unanswered grief, self-loathing, and anger in cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey. Failed attempts at college in spite of having every tool and reason to succeed. I was socially awkward, a secondary character in my own life, and I felt overshadowed by the large personalities around me.
My life was turning into Bret Easton Ellis novel -- which, if you've read him, is bad on every narrative and aesthetic level.
But, apparently, I still had one thing going for me.
At the time this didn't seem like anything worth celebrating. Someone else felt differently, however, because he (or she?) promptly stole my identity only to be arrested and convicted in New Jersey for felony conspiracy. (Case #96000890)
Sometimes life shifts whether you see it or not. And even though I wasn't aware, my life had gone from Less Than Zero to The Sopranos. Better writing, to be sure. There's always that.
I was blissfully unaware of this shift, however, until last week. I discovered my felonious status thanks to the Department Chair at one of my new The-Universe-Is-Kind gigs at Jefferson Community and Technical College. Thanks to some last minute shuffling, a class needed teaching and I nagged enough to merit consideration. Stacy, the Chair, hired me on the merit of my CV, which, I admit, makes me look pretty good. I have a lot of experience in spite of appearing to do very little. A criminal background check is part of the screening process. This is nothing new -- I've signed off on plenty of these forms over the years. Most of the time, they look for felonies, which I have personally never been arrested, tried, or convicted of. On the tediously repetitive HR form I always indicate that I have never been convicted of a felony. Sometimes I get the job. Sometimes I don't. When people don't hire you, they aren't really obligated to tell you WHY. Generally, this is a good thing. If you screwed up the interview or if you smell or if they just aren't that into you, it's not always something you want to know about.
When I came back from visiting The Kid in Virginia, I packed a few things and drove down river to Louisville for an HR Paperwork Blitzkrieg. Two institutions. Two sets of paperwork. I also wanted a sit down with the chair at JCTC, and she wanted one with me.
The English Department at JCTC is housed in the old Louisville Presbyterian Seminary... an interestingly gothic structure that I would not have thought a Presbyterian would want to house anything in. There are no water fountains or snack machines in the building because that would make the hallways too narrow to conform to city fire codes. But it is an architecturally interesting building.
I knew I'd get along with Stacy because she was wearing jeans and because she has a nose ring. I realize those things, in and of themselves, seem superficial. But sometimes superficial details can offer a wellspring of information about a person.
We chatted for a bit. James, the Writing Center Coordinator (where I am also getting some work hours) sat in for a while. Then he left.
Then Stacy brought up the criminal background check. She was a bit uncomfortable. She referenced a conviction in New Jersey. A felony conviction.
Now, Dear Readers, you probably remember when my travel journal and ID were lifted in a Minnesota casino. Identity and being able to prove who you are is increasingly important in these, the early days of the Nationalist States of America. Even Facebook (the free market arm of the techno-fascist empire) requires that you use your "real name" on your profile. And I won't go into detail about the various ways in which the NSA has the ability to invade our privacy and track everything from the color of our socks to the consistency of our bowel movements.
So when I heard that I was apparently convicted in New Jersey -- a state I have never been to, unless the train rolled through it at night once -- in 1996 of felony conspiracy, I laughed.
Stacy told me she looked at my CV when the check came back and saw that there was no way it could have been me -- I was in Morehead, finishing my BA. Which, of course, I was. We had a chuckle about it and moved on. James wandered back around.
Oh, so I guess you asked him the question?
We all had a chuckle. And I took some solace in knowing that when I was the least interested in being me, apparently someone else felt differently.
Not bad for my first day of living in Louisville.
The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy piety nor all thy wit, can cancel half a line of it. -- Omar Khayyam
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Or, it wasn't, depending on your point of view. To be honest, I remember very little of 1996. There was a lot worth forgetting. I had somehow managed to talk myself back into school, with the intention of finishing my Bachelor's degree. My only intention was to get out of the Blue Ash, Ohio pillow factory I was working in. The job itself wasn't bad, but I was tired of leaving at the end of my shift looking like I'd been tarred and feathered. Moreover, I was tired of FEELING like I'd been tarred and feathered.
The late 90's for me were mostly a matter of trying to untangle myself from the decisions of the early 90's. An early marriage that had turned into a bloody fucking divorce. Attempts to drown unanswered grief, self-loathing, and anger in cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey. Failed attempts at college in spite of having every tool and reason to succeed. I was socially awkward, a secondary character in my own life, and I felt overshadowed by the large personalities around me.
My life was turning into Bret Easton Ellis novel -- which, if you've read him, is bad on every narrative and aesthetic level.
But, apparently, I still had one thing going for me.
My credit rating was still good.
At the time this didn't seem like anything worth celebrating. Someone else felt differently, however, because he (or she?) promptly stole my identity only to be arrested and convicted in New Jersey for felony conspiracy. (Case #96000890)
Sometimes life shifts whether you see it or not. And even though I wasn't aware, my life had gone from Less Than Zero to The Sopranos. Better writing, to be sure. There's always that.
I was blissfully unaware of this shift, however, until last week. I discovered my felonious status thanks to the Department Chair at one of my new The-Universe-Is-Kind gigs at Jefferson Community and Technical College. Thanks to some last minute shuffling, a class needed teaching and I nagged enough to merit consideration. Stacy, the Chair, hired me on the merit of my CV, which, I admit, makes me look pretty good. I have a lot of experience in spite of appearing to do very little. A criminal background check is part of the screening process. This is nothing new -- I've signed off on plenty of these forms over the years. Most of the time, they look for felonies, which I have personally never been arrested, tried, or convicted of. On the tediously repetitive HR form I always indicate that I have never been convicted of a felony. Sometimes I get the job. Sometimes I don't. When people don't hire you, they aren't really obligated to tell you WHY. Generally, this is a good thing. If you screwed up the interview or if you smell or if they just aren't that into you, it's not always something you want to know about.
When I came back from visiting The Kid in Virginia, I packed a few things and drove down river to Louisville for an HR Paperwork Blitzkrieg. Two institutions. Two sets of paperwork. I also wanted a sit down with the chair at JCTC, and she wanted one with me.
The English Department at JCTC is housed in the old Louisville Presbyterian Seminary... an interestingly gothic structure that I would not have thought a Presbyterian would want to house anything in. There are no water fountains or snack machines in the building because that would make the hallways too narrow to conform to city fire codes. But it is an architecturally interesting building.
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| from hellolouisville.com |
I knew I'd get along with Stacy because she was wearing jeans and because she has a nose ring. I realize those things, in and of themselves, seem superficial. But sometimes superficial details can offer a wellspring of information about a person.
We chatted for a bit. James, the Writing Center Coordinator (where I am also getting some work hours) sat in for a while. Then he left.
Then Stacy brought up the criminal background check. She was a bit uncomfortable. She referenced a conviction in New Jersey. A felony conviction.
Now, Dear Readers, you probably remember when my travel journal and ID were lifted in a Minnesota casino. Identity and being able to prove who you are is increasingly important in these, the early days of the Nationalist States of America. Even Facebook (the free market arm of the techno-fascist empire) requires that you use your "real name" on your profile. And I won't go into detail about the various ways in which the NSA has the ability to invade our privacy and track everything from the color of our socks to the consistency of our bowel movements.
So when I heard that I was apparently convicted in New Jersey -- a state I have never been to, unless the train rolled through it at night once -- in 1996 of felony conspiracy, I laughed.
Stacy told me she looked at my CV when the check came back and saw that there was no way it could have been me -- I was in Morehead, finishing my BA. Which, of course, I was. We had a chuckle about it and moved on. James wandered back around.
Oh, so I guess you asked him the question?
We all had a chuckle. And I took some solace in knowing that when I was the least interested in being me, apparently someone else felt differently.
Not bad for my first day of living in Louisville.