Bigfoot
If you see a Bigfoot, shoot it! And not with a camera, either. Haul out your AK47 (the one you got as an expression of your 2nd amendment rights) and just unload it. All of these Bigfoot “sightings” without ever finding a body or a skeleton is way too suspicious. Don’t get too hung up on the AK47 thing. Personally, I’m trying to get my hands on a Patriot Missile launcher (just for personal use.) So far, all I’ve gotten is a van permanently parked outside my house and a Crown Victoria that follows me everywhere I go. Not that any of that should concern someone who happens to read my manifesto… I mean “blog.”
What happens to all the Bigfoot bodies? Maybe they are like elephants, who dispose of their bones when they discover them. Or maybe they are necro-canibalistic! If they routinely eat their dead, that would explain everything. They probably really appreciate a good meal like that. Sounds like way too much work to hunt and gather enough food for a body that size without leaving traces and tracks about where and how it is done, not too mention all the other wild animals competing for the same grub.
Then again, maybe Bigfoot does not die like other animals. Essentially, they are a mythical beast considering how little evidence we have of them compared with how much lore we have. Maybe they are way more mythical than we thought. Maybe they die like Obi Wan in the first “Star Wars” movie (which is actually episode IV, first being an indicator of chronoligical release, not chronoligical sequence, of course.) You remember Obi Wan, right? You know, Obi Wan Kobe Bryant. He lead the planet Lakers to victory over the Death Star of the evil Galactic Empire in the NBA All-Star Wars. In the middle of a battle with Darth Vader, he notices Luke Skywalker across the way and lifts his weapon in a suicide surrender, but when Darth goes to cut him in two, all that is left is a small pile of laundry. Mom said that happened in her house all the time. She thought she had us cornered, but we never did laundry until we moved out of the house.
As Natalie Portman’s character said in “Beautiful Girls,” “…Leave no literary stone unturned…” Maybe the Bigfoot die like the turtle in “Kung Fu Panda.” He just turns into a bunch of flower petals that float away in the breeze. Maybe the Bigfoot turn into dandelion seeds. Those damn things are everywhere! Not that it is much of a leap from “Star Wars” to “Beautiful Girls.” Natalie was in that, and some of the later “Star Wars” movies (which were actually the early episodes 1 through 3, which were realeased later than 4 through 6, of course.) I’m going to go out on a limb and say “Beautiful Girls” was actually the best Natalie Portman movie. Sure, there’s also “V for Vendetta” and “Garden State,” but “Beautiful Girls” made Uma Thurman seem like the girl next door, “Sweet Caroline” seem cool, and ice fishing seem lame. Well, that is just cinemagic!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
A Children's Story
A Spider of Great Renown
Once there was a spider named Leonidas. As far back as she could remember, she remembered being different from the other spiders she knew. Leonidas had 7 legs. All of the other 8-leg spiders would often stare at her wherever she went. This always made her feel uncomfortable. But, what really bothered Leonidas was the times that the younger spiders would tease and laugh at her. The young spiders did this very often, and each time Leonidas wanted to get as far away from them as she could.
Leonidas lived where it was almost always dark. Sometimes, her world would suddenly become very bright. The brightness would last for a moment, sometimes longer than others, but then, just as suddenly, the brightness would leave and her world was dark again. All of the other spiders she knew lived in this same world, so none of them thought this was strange in any way. No one understood where the brightness came from or where it went. No one ever knew when it would come again, either.
One day, Leonidas went for a walk. She walked as far away from home as she had ever been which was not really very far. Other spiders were near there. When they saw Leonidas, they started to point and stare.
“Hey, look at that spider!” one of them said, “She only has 7 legs!”
“Whoa! That is weird!” said another. “How can she even walk?” said a third.
“She must have been born that way,” they continued. “I’ll bet her whole family is weird just like her.”
“They must be the Freak Family” said one of them, and they all laughed. Then they all started yelling and calling Leonidas a freak, and laughing at her.
Leonidas was very sad. She did not know what to do. She was used to them picking on her, but no one had ever talked about her family that way before. So, Leonidas started to walk away. Then she began running. She ran and ran until she could not hear them anymore. Only Leonidas forgot what direction she was running. When she stopped and looked around, she realized that she had run further away from home, not back to home. She was now farther away than she had ever been and did not recognize anything she saw. Leonidas was lost!
Everything around Leonidas was still dark. The darkness did not bother her. Spiders can see very well in the dark, but not very far. Spiders are not afraid of the dark. But Leonidas was still scared. She was scared because she was lost. She did not know which way to walk, but she decided she should keep walking no matter what. Maybe she would eventually see something she knew.
As she was walking, the world became bright suddenly. This was normal to Leonidas, but nothing she saw was normal. In the light, she could see a table behind her. Only it did not look like she expected it to look. The table was side-ways to her. Actually, as she looked up at, she could see across the top of the table. The legs of the table seemed to come out of the side of the table, rather than down from it as they normally do. She could also see things on the top of the table. They were sideways, too! Leonidas had never seen the top of a table before. On the table lay a hammer, a small saw, a screwdriver, and many containers. Some of the containers were big and some were small. Leonidas did not recognize anything inside the containers. It seemed like whatever they were, there was many of them. She did recognize the dust that was on the table, and the tools, and the containers. She also recognized the many small pieces of wood around everything. Leonidas had seen all of those things in her world before.
As Leonidas kept walking, she noticed that her world was going from dark to light more often than it usually did. She could still see the strange sideways table and everything on it as she looked around. Suddenly, the world was bright again and Leonidas looked for the table. It was not there! What she saw instead was a very blank area. In fact, it looked the same as the ground she had been walking on. Then, Leonidas looked up! There was the table! There were the tools! There were the containers, and the dust, and the wood pieces, too. Now they were above her. Leonidas had never seen that before!
“How did they get up there?” she wondered.
Leonidas kept walking. In front of her was something she had never seen before. It was a strange round shape, but not a circle. It rose up out of the ground and was bigger on the top than the bottom. It was very smooth all the way around. At the bottom was a round circle. The circle was bigger around than the smooth standing thing. Suddenly, the world got very bright! It was so bright and so sudden, that it took Leonidas a little while to realize that the smooth standing thing was the brightest thing around. It seemed to Leonidas that the brightness was coming from this smooth standing thing! She was amazed at such a wonderful sight. Then, suddenly, everything was black again. When she looked around, she could still see the smooth standing thing in front of her and the table above her. Leonidas very much wanted to tell other spiders what she had seen! Then she remembered that she was still alone, and still lost.
Leonidas walked around the smooth standing thing and kept walking. The world would sometimes get bright and sometimes dark, but never as bright as the smooth standing thing! This brightness seemed to come from in front of here, so she kept walking towards the brightness. As she looked ahead of her, she started to see something new. The shape was very different. It went up, then over, then up, then over… It kept doing this many times. As she walked closer, Leonidas could see the brightness make this shape light up and go dark, but she still did not know what it was.
Suddenly, Leonidas came to a great cliff. At least that is what it looked like to her. The shape she had been looking at seemed to come out of the cliff, still going up then over, up then over. Leonidas knew she could walk right down a cliff, and even back up the other side. All spiders can do that, she knew. She walked down the cliff and then over and on to the thing that went up and over, up and over. But, now she was standing on that thing. Now, it went over and down, over and down, over and down.
“How did that happen?” she wondered to herself. Now, she really wanted to tell other spiders what she had seen! She just had to find someone else! So, Leonidas kept walking.
As she walked across the thing that went over and down, the world got bright again. But, this time it was very different! All of the brightness seemed to come from a tall rectangle beside her! It was like a tall box of light! This was a very very bright light! As she looked through the box, out into the light, Leonidas could see far, far away. Everything in the box of light was very new and different than anything Leonidas had ever seen before. Also, she could see many more colors than she had ever seen. In front of her was a great big area that was the brightest and most wonderful green that Leonidas had ever seen. She quickly raced out towards it!
As she got near the green, Leonidas realized that the green was taller than she was, but not as tall as the table, and not as tall as the smooth standing thing, either. As she got closer, she realized that the green was actually many things that were standing up. They were all green from the bottom to the top. She also noticed that she could walk between them and around them. As she looked around, the light was no longer a box shape. It was no longer any shape! The brightness was all around her.
As she walked into and around the green standing things, the brightness went from being all around, to being behind her and above her. Leonidas kept walking further and further into the green standing things. When she turned and looked behind her, it became harder and harder to see the brightness behind her. But she could always see the brightness above her.
Then, out of the green standing things, came something Leonidas had never seen. It was not a spider, she knew that for sure! It was about the same size as she was, though. This thing walked and moved, much like a spider. Leonidas just stood still and watched it walk to her. She could see that it was mostly red, with black dots all over its back. Its back was a lovely round shape, and much shinier than a spider’s back.
When the red thing with black dots got closer, it noticed Leonidas. Leonidas just stood still and stared at it. She was more frightened now than ever before. But the red thing with black dots smiled at her and began to speak.
“Well, hello there!” it said. It sounded like a girl to Leonidas. More important, it sounded friendly.
“H..hh..hello,” Leonidas finally managed to say.
“My! You must be a spider of great renown!” The red thing with black dots said.
“What… what are YOU?” Leonidas asked.
“Why, I am a ladybug,” she explained, “My name is Hope. And I have never seen a spider like you. It is my great honor to meet you.” Then Hope bowed most gracefully to Leonidas. This made her feel like a queen!
“Why are you doing that?” Leonidas asked the ladybug.
“Because I am a mere insect,” she explained. “See? I have 6 legs, like all the other insects: flies, beetles, bees… But spiders are Arachnids!” Hope said the word “Arachnid” in a very special way. Leonidas knew that she meant that Hope admired them and had great respect for Arachnids.
“Arachnids have 8 legs! And you are a very special Arachnid… You have 7 legs. No other insect or arachnid has 7 legs!”
Leonidas' heart just swelled up inside her. She felt like beams of brightness came out from all over her. She never felt so wonderful in all her life. No one had ever said that having 7 legs was special!
“Oh, thank you!” “Thank you, thank you.” It was all Leonidas could think to say. She felt so radiant and beautiful.
“It was my great honor to meet you,” said Hope, and she bowed again.
Leonidas wanted to tell everyone all the great things she had seen today! She raced back out of the green standing things towards the light that shown faintly behind them. The light grew brighter and brighter as she ran through and around the green standing things.
When she reached the edge, she stopped dead in her tracks. In front of her, in the brightness that shows all around, Leonidas saw a person! She had seen a person before! Many times, a person had come into her world and taken other spiders away or chased them off. Leonidas had never seen a person be nice to a spider in all her life. If she thought she was scared before, this was even worse!
But, this person was different. For one thing, this person was small.
“Oh! Hello spider!” Leonidas heard the person say. She knew right away from the voice that this little person was a girl, too. The girl, reached out to Leonidas. Leonidas was so scared, she could not move. Many times she had seen a person reach for a spider and the spider disappeared forever. The little girl picked up Leonidas. Leonidas just closed her eyes and was all stiff over her whole body.
But, nothing happened. Leonidas slowly opened her eyes. She was looking right into the eyes of the little girl. And the little girl was smiling! Leonidas looked around and realized that she was standing on the little girl’s hand. The brightness was all around her.
“What a pretty spider!” The little girl spoke so sweetly and seemed to admire her just as much as Hope did.
“And you only have 7 legs! You are a really special spider!” Leonidas felt herself beaming again as if light was coming out all over her.
“And you are a very special person!” she said to the girl. But the girl did not say or do anything! She just kept looking at Leonidas and smiling.
“You are a very special person! Thank you for being nice to me!” Leonidas spoke more loudly this time. But the girl did not seem to hear. Leonidas decided that a person cannot hear a spider speak.
The little girl carried Leonidas through a box shape behind her. It was the same size and shape as the box she ran through, but this box shape was dark. When they went through it, it changed to a bright box again behind them. Leonidas could see the great green area behind them, also. The girl walked down the things that went over and down and over and down and Leonidas could see the cliff she saw before. The world got bright suddenly and Leonidas recognized the brightness was coming again from the smooth standing thing. Only, now the smooth standing thing was not standing, it was hanging. In front of them was the table. Leonidas could see across it again, but now she was beside it, rather than above it and the legs went down to the dust and wood pieces she knew.
The little girl walked a little further and lowered Leonidas to the ground. The world was a little bit darker than before, but still bright. Far in front of her, Leonidas could see the place she knew was home. She was just inside the farthest place she had ever been before today. Quickly, she ran off the girl’s hand towards home. As she ran, the world once again grew dark behind her. But, she was not really paying attention to anything behind her. Now she was close enough to home that she saw other spiders! She ran as fast as she could all the way home!
Later that night, safe at home, Leonidas tried to tell everyone of all the things she saw. But, they did not understand her. Some of the older spiders just smiled and would turn and look at each other and wink or nod. But no one said anything more. But, from that day forward Leonidas knew she was special! She never let it bother her again when young spiders would stare or laugh. She would just smile and think of Hope and the little girl and she would fill up like she was bursting with light all over again. It seemed like the more she smiled, the less the other spiders would stare and tease.
Leonidas spent the rest of her life feeling special. She was an Arachnid of Great Renown!
Once there was a spider named Leonidas. As far back as she could remember, she remembered being different from the other spiders she knew. Leonidas had 7 legs. All of the other 8-leg spiders would often stare at her wherever she went. This always made her feel uncomfortable. But, what really bothered Leonidas was the times that the younger spiders would tease and laugh at her. The young spiders did this very often, and each time Leonidas wanted to get as far away from them as she could.
Leonidas lived where it was almost always dark. Sometimes, her world would suddenly become very bright. The brightness would last for a moment, sometimes longer than others, but then, just as suddenly, the brightness would leave and her world was dark again. All of the other spiders she knew lived in this same world, so none of them thought this was strange in any way. No one understood where the brightness came from or where it went. No one ever knew when it would come again, either.
One day, Leonidas went for a walk. She walked as far away from home as she had ever been which was not really very far. Other spiders were near there. When they saw Leonidas, they started to point and stare.
“Hey, look at that spider!” one of them said, “She only has 7 legs!”
“Whoa! That is weird!” said another. “How can she even walk?” said a third.
“She must have been born that way,” they continued. “I’ll bet her whole family is weird just like her.”
“They must be the Freak Family” said one of them, and they all laughed. Then they all started yelling and calling Leonidas a freak, and laughing at her.
Leonidas was very sad. She did not know what to do. She was used to them picking on her, but no one had ever talked about her family that way before. So, Leonidas started to walk away. Then she began running. She ran and ran until she could not hear them anymore. Only Leonidas forgot what direction she was running. When she stopped and looked around, she realized that she had run further away from home, not back to home. She was now farther away than she had ever been and did not recognize anything she saw. Leonidas was lost!
Everything around Leonidas was still dark. The darkness did not bother her. Spiders can see very well in the dark, but not very far. Spiders are not afraid of the dark. But Leonidas was still scared. She was scared because she was lost. She did not know which way to walk, but she decided she should keep walking no matter what. Maybe she would eventually see something she knew.
As she was walking, the world became bright suddenly. This was normal to Leonidas, but nothing she saw was normal. In the light, she could see a table behind her. Only it did not look like she expected it to look. The table was side-ways to her. Actually, as she looked up at, she could see across the top of the table. The legs of the table seemed to come out of the side of the table, rather than down from it as they normally do. She could also see things on the top of the table. They were sideways, too! Leonidas had never seen the top of a table before. On the table lay a hammer, a small saw, a screwdriver, and many containers. Some of the containers were big and some were small. Leonidas did not recognize anything inside the containers. It seemed like whatever they were, there was many of them. She did recognize the dust that was on the table, and the tools, and the containers. She also recognized the many small pieces of wood around everything. Leonidas had seen all of those things in her world before.
As Leonidas kept walking, she noticed that her world was going from dark to light more often than it usually did. She could still see the strange sideways table and everything on it as she looked around. Suddenly, the world was bright again and Leonidas looked for the table. It was not there! What she saw instead was a very blank area. In fact, it looked the same as the ground she had been walking on. Then, Leonidas looked up! There was the table! There were the tools! There were the containers, and the dust, and the wood pieces, too. Now they were above her. Leonidas had never seen that before!
“How did they get up there?” she wondered.
Leonidas kept walking. In front of her was something she had never seen before. It was a strange round shape, but not a circle. It rose up out of the ground and was bigger on the top than the bottom. It was very smooth all the way around. At the bottom was a round circle. The circle was bigger around than the smooth standing thing. Suddenly, the world got very bright! It was so bright and so sudden, that it took Leonidas a little while to realize that the smooth standing thing was the brightest thing around. It seemed to Leonidas that the brightness was coming from this smooth standing thing! She was amazed at such a wonderful sight. Then, suddenly, everything was black again. When she looked around, she could still see the smooth standing thing in front of her and the table above her. Leonidas very much wanted to tell other spiders what she had seen! Then she remembered that she was still alone, and still lost.
Leonidas walked around the smooth standing thing and kept walking. The world would sometimes get bright and sometimes dark, but never as bright as the smooth standing thing! This brightness seemed to come from in front of here, so she kept walking towards the brightness. As she looked ahead of her, she started to see something new. The shape was very different. It went up, then over, then up, then over… It kept doing this many times. As she walked closer, Leonidas could see the brightness make this shape light up and go dark, but she still did not know what it was.
Suddenly, Leonidas came to a great cliff. At least that is what it looked like to her. The shape she had been looking at seemed to come out of the cliff, still going up then over, up then over. Leonidas knew she could walk right down a cliff, and even back up the other side. All spiders can do that, she knew. She walked down the cliff and then over and on to the thing that went up and over, up and over. But, now she was standing on that thing. Now, it went over and down, over and down, over and down.
“How did that happen?” she wondered to herself. Now, she really wanted to tell other spiders what she had seen! She just had to find someone else! So, Leonidas kept walking.
As she walked across the thing that went over and down, the world got bright again. But, this time it was very different! All of the brightness seemed to come from a tall rectangle beside her! It was like a tall box of light! This was a very very bright light! As she looked through the box, out into the light, Leonidas could see far, far away. Everything in the box of light was very new and different than anything Leonidas had ever seen before. Also, she could see many more colors than she had ever seen. In front of her was a great big area that was the brightest and most wonderful green that Leonidas had ever seen. She quickly raced out towards it!
As she got near the green, Leonidas realized that the green was taller than she was, but not as tall as the table, and not as tall as the smooth standing thing, either. As she got closer, she realized that the green was actually many things that were standing up. They were all green from the bottom to the top. She also noticed that she could walk between them and around them. As she looked around, the light was no longer a box shape. It was no longer any shape! The brightness was all around her.
As she walked into and around the green standing things, the brightness went from being all around, to being behind her and above her. Leonidas kept walking further and further into the green standing things. When she turned and looked behind her, it became harder and harder to see the brightness behind her. But she could always see the brightness above her.
Then, out of the green standing things, came something Leonidas had never seen. It was not a spider, she knew that for sure! It was about the same size as she was, though. This thing walked and moved, much like a spider. Leonidas just stood still and watched it walk to her. She could see that it was mostly red, with black dots all over its back. Its back was a lovely round shape, and much shinier than a spider’s back.
When the red thing with black dots got closer, it noticed Leonidas. Leonidas just stood still and stared at it. She was more frightened now than ever before. But the red thing with black dots smiled at her and began to speak.
“Well, hello there!” it said. It sounded like a girl to Leonidas. More important, it sounded friendly.
“H..hh..hello,” Leonidas finally managed to say.
“My! You must be a spider of great renown!” The red thing with black dots said.
“What… what are YOU?” Leonidas asked.
“Why, I am a ladybug,” she explained, “My name is Hope. And I have never seen a spider like you. It is my great honor to meet you.” Then Hope bowed most gracefully to Leonidas. This made her feel like a queen!
“Why are you doing that?” Leonidas asked the ladybug.
“Because I am a mere insect,” she explained. “See? I have 6 legs, like all the other insects: flies, beetles, bees… But spiders are Arachnids!” Hope said the word “Arachnid” in a very special way. Leonidas knew that she meant that Hope admired them and had great respect for Arachnids.
“Arachnids have 8 legs! And you are a very special Arachnid… You have 7 legs. No other insect or arachnid has 7 legs!”
Leonidas' heart just swelled up inside her. She felt like beams of brightness came out from all over her. She never felt so wonderful in all her life. No one had ever said that having 7 legs was special!
“Oh, thank you!” “Thank you, thank you.” It was all Leonidas could think to say. She felt so radiant and beautiful.
“It was my great honor to meet you,” said Hope, and she bowed again.
Leonidas wanted to tell everyone all the great things she had seen today! She raced back out of the green standing things towards the light that shown faintly behind them. The light grew brighter and brighter as she ran through and around the green standing things.
When she reached the edge, she stopped dead in her tracks. In front of her, in the brightness that shows all around, Leonidas saw a person! She had seen a person before! Many times, a person had come into her world and taken other spiders away or chased them off. Leonidas had never seen a person be nice to a spider in all her life. If she thought she was scared before, this was even worse!
But, this person was different. For one thing, this person was small.
“Oh! Hello spider!” Leonidas heard the person say. She knew right away from the voice that this little person was a girl, too. The girl, reached out to Leonidas. Leonidas was so scared, she could not move. Many times she had seen a person reach for a spider and the spider disappeared forever. The little girl picked up Leonidas. Leonidas just closed her eyes and was all stiff over her whole body.
But, nothing happened. Leonidas slowly opened her eyes. She was looking right into the eyes of the little girl. And the little girl was smiling! Leonidas looked around and realized that she was standing on the little girl’s hand. The brightness was all around her.
“What a pretty spider!” The little girl spoke so sweetly and seemed to admire her just as much as Hope did.
“And you only have 7 legs! You are a really special spider!” Leonidas felt herself beaming again as if light was coming out all over her.
“And you are a very special person!” she said to the girl. But the girl did not say or do anything! She just kept looking at Leonidas and smiling.
“You are a very special person! Thank you for being nice to me!” Leonidas spoke more loudly this time. But the girl did not seem to hear. Leonidas decided that a person cannot hear a spider speak.
The little girl carried Leonidas through a box shape behind her. It was the same size and shape as the box she ran through, but this box shape was dark. When they went through it, it changed to a bright box again behind them. Leonidas could see the great green area behind them, also. The girl walked down the things that went over and down and over and down and Leonidas could see the cliff she saw before. The world got bright suddenly and Leonidas recognized the brightness was coming again from the smooth standing thing. Only, now the smooth standing thing was not standing, it was hanging. In front of them was the table. Leonidas could see across it again, but now she was beside it, rather than above it and the legs went down to the dust and wood pieces she knew.
The little girl walked a little further and lowered Leonidas to the ground. The world was a little bit darker than before, but still bright. Far in front of her, Leonidas could see the place she knew was home. She was just inside the farthest place she had ever been before today. Quickly, she ran off the girl’s hand towards home. As she ran, the world once again grew dark behind her. But, she was not really paying attention to anything behind her. Now she was close enough to home that she saw other spiders! She ran as fast as she could all the way home!
Later that night, safe at home, Leonidas tried to tell everyone of all the things she saw. But, they did not understand her. Some of the older spiders just smiled and would turn and look at each other and wink or nod. But no one said anything more. But, from that day forward Leonidas knew she was special! She never let it bother her again when young spiders would stare or laugh. She would just smile and think of Hope and the little girl and she would fill up like she was bursting with light all over again. It seemed like the more she smiled, the less the other spiders would stare and tease.
Leonidas spent the rest of her life feeling special. She was an Arachnid of Great Renown!
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Department of Redundancy Dept. Meeting Event
The Department of Redundancy Department
RE: The reason for meeting.
The Department of Redundancy Department will be having its secondary contingency meeting to be held at the beginning of the week on Monday at 8:00AM in the morning at which time the meeting will take place and begin.
The agenda includes the items that will be under discussion for further review upon consideration of the assembled in the case of a quorum or for a simple vote providing enough members attend to properly conduct the business at hand.
We ask that those planning to attend RSVP ASAP to ID any VIP who may otherwise be MIA. We would not want anyone of preeminence to go unnoticed and not be accounted for, as this would diminish their eminence.
Please review, peruse, and double-check the material to be discussed beforehand so that everyone is fully prepared and ready to discuss and dialogue the entire spectrum of the plethora of myriad items of interest. This must be done before the meeting. Please plan ahead.
The meeting will be held in the great grand ballroom of the Courtyard Hotel. Please note and take notice that this represents a change of previous location and venue in that this is no longer outdoors to accommodate those in opposition to allergic conditions of the general air quality of the previous location which was the great grand courtyard of the Ballroom Hotel.
The meeting will be catered and food served a la carte for the menu of the meeting. The main dish entrée will be roast beef with au jus.
RE: The reason for meeting.
The Department of Redundancy Department will be having its secondary contingency meeting to be held at the beginning of the week on Monday at 8:00AM in the morning at which time the meeting will take place and begin.
The agenda includes the items that will be under discussion for further review upon consideration of the assembled in the case of a quorum or for a simple vote providing enough members attend to properly conduct the business at hand.
We ask that those planning to attend RSVP ASAP to ID any VIP who may otherwise be MIA. We would not want anyone of preeminence to go unnoticed and not be accounted for, as this would diminish their eminence.
Please review, peruse, and double-check the material to be discussed beforehand so that everyone is fully prepared and ready to discuss and dialogue the entire spectrum of the plethora of myriad items of interest. This must be done before the meeting. Please plan ahead.
The meeting will be held in the great grand ballroom of the Courtyard Hotel. Please note and take notice that this represents a change of previous location and venue in that this is no longer outdoors to accommodate those in opposition to allergic conditions of the general air quality of the previous location which was the great grand courtyard of the Ballroom Hotel.
The meeting will be catered and food served a la carte for the menu of the meeting. The main dish entrée will be roast beef with au jus.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Horndog
Horndog
I have a friend named Mark. Mark has a dog named Gus. Gus is a big ‘ol huntin’ dog. He’s probably 200 pounds. Yes, the dog weighs 200 pounds. Mark is probably 15 bucks shy of that, but that is another story.
The thing about Gus is that he is horny. Now, we have terms like horndog for a reason. Dogs, as a species, are generally a horny bunch. We have all experienced a dog humping our leg, right? We use the label “dog” to describe promiscuous men. It’s not like I am making this up.
But Gus is exceptionally horny. He is always humping something. Anything. Gus has been know to hump a rubber ball left in the backyard. Gus used to hump the lawn ornaments. He ruined several. Think about that for a minute! He wore them out! My personal favorite: Gus humped the fence post on a regular basis.
In a way, I’d really like to know why. Professionals spend all kinds of time-- after spending all kinds of money on elaborate educations and degrees—analyzing that kind of behavior in people. The answers are entertaining if nothing else. Sometimes it is about a childhood trauma or some other reason for arrested development. There are theories about power. Some of it gets attributed to emotional need, but some is more external. Is it any different for dogs? Is it true or fair to conclude that animals are less complex and so are their motivations? My opinion is a juvenile addiction to the physiological satisfaction of it all—for both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have food to eat and stuff to clean before I call Mom again today.
Gus is a pretty good hunting dog, though. By that, I mean he gets the job done that we use dogs to do. He can sniff out prey, scare it up, and go retrieve it. In the process, we also want them to pay attention and obey basic commands. Gus is not so hot at that. If dogs can have A.D.D. Gus has it. If he has to work too long or too hard to be successful he starts to fade. The worse it gets, the worse he gets. If left un-checked he will wander off in search of a mate—or anything close enough. That is just too long of a list for Gus.
One time Mark and Gus went hunting with a small group of guys. They were after turkeys, I think. What is known is that they were in a wooded area and relatively close to each other and the dogs. The brush got pretty thick at one point and that slowed everyone down. Joe was one of the guys. Joe was making his way down a bit of a slope and had to get over and through some fallen trees. Gus was hanging in his general area. That’s when Joe slipped. Poor Joe fell to his knees, then forward catching himself with his hands. Well, that was all the window Gus needed. He was on ol’ Joe before anyone knew it. Big Gus had his front paws around him like a bear hug, and was pounding away with his full weight and strength with his trademark wild abandon! Joe was stuck! He was already in a compromised position, and the brush and all prevented any leverage, but mostly Gus just had him where he wanted him. All Joe could do was plead, “Call him off! Call him off!” This, of course, was useless because there was no way Mark could blow a whistle while laughing his fool head off! Not that Gus would have listened anyway.
All that yellin’ just made sure that everyone got a good look and laugh at the sight… and a story to tell they’ll never forget.
I have a friend named Mark. Mark has a dog named Gus. Gus is a big ‘ol huntin’ dog. He’s probably 200 pounds. Yes, the dog weighs 200 pounds. Mark is probably 15 bucks shy of that, but that is another story.
The thing about Gus is that he is horny. Now, we have terms like horndog for a reason. Dogs, as a species, are generally a horny bunch. We have all experienced a dog humping our leg, right? We use the label “dog” to describe promiscuous men. It’s not like I am making this up.
But Gus is exceptionally horny. He is always humping something. Anything. Gus has been know to hump a rubber ball left in the backyard. Gus used to hump the lawn ornaments. He ruined several. Think about that for a minute! He wore them out! My personal favorite: Gus humped the fence post on a regular basis.
In a way, I’d really like to know why. Professionals spend all kinds of time-- after spending all kinds of money on elaborate educations and degrees—analyzing that kind of behavior in people. The answers are entertaining if nothing else. Sometimes it is about a childhood trauma or some other reason for arrested development. There are theories about power. Some of it gets attributed to emotional need, but some is more external. Is it any different for dogs? Is it true or fair to conclude that animals are less complex and so are their motivations? My opinion is a juvenile addiction to the physiological satisfaction of it all—for both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have food to eat and stuff to clean before I call Mom again today.
Gus is a pretty good hunting dog, though. By that, I mean he gets the job done that we use dogs to do. He can sniff out prey, scare it up, and go retrieve it. In the process, we also want them to pay attention and obey basic commands. Gus is not so hot at that. If dogs can have A.D.D. Gus has it. If he has to work too long or too hard to be successful he starts to fade. The worse it gets, the worse he gets. If left un-checked he will wander off in search of a mate—or anything close enough. That is just too long of a list for Gus.
One time Mark and Gus went hunting with a small group of guys. They were after turkeys, I think. What is known is that they were in a wooded area and relatively close to each other and the dogs. The brush got pretty thick at one point and that slowed everyone down. Joe was one of the guys. Joe was making his way down a bit of a slope and had to get over and through some fallen trees. Gus was hanging in his general area. That’s when Joe slipped. Poor Joe fell to his knees, then forward catching himself with his hands. Well, that was all the window Gus needed. He was on ol’ Joe before anyone knew it. Big Gus had his front paws around him like a bear hug, and was pounding away with his full weight and strength with his trademark wild abandon! Joe was stuck! He was already in a compromised position, and the brush and all prevented any leverage, but mostly Gus just had him where he wanted him. All Joe could do was plead, “Call him off! Call him off!” This, of course, was useless because there was no way Mark could blow a whistle while laughing his fool head off! Not that Gus would have listened anyway.
All that yellin’ just made sure that everyone got a good look and laugh at the sight… and a story to tell they’ll never forget.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Pathogen
Pathogen
Jen is my sister. She is athletic and a medical professional.
Al’ ler Jen – Why Jen sneezes when dusting. "Allergen"
Car cin’ o Jen – When Jen cuts one in the back seat, ultimately resulting in a sinus cancer. "Car sin o' Jen"
Con Jen’ i tal – Jen ‘s innate ability to talk you out of, or into, anything. "Con Jen it all"
Cry o Jen’ ic – What you hear when Jen gets something gross in her Dippin’ Dots. "Cry o' Jen: ick"
Cur mud’ Jen – The personality of Jen when she gets schmutz on her shoe. "Crrr mud Jen"
Dun Jen’ – The dark hole where you contemplate what you’ve done, and the status of your relationship, after defying Jen’s rule. "Dungeon"
Jen’ der – When Jen thinks something is totally obvious and a boy doesn’t. "Jen: Der!"
Jen’ er al – What Jen is when a bunch of people do whatever Jen says. "General"
Jen’ er a list – All the trivial stuff that same bunch of people do. "General list"
Jen er a li za’ tion – The arbitrary act of succumbing to the power of Jen. "Generaliztion"
Jen’ er a ly – Overall, Jen’s command of the South during the civil war. "General Lee"
Jen er a’ tion – ‘round about 20 year age span of people heavily influenced by Jen and all that implies. "Generation"
Jen’ e rat or – coiled wire + magnets + attached to giant hamster wheel + Jen + Reeses Peanut Butter Cups on a stick. Run, Jen, run! "Generator"
Jen er’ ic – The indescriminate foul smell of Jen before she showers. "Jen air: ick"
Jen’ o cide – “Waiter, I’ll have the Prime Rib with… oooo! Jenocide! You have just got to try this! To die for!” "Jen o' side"
Jen er o’ si ty – Giving in large amounts to Jen out of the goodness of your heart…or pity. "Generosity"
Jen’ er ous – What it comes down to in a revolt against Jen, and you just decide to give her all of it. "Jen or us?"
Jen’ e sis – Theresa, Cindy, Chrissy and Jen gettin’ together and startin’ somethin’. "Jenny sis"
Jen e’ tic – The reason inferior little parasites must die after sampling Jen’s DNA. "Jenny tick"
Jen e’ ti cist – Jen’s contribution to your lay-up playing hoops, for a team of people who study DNA. "Jen net assist"
Jen e’ tics – What you will experience futiley trying to score goals against Jen’s God-given abilities. "Jen net ticks"
Jen’ i tal – what short people think looking up at Jen. "Jenny tall"
Jen’ i tive – a case in which you must give Jen what she wants. "Genitive"
Jent – Jen’s arm charm. "Gent"
Jen teel’ – The particular shade of green you will turn when Jen daintily asuages her frustration with your crap. "Jen teal"
Jen’ tle – The way Jen pets the rabbits in Of Mice and Jen. "Gentle"
Jen’ u flect – the reason and particular way in which you have to duck when Jen picks her nose. "Jen you flicked"
Jen’ u ine – The quality of receiving the Jen, the whole Jen, and nothing but the Jen. "Genuine"
Nor we’ Jen – the ancestral heritage from whence Jen gets her lickety-split grasp of the obvious and her rapier witt. Sharp as a tack, dat Jen. "Norwegian"
Oxy Jen’ – What you will be sucking after a tug-o-war against Jen. "Oxygen"
Path’ o Jen – 1) The route of the epic journey Jen takes to rid the world of cooties. 2) Another name for cooties . 3) The word I happen to see on a first aid kit that started this whole thing. "Path o' Jen"
Stur’ Jen – Unique and ancient fish lounging in deep cool water that will bite your dumb ass for disturbing it. "Sturgeon"
Sur’ Jen – Jen takin’ charge in the operating room. "Sir Jen"
Jen is my sister. She is athletic and a medical professional.
Al’ ler Jen – Why Jen sneezes when dusting. "Allergen"
Car cin’ o Jen – When Jen cuts one in the back seat, ultimately resulting in a sinus cancer. "Car sin o' Jen"
Con Jen’ i tal – Jen ‘s innate ability to talk you out of, or into, anything. "Con Jen it all"
Cry o Jen’ ic – What you hear when Jen gets something gross in her Dippin’ Dots. "Cry o' Jen: ick"
Cur mud’ Jen – The personality of Jen when she gets schmutz on her shoe. "Crrr mud Jen"
Dun Jen’ – The dark hole where you contemplate what you’ve done, and the status of your relationship, after defying Jen’s rule. "Dungeon"
Jen’ der – When Jen thinks something is totally obvious and a boy doesn’t. "Jen: Der!"
Jen’ er al – What Jen is when a bunch of people do whatever Jen says. "General"
Jen’ er a list – All the trivial stuff that same bunch of people do. "General list"
Jen er a li za’ tion – The arbitrary act of succumbing to the power of Jen. "Generaliztion"
Jen’ er a ly – Overall, Jen’s command of the South during the civil war. "General Lee"
Jen er a’ tion – ‘round about 20 year age span of people heavily influenced by Jen and all that implies. "Generation"
Jen’ e rat or – coiled wire + magnets + attached to giant hamster wheel + Jen + Reeses Peanut Butter Cups on a stick. Run, Jen, run! "Generator"
Jen er’ ic – The indescriminate foul smell of Jen before she showers. "Jen air: ick"
Jen’ o cide – “Waiter, I’ll have the Prime Rib with… oooo! Jenocide! You have just got to try this! To die for!” "Jen o' side"
Jen er o’ si ty – Giving in large amounts to Jen out of the goodness of your heart…or pity. "Generosity"
Jen’ er ous – What it comes down to in a revolt against Jen, and you just decide to give her all of it. "Jen or us?"
Jen’ e sis – Theresa, Cindy, Chrissy and Jen gettin’ together and startin’ somethin’. "Jenny sis"
Jen e’ tic – The reason inferior little parasites must die after sampling Jen’s DNA. "Jenny tick"
Jen e’ ti cist – Jen’s contribution to your lay-up playing hoops, for a team of people who study DNA. "Jen net assist"
Jen e’ tics – What you will experience futiley trying to score goals against Jen’s God-given abilities. "Jen net ticks"
Jen’ i tal – what short people think looking up at Jen. "Jenny tall"
Jen’ i tive – a case in which you must give Jen what she wants. "Genitive"
Jent – Jen’s arm charm. "Gent"
Jen teel’ – The particular shade of green you will turn when Jen daintily asuages her frustration with your crap. "Jen teal"
Jen’ tle – The way Jen pets the rabbits in Of Mice and Jen. "Gentle"
Jen’ u flect – the reason and particular way in which you have to duck when Jen picks her nose. "Jen you flicked"
Jen’ u ine – The quality of receiving the Jen, the whole Jen, and nothing but the Jen. "Genuine"
Nor we’ Jen – the ancestral heritage from whence Jen gets her lickety-split grasp of the obvious and her rapier witt. Sharp as a tack, dat Jen. "Norwegian"
Oxy Jen’ – What you will be sucking after a tug-o-war against Jen. "Oxygen"
Path’ o Jen – 1) The route of the epic journey Jen takes to rid the world of cooties. 2) Another name for cooties . 3) The word I happen to see on a first aid kit that started this whole thing. "Path o' Jen"
Stur’ Jen – Unique and ancient fish lounging in deep cool water that will bite your dumb ass for disturbing it. "Sturgeon"
Sur’ Jen – Jen takin’ charge in the operating room. "Sir Jen"
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Cut It Out!
Cut It Out!
How many times recently have you heard someone say something like, “I cut out [fill in the blank] and now I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out caffeine. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out TV. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I stopped eating meat. I have more energy. I feel great”
Call me crazy, but all of this is more than a little contradictory. If everyone cut out everything that everyone was suggesting cutting out, we would end up that crazy hermit that lives at the top of the mountain and never eats (what food sources are available at the top of a mountain, anyway?) If I was that hermit, I would send everyone back down for a Big Mac before I “saged” them. Bring me back a super-size fries! I guess that is why people write to Dear Abby instead.
Do you remember that mass-suicide cult from a few years ago with the Hale-Bopp comet? They were the geniuses who believed if they wore the right Nikes and died at the right time they could hop a flight on the comet and get on with the life they were supposed to be living—as opposed to the miserable existence they evidently were having living amongst you and I. Because their deaths made the news, so did some of their other stories. Evidently, some of them relieved unwanted pressure in their lives with castration. So, there is video of some bloke essentially saying, “I cut out my genitals! I have more energy! I feel great!”
Does anyone really believe that the more we cut out of our lives the better our quality of life will be?
My theory is that quitting itself has a placebo effect. Good for you that you stopped drinking! I’m glad you feel great! But, why did you start in the first place? Let’s be honest, if drinking made everyone who did it feel miserable while they were doing it, it would not be a problem, would it? Smokers quit for a while, they start to feel great. Then, they get really obnoxious and crabby and both they and their families are relieved when they start again. It feels great, at first, when you stop watching TV and start exercising. Then, it feels great when you stop exercising, grab a bag of chips, and get back to your TiVo.
It feels great to quit, but quitting the quitting feels even better. Not an option with castration, however. Most people don’t make as big of a spectacle when they quit quitting. That seems to be the biggest difference. Some of this may be the guilt. So, you just ate a whole bag of Oreos after a week of dieting. Chances are you are not going to call your best friend and gleefully announce, “Hey! Guess what I just did!” I would, but that’s just me.
I enjoy being fickle. I do not have any tattoos because I know that I am fickle. I am not bothered by tattoos on other people. I admire people who express themselves in that way and every other way. If you want to dress like a bum or a hooker, I don’t care (unless you are my wife or daughter). Just don’t be surprised if I mistake you for a bum or a hooker. Do you curse like a sailor? That certainly splashes a lot of color on your personality. Many comedians have built their careers on doing little more than that. It’s just one more way a person defines them, for better or worse.
On the other hand, you could change any or all of these things and feel good about it. Or, you could start doing any or all of these things and feel good about it. Either way, you are not alone. You can find loads of new friends ready to say, “Hey, me too!” There is even a group for people who join groups and never do anything after that. They seem pretty happy.
Sorry I haven’t written for so long. Guess why? But, I have more energy! I feel great!
How many times recently have you heard someone say something like, “I cut out [fill in the blank] and now I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out caffeine. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out TV. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I stopped eating meat. I have more energy. I feel great”
Call me crazy, but all of this is more than a little contradictory. If everyone cut out everything that everyone was suggesting cutting out, we would end up that crazy hermit that lives at the top of the mountain and never eats (what food sources are available at the top of a mountain, anyway?) If I was that hermit, I would send everyone back down for a Big Mac before I “saged” them. Bring me back a super-size fries! I guess that is why people write to Dear Abby instead.
Do you remember that mass-suicide cult from a few years ago with the Hale-Bopp comet? They were the geniuses who believed if they wore the right Nikes and died at the right time they could hop a flight on the comet and get on with the life they were supposed to be living—as opposed to the miserable existence they evidently were having living amongst you and I. Because their deaths made the news, so did some of their other stories. Evidently, some of them relieved unwanted pressure in their lives with castration. So, there is video of some bloke essentially saying, “I cut out my genitals! I have more energy! I feel great!”
Does anyone really believe that the more we cut out of our lives the better our quality of life will be?
My theory is that quitting itself has a placebo effect. Good for you that you stopped drinking! I’m glad you feel great! But, why did you start in the first place? Let’s be honest, if drinking made everyone who did it feel miserable while they were doing it, it would not be a problem, would it? Smokers quit for a while, they start to feel great. Then, they get really obnoxious and crabby and both they and their families are relieved when they start again. It feels great, at first, when you stop watching TV and start exercising. Then, it feels great when you stop exercising, grab a bag of chips, and get back to your TiVo.
It feels great to quit, but quitting the quitting feels even better. Not an option with castration, however. Most people don’t make as big of a spectacle when they quit quitting. That seems to be the biggest difference. Some of this may be the guilt. So, you just ate a whole bag of Oreos after a week of dieting. Chances are you are not going to call your best friend and gleefully announce, “Hey! Guess what I just did!” I would, but that’s just me.
I enjoy being fickle. I do not have any tattoos because I know that I am fickle. I am not bothered by tattoos on other people. I admire people who express themselves in that way and every other way. If you want to dress like a bum or a hooker, I don’t care (unless you are my wife or daughter). Just don’t be surprised if I mistake you for a bum or a hooker. Do you curse like a sailor? That certainly splashes a lot of color on your personality. Many comedians have built their careers on doing little more than that. It’s just one more way a person defines them, for better or worse.
On the other hand, you could change any or all of these things and feel good about it. Or, you could start doing any or all of these things and feel good about it. Either way, you are not alone. You can find loads of new friends ready to say, “Hey, me too!” There is even a group for people who join groups and never do anything after that. They seem pretty happy.
Sorry I haven’t written for so long. Guess why? But, I have more energy! I feel great!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Customer is Always Right
June was fat. I know you can’t say people are fat anymore, so I’ll say it again: June was fat. She had a puffy fat face, she had thick fat legs, and she was as wide as she was tall. But, she had an entertaining personality. I don’t know how she got the job or when, but she was waitress at the restaurant long before I showed up. And, as waitresses go, she was pretty good at it.
The problem was not her, it was the customers. The world has gone too soft on customers, especially in restaurants. I am always amazed at how many restaurants exist, even in a small town, and how so many can remain open. I just assume they are all making money, or else they would have to close, right? Either way, apparently it is too much competition, because they all are insane about their customers. I don’t know who said, “The customer is always right” but it was the restaurants that listened. Customers in restaurants get away with the lowest, sleaziest crap this way. And it is the restaurant staff that pays the price for it. They don’t call it the service industry for nothing. People certainly treat them like servants and expect them to act like it, too.
It is quite common for customers to come in just before closing-- too close, in fact. This really stresses the staff. They want to get home or at least off work just like everyone else. Another issue is the resources themselves—do they have enough food, dishes, napkins, etc. for more customers so late in the day? Trying to get done early as a cook is especially risky. They need to clean everything before they can go. If someone comes in after they start cleaning, they are just going to have to start all over again.
The biggest problem on this particular day was that these late customers were regular customers. They were not favorite customers since no one really liked them. But they were regular customers and repeat business is absolutely essential to the survival of a restaurant (or so “they” say.) They ordered their usual, which was one T-Bone well done and one T-Bone rare. It takes about 45 minutes to cook a steak well done. This meant everyone involved would be getting done late. Everyone was expecting that already when they walked in, and nerves were frayed because of it. But, they knew enough to not show it, of course.
Then the final straw happened. The customers sent the steak back. Ironically, it was not the well-done order that came back, it was the rare steak. Why was it sent back? It wasn’t cooked enough! The rare steak was not cooked enough! You have got to be kidding, right?
June was furious! But, not in front of the customers, of course. She politely took the complaint and the steak back to the kitchen. That’s where she lost control. She grabbed the steak with both hands, raised it above her head, and with all her might, threw it to the ground with a loud slap! But she wasn’t through. She, all 270 pounds of her, bent her knees as far as she dared, and thrust her massive frame as high and taught into the air as she could go. At the apex, she curled her knees up under herself again, and before she landed, she quickly extended both feet on the steak at the same time, stomping it into the floor. Without the slightest hesitation, she picked the steak up, and tossed it onto the grill. She let it sizzle for about a minute, then flipped it over for another minute. Satisfied it was now cooked, but still “rare” she plated the steak, fixed a grin from ear to ear and marched the steak back to the customer.
The customer never knew a thing about it. I am sure that June was able to channel her vindication like a wave of second wind. I am sure the customer was cooed and coddled like the baby they were and felt just exactly how they wanted on their big night. In fact, I found out later that the customer ended up giving June an unusually generous tip, which did not surprise me. What still gets everyone laughing to this day is how they gushed and praised about how tender that steak became!
The problem was not her, it was the customers. The world has gone too soft on customers, especially in restaurants. I am always amazed at how many restaurants exist, even in a small town, and how so many can remain open. I just assume they are all making money, or else they would have to close, right? Either way, apparently it is too much competition, because they all are insane about their customers. I don’t know who said, “The customer is always right” but it was the restaurants that listened. Customers in restaurants get away with the lowest, sleaziest crap this way. And it is the restaurant staff that pays the price for it. They don’t call it the service industry for nothing. People certainly treat them like servants and expect them to act like it, too.
It is quite common for customers to come in just before closing-- too close, in fact. This really stresses the staff. They want to get home or at least off work just like everyone else. Another issue is the resources themselves—do they have enough food, dishes, napkins, etc. for more customers so late in the day? Trying to get done early as a cook is especially risky. They need to clean everything before they can go. If someone comes in after they start cleaning, they are just going to have to start all over again.
The biggest problem on this particular day was that these late customers were regular customers. They were not favorite customers since no one really liked them. But they were regular customers and repeat business is absolutely essential to the survival of a restaurant (or so “they” say.) They ordered their usual, which was one T-Bone well done and one T-Bone rare. It takes about 45 minutes to cook a steak well done. This meant everyone involved would be getting done late. Everyone was expecting that already when they walked in, and nerves were frayed because of it. But, they knew enough to not show it, of course.
Then the final straw happened. The customers sent the steak back. Ironically, it was not the well-done order that came back, it was the rare steak. Why was it sent back? It wasn’t cooked enough! The rare steak was not cooked enough! You have got to be kidding, right?
June was furious! But, not in front of the customers, of course. She politely took the complaint and the steak back to the kitchen. That’s where she lost control. She grabbed the steak with both hands, raised it above her head, and with all her might, threw it to the ground with a loud slap! But she wasn’t through. She, all 270 pounds of her, bent her knees as far as she dared, and thrust her massive frame as high and taught into the air as she could go. At the apex, she curled her knees up under herself again, and before she landed, she quickly extended both feet on the steak at the same time, stomping it into the floor. Without the slightest hesitation, she picked the steak up, and tossed it onto the grill. She let it sizzle for about a minute, then flipped it over for another minute. Satisfied it was now cooked, but still “rare” she plated the steak, fixed a grin from ear to ear and marched the steak back to the customer.
The customer never knew a thing about it. I am sure that June was able to channel her vindication like a wave of second wind. I am sure the customer was cooed and coddled like the baby they were and felt just exactly how they wanted on their big night. In fact, I found out later that the customer ended up giving June an unusually generous tip, which did not surprise me. What still gets everyone laughing to this day is how they gushed and praised about how tender that steak became!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
How to Become an Atheist
I was not surprised that my Dad was having an argument. It’s not that he likes to argue, mind you. No, what he seems to like so much is having an argument. Over the years he has argued with township boards and county commissioners about taxes and roads and culverts. He has argued about the actual location of section lines and property lines. He has even argued with the railroad about the speed at which crossing arms descend.
So, when I heard that he was arguing with his son-in-laws church, I was not entirely surprised. What was new, though, was the topic. When my littlest sister got married (to this son-in-law) Dad freaked. It was not because she was the youngest (maybe a little.) She was not the first (or the last) to marry outside the Catholic Church (which was also a factor.) Actually, it was because of four words. That is how he finally put it to me.
I have the unenviable position of being someone with which Dad felt somewhat comfortable having real discussions. This is a skill I self-learned for survival’s sake. So, that is how and why I became involved. And that is how I learned it came down to four words. The words were spoken by the son-in-law in relation to the discussion topic of not being Catholic. Son-in-law made the mistake of expressing the position of actually being anti-Catholic. This is a far more confrontational position. One that his own dad and church seemed to support. And that is the context within which he said four words: “We have the truth.”
If you are following me so far, I certainly hope you can understand how that would go over with my argumentative Dad. If there was ever a person on the earth who was going to claim to have the truth, well, they better check with Dad, first.
I said all that to say this: Dad’s reaction was to begin a full-scale investigation into this other church. And that is where I stepped into it. So, I needed to try to understand all of this from the inside out. To that end, I found out about this “chat group” that Dad was in. This was several years ago, mind you. Chat rooms have come a long way since then. This one was more of a discussion/bulletin board and everyone was accessing it from dial-up modems and computers so archaic in today’s terms you would laugh. Nevertheless, that is where I had to start. So, I joined the group (it was exclusive.)
That is where I met the atheist. It is somewhat puzzling that he would be there. To their credit, evidently, this particular group wanted to have worthwhile and enlightening discussions about “religion” and that meant (at least at one time) to be open to such opinions as that of this atheist. In reality, it meant no one could say anything because this guy was completely obnoxious. They were open minded, and he took full advantage to the point of actually monopolizing the whole thing. So, what was I going to do? I got to know the atheist.
And in that process I got to hear his story in his own words. He served in Vietnam. He had grown up Christian (though not Catholic, if I recall correctly). And he considered himself Christian when he went to Vietnam. It was horrific. It may not have been for everyone, but this guy saw many things that would haunt anybody for life. And on one particular day, on a hike, his group was ambushed. The ordeal lasted about an hour, I think. It was not quick, anyway. And in the end, everywhere this survivor looked was death. Death of soldiers, comrades, and friends. One such friend died in his arms. Again, not quickly. The only relevance of the time is that it was long enough to pray. And pray he did. Hard. With all his might. Like he had never prayed before. And in the end? Nothing. Death. Suffering and death.
And that is what did it for him. He concluded from that ordeal that there must not be a God. (Actually, he would have written it “must not be a god” because along with god, goes Satan, angels, heaven, hell, and all that goes with it, if you fully understand a-theism.) His conclusion was based on God 1) Not answering his prayer 2) how he wanted 3) and when he wanted, but those are my words. For him, that was just the foundation. After that, it was easy to find evidence to support the position. Actually, what he “found” was a lack of any credible evidence of the existence of God in anything he observed and anything any believers offered. Which is what brought him to the group—technically looking for their evidence, but ultimately debunking, discrediting, and disrupting everything that was being said.
I never changed his mind, either. I just stopped following the group. I just moved on. At the time, I was actually fearful for my safety and that of my family. This guy lived close enough and was persistent enough to track me down, if he wanted. I didn’t want to attract that kind of attention. But, I also really just gave up on the idea of changing his mind—or even wanting to change him.
My own faith has grown since that time. I realize now that I was right in thinking that I had no power to change him. That would only come from a higher power. Could I have been an instrument for that power? It’s possible. But, it’s also just as possible I was not supposed to be.
I often think about him. And I pray. Someday I’ll know what happened. So will you.
So, when I heard that he was arguing with his son-in-laws church, I was not entirely surprised. What was new, though, was the topic. When my littlest sister got married (to this son-in-law) Dad freaked. It was not because she was the youngest (maybe a little.) She was not the first (or the last) to marry outside the Catholic Church (which was also a factor.) Actually, it was because of four words. That is how he finally put it to me.
I have the unenviable position of being someone with which Dad felt somewhat comfortable having real discussions. This is a skill I self-learned for survival’s sake. So, that is how and why I became involved. And that is how I learned it came down to four words. The words were spoken by the son-in-law in relation to the discussion topic of not being Catholic. Son-in-law made the mistake of expressing the position of actually being anti-Catholic. This is a far more confrontational position. One that his own dad and church seemed to support. And that is the context within which he said four words: “We have the truth.”
If you are following me so far, I certainly hope you can understand how that would go over with my argumentative Dad. If there was ever a person on the earth who was going to claim to have the truth, well, they better check with Dad, first.
I said all that to say this: Dad’s reaction was to begin a full-scale investigation into this other church. And that is where I stepped into it. So, I needed to try to understand all of this from the inside out. To that end, I found out about this “chat group” that Dad was in. This was several years ago, mind you. Chat rooms have come a long way since then. This one was more of a discussion/bulletin board and everyone was accessing it from dial-up modems and computers so archaic in today’s terms you would laugh. Nevertheless, that is where I had to start. So, I joined the group (it was exclusive.)
That is where I met the atheist. It is somewhat puzzling that he would be there. To their credit, evidently, this particular group wanted to have worthwhile and enlightening discussions about “religion” and that meant (at least at one time) to be open to such opinions as that of this atheist. In reality, it meant no one could say anything because this guy was completely obnoxious. They were open minded, and he took full advantage to the point of actually monopolizing the whole thing. So, what was I going to do? I got to know the atheist.
And in that process I got to hear his story in his own words. He served in Vietnam. He had grown up Christian (though not Catholic, if I recall correctly). And he considered himself Christian when he went to Vietnam. It was horrific. It may not have been for everyone, but this guy saw many things that would haunt anybody for life. And on one particular day, on a hike, his group was ambushed. The ordeal lasted about an hour, I think. It was not quick, anyway. And in the end, everywhere this survivor looked was death. Death of soldiers, comrades, and friends. One such friend died in his arms. Again, not quickly. The only relevance of the time is that it was long enough to pray. And pray he did. Hard. With all his might. Like he had never prayed before. And in the end? Nothing. Death. Suffering and death.
And that is what did it for him. He concluded from that ordeal that there must not be a God. (Actually, he would have written it “must not be a god” because along with god, goes Satan, angels, heaven, hell, and all that goes with it, if you fully understand a-theism.) His conclusion was based on God 1) Not answering his prayer 2) how he wanted 3) and when he wanted, but those are my words. For him, that was just the foundation. After that, it was easy to find evidence to support the position. Actually, what he “found” was a lack of any credible evidence of the existence of God in anything he observed and anything any believers offered. Which is what brought him to the group—technically looking for their evidence, but ultimately debunking, discrediting, and disrupting everything that was being said.
I never changed his mind, either. I just stopped following the group. I just moved on. At the time, I was actually fearful for my safety and that of my family. This guy lived close enough and was persistent enough to track me down, if he wanted. I didn’t want to attract that kind of attention. But, I also really just gave up on the idea of changing his mind—or even wanting to change him.
My own faith has grown since that time. I realize now that I was right in thinking that I had no power to change him. That would only come from a higher power. Could I have been an instrument for that power? It’s possible. But, it’s also just as possible I was not supposed to be.
I often think about him. And I pray. Someday I’ll know what happened. So will you.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I Am Not A Ladies Man
I am not a ladies man.
Whether or not that surprises you probably depends on how well you really know me. Let me explain.
LL Cool J is a ladies man. My wife adores him. Ever since I met her, including one of the first things I really knew about her, she swoons for L. Guys put pictures up on walls, too. Somehow, it is rather uncool for a guy to actually talk about being gaga over it, though. It usually is unimpressive to any woman you are trying to impress especially. As for other guys, well, they are most likely to respond by giving you endless grief about anything you say. LL, for his part, frequently mentioned both his prowess as a ladies man and his thus exploits.
If LL was anywhere within walking distance, I would be nervous.
Hugh Hefner is a ladies man. If Hugh was in the room, it would not bother me. If Hef was even in the same back seat of a Taxi, it would not bother me. I don't think my wife would go for Hef. He's just too old, I think. Plus, my wife is no fan of porn, of any kind.
But Hef is actually more my type of guy. It is entirely possible that the ladies love Hef for his money only. But, I am pretty sure they actually enjoy being around the guy. Hef is smart enough to be sensitive and a keen listener. He knows the right things to say and how to say them. I have no doubt Hef is seductive.
Not that I am interested in being seductive. Technically, I mean I am not interested in seducing anyone except my wife. I wouldn't mind being considered seductive. I would even be interested in learning and practicing seduction. But, all of my attention would be on my wife. Everything I already know and practice is directed at her.
It's just that I would rather talk to women than men. Does that make me a ladies' man? I know it disqualifies me as being a man's man.
I have a couple of male friends. I talk with them from time to time. I actually enjoy it. But, I don't make a great deal of effort or spend much of my time conversing with them. Nor do they, with me.
On the other hand, I enjoy conversing with women at any opportunity. Women actually talk. Women talk openly and at length about just about anything.
Clearly, if you are reading this you can understand my attraction to that.
One of my pet peeves, I have learned is a one-sided conversation. I may not know enough about everything that I can talk to anyone about anything, but I'm willing to try. Guys usually want to talk about a select few topics at best. These are the things they are interested in. Some guys won't even talk about that. Women are more agile in this way. I like that. I enjoy variety.
I will concede, however, that this is all hinged to talking itself. Guys may not like to talk, but they definitely enjoy doing. Every guy has his hobbies, and if you can get into doing something together, guys will enjoy the time... even without saying a word. Two guys can sit (side by side, of course, face to face is only for tables...with food on them) in a room and watch TV and look completely bored and boring, but describe the time together as, "Great! Look forward to doing it again, sometime." Same is true for fishing. Hours on a boat or in an ice house, but you never talk while fishing. That's why I fish with my daughter.
So, I'm not a ladies man... even though I spend way more time talking to and hanging out with the ladies. But, then, I live with two ladies and no other men (and a cat--also female.) They are my girls. I love my girls!
Whether or not that surprises you probably depends on how well you really know me. Let me explain.
LL Cool J is a ladies man. My wife adores him. Ever since I met her, including one of the first things I really knew about her, she swoons for L. Guys put pictures up on walls, too. Somehow, it is rather uncool for a guy to actually talk about being gaga over it, though. It usually is unimpressive to any woman you are trying to impress especially. As for other guys, well, they are most likely to respond by giving you endless grief about anything you say. LL, for his part, frequently mentioned both his prowess as a ladies man and his thus exploits.
If LL was anywhere within walking distance, I would be nervous.
Hugh Hefner is a ladies man. If Hugh was in the room, it would not bother me. If Hef was even in the same back seat of a Taxi, it would not bother me. I don't think my wife would go for Hef. He's just too old, I think. Plus, my wife is no fan of porn, of any kind.
But Hef is actually more my type of guy. It is entirely possible that the ladies love Hef for his money only. But, I am pretty sure they actually enjoy being around the guy. Hef is smart enough to be sensitive and a keen listener. He knows the right things to say and how to say them. I have no doubt Hef is seductive.
Not that I am interested in being seductive. Technically, I mean I am not interested in seducing anyone except my wife. I wouldn't mind being considered seductive. I would even be interested in learning and practicing seduction. But, all of my attention would be on my wife. Everything I already know and practice is directed at her.
It's just that I would rather talk to women than men. Does that make me a ladies' man? I know it disqualifies me as being a man's man.
I have a couple of male friends. I talk with them from time to time. I actually enjoy it. But, I don't make a great deal of effort or spend much of my time conversing with them. Nor do they, with me.
On the other hand, I enjoy conversing with women at any opportunity. Women actually talk. Women talk openly and at length about just about anything.
Clearly, if you are reading this you can understand my attraction to that.
One of my pet peeves, I have learned is a one-sided conversation. I may not know enough about everything that I can talk to anyone about anything, but I'm willing to try. Guys usually want to talk about a select few topics at best. These are the things they are interested in. Some guys won't even talk about that. Women are more agile in this way. I like that. I enjoy variety.
I will concede, however, that this is all hinged to talking itself. Guys may not like to talk, but they definitely enjoy doing. Every guy has his hobbies, and if you can get into doing something together, guys will enjoy the time... even without saying a word. Two guys can sit (side by side, of course, face to face is only for tables...with food on them) in a room and watch TV and look completely bored and boring, but describe the time together as, "Great! Look forward to doing it again, sometime." Same is true for fishing. Hours on a boat or in an ice house, but you never talk while fishing. That's why I fish with my daughter.
So, I'm not a ladies man... even though I spend way more time talking to and hanging out with the ladies. But, then, I live with two ladies and no other men (and a cat--also female.) They are my girls. I love my girls!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Hegel's Philosophy
Hegel’s Philosophy
I came across an old friend on Facebook who asked me, “Is this the Wayne that thought Hegel was a mad genius?”
Yeah, that‘s me. At least it was.
I was talking to a therapist once (well, there you go) who simply could not understand why The Matrix was such a popular movie. As I was explaining, it eventually dawned on me, “Oh, you don’t know anything about Hegel do you?”
If you study Philosophy, what the class is going to be like is a bunch of dudes who, in modern terms, just blogged about a bunch of crap that they thought explained the world. As useful as it is to understand the world, it is actually pretty difficult. So, it should not surprise you that all of their ideas are different.
What will surprise you is how anyone could actually stand this stuff for more than one semester, if that.
Philosophy is often difficult to read. For one thing, since even the dudes don’t want to give each other any credit, they feel compelled to justify their blather with logic. That is why Descartes came up with, “I think, therefore I am.” That was supposed to be the irrefutable starting point from which he could build upon to prove and explain the world as we know it. That is the kind of thing that makes a Philosopher famous.
Ok, except Paris Hilton is infinitely more famous, and not only has she done so without much evidence of thought, no one doubts that she exists. But, who the hell is Descartes, right?
So, I came across this guy Hegel in a Modern Philosophy class. Oh, did I mention that I have a Philosophy minor from college? Hegel had the audacity to suggest that it was just as plausible to explain the world and how it worked if you suggest that the world is basically a giant dollhouse for some great someone or something. Basically, some big child was just playing with play-doh, creating whatever it desired and then playing out whatever it imagined. Or, maybe more accurately some kid playing with an ant farm we call earth—not really controlling the ants, but impacting and toying with their world so that everything they do is reaction to or management of the kids antics rather than what they could be doing if the kid would just get an iPod already.
But, I was studying all that before The Matrix was a movie. For some reason, when I came across Hegel, I got really intrigued. Maybe it was temporary insanity. Maybe it was just that it was so different from the “I think, therefore…” type of logic puzzle that everyone else was proposing. In any case, it was much more fun. It was much more interesting to start thinking about, “Well, if that is true then…” which is pretty much what me and this friend of mine did. It was the most fun I had in Philosophy.
But, eventually, we came to our senses. It may have had something to do with a meeting we had with the instructor wherein he stared at us incredulously and basically replied, “Really? Hegel?”
And that is pretty much the problem with taking any philosophical idea too seriously. It eventually ends up more like science fiction fantastic fun than real world applicable.
But, The Matrix is essentially what Hegel was suggesting. So, imagine my shock when the movie came out and suggested that it could be, in a way. Imagine, further, that people like Prince (The Artist, or TAFKAP) took it kinda seriously and encouraged people to snap out of it. Of course, to do that you have to find Morpheus and swallow the red pill and get flushed. Hegel never mentioned that. I bet Prince knew, though.
Ok, let’s shift gears for a minute. A couple semesters later, I came across Hegel again. This time, the class was The Philosophy of History. Mind you, that is not the History of Philosophy, which almost makes sense even if you would never go to college if you fully understood that you would have to take such a class. But the Philosophy of History? Really? This is debatable? Apparently so. What’s it about? It’s a bunch of dudes blogging about the system by which History unfolds like some great novel, or the implicit shortcomings of trying to understand history from any one vantage point (begging the question of how many would be necessary). It’s as excruciating as it sounds.
Along comes Hegel. Hegel’s great contribution here is something he called the dialectic. This, actually, I find useful. It works like this: start with any cause or idea, and then what happens is that idea has an opposition, right. The “di” in dialectic means two. Got it? Ok, so the two ideas battle it out, side by side if you will and what results is either a compromise or an evolution or revolution of the two. This idea moves up, so to speak, forming a triangle. But, eventually, that idea will have its opposition beside it, they battle it out and a new idea forms… repeat. And that is how history happens, according to Hegel.
Just this week, I was reading TIME magazine and an article about stem cell research. It fits pretty well! Scientists discover the potential of stem cells (they are cellular blank slates that can be grown to be any necessary tissue needed in a body, either to create it or replace it.) But, this raised ethical questions primarily from how we obtain these cells which has been primarily from embryos (which God intended to be living babies, not scientific play-doh so to speak). So, one scientific reaction was to leave the US and continue researching in countries with less moral opposition. The other reaction was to stay, put on the moral straight jacket, and fumble along trying to make progress while still complying with the absurd restrictions and regulations. And what happened was one side discovered that they could make any cell into a stem cell by manipulating just four genes (so they could have stem cells without using embryos at all.) The other side discovered that they did not have to make blank slates anyway; they just need to reverse the cell back to where the problem started and then restart it again down the right path. And they started figuring out how to do that from the work of the other side realizing it was possible from any kind of cell. Hence, a dialectic model. It’s not that one side won or eliminated the other, but history moved forward (or up) as a development of both reacting to and with the other.
History may be interesting by itself. What I find much more interesting is the possibility of understanding where the present is going or what the future holds by understanding how history unfolds. I do not think people are meant to know the future entirely. But, I do think that anyone can use the dialectic model to gain a useful perspective on what may happen or is likely to happen.
It works for me.
I came across an old friend on Facebook who asked me, “Is this the Wayne that thought Hegel was a mad genius?”
Yeah, that‘s me. At least it was.
I was talking to a therapist once (well, there you go) who simply could not understand why The Matrix was such a popular movie. As I was explaining, it eventually dawned on me, “Oh, you don’t know anything about Hegel do you?”
If you study Philosophy, what the class is going to be like is a bunch of dudes who, in modern terms, just blogged about a bunch of crap that they thought explained the world. As useful as it is to understand the world, it is actually pretty difficult. So, it should not surprise you that all of their ideas are different.
What will surprise you is how anyone could actually stand this stuff for more than one semester, if that.
Philosophy is often difficult to read. For one thing, since even the dudes don’t want to give each other any credit, they feel compelled to justify their blather with logic. That is why Descartes came up with, “I think, therefore I am.” That was supposed to be the irrefutable starting point from which he could build upon to prove and explain the world as we know it. That is the kind of thing that makes a Philosopher famous.
Ok, except Paris Hilton is infinitely more famous, and not only has she done so without much evidence of thought, no one doubts that she exists. But, who the hell is Descartes, right?
So, I came across this guy Hegel in a Modern Philosophy class. Oh, did I mention that I have a Philosophy minor from college? Hegel had the audacity to suggest that it was just as plausible to explain the world and how it worked if you suggest that the world is basically a giant dollhouse for some great someone or something. Basically, some big child was just playing with play-doh, creating whatever it desired and then playing out whatever it imagined. Or, maybe more accurately some kid playing with an ant farm we call earth—not really controlling the ants, but impacting and toying with their world so that everything they do is reaction to or management of the kids antics rather than what they could be doing if the kid would just get an iPod already.
But, I was studying all that before The Matrix was a movie. For some reason, when I came across Hegel, I got really intrigued. Maybe it was temporary insanity. Maybe it was just that it was so different from the “I think, therefore…” type of logic puzzle that everyone else was proposing. In any case, it was much more fun. It was much more interesting to start thinking about, “Well, if that is true then…” which is pretty much what me and this friend of mine did. It was the most fun I had in Philosophy.
But, eventually, we came to our senses. It may have had something to do with a meeting we had with the instructor wherein he stared at us incredulously and basically replied, “Really? Hegel?”
And that is pretty much the problem with taking any philosophical idea too seriously. It eventually ends up more like science fiction fantastic fun than real world applicable.
But, The Matrix is essentially what Hegel was suggesting. So, imagine my shock when the movie came out and suggested that it could be, in a way. Imagine, further, that people like Prince (The Artist, or TAFKAP) took it kinda seriously and encouraged people to snap out of it. Of course, to do that you have to find Morpheus and swallow the red pill and get flushed. Hegel never mentioned that. I bet Prince knew, though.
Ok, let’s shift gears for a minute. A couple semesters later, I came across Hegel again. This time, the class was The Philosophy of History. Mind you, that is not the History of Philosophy, which almost makes sense even if you would never go to college if you fully understood that you would have to take such a class. But the Philosophy of History? Really? This is debatable? Apparently so. What’s it about? It’s a bunch of dudes blogging about the system by which History unfolds like some great novel, or the implicit shortcomings of trying to understand history from any one vantage point (begging the question of how many would be necessary). It’s as excruciating as it sounds.
Along comes Hegel. Hegel’s great contribution here is something he called the dialectic. This, actually, I find useful. It works like this: start with any cause or idea, and then what happens is that idea has an opposition, right. The “di” in dialectic means two. Got it? Ok, so the two ideas battle it out, side by side if you will and what results is either a compromise or an evolution or revolution of the two. This idea moves up, so to speak, forming a triangle. But, eventually, that idea will have its opposition beside it, they battle it out and a new idea forms… repeat. And that is how history happens, according to Hegel.
Just this week, I was reading TIME magazine and an article about stem cell research. It fits pretty well! Scientists discover the potential of stem cells (they are cellular blank slates that can be grown to be any necessary tissue needed in a body, either to create it or replace it.) But, this raised ethical questions primarily from how we obtain these cells which has been primarily from embryos (which God intended to be living babies, not scientific play-doh so to speak). So, one scientific reaction was to leave the US and continue researching in countries with less moral opposition. The other reaction was to stay, put on the moral straight jacket, and fumble along trying to make progress while still complying with the absurd restrictions and regulations. And what happened was one side discovered that they could make any cell into a stem cell by manipulating just four genes (so they could have stem cells without using embryos at all.) The other side discovered that they did not have to make blank slates anyway; they just need to reverse the cell back to where the problem started and then restart it again down the right path. And they started figuring out how to do that from the work of the other side realizing it was possible from any kind of cell. Hence, a dialectic model. It’s not that one side won or eliminated the other, but history moved forward (or up) as a development of both reacting to and with the other.
History may be interesting by itself. What I find much more interesting is the possibility of understanding where the present is going or what the future holds by understanding how history unfolds. I do not think people are meant to know the future entirely. But, I do think that anyone can use the dialectic model to gain a useful perspective on what may happen or is likely to happen.
It works for me.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
25 Random Things...
1. I have done this maybe 100 times over the last 30 years in different ways either in my head (very frequently) in various forms of expression, on paper scraps only I will see, or in a blog. It's knowing someone else might actually read it that bothers me. I am introspective by nature. I am also extremely sensitive about being judged.
2. I read an article in Time magazine about borderline personalities. It described the condition as having no emotional skin (as opposed to people who have "thick skin" who are not bothered by the opinions of others.) I thought that just might be my problem. But, I have a habit of doing that-- learning something new and then wondering if it applies directly to me.
3. I love to write. I don't write professionally in any way for anyone or any reason other than I like to do it. I enjoy it very much when someone enjoys my writing, but I don't want the responsibility that goes with asking or suggesting someone read something I wrote. I have to know I can trust you first.
4. I don't trust people very easily. Maybe not at all. I am not a misanthrope. I want people to feel comfortable, entertained, and affirmed by being around me. But, when it comes to needing something, I'd rather just do it myself, be independent. Everyone has their limitations and imperfections and I am as bad as the worst of them. I'd rather not put anyone in a position where they can fail. Whatever you do or don't do is ok. You did your best. Thanks.
5. I hated being a salesman. See #4. There was a time when I thought it would be really great idea and I really jumped into the training. After a while, all the technique turned into manipulation and I couldn't see it any other way any more. That, plus all the pressure to sell more more more made the notion that I was trying to benefit the customer more than the company disingenuous.
6. I enjoy learning. I feel alive when absorbing information the way a "people person" in energized by interacting with people. On the other hand, interacting with people usually exhausts me.
7. I used to think I loved teaching. Close, but not quite. What I enjoy is answering questions. I would love to explain something to you, if you want. I probably can put it in terms you will understand and remember and even use. But, if you come in like most students do and sit there almost defiant to learning, I couldn't care less if we both just took a nap instead. I admire teachers because they teach anyway, and are skilled at drawing the students in.
8. I could watch movies all day, every day, I think. Part of it is the escapism, but the bigger part is being drawn in to another idea. It's related to the learning thing, just in a more relaxed form.
9. I love the beauty of nature. I can see beauty in many different settings. It makes me feel connected to the Creator. I believe in creationism.
10. The way I see it, I became a Christian only at about age 33. That all begs the question of how does one become a Christian which is a discussion I'm not going to get into here. I know this: it was life-altering-supernatural. Born again? Couldn't have said it any better.
11. There was time when I was so fed up and confused I couldn't explain whether I was an atheist or agnostic or anything at all. This attracted the attention of some well-meaning Christians who wanted to help me out. They couldn't even come close to answering my questions. Looking back, my heart goes out to them, along with a sincere thank you that they came along, but they never got through. Looking back, I am disappointed that they were so bad at answering important questions. Looking back, it was all part of a larger plan.
12. I am half-way through this thing and it seems like the worst idea I've had all week. If you are reading this, I am genuinely surprised I let that happen.
13. I was very successful in school. I am not as smart as people think I am. I doubt there is anything impressive about my IQ and I wonder if I will ever get a reliable number to reference there. I know my limitations with math, which seems to be a big part of it.
14. I am a slow reader. I know many people who can read a 200-page book in 2 hours. I would probably take 2 days or maybe all week. For one thing, I struggle to sit still reading for very long. But, even then after 2 hours I wouldn't be half done.
15. I don't type correctly. I try, but I have an old, bad habit. When I was taking typing class in junior high, I started doing this thing where I would type with only about three fingers from each hand and just move them as necessary to the closest key. Blame it on the speed tests. I learned a way to be faster, rather than correct-er.
16. I consider myself to be clever. That's my word for it. MacGuyver was clever, if that helps. It's the concept of seeing a solution in a situation. Some of that is drawing from the clues that the available resources present. Whatever. I enjoy figuring out a way to get it done. I just think and the idea pops into my head. It's not the same as memorizing solutions.
17. The problem with random is the randomness. I do much better with structure. I could blather on and on about mundane nothingness. On the other hand, I could also write 25 jokes or 25 rhymes, or 25 things far more interesting than this. Don't you wish I had?
18. Ok, I just going to finish this and let the chips fall as they may. In junior high I was totally into Breakdancing. The only thing I can really do is Moonwalk. I saw Michael Jackson do it on Motown's 25 Anniversary and thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I thought it was an illusion at first. Do it right and it looks like walking, but moving backwards. Do it wrong and doesn't look like anything worthwhile. Eddy Murphy had a whole bit on that.
19. I am at least 6'1"... taller in shoes, etc. My wife (and her family) thinks I'm tall. I was always the shortest kid in class, or close. I didn't grow until my Junior year in HS. I knew I would eventually.
20. I enjoy my job. I drive a forklift. There is not much impressive about that and I don't care. I have no interest in moving into management. I thoroughly enjoy making the machine do things all day, with finesse! I thoroughly hate trying to make people do things.
21. I love my wife. It has taken great effort to learn how to do that. I am still learning. You remember Jerry MacGuire and that whole "you complete me" thing? Here's the deal kids: that means you have to be humble enough to admit you are incomplete. It means compromise. Mostly it means a whole bunch of really listening. It sounds great. It is. But, just try and do it.
22. I have a great memory. Unfortunately, it is sporadically selective. I can remember events with great detail from my early childhood and every year between. But, my wife can tell me something I have to do on Saturday while she is at work and by Thursday all I can remember is something important is happening Saturday. One of us has to write it down.
23. Lots of people say they are losing their mind. I just have more proof... and a prescription.
24. I have photographic evidence that the world used to be black and white. My daughter fell for that one anyway.
25. I would much rather answer your direct questions.
2. I read an article in Time magazine about borderline personalities. It described the condition as having no emotional skin (as opposed to people who have "thick skin" who are not bothered by the opinions of others.) I thought that just might be my problem. But, I have a habit of doing that-- learning something new and then wondering if it applies directly to me.
3. I love to write. I don't write professionally in any way for anyone or any reason other than I like to do it. I enjoy it very much when someone enjoys my writing, but I don't want the responsibility that goes with asking or suggesting someone read something I wrote. I have to know I can trust you first.
4. I don't trust people very easily. Maybe not at all. I am not a misanthrope. I want people to feel comfortable, entertained, and affirmed by being around me. But, when it comes to needing something, I'd rather just do it myself, be independent. Everyone has their limitations and imperfections and I am as bad as the worst of them. I'd rather not put anyone in a position where they can fail. Whatever you do or don't do is ok. You did your best. Thanks.
5. I hated being a salesman. See #4. There was a time when I thought it would be really great idea and I really jumped into the training. After a while, all the technique turned into manipulation and I couldn't see it any other way any more. That, plus all the pressure to sell more more more made the notion that I was trying to benefit the customer more than the company disingenuous.
6. I enjoy learning. I feel alive when absorbing information the way a "people person" in energized by interacting with people. On the other hand, interacting with people usually exhausts me.
7. I used to think I loved teaching. Close, but not quite. What I enjoy is answering questions. I would love to explain something to you, if you want. I probably can put it in terms you will understand and remember and even use. But, if you come in like most students do and sit there almost defiant to learning, I couldn't care less if we both just took a nap instead. I admire teachers because they teach anyway, and are skilled at drawing the students in.
8. I could watch movies all day, every day, I think. Part of it is the escapism, but the bigger part is being drawn in to another idea. It's related to the learning thing, just in a more relaxed form.
9. I love the beauty of nature. I can see beauty in many different settings. It makes me feel connected to the Creator. I believe in creationism.
10. The way I see it, I became a Christian only at about age 33. That all begs the question of how does one become a Christian which is a discussion I'm not going to get into here. I know this: it was life-altering-supernatural. Born again? Couldn't have said it any better.
11. There was time when I was so fed up and confused I couldn't explain whether I was an atheist or agnostic or anything at all. This attracted the attention of some well-meaning Christians who wanted to help me out. They couldn't even come close to answering my questions. Looking back, my heart goes out to them, along with a sincere thank you that they came along, but they never got through. Looking back, I am disappointed that they were so bad at answering important questions. Looking back, it was all part of a larger plan.
12. I am half-way through this thing and it seems like the worst idea I've had all week. If you are reading this, I am genuinely surprised I let that happen.
13. I was very successful in school. I am not as smart as people think I am. I doubt there is anything impressive about my IQ and I wonder if I will ever get a reliable number to reference there. I know my limitations with math, which seems to be a big part of it.
14. I am a slow reader. I know many people who can read a 200-page book in 2 hours. I would probably take 2 days or maybe all week. For one thing, I struggle to sit still reading for very long. But, even then after 2 hours I wouldn't be half done.
15. I don't type correctly. I try, but I have an old, bad habit. When I was taking typing class in junior high, I started doing this thing where I would type with only about three fingers from each hand and just move them as necessary to the closest key. Blame it on the speed tests. I learned a way to be faster, rather than correct-er.
16. I consider myself to be clever. That's my word for it. MacGuyver was clever, if that helps. It's the concept of seeing a solution in a situation. Some of that is drawing from the clues that the available resources present. Whatever. I enjoy figuring out a way to get it done. I just think and the idea pops into my head. It's not the same as memorizing solutions.
17. The problem with random is the randomness. I do much better with structure. I could blather on and on about mundane nothingness. On the other hand, I could also write 25 jokes or 25 rhymes, or 25 things far more interesting than this. Don't you wish I had?
18. Ok, I just going to finish this and let the chips fall as they may. In junior high I was totally into Breakdancing. The only thing I can really do is Moonwalk. I saw Michael Jackson do it on Motown's 25 Anniversary and thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I thought it was an illusion at first. Do it right and it looks like walking, but moving backwards. Do it wrong and doesn't look like anything worthwhile. Eddy Murphy had a whole bit on that.
19. I am at least 6'1"... taller in shoes, etc. My wife (and her family) thinks I'm tall. I was always the shortest kid in class, or close. I didn't grow until my Junior year in HS. I knew I would eventually.
20. I enjoy my job. I drive a forklift. There is not much impressive about that and I don't care. I have no interest in moving into management. I thoroughly enjoy making the machine do things all day, with finesse! I thoroughly hate trying to make people do things.
21. I love my wife. It has taken great effort to learn how to do that. I am still learning. You remember Jerry MacGuire and that whole "you complete me" thing? Here's the deal kids: that means you have to be humble enough to admit you are incomplete. It means compromise. Mostly it means a whole bunch of really listening. It sounds great. It is. But, just try and do it.
22. I have a great memory. Unfortunately, it is sporadically selective. I can remember events with great detail from my early childhood and every year between. But, my wife can tell me something I have to do on Saturday while she is at work and by Thursday all I can remember is something important is happening Saturday. One of us has to write it down.
23. Lots of people say they are losing their mind. I just have more proof... and a prescription.
24. I have photographic evidence that the world used to be black and white. My daughter fell for that one anyway.
25. I would much rather answer your direct questions.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Why I am not a Rock Star
Why am I not a rockstar?
I'm just not angry enough.
Dee Snider said the same thing. You remember him? He was front man for Twisted Sister. Now they were rock stars back in the day. You wanted to buy their music just because the cover was enough to freak out your parents. That's a good quality in a rock star. They sang songs like "We're Not Gonna Take It" which is a perfect example of that anger thing. But a person can't fake that or the audience will see right through it. If you are a happy, content, peacefull person, you can't get up on stage and get 30,000 fans screaming about angst.
One reason teenagers are such fans of rock stars is they know angst. When you are a parent, you just roll your eyes at such things. Yeah, kids have it so tough. Parents can only dream of how good kids have it-- free rent, free food, lots of spare time, few responsibilities if any, expendable income. Yet, the kids totally identify with angst-- oppression, futility, being stifled, bad hair.
P!nk is a rock star. Only a rock star would write So What! But, then, divorces have been known to make people angry. I don't think she needs much of a reason, though. She writes a song that says, "I just lost my husband... so what?" and then makes a video showing her getting the word VOID tattoed over her previous tatoo of her husband. She also has him appear in the video. Rock Star.
The Who became famous for smashing their instruments. Now, there you go! The Who were talented, many of their songs are classics that will be played for a long time yet. But, seriously, you could fire up a crowd of teenagers doing nothing more than wrecking stuff-- especially if you let them join in. Might be expensive, though. Booking could also be a challenge.
Speaking of wrecking stuff, some genius decided to re-create Woodstock a few years ago, except they neglected to order enough porta-potties and they created a monopoly of concessions that totally gouged their prices. So, Limp Bizkit gets on stage and "sings" one of their hits aptly titled Break Stuff. Which is exactly what the crowd did. Rock Star.
Tom Petty, Paul McCartney, and now Bruce Springstein were all old geezers and had been for a long time when they got booked for SuperBowl appearances, and then delivered in a big way. Rock Star.
Def Leppard drummer Rick Allen had a really cool, superfast Corvette. Big deal. But, then he got drunk and crashed it, getting his arm ripped off by the seatbelt. Drummers need their arms, as a rule. But, Rick figured out how to make his feet do double duty of what they always did in addition to what his arm used to do. Def Leppard continued to tour. Rock Star.
Wayne Winkler was last chair saxophone his Sophomore year in high school. The director needed a soloist for a particular song. He started at the first chair and went down the line. Miraculously, they all choked. Wayne could play this! He had been practicing. As the others tried, Wayne was doing the fingering. This was totally do-able. When Wayne's turn came up... the blood rushed out of his head, he probably did play some notes, but can't remember and it was all he could do to keep from fainting. Rock Star? No!
Not that I don't get angry, though. What I have learned, though, is that my anger almost always comes from unrealized expectations. When I get up in the middle of the night, I expect to walk through my house without stubbing my toe on anything. Doesn't always happen. What's the problem? The room is too small, the "whatever" shouldn't be there, I hate the layout, it wasn't my idea but I was "overruled" I hate that paint color and the curtains... But, then, I could have been more careful or used a light, too.
That's what growing out of the teen age years can do for you: it can make you smart enough to accept the things you cannot change, to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference. It can also make you old enough to drink legally.
I'm just not angry enough.
Dee Snider said the same thing. You remember him? He was front man for Twisted Sister. Now they were rock stars back in the day. You wanted to buy their music just because the cover was enough to freak out your parents. That's a good quality in a rock star. They sang songs like "We're Not Gonna Take It" which is a perfect example of that anger thing. But a person can't fake that or the audience will see right through it. If you are a happy, content, peacefull person, you can't get up on stage and get 30,000 fans screaming about angst.
One reason teenagers are such fans of rock stars is they know angst. When you are a parent, you just roll your eyes at such things. Yeah, kids have it so tough. Parents can only dream of how good kids have it-- free rent, free food, lots of spare time, few responsibilities if any, expendable income. Yet, the kids totally identify with angst-- oppression, futility, being stifled, bad hair.
P!nk is a rock star. Only a rock star would write So What! But, then, divorces have been known to make people angry. I don't think she needs much of a reason, though. She writes a song that says, "I just lost my husband... so what?" and then makes a video showing her getting the word VOID tattoed over her previous tatoo of her husband. She also has him appear in the video. Rock Star.
The Who became famous for smashing their instruments. Now, there you go! The Who were talented, many of their songs are classics that will be played for a long time yet. But, seriously, you could fire up a crowd of teenagers doing nothing more than wrecking stuff-- especially if you let them join in. Might be expensive, though. Booking could also be a challenge.
Speaking of wrecking stuff, some genius decided to re-create Woodstock a few years ago, except they neglected to order enough porta-potties and they created a monopoly of concessions that totally gouged their prices. So, Limp Bizkit gets on stage and "sings" one of their hits aptly titled Break Stuff. Which is exactly what the crowd did. Rock Star.
Tom Petty, Paul McCartney, and now Bruce Springstein were all old geezers and had been for a long time when they got booked for SuperBowl appearances, and then delivered in a big way. Rock Star.
Def Leppard drummer Rick Allen had a really cool, superfast Corvette. Big deal. But, then he got drunk and crashed it, getting his arm ripped off by the seatbelt. Drummers need their arms, as a rule. But, Rick figured out how to make his feet do double duty of what they always did in addition to what his arm used to do. Def Leppard continued to tour. Rock Star.
Wayne Winkler was last chair saxophone his Sophomore year in high school. The director needed a soloist for a particular song. He started at the first chair and went down the line. Miraculously, they all choked. Wayne could play this! He had been practicing. As the others tried, Wayne was doing the fingering. This was totally do-able. When Wayne's turn came up... the blood rushed out of his head, he probably did play some notes, but can't remember and it was all he could do to keep from fainting. Rock Star? No!
Not that I don't get angry, though. What I have learned, though, is that my anger almost always comes from unrealized expectations. When I get up in the middle of the night, I expect to walk through my house without stubbing my toe on anything. Doesn't always happen. What's the problem? The room is too small, the "whatever" shouldn't be there, I hate the layout, it wasn't my idea but I was "overruled" I hate that paint color and the curtains... But, then, I could have been more careful or used a light, too.
That's what growing out of the teen age years can do for you: it can make you smart enough to accept the things you cannot change, to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference. It can also make you old enough to drink legally.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
What I Love About My Wife
This can’t just be a list, you know? Behind every simple thing I love about her there is a whole big, complicated thing. Behind everything there is a history.
We met at a mutual friend’s party. Mostly. Technically, we knew each other before then, mostly as friends of friends, and we both worked on the college newspaper staff. Also, she worked at the post office at the college, so I would see her back there when I checked my mail and she could see me, but we never had a conversation there that I can remember. So, she was at this party and I was at this party and she looked dreadfully bored. And cute. So, I took a picture of her. Later, the idea came up that we should go to Kilroy’s. I cleverly stated that I was only going to go if Patsy would dance with me. For some wonderful reason, her reaction was to come over and slow dance with me right there! There wasn’t even any music playing. There are pictures of this, too. I remember that she fit perfectly under my chin in that position. That’s one thing I adore about her—she fits.
At the end of that night (I’ll spare you all the details, partly because she has her own less than flattering story to tell about this gap in time) I told her I would call her. So, the next day I called. Mostly, I just said that I am calling because I said I would call. I am not a great conversationalist. In some of our early calls, I was watching Cheers on TV and I warned her that I may drift in and out of attention because of it. Pretty charming, huh? Our early dates include a movie that I wanted to see that she hated (Under Siege, with Steven Seagal) that included Erika Eleniak popping out of a cake (she remembers that part). She later described this date as “odd.” We also went to a friend of mine’s apartment (he had a family) where we had a more normal time except when I became fascinated by the glass snack dish they had in the shape of a treble clef and I wanted to find out where it’s center of gravity/balancing point was (because it has to have one and it’s such a non-obvious shape). She was more worried about the breakability of the dish, naturally. And yet, she has stuck with me all these years. So, that’s another thing I adore about her—she forgives.
I grew up in a big family—seven kids. Her family was not as big—three kids. She was the youngest, I was the middle child. She grew up in Minnesota; I grew up in North Dakota. We both grew up in rural homes. We both adore the Holiday Season. We both love our families. We both feel welcome at each other’s families (though the sheer size of mine and the nuances of that are easily overwhelming to outsiders.) When I look back on the turning points of our relationship, of when I started thinking “I knew” this was the right decision, meeting her family was a big part of it. We both had the same value for family. We share the same ideas about family: its role, its boundaries, its sacrifice. We talk about how our parents are similar (for better and worse). We agree on how many kids we should have. We have similar parenting goals, but different, complimentary styles. We love each other (verb) and love love itself (noun). So, I love my wife’s sense of family and her enormous contribution to ours.
Ever since her quirky reaction to my quirky dancing request, my lovely bride has been making me laugh. To be honest, I have always been suspicious about people that say that about their marriages. I don’t always laugh. My life is not 24/7 laughter, not even close. I’m not saying that to complain, rather I say that because it makes me appreciate the laughter when it shows up. Often, what she makes me laugh about most is myself. Ok, she laughs at me quite often. She and our daughter laugh about me quite often. It’s just one of the many services I provide, evidently. One of the greatest services she provides, though, is this constant, stream-of-consciousness, bippy little comic relief. Our family is full of running jokes, inside jokes, characters and voices. My wife is funny.
When we encounter a lull in our communication, one thing we can always talk about is football. There are many guys out there who have wives and girl-friends who hate football (my wife's sister is NOT a fan.) I am blessed to have a bride who is both friend and colleague of the game. She is a Vikings fan, sure, but she can talk about the whole NFL. When we are not cheering for the Vikings, we also enjoy cheering against various other teams that have earned her ire for one reason or another. Of course the Packers have to lose every game, what with the rivalry and all. Any team that Brett Favre is on has to lose, and it is even better when Brett gets intercepted, sacked… anything contributing to a bad game. Same is true for Randy Moss, since he is clearly a traitor. She is very annoyed by Peyton Manning for some reason (maybe it’s all the commercials) but she just generally hates the Colts’ “costumes” (they’re too plain.) It’s loads of fun. We have a running joke about “Coach Patsy” since she would clearly be an improvement to any sideline.
My wife and I compliment each other. You've heard the phrase "better half"? That's what I'm talking about. Which means I am only half of the whole. Did you ever see the movie Jerry Macguire? The movie melted a lot of women's hearts with its line, "You complete me." That's what I'm talking about. But I am not so young and naive that I don't know what it really means. A good marriage is two people who know what these phrases mean. Here's one of my favorite examples: my wife washes the dishes and I put them away. She does not like to put the dishes away, but she does not feel burdened to wash them, she actually enjoys that time a little (we put them in a rack and they air-dry). She puts on her favorite music, and goes to it. I am not fond of washing the dishes, but I enjoy putting them away. I see the stack of clean, dry dishes and it is as natural as breathing to just put them in the cupboard, drawer, etc. We compliment each other. But... we may never remodel our kitchen because we cannot agree on how it should be done. This is the not-so-obvious part of "you complete me." See, neither one of us can pull rank if we are half the whole. I can't say, "I'm the man. I am head of the family..." and she can't say, "I am the woman. I have nesting instincts and better design skills. I'm not bossy, I just have better ideas!" (I know a woman who has that hanging in her kitchen). What has to happen is we need to work through it: we need to listen, we need to think, we need to reconsider, we need to compromise, etc. We compliment each other because we are different, not because we have so much in common. Do you understand that? People think they fall in love because of what they have in common. Falling in love is not enough to stay married. Learning how to complete each other-- learning how to be completed! That's what a marriage lives on, IMHO.
When our daughter was very young, she already had many stuffed animals, especially beanie babies. She would literally squeel with delight if you animate it (make it act like it is talking, walking... basically turn it into a puppet). My lovely bride was the same way as a child, she tells me. To this day, both of them very much enjoy doing that. They all have a different voice, different personality, and they...talk...constantly. So, really, our house is full and crowded. Lately, the emphasis has been on monkeys. I embrace all of this. As I finally declared to my daughter: monkey chatter is a sign of health and prosperity.
So far, the plan is to never really be finished with this entry. Mostly, that is because I should and will always be thinking of more and deeper ways that I love her. Also, since it is story based, there will always be more stories.
But, for fun, I'll end with a quote from one of my favorite poems (which I won't name because the rest of it does not fit so well with the tone here): "...For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams... and the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride..."
We met at a mutual friend’s party. Mostly. Technically, we knew each other before then, mostly as friends of friends, and we both worked on the college newspaper staff. Also, she worked at the post office at the college, so I would see her back there when I checked my mail and she could see me, but we never had a conversation there that I can remember. So, she was at this party and I was at this party and she looked dreadfully bored. And cute. So, I took a picture of her. Later, the idea came up that we should go to Kilroy’s. I cleverly stated that I was only going to go if Patsy would dance with me. For some wonderful reason, her reaction was to come over and slow dance with me right there! There wasn’t even any music playing. There are pictures of this, too. I remember that she fit perfectly under my chin in that position. That’s one thing I adore about her—she fits.
At the end of that night (I’ll spare you all the details, partly because she has her own less than flattering story to tell about this gap in time) I told her I would call her. So, the next day I called. Mostly, I just said that I am calling because I said I would call. I am not a great conversationalist. In some of our early calls, I was watching Cheers on TV and I warned her that I may drift in and out of attention because of it. Pretty charming, huh? Our early dates include a movie that I wanted to see that she hated (Under Siege, with Steven Seagal) that included Erika Eleniak popping out of a cake (she remembers that part). She later described this date as “odd.” We also went to a friend of mine’s apartment (he had a family) where we had a more normal time except when I became fascinated by the glass snack dish they had in the shape of a treble clef and I wanted to find out where it’s center of gravity/balancing point was (because it has to have one and it’s such a non-obvious shape). She was more worried about the breakability of the dish, naturally. And yet, she has stuck with me all these years. So, that’s another thing I adore about her—she forgives.
I grew up in a big family—seven kids. Her family was not as big—three kids. She was the youngest, I was the middle child. She grew up in Minnesota; I grew up in North Dakota. We both grew up in rural homes. We both adore the Holiday Season. We both love our families. We both feel welcome at each other’s families (though the sheer size of mine and the nuances of that are easily overwhelming to outsiders.) When I look back on the turning points of our relationship, of when I started thinking “I knew” this was the right decision, meeting her family was a big part of it. We both had the same value for family. We share the same ideas about family: its role, its boundaries, its sacrifice. We talk about how our parents are similar (for better and worse). We agree on how many kids we should have. We have similar parenting goals, but different, complimentary styles. We love each other (verb) and love love itself (noun). So, I love my wife’s sense of family and her enormous contribution to ours.
Ever since her quirky reaction to my quirky dancing request, my lovely bride has been making me laugh. To be honest, I have always been suspicious about people that say that about their marriages. I don’t always laugh. My life is not 24/7 laughter, not even close. I’m not saying that to complain, rather I say that because it makes me appreciate the laughter when it shows up. Often, what she makes me laugh about most is myself. Ok, she laughs at me quite often. She and our daughter laugh about me quite often. It’s just one of the many services I provide, evidently. One of the greatest services she provides, though, is this constant, stream-of-consciousness, bippy little comic relief. Our family is full of running jokes, inside jokes, characters and voices. My wife is funny.
When we encounter a lull in our communication, one thing we can always talk about is football. There are many guys out there who have wives and girl-friends who hate football (my wife's sister is NOT a fan.) I am blessed to have a bride who is both friend and colleague of the game. She is a Vikings fan, sure, but she can talk about the whole NFL. When we are not cheering for the Vikings, we also enjoy cheering against various other teams that have earned her ire for one reason or another. Of course the Packers have to lose every game, what with the rivalry and all. Any team that Brett Favre is on has to lose, and it is even better when Brett gets intercepted, sacked… anything contributing to a bad game. Same is true for Randy Moss, since he is clearly a traitor. She is very annoyed by Peyton Manning for some reason (maybe it’s all the commercials) but she just generally hates the Colts’ “costumes” (they’re too plain.) It’s loads of fun. We have a running joke about “Coach Patsy” since she would clearly be an improvement to any sideline.
My wife and I compliment each other. You've heard the phrase "better half"? That's what I'm talking about. Which means I am only half of the whole. Did you ever see the movie Jerry Macguire? The movie melted a lot of women's hearts with its line, "You complete me." That's what I'm talking about. But I am not so young and naive that I don't know what it really means. A good marriage is two people who know what these phrases mean. Here's one of my favorite examples: my wife washes the dishes and I put them away. She does not like to put the dishes away, but she does not feel burdened to wash them, she actually enjoys that time a little (we put them in a rack and they air-dry). She puts on her favorite music, and goes to it. I am not fond of washing the dishes, but I enjoy putting them away. I see the stack of clean, dry dishes and it is as natural as breathing to just put them in the cupboard, drawer, etc. We compliment each other. But... we may never remodel our kitchen because we cannot agree on how it should be done. This is the not-so-obvious part of "you complete me." See, neither one of us can pull rank if we are half the whole. I can't say, "I'm the man. I am head of the family..." and she can't say, "I am the woman. I have nesting instincts and better design skills. I'm not bossy, I just have better ideas!" (I know a woman who has that hanging in her kitchen). What has to happen is we need to work through it: we need to listen, we need to think, we need to reconsider, we need to compromise, etc. We compliment each other because we are different, not because we have so much in common. Do you understand that? People think they fall in love because of what they have in common. Falling in love is not enough to stay married. Learning how to complete each other-- learning how to be completed! That's what a marriage lives on, IMHO.
When our daughter was very young, she already had many stuffed animals, especially beanie babies. She would literally squeel with delight if you animate it (make it act like it is talking, walking... basically turn it into a puppet). My lovely bride was the same way as a child, she tells me. To this day, both of them very much enjoy doing that. They all have a different voice, different personality, and they...talk...constantly. So, really, our house is full and crowded. Lately, the emphasis has been on monkeys. I embrace all of this. As I finally declared to my daughter: monkey chatter is a sign of health and prosperity.
So far, the plan is to never really be finished with this entry. Mostly, that is because I should and will always be thinking of more and deeper ways that I love her. Also, since it is story based, there will always be more stories.
But, for fun, I'll end with a quote from one of my favorite poems (which I won't name because the rest of it does not fit so well with the tone here): "...For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams... and the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride..."
Monday, January 26, 2009
Pro Choice
This is not an article about abortion. This is an article about choice itself.
But, let's use abortion as an example. Here's the thing: if it ever came to pass that laws making abortion illegal were constitutional (i.e. reverse Roe v. Wade) you would not stop abortions from happening. If you destroyed and/or closed every abortion service provider in the world, you would not stop abortion from happening. Even if you could convince the entire world to agree that conception creates a human life as complete as you or I standing there, you would not stop abortions from happening.
Let's consider another equally divisive choice: gun control. Go ahead, remove the 2nd amendment of the Constitution. Pass another amendment that said it never existed in the first place, if you want. You can even go so far as to master time travel and go back to the creation of the Bill of Rights and talk them out of ever writing it down. You still won't prevent deaths or injury or even crimes that involve guns. Technically, if it were possible to physically remove every gun from the face of the earth and prevent the manufacture of any more, you could eliminate the aforementioned atrocities involving guns. But, you wouldn't prevent the atrocities themselves (murder, injury, and crime).
God created humans with choices. No human or human effort is going to change that. Even denying the existence of God and creation will not change that. It is at the very core of being human to make choices. With great effort and extreme cruelty it is possible to prevent a given human from the outward expression or outcomes of their choices (did you every see the movie Boxing Helena?) But you cannot prevent them from making choices in their mind, and really all you end up doing is making choices for them, not actually eliminating choice itself.
Saying you are pro-choice is technically redundant. If you "are" you are. It is more accurate to say you are pro-abortion or anti-abortion, that you support the use of firearms or oppose their use.
Can choice, itself, be a "bad" thing? Consult the creator on that one. Or don't, it's your choice.
I cannot presume to know why God would do anything, but I can easily understand one good explanation why He would create free will: without it, love cannot exist. Unless his beloved humans can choose to love Him, love cannot be (He could create another creature to do so instead of humans, but that fails to grasp the nature of God--God does not make junk, nor does He need duplicity.) The same is true for our relationships, even if we fail to understand it. Love cannot be demanded, else it is not love. Of course, this whole point is premised with "God is love" and the Gospel of John literally states and the entire Bible notates and demonstrates. If God had no need for love, freewill would, likewise, be unnecessary. It's a corollary. It's a priori.
None of that is to say that people to not make "bad" choices. If a choice is an action, any action can have one or many negative consequence(s). The arguments around the examples I started with are all about one side trying to convince the other that their consequences are negative and, therefore, worthy of prevention or even elimination.
And neither side is going to win thinking like that.
The "battle" of good and evil is not our battle to fight or win, technically. We cannot create or eliminate either. It is not within human power. We do, however, have a role. We are part of the creation itself. Our actions do matter. We will even be accountable for our actions.
And yet, we are not responsible for the outcomes. That is to say, we are called to be faithful, not successful. The success is not ours to own.
We have only the choice to be faithful. Or not. It's as simple as that.
But, let's use abortion as an example. Here's the thing: if it ever came to pass that laws making abortion illegal were constitutional (i.e. reverse Roe v. Wade) you would not stop abortions from happening. If you destroyed and/or closed every abortion service provider in the world, you would not stop abortion from happening. Even if you could convince the entire world to agree that conception creates a human life as complete as you or I standing there, you would not stop abortions from happening.
Let's consider another equally divisive choice: gun control. Go ahead, remove the 2nd amendment of the Constitution. Pass another amendment that said it never existed in the first place, if you want. You can even go so far as to master time travel and go back to the creation of the Bill of Rights and talk them out of ever writing it down. You still won't prevent deaths or injury or even crimes that involve guns. Technically, if it were possible to physically remove every gun from the face of the earth and prevent the manufacture of any more, you could eliminate the aforementioned atrocities involving guns. But, you wouldn't prevent the atrocities themselves (murder, injury, and crime).
God created humans with choices. No human or human effort is going to change that. Even denying the existence of God and creation will not change that. It is at the very core of being human to make choices. With great effort and extreme cruelty it is possible to prevent a given human from the outward expression or outcomes of their choices (did you every see the movie Boxing Helena?) But you cannot prevent them from making choices in their mind, and really all you end up doing is making choices for them, not actually eliminating choice itself.
Saying you are pro-choice is technically redundant. If you "are" you are. It is more accurate to say you are pro-abortion or anti-abortion, that you support the use of firearms or oppose their use.
Can choice, itself, be a "bad" thing? Consult the creator on that one. Or don't, it's your choice.
I cannot presume to know why God would do anything, but I can easily understand one good explanation why He would create free will: without it, love cannot exist. Unless his beloved humans can choose to love Him, love cannot be (He could create another creature to do so instead of humans, but that fails to grasp the nature of God--God does not make junk, nor does He need duplicity.) The same is true for our relationships, even if we fail to understand it. Love cannot be demanded, else it is not love. Of course, this whole point is premised with "God is love" and the Gospel of John literally states and the entire Bible notates and demonstrates. If God had no need for love, freewill would, likewise, be unnecessary. It's a corollary. It's a priori.
None of that is to say that people to not make "bad" choices. If a choice is an action, any action can have one or many negative consequence(s). The arguments around the examples I started with are all about one side trying to convince the other that their consequences are negative and, therefore, worthy of prevention or even elimination.
And neither side is going to win thinking like that.
The "battle" of good and evil is not our battle to fight or win, technically. We cannot create or eliminate either. It is not within human power. We do, however, have a role. We are part of the creation itself. Our actions do matter. We will even be accountable for our actions.
And yet, we are not responsible for the outcomes. That is to say, we are called to be faithful, not successful. The success is not ours to own.
We have only the choice to be faithful. Or not. It's as simple as that.
Musicians
I admire musicians. In fact, I have profound appreciation and respect for musicians.
I, however, fall into the category of audience. I am not completely music illiterate, I did play instruments in the past. I like to sing. My family likes when I sing. A musician, however, would not.
I am not a huge fan of American Idol specifically because I actually like musicians. Let's be honest here, many people tune in to watch people fail miserably. The early episodes of each season--the auditions-- are painful for me to watch. They are also some of the most popular. I have laughed along with the crowd, it's true ("...she bang! she bang!...) but I mostly end up feeling sorry and wondering what they could have possibly been thinking.
I took voice lessons for one semester in college. I took them because I wanted to be in the choir. The choir at JC is phenomenal. So, I started the choir and the lessons at the same time. I was booted from the choir after a few practices. I finished the semester with the lessons, though.
I, for one, think there is a huge difference between the way voice is taught in such lessons and what makes a good popular singer. You've seen them: they sound like opera singers (opera singers are phenomenal--at the opera) with lots of vibrato and wide open mouths. I just know that behind that audition is a lot of voice lessons and praise from teachers. It's almost criminal. Shouldn't such lessons come with a signed waiver that says, "I am training you to fit a specific school of voice pedagogy. This does not mean your singing will be popular with any given audience."
Just to make the point that American Idol is not necessarily good for musicians, consider this: The finalists for each season are chosen entirely by the judges for their demonstrable talent, yet the premise of every episode after that is to eliminate them for their lack of talent.
Only a few of the finalists, in my opinion, are genuine musicians. I don't just mean that they are singers but not musicians. I mean they lack the mastery of the medium. It could be that they are poorly managed, although I think a true musician would find their voice, their sound, their significance regardless. Such is the nature of gifts, of "destiny." One has only to look at the success of some of the "also rans" to see this truth.
One of my favorite movies is Amadeus. It is, presumably, the story of Wolgang Amadeus Mozart. I am not an expert on the fact vs. fiction of the film. I do know that the talent the film ascribes to Mozart just blows me away. When I listen to his music, I am inclined to believe the talent is not exaggerated. Of course, by virtually all accounts, he is in an extremely elite class of musicians.
I understand the concept of notes on a page. A musician looks at the same page and actually hears the sound in their head. Which is why I avoid singing around musicians. It does not matter that what I sang might be the same note, one octave lower or a note that harmonizes with the note on the page, it's still the wrong note, and they know it. I respect that. I'd much rather hear them, than join them anyway.
Does a musician singing alone in the woods make any sound? God put musicians on this earth to make beautiful music. God put me on this earth so that music would resonate in appreciative ears. They play their role and I play mine.
I, however, fall into the category of audience. I am not completely music illiterate, I did play instruments in the past. I like to sing. My family likes when I sing. A musician, however, would not.
I am not a huge fan of American Idol specifically because I actually like musicians. Let's be honest here, many people tune in to watch people fail miserably. The early episodes of each season--the auditions-- are painful for me to watch. They are also some of the most popular. I have laughed along with the crowd, it's true ("...she bang! she bang!...) but I mostly end up feeling sorry and wondering what they could have possibly been thinking.
I took voice lessons for one semester in college. I took them because I wanted to be in the choir. The choir at JC is phenomenal. So, I started the choir and the lessons at the same time. I was booted from the choir after a few practices. I finished the semester with the lessons, though.
I, for one, think there is a huge difference between the way voice is taught in such lessons and what makes a good popular singer. You've seen them: they sound like opera singers (opera singers are phenomenal--at the opera) with lots of vibrato and wide open mouths. I just know that behind that audition is a lot of voice lessons and praise from teachers. It's almost criminal. Shouldn't such lessons come with a signed waiver that says, "I am training you to fit a specific school of voice pedagogy. This does not mean your singing will be popular with any given audience."
Just to make the point that American Idol is not necessarily good for musicians, consider this: The finalists for each season are chosen entirely by the judges for their demonstrable talent, yet the premise of every episode after that is to eliminate them for their lack of talent.
Only a few of the finalists, in my opinion, are genuine musicians. I don't just mean that they are singers but not musicians. I mean they lack the mastery of the medium. It could be that they are poorly managed, although I think a true musician would find their voice, their sound, their significance regardless. Such is the nature of gifts, of "destiny." One has only to look at the success of some of the "also rans" to see this truth.
One of my favorite movies is Amadeus. It is, presumably, the story of Wolgang Amadeus Mozart. I am not an expert on the fact vs. fiction of the film. I do know that the talent the film ascribes to Mozart just blows me away. When I listen to his music, I am inclined to believe the talent is not exaggerated. Of course, by virtually all accounts, he is in an extremely elite class of musicians.
I understand the concept of notes on a page. A musician looks at the same page and actually hears the sound in their head. Which is why I avoid singing around musicians. It does not matter that what I sang might be the same note, one octave lower or a note that harmonizes with the note on the page, it's still the wrong note, and they know it. I respect that. I'd much rather hear them, than join them anyway.
Does a musician singing alone in the woods make any sound? God put musicians on this earth to make beautiful music. God put me on this earth so that music would resonate in appreciative ears. They play their role and I play mine.
Gay Rights, Minorities, Pro Choice...
Who cares what I think about any of these?
I am a straight, white, man, and I'm not even young enough for anyone to care about that either. My opinion is less than irrelevant. True, either side would happily accept my vote, but the loser wouldn't care less.
To many, I AM the problem. They actually go out of their way to nullify my opinion.
If I had money to donate to the cause, I would have to be anonymous because they wouldn't want to be associated with my demographic.
I wonder if it would matter if straight, white, middle-aged men were a minority? We probably are in some categories already.
Does it matter that I have friends who are proponents? I wonder. I wonder what would go first, the cause or the friendship if it came to that?
I could say that it is a relief not to need an opinion. I can just sit back and not say anything, and almost no one asks. I get dirty looks and blow-offs, but not questions.
Chances are the only reason you are reading this in the first place is that one of these is your issue, not mine.
Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes. I'll be glad to listen.
I am a straight, white, man, and I'm not even young enough for anyone to care about that either. My opinion is less than irrelevant. True, either side would happily accept my vote, but the loser wouldn't care less.
To many, I AM the problem. They actually go out of their way to nullify my opinion.
If I had money to donate to the cause, I would have to be anonymous because they wouldn't want to be associated with my demographic.
I wonder if it would matter if straight, white, middle-aged men were a minority? We probably are in some categories already.
Does it matter that I have friends who are proponents? I wonder. I wonder what would go first, the cause or the friendship if it came to that?
I could say that it is a relief not to need an opinion. I can just sit back and not say anything, and almost no one asks. I get dirty looks and blow-offs, but not questions.
Chances are the only reason you are reading this in the first place is that one of these is your issue, not mine.
Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes. I'll be glad to listen.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Hockey (wormhole trip to Collegian)
(This is a re-print of a column written for the JC Collegian 3/28/91)
This is the sequel to my last column. Therefore, it is also the story of the time my brother and I beat each other to exhaustion and tears.
First of all, I have to tell you about hockey. It's a cool game. I am always amazed at the skating ability of these players. They're so busy with strategy and dorky rules that they probably don't even realize that they're traveling at 20mph backwards!
It's also a cool game because, basically, it's socially acceptable violence. Hockey has what is called a "check." Basically, you can slam into a player and dump them on their butt with any amount of force you can muster legally! I think this was originally legalized because the first players weren't as good of players and collisions were so frequent that this was a necessary rule for the sake of the game. Nowadays, it's clearly done on purpose. So, that's hockey as I see it.
Like I said, I admire the skaters. This is probably, at least in part, due to the fact that I cannot skate well. I know this because I've tried.
When I was a youngun back on the farm, we used to clear off the ice and entertain ourselves. Such entertainment led, inevitably, to hockey. We never had a real puck, though. We sometimes used a tin can, but the best substitute was a chunk of ice. Ice chunks slid better but they were harder to see. We didn't have real sticks either, we had real sticks like, from trees.
But we made due. Like any handicap, we learned to play around it. We made due so well, in fact, that John had actually mastered the art of "lifting." (That's hockey lingo for lifting the puck off the ice with a shot so that it travels through the air rather than across the ice. Learn somethin' new everyday.) This technique is much harder to defend against and that makes it an admirable talent. I couldn't do this either.
But, John had mastered it. He could lift it, slide it, slap hanging curveballs, and smash dropping sliders. Not really, but it lifted when he wanted it to and it didn't when he didn't.
So, one day we were involved in a pretty intense game. The score was close and nerves were on end. I had the "puck" late in the game and was bumbling down the ice when John performed a perfectly executed check. In other words, I fell flat on my back, my head hit the ice, my feet flew up in the air, and John went on to score.
Of course, I really didn't care so much that he scored, only that at this moment I could have sworn that I was paralyzed and I knew I was numb. But it was legal. I knew that.
For the first time, I think, I came to realize that things that are legal can, nonetheless, be wrong. In the absence of legal backing, however, I had to resort to another outlet to obtain justice: this meant war!
The next few hours contained some of the scrappiest, lousiest, hockey ever played. In other words, it was great fun. The score became irrelevant. We were playing for another reason: sadism.
But, like Mom always said, it's only fun until someone gets hurt. I got hurt. I was establishing a defensive position at about exactly center ice when John decided it was time to show off. He lifted the ice chunk directly into my face. This was no snowball, mind you. This was pure, solid, 100% North Dakota grown, 20-below ice with jagged edges.
I was upset. Any crime seems much more serious when done intentionally and ruthlessly.
Now that you have my opinion of the situation, let me explain. A lift is only necessary, really, to score. It is strategic then because the goalie must guard both the air and the ground. A long distance lift is not very effective because it is just as easy to stop as any flyball is in baseball. I was at center ice nowhere near the goal. The trajectory of this shot would have missed the goal by miles anyway. Besides that, it was clearly intentional because John had mastered the lift. Just as premeditated murder is more severe than other brands, this could not go unnoticed.
Well, I was crouched over and holding my face. John came over to assess the damages.
"Are you OK?"
"You bastherd!" I guess I was hurt worse than I had thought.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeajb, sthure you're sthorry."
"It was an accident."
"Bull...pth"
I had heard all these standard excuses before. He was establishing his legal position on common, standard procedure. I wasn't buying it.
I was really hurting' now. I was starting to cry and everything was swelling and stinging. I felt woozy. "Dambith John! You're alwaysth hoortee me!"
I was so upset I felt like killing him only I was too incapable of doing so.
Then it happened. I don't know how or why really, but I mustered all the strength I could and hit him across the head with my stick. And I mean I really hit him. I saw his head snap to the side and his feet fly out the other way. Don't forget, he was on ice, after all. I felt, I don't know, it just felt so good to hurt him back for a change.
He got up, torqued as all get out. I tried to be rational. "You hit me firrsthtt!" I pleaded.
He wasn't into it. As I became overwhelmed with terror, he pounced on me. For the next few minutes we rolled and kicked and bit and screamed and really just got tired because it was so hard to do anything on the ice.
In the end, we were both just lying there and crying. I don't know who got up first, but we both got into the house.
We never played hockey again that winter. I think John knew that he did it on purpose. For one thing, he let the fight "be over." Normally, he'd just wait until he felt up to it again and then beat the snot out of me. This time, though, he let it be. I let it be. We both knew we could hurt each other. We both knew we did hurt each other. We both just knew better.
This is the sequel to my last column. Therefore, it is also the story of the time my brother and I beat each other to exhaustion and tears.
First of all, I have to tell you about hockey. It's a cool game. I am always amazed at the skating ability of these players. They're so busy with strategy and dorky rules that they probably don't even realize that they're traveling at 20mph backwards!
It's also a cool game because, basically, it's socially acceptable violence. Hockey has what is called a "check." Basically, you can slam into a player and dump them on their butt with any amount of force you can muster legally! I think this was originally legalized because the first players weren't as good of players and collisions were so frequent that this was a necessary rule for the sake of the game. Nowadays, it's clearly done on purpose. So, that's hockey as I see it.
Like I said, I admire the skaters. This is probably, at least in part, due to the fact that I cannot skate well. I know this because I've tried.
When I was a youngun back on the farm, we used to clear off the ice and entertain ourselves. Such entertainment led, inevitably, to hockey. We never had a real puck, though. We sometimes used a tin can, but the best substitute was a chunk of ice. Ice chunks slid better but they were harder to see. We didn't have real sticks either, we had real sticks like, from trees.
But we made due. Like any handicap, we learned to play around it. We made due so well, in fact, that John had actually mastered the art of "lifting." (That's hockey lingo for lifting the puck off the ice with a shot so that it travels through the air rather than across the ice. Learn somethin' new everyday.) This technique is much harder to defend against and that makes it an admirable talent. I couldn't do this either.
But, John had mastered it. He could lift it, slide it, slap hanging curveballs, and smash dropping sliders. Not really, but it lifted when he wanted it to and it didn't when he didn't.
So, one day we were involved in a pretty intense game. The score was close and nerves were on end. I had the "puck" late in the game and was bumbling down the ice when John performed a perfectly executed check. In other words, I fell flat on my back, my head hit the ice, my feet flew up in the air, and John went on to score.
Of course, I really didn't care so much that he scored, only that at this moment I could have sworn that I was paralyzed and I knew I was numb. But it was legal. I knew that.
For the first time, I think, I came to realize that things that are legal can, nonetheless, be wrong. In the absence of legal backing, however, I had to resort to another outlet to obtain justice: this meant war!
The next few hours contained some of the scrappiest, lousiest, hockey ever played. In other words, it was great fun. The score became irrelevant. We were playing for another reason: sadism.
But, like Mom always said, it's only fun until someone gets hurt. I got hurt. I was establishing a defensive position at about exactly center ice when John decided it was time to show off. He lifted the ice chunk directly into my face. This was no snowball, mind you. This was pure, solid, 100% North Dakota grown, 20-below ice with jagged edges.
I was upset. Any crime seems much more serious when done intentionally and ruthlessly.
Now that you have my opinion of the situation, let me explain. A lift is only necessary, really, to score. It is strategic then because the goalie must guard both the air and the ground. A long distance lift is not very effective because it is just as easy to stop as any flyball is in baseball. I was at center ice nowhere near the goal. The trajectory of this shot would have missed the goal by miles anyway. Besides that, it was clearly intentional because John had mastered the lift. Just as premeditated murder is more severe than other brands, this could not go unnoticed.
Well, I was crouched over and holding my face. John came over to assess the damages.
"Are you OK?"
"You bastherd!" I guess I was hurt worse than I had thought.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeajb, sthure you're sthorry."
"It was an accident."
"Bull...pth"
I had heard all these standard excuses before. He was establishing his legal position on common, standard procedure. I wasn't buying it.
I was really hurting' now. I was starting to cry and everything was swelling and stinging. I felt woozy. "Dambith John! You're alwaysth hoortee me!"
I was so upset I felt like killing him only I was too incapable of doing so.
Then it happened. I don't know how or why really, but I mustered all the strength I could and hit him across the head with my stick. And I mean I really hit him. I saw his head snap to the side and his feet fly out the other way. Don't forget, he was on ice, after all. I felt, I don't know, it just felt so good to hurt him back for a change.
He got up, torqued as all get out. I tried to be rational. "You hit me firrsthtt!" I pleaded.
He wasn't into it. As I became overwhelmed with terror, he pounced on me. For the next few minutes we rolled and kicked and bit and screamed and really just got tired because it was so hard to do anything on the ice.
In the end, we were both just lying there and crying. I don't know who got up first, but we both got into the house.
We never played hockey again that winter. I think John knew that he did it on purpose. For one thing, he let the fight "be over." Normally, he'd just wait until he felt up to it again and then beat the snot out of me. This time, though, he let it be. I let it be. We both knew we could hurt each other. We both knew we did hurt each other. We both just knew better.
Update: 20 Year Reunion
So I thought about this whole thing for a while and then I had an epiphany:
What I am imagining is me walking into "the reunion" and seeing the whole crowd there and being completely ill-equipped to make any sense out of it. So (since I don't drink) I'll wander up to the most familiar face I see... blah blah blah
So, the answer is to use these next few months to get caught up already so that when we show up, it will be the party it should be rather than a giant oral resume exam.
Duh! We have the technology... we CAN rebuild him!
Here's the funny story:
I go to classmates.com. Now, either that makes perfect sense to you or you are smirking with disgust. Here I was thinking, "That is what the thing is for isn't it?" 12 classmates. And the most recent entry was over a month old. Plus... well, a whole bunch of bashing could go on here, so I'm just gonna leave it alone.
Then, I decide I'll try MySpace. Again with the smirking! You are so... never mind. Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought I was pretty smart. One person. One.
But, praise the Lord, it was the right one. I didn't know it at the time, so I just sent off a message and hoped for the best, having no idea what that could possibly be since this was such a disaster. Luckily (or whatever you want to call it) I had just bumped into her at Target, although it was just a quick I-know-you glance and a brief, "Hi" because she was heading into the bathroom and I was coming out and that is just not the right time, y'know?
So, the next day (which was one long and miserable day for this project) I get a reply that mostly says, "Get your butt over to Facebook."
And she was totally right! Everyone was/is over there.
For me, it was actually like I turned the key and leaned on the door to my home like I've done a million times before and... What the ??? There's not only a huge party going on, but it looks like everyone has been there a long time already.
So, my plan is coming together beautifully and everything I hoped would happen is happening thanks to the technology.
Which got me to thinking about the technology. First and foremost was/is why such disparity with MySpace and Classmates? Both were created to do the same thing, but everyone is on Facebook instead. Will Facebook be to these other sites what Microsoft became to... well, everything? Or has that already happened?
The other thing is just how revolutionary the whole concept is. I know I am not the only person who has held such a dismal view of reunions. But NOW we can all not only catch up before hand but oh so conveniently. Think about it. The natural tendency is to start asking those resume questions. Not necessary! All that is over there in the profile/info section. Read it at your leisure. When you get to the conversations, you can jump right into the good stuff! That is really huge. And don't fly past those words convenience and leisure too quickly. There is no need to be in the same place at the same time, like every other conversation. You can post when you want and I'll read it when I want. Unless you start texting, that is. But even then...
Well, whatever you think, the reality is that human communication has changed in a big way. If you want to be a neo-ludite about it, fine. Send me your hand-written letter, then. I'll get it in a couple days in the mailbox.
Maybe.
What I am imagining is me walking into "the reunion" and seeing the whole crowd there and being completely ill-equipped to make any sense out of it. So (since I don't drink) I'll wander up to the most familiar face I see... blah blah blah
So, the answer is to use these next few months to get caught up already so that when we show up, it will be the party it should be rather than a giant oral resume exam.
Duh! We have the technology... we CAN rebuild him!
Here's the funny story:
I go to classmates.com. Now, either that makes perfect sense to you or you are smirking with disgust. Here I was thinking, "That is what the thing is for isn't it?" 12 classmates. And the most recent entry was over a month old. Plus... well, a whole bunch of bashing could go on here, so I'm just gonna leave it alone.
Then, I decide I'll try MySpace. Again with the smirking! You are so... never mind. Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought I was pretty smart. One person. One.
But, praise the Lord, it was the right one. I didn't know it at the time, so I just sent off a message and hoped for the best, having no idea what that could possibly be since this was such a disaster. Luckily (or whatever you want to call it) I had just bumped into her at Target, although it was just a quick I-know-you glance and a brief, "Hi" because she was heading into the bathroom and I was coming out and that is just not the right time, y'know?
So, the next day (which was one long and miserable day for this project) I get a reply that mostly says, "Get your butt over to Facebook."
And she was totally right! Everyone was/is over there.
For me, it was actually like I turned the key and leaned on the door to my home like I've done a million times before and... What the ??? There's not only a huge party going on, but it looks like everyone has been there a long time already.
So, my plan is coming together beautifully and everything I hoped would happen is happening thanks to the technology.
Which got me to thinking about the technology. First and foremost was/is why such disparity with MySpace and Classmates? Both were created to do the same thing, but everyone is on Facebook instead. Will Facebook be to these other sites what Microsoft became to... well, everything? Or has that already happened?
The other thing is just how revolutionary the whole concept is. I know I am not the only person who has held such a dismal view of reunions. But NOW we can all not only catch up before hand but oh so conveniently. Think about it. The natural tendency is to start asking those resume questions. Not necessary! All that is over there in the profile/info section. Read it at your leisure. When you get to the conversations, you can jump right into the good stuff! That is really huge. And don't fly past those words convenience and leisure too quickly. There is no need to be in the same place at the same time, like every other conversation. You can post when you want and I'll read it when I want. Unless you start texting, that is. But even then...
Well, whatever you think, the reality is that human communication has changed in a big way. If you want to be a neo-ludite about it, fine. Send me your hand-written letter, then. I'll get it in a couple days in the mailbox.
Maybe.
And in the beginning...
This will be the summer of 2009. Since I graduated high school in 1989, this is also the year of our 20 year reunion.
I have no idea what that means.
Maybe (maybe not) I would have a better idea if I had gone to the reunion 10 years ago. I do know that I have 2 older sisters and an older brother who have seen this milestone come and go. Maybe they can help.
I also know a lot of psychology goes into this mess. Specifically, the simplest part of the human brain processes life differently than we think we think. First, it remembers everything, but only has everything filed under either good or bad. Second, it has no concept of time and tries to process all of those past and present memories as if here and now.
So, that is why you can be talking to a middle aged adult like me, and suddenly they start talking and acting like a child. They can easily jump in and out of this state all the while oblivious to any of it.
Fascinating as all of that can be, especially when you start understanding the impacts of this on dating and marriage, it really doesn't help me understand what I'm trying to understand about this reunion.
What I think it means is that I will see a crowd of familiar faces that will have grown the bodies of middle aged men and women. My brain will be confused, wanting to continue old conversations and work out old relationship issues. But, I'll also be flooded with new information that explains all that has happened to everyone in the last 20 years, including to myself.
How do you begin to explain what has happened in the last 20 years? For one thing, I don't remember it very well. Second, I pretty sure what I do remember is too boring. But what really concerns me is how to explain the stuff I can't explain, that I have conveniently forgotten or pushed aside in favor of the mundane and simpler day to day stuff.
I still haven't decided if it will bother me more if someone does ask than if they don't.
I really never figured out how to talk to these people 20 years ago. So (again with the psychology) what I expect will happen is everyone will recoil back into the same groups we were in 20 years ago and I'll never really meet them. So why have a reunion at all? Given, it is a chance to see those familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies, for what that is worth, even if the person is still a stranger after all.
I have no idea what that means.
Maybe (maybe not) I would have a better idea if I had gone to the reunion 10 years ago. I do know that I have 2 older sisters and an older brother who have seen this milestone come and go. Maybe they can help.
I also know a lot of psychology goes into this mess. Specifically, the simplest part of the human brain processes life differently than we think we think. First, it remembers everything, but only has everything filed under either good or bad. Second, it has no concept of time and tries to process all of those past and present memories as if here and now.
So, that is why you can be talking to a middle aged adult like me, and suddenly they start talking and acting like a child. They can easily jump in and out of this state all the while oblivious to any of it.
Fascinating as all of that can be, especially when you start understanding the impacts of this on dating and marriage, it really doesn't help me understand what I'm trying to understand about this reunion.
What I think it means is that I will see a crowd of familiar faces that will have grown the bodies of middle aged men and women. My brain will be confused, wanting to continue old conversations and work out old relationship issues. But, I'll also be flooded with new information that explains all that has happened to everyone in the last 20 years, including to myself.
How do you begin to explain what has happened in the last 20 years? For one thing, I don't remember it very well. Second, I pretty sure what I do remember is too boring. But what really concerns me is how to explain the stuff I can't explain, that I have conveniently forgotten or pushed aside in favor of the mundane and simpler day to day stuff.
I still haven't decided if it will bother me more if someone does ask than if they don't.
I really never figured out how to talk to these people 20 years ago. So (again with the psychology) what I expect will happen is everyone will recoil back into the same groups we were in 20 years ago and I'll never really meet them. So why have a reunion at all? Given, it is a chance to see those familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies, for what that is worth, even if the person is still a stranger after all.
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