I’m kind of a whiner. You may have noticed. My friend Stacie says, “Cool people don’t whine, they express themselves in an alternate tonality.” So, allow me to correct myself: I do not whine, I rant!
I first started ranting, I think, when I was in grade school. When I got sick and had to stay home from school, I had to stay in bed all day. It was a rule—part of the deal. When my older brother came home, he would stop in to see how I was doing. So, I told him—in my sarcastic and thorough manner. The more he’d laugh, the more I kept going. He used to say he liked me better when I was sick. You gotta love siblings.
I enjoy comedians that rant, too. George Carlin was a genius ranter. Sam Kinison was good. Dennis Miller has his moments. I especially like Dennis Leary. Of course, all of these guys swear up a storm when they rant. I would not classify Richard Pryor as a ranter. But, I laughed my fool head off listening to him. I can barely remember any of his routines, but I do remember his extensive (and might I say pioneering) use of a word that rhymes with mother duck. He is a comedic legend, but it’s the swearing that sticks with you.
It takes more than swearing or cursing to be funny. But, it can take you pretty far on its own, apparently. It seems to be a prerequisite, now. If you expect an audience to pay good money to sit and listen to you for any considerable length of time, you better swear at them. They want you to. Apparently, they just don’t hear enough of that in their everyday life. Strange, says I, since so many people can’t form a complete sentence without every other word rhyming with duck, ducking, ducker, or ducked. I haven’t yet determined if they can’t relate to a comedian that doesn’t talk like them or if they feel repressed in their own expression and want to hear someone say the things they cannot. Either way, it has become a crutch for both the entertainers and the entertained… unless you’re in to that kind of thing. It seems to be working, either way.
For the record, I would hope that those who know me would describe me as someone who does not swear all the time. But, I can’t say I never do. I have a short temper and general impatience that do get the better of me. Those same people would probably admit that they have heard me curse—even “the queen mother of dirty words” as Ralphie defined it in A Christmas Story. And, for the record, I’m not the guy who is going to jump down your throat if I hear you get your duck on. I will even laugh along with you—which is often why you are saying it—or commiserate, as the case may be. I visited New York City when I was 21 and picked up an accent within an hour. I couldn’t help it. It was a strange phenomenon for me, and I now realize that I do that wherever I go without trying to. So, there ya go.
There was a time when the only Dennis Leary I knew was this guy that did MTV commercials. There he was with his cigarette unleashing more words in 15 seconds than most of the audience watching had ever written in their longest school papers. Brilliantly funny. And, of course, since this was not premium cable, he could not swear. But, you got the impression that the repression was about to cause him to explode. He paced and he sucked on that cigarette the way most of us would have to inhale throughout such a monologue. And he just RANTED. I don’t remember any of it, specifically. I just remember the style. I DO, however, remember when he reprised the shtick for the movie Demolition Man. He had the ultra-cool role as the “leader” of the underground (literally). Which, is to say, that he was enemy #1 to the powers that be, but was actually the person you really wanted in charge. I had that monologue recorded and memorized at one point in my life. I also owned his “Lock n Load” cd at one time. These days, he has a major role in a critically acclaimed drama on cable that I haven’t seen, but he also does voice-over work for Ford Trucks that remind me of why I like him.
Dennis Miller actually had an “album” called “Ranting Again” which I owned. What I really liked, though, was the one episode of his talk show that I remember where he ranted about the f-word itself. Genius. I can’t repeat any of it. Did you ever see the movie, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles? Steve Martin has that classic scene born out of extreme frustration… “You can start by wiping that f’ing dumbass smile off your rosy f’ing cheeks. Then you can give me a f’ing automobile! I don’t care what f’ing color…” LMFAO.
Mark Twain is quoted as saying: “Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.” I completely understand. On the other hand, I happen to know that prayer is way more effective. Actually, it’s almost a stretch that we even call it “cursing” and “swearing.” A curse is something, say, a voodoo witch would do. They "put a curse on you." They call down the powers of evil to cause negative things to happen to you. And that is the problem, right there. Evil powers do actually exist and if you are calling on them… well, God has a problem with that. I don’t do that. I don’t want that for anybody. At least, not that literally or with such malice. Yet, for some reason, I tend to curse THINGS. Like, when tools don’t work or stuff breaks at work or at home, I think or say stuff that might give onlookers the impression that I believed the thing was alive and deliberately mocking me. The most pathetic part of all of this is that it suggests that I must believe all that cursing will make the thing “behave” more properly. What does a hunk of steel care what I think about it? Actual swearing is like taking an oath you could never really deliver on. People “swear on their mother’s grave” or “swear on the Bible” which is supposed to convince listeners that what they are saying is not a lie. For the record, I’m almost never convinced. How do you know if someone is lying? Their lips are moving. But the Bible calls this practice “swearing” and advises to simply not do it. Let your yes be yes and your no be no and stop trying to give more weight to your words than they deserve (to paraphrase James 5:12.)
I have said before that since stress is so unhealthy and physiologically damaging, I use sarcasm strictly for medicinal purposes. I happen to think sarcasm is funny. Some people don’t. Usually, I see a correlation that they are not particularly funny or even fun people. It could just be a personal preference, I don’t know. I DO know that not everyone “gets” a joke all the time. I pretty much think people that don’t like sarcasm just lack the proper sense of humor. Pttthhbbbb!
What I’m saying is that I don’t swear to give my words more weight. If anything, I “swear” to lace my words with more humor. I’m not trying to make you sick like me, I’m trying to make you laugh about me being sick. Hey, whatever makes you laugh…
Friday, February 19, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Joy of Running
I hate running.
It’s SO boring. Entire industries have been created because running is actually boring. How many IPods have been sold to compete with the boredom of running? Before the IPod, millions of CD players were sold for the same reason, and people bought several of them, each time buying into a new promise that it would skip less than the last one as it jogged along. Nike + exists because running is boring. Talking shoes--they don’t just talk (which would make it even worse) but they “encourage” runners. They inform you how far you’ve gone and how far you have to go… stuff like that. How much would you pay someone to run with you and say the same things? But, THAT would be ridiculous, right?
People buy all kinds of different “running apparel” to cope with the fact that they would go insane if they didn’t do SOMETHING about their issues with running. The jogging suit has changed considerably over the years. There was a time when Hip Hop fans wore fancy expensive jogging suits as everyday apparel. They didn’t run at all. They are not THAT stupid. The suits were comfortable, stylish, distinguished… it was like the suits evolved faster than the running itself. Clothes designed to make the whole experience more bearable actually made buyers realize that the best way to do that was to forgo doing it in the first place. Genius.
Running and evolution have an interconnected DNA. People have been running as long as they have existed. There was a time when people ran for two reasons: to catch food or to avoid being food. Running has historically been absolutely necessary for both reasons. The corollary of that is that people have been finding was to avoid doing it just as long. People domesticated animals to avoid having to chase them. We also domesticated them so we could ride on them when it was necessary to chase other animals. I don’t think many people, historically, actually ran to get from one place to another. At least, not for long distances. We walked. Or, we rode our domesticated animals. Or, we found other ways to accomplish stuff that did not involve travel at all—like sending a domesticated pigeon. Or a postman. I prefer a text, myself. I’ve never seen a postman run his route.
So, why do people run marathons? It’s pretty stupid, if you think about it. The only reason we call it a marathon or set it at 26.2 miles is that the first person, on record, to do it died when he finished. He was a messenger (aka a domesticated human animal) sent to inform the recipient that they won the war. I’m not sure whether it was his idea or his job description, but he ran the distance rather than, say, walking it or riding a horse. Whatever his logic, it killed him. So, naturally, it has occurred to millions of people since then that they just HAD to try THAT! Woo hoo!
So, is that like a death wish? But, then, people will jump out of a perfectly good airplane for the thrill of it. To them, it’s not a death wish so much as thrill seeking. Because, you know, it might be awesome to go through it and actually survive. “Mere mortals have died doing this. Clearly, I am the epitome of awesome.” Some people walk barefoot on burning coals, others run… over normal-temperature surfaces, in high-tech shoes for extended distances. It’s the same.
That’s why I do it, of course: because it makes me awesome. Are you impressed? Clearly, millions of people are. Marathons are not just events for highly competitive, highly trained athletes to race each other and the clock simultaneously. The percentage of them in the crowd is extremely miniscule. No, millions of people run marathons each year and could not really care less what their time is or who finishes ahead of them. They run for “personal” reasons. Many do it as part of a larger exercise program or goal. The race itself is a motivation for slogging through the boredom for some metaphysical benefit. Some run to support a cause or another runner. If you’re going to run, it also helps to have crowds along the way cheering you on, particularly if they also don’t care about your position or time. Or, people run for a physiological benefit. And this is what we (humans) have become. We have avoided running for so long—because we COULD! HELLO?!!—that we have actually had to force it back on to ourselves or face “death” for some other reason than lack of food or becoming food ourselves. We even say stuff like, “You are what you eat” because we have made food acquisition so easy that we “are” fat, sugary, crème puffs… if you will. Thus, we run AWAY from our food… in a way. You may have to think about that one. Evolution is not as logical as you have been told.
I will say this about running: it’s hard to fake it. You can “bike” for 26.2 miles, or even double that, but in the process you can coast from time to time, especially downhill. Sure, physics suggest that you can only coast because you first provided the energy to sustain that motion in the first place. Sorta the same applies to rollerblading, if less so. When you stop moving your running legs, you stop. You cover zero distance until you start running again. You can slow down to the point of walking, even walking very slowly. But, you can’t coast. Some people “run” marathons at speeds that could easily be achieved by simply walking. Not that walking that far is very easy to do without practice, either. But, it’s easier to do than running at 6mph or faster.
6mph is arbitrary, granted. I chose 6mph for pragmatic reasons. 6mph means you are running one mile every ten minutes. You can easily understand how you are doing even if your odometer is measuring tenths of a mile (1 minute each). Also, I am forced to move my legs faster than I can “walk” when I keep that pace. More importantly, whether running for a specific distance or calorie count, the faster I run, the sooner I get it all over-with. If I could run at 10mph for a long enough time, believe me, I would.
But, I am miserable the whole time. In order to do it, I have to find some inner strength and motivation. That sounds way more impressive than the reality. For one thing, as all runners learn, there is a physiological phenomenon known as “second wind.” What that means is, if you think you could never start running because you would die trying, you’re half right. For the first mile or so, you will feel certain, slow death overtaking you. But, that feeling reaches a plateau, and after that your only real obstacle is the boredom. Well, your knees could buckle or your shins could ache or your side might feel ready to rupture—but ASIDE from all that, you won’t really get more winded. Somehow, the lungs are whipped into some form of submission and they continue to function at that necessary level rather than cause you to pass out and regain your sanity unconsciously. You may have to work up to it over several sessions, but it’s there. In a way, it’s a betrayal rather than a motivation, but I digress.
My real motivation, evidently, is anger. Hatred is more specific, I think. I hate running so much I refuse to submit to it. So, I fight against it. It tells me to stop. I run past it. It tells me I’m wasting my time. I waste more time. It tells me I have more interesting things I could do. I start yelling profanities at it. Oh, did I mention that I run in the privacy of my basement? My wife joined a gym. Many people join gyms. My wife thinks that men at the gym are funny (in an annoying way) when they grunt while lifting weights. Well, it’s better than listening to my steady tirade of profanities. But, I’ll spare everyone that one. So, yeah, I get the job done… in a miserable, grumpy, horrific haze of unpleasantries.
I’ll bet you love running, don’t you? Then, I hate you, too. BAH! Ok, not really.
It’s SO boring. Entire industries have been created because running is actually boring. How many IPods have been sold to compete with the boredom of running? Before the IPod, millions of CD players were sold for the same reason, and people bought several of them, each time buying into a new promise that it would skip less than the last one as it jogged along. Nike + exists because running is boring. Talking shoes--they don’t just talk (which would make it even worse) but they “encourage” runners. They inform you how far you’ve gone and how far you have to go… stuff like that. How much would you pay someone to run with you and say the same things? But, THAT would be ridiculous, right?
People buy all kinds of different “running apparel” to cope with the fact that they would go insane if they didn’t do SOMETHING about their issues with running. The jogging suit has changed considerably over the years. There was a time when Hip Hop fans wore fancy expensive jogging suits as everyday apparel. They didn’t run at all. They are not THAT stupid. The suits were comfortable, stylish, distinguished… it was like the suits evolved faster than the running itself. Clothes designed to make the whole experience more bearable actually made buyers realize that the best way to do that was to forgo doing it in the first place. Genius.
Running and evolution have an interconnected DNA. People have been running as long as they have existed. There was a time when people ran for two reasons: to catch food or to avoid being food. Running has historically been absolutely necessary for both reasons. The corollary of that is that people have been finding was to avoid doing it just as long. People domesticated animals to avoid having to chase them. We also domesticated them so we could ride on them when it was necessary to chase other animals. I don’t think many people, historically, actually ran to get from one place to another. At least, not for long distances. We walked. Or, we rode our domesticated animals. Or, we found other ways to accomplish stuff that did not involve travel at all—like sending a domesticated pigeon. Or a postman. I prefer a text, myself. I’ve never seen a postman run his route.
So, why do people run marathons? It’s pretty stupid, if you think about it. The only reason we call it a marathon or set it at 26.2 miles is that the first person, on record, to do it died when he finished. He was a messenger (aka a domesticated human animal) sent to inform the recipient that they won the war. I’m not sure whether it was his idea or his job description, but he ran the distance rather than, say, walking it or riding a horse. Whatever his logic, it killed him. So, naturally, it has occurred to millions of people since then that they just HAD to try THAT! Woo hoo!
So, is that like a death wish? But, then, people will jump out of a perfectly good airplane for the thrill of it. To them, it’s not a death wish so much as thrill seeking. Because, you know, it might be awesome to go through it and actually survive. “Mere mortals have died doing this. Clearly, I am the epitome of awesome.” Some people walk barefoot on burning coals, others run… over normal-temperature surfaces, in high-tech shoes for extended distances. It’s the same.
That’s why I do it, of course: because it makes me awesome. Are you impressed? Clearly, millions of people are. Marathons are not just events for highly competitive, highly trained athletes to race each other and the clock simultaneously. The percentage of them in the crowd is extremely miniscule. No, millions of people run marathons each year and could not really care less what their time is or who finishes ahead of them. They run for “personal” reasons. Many do it as part of a larger exercise program or goal. The race itself is a motivation for slogging through the boredom for some metaphysical benefit. Some run to support a cause or another runner. If you’re going to run, it also helps to have crowds along the way cheering you on, particularly if they also don’t care about your position or time. Or, people run for a physiological benefit. And this is what we (humans) have become. We have avoided running for so long—because we COULD! HELLO?!!—that we have actually had to force it back on to ourselves or face “death” for some other reason than lack of food or becoming food ourselves. We even say stuff like, “You are what you eat” because we have made food acquisition so easy that we “are” fat, sugary, crème puffs… if you will. Thus, we run AWAY from our food… in a way. You may have to think about that one. Evolution is not as logical as you have been told.
I will say this about running: it’s hard to fake it. You can “bike” for 26.2 miles, or even double that, but in the process you can coast from time to time, especially downhill. Sure, physics suggest that you can only coast because you first provided the energy to sustain that motion in the first place. Sorta the same applies to rollerblading, if less so. When you stop moving your running legs, you stop. You cover zero distance until you start running again. You can slow down to the point of walking, even walking very slowly. But, you can’t coast. Some people “run” marathons at speeds that could easily be achieved by simply walking. Not that walking that far is very easy to do without practice, either. But, it’s easier to do than running at 6mph or faster.
6mph is arbitrary, granted. I chose 6mph for pragmatic reasons. 6mph means you are running one mile every ten minutes. You can easily understand how you are doing even if your odometer is measuring tenths of a mile (1 minute each). Also, I am forced to move my legs faster than I can “walk” when I keep that pace. More importantly, whether running for a specific distance or calorie count, the faster I run, the sooner I get it all over-with. If I could run at 10mph for a long enough time, believe me, I would.
But, I am miserable the whole time. In order to do it, I have to find some inner strength and motivation. That sounds way more impressive than the reality. For one thing, as all runners learn, there is a physiological phenomenon known as “second wind.” What that means is, if you think you could never start running because you would die trying, you’re half right. For the first mile or so, you will feel certain, slow death overtaking you. But, that feeling reaches a plateau, and after that your only real obstacle is the boredom. Well, your knees could buckle or your shins could ache or your side might feel ready to rupture—but ASIDE from all that, you won’t really get more winded. Somehow, the lungs are whipped into some form of submission and they continue to function at that necessary level rather than cause you to pass out and regain your sanity unconsciously. You may have to work up to it over several sessions, but it’s there. In a way, it’s a betrayal rather than a motivation, but I digress.
My real motivation, evidently, is anger. Hatred is more specific, I think. I hate running so much I refuse to submit to it. So, I fight against it. It tells me to stop. I run past it. It tells me I’m wasting my time. I waste more time. It tells me I have more interesting things I could do. I start yelling profanities at it. Oh, did I mention that I run in the privacy of my basement? My wife joined a gym. Many people join gyms. My wife thinks that men at the gym are funny (in an annoying way) when they grunt while lifting weights. Well, it’s better than listening to my steady tirade of profanities. But, I’ll spare everyone that one. So, yeah, I get the job done… in a miserable, grumpy, horrific haze of unpleasantries.
I’ll bet you love running, don’t you? Then, I hate you, too. BAH! Ok, not really.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Don’t You Know That You Are A Shooting Star?
On a dark and clear night, I can look up and see a sky full of stars. I actually grew up on a farm, so I could see many more than most for two reasons. For one, there was virtually no other man-made light to compete with the starlight. Second, I can literally see for miles around where I grew up. I liked to take it to another level, literally, by climbing up on a roof, lying back, and looking around. They don’t call it “the milky way” for no reason. It really looks like a streak of milk in very black coffee—on a dark and clear night.
A scientist actually sees more than I do. They see planets and moons and all of that. I know which one is Venus, but that is it. So, I call them “stars.” But, I know there is more to it than that. I also know that a shooting star is not really a star at all. A shooting star is an object that is burning up as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere, leaving a brief visible trail. That’s just the kind of cold, factual analysis that you would expect from a scientist. But seeing a shooting star is awesome! It’s a flash of brilliance! Then, it’s over so quickly that it leaves you both wishing you could see more and almost wondering if you really even saw it the first time.
Let me tell you about a shooting star that flashed through my own life.
Lynn was the new kid in our class in fourth grade. Her last name and my last name are alphabetically close, so she sat in the desk in front of me. She was very quiet. Well, in a way… She wasn’t really shy. She had moments when her convictions would overtake her and she would speak up or act out passionately and/or loudly as the case may be. But, she was not a loud kid, or a bossy kid, or a joker, or anything most of the time. She would just sit there and not say anything, but there seemed to be a whole lot going on inside. Kids don’t really know what to do with that. They can “sense” it, though, and it caused most of us to keep our distance for the most part, but I don’t know why. So, Lynn was a loner, I guess you could say.
By the time we reached junior high, Lynn had a reputation as a bookworm. Schools these days have programs to encourage students to read. They have elaborate point systems for different books, online tests they take, and grand awards ceremonies for their achievements. Many kids get recognized in those ceremonies. We had nothing like that. Almost no one else was reading anything. Lynn, however, was extremely impressive. The teachers and librarians not only noticed but were so impressed that they created awards to recognize her achievements each year. No one else got any such award or were interested in trying, as far as I know. When we would hear the statistics of the tens or hundreds of thousands of pages she had read and the hundreds of books, it just boggled our mushy brains. We knew she was always reading something, but it was just so un-fathomable. We were not in her league by any measure.
Our little school only went through junior high. The town only had one high school, too. So, everyone merged into the “big” school at that time. That meant more and different friends to go along with more and different opportunities. Lynn, like the rest of us, was mostly the same, just more grown up—more emboldened. Her locker was still near mine. One day, she surprised me by moving in—into whisper mode—and asking what she should do if she thought someone was taking drugs. Not your average every-day conversation, y’know? Of course, I did not know what to say at first. Lynn was good for that kind of thing. She said nothing so much and then when she did it was monumental. Also, she was good for asking my advice on her monumental ordeals. I felt privileged to be her councilist. I thought about it a second and decided I needed more information. She said she thought she saw a dude (classmate, locker a few doors down) sneaking some pills a minute ago. He was looking around suspiciously and trying to hide it—that sort of thing. I thought some more. I knew who he was. So did she. It’s not like we were really friends, but we had classes together, we had talked before and were likely to talk again. For both of us, part of the issue was doing the right thing—for us and him—without “ratting” on him. I finally advised her to tell someone with authority. I think my specific advice was the School Counselor. He would take a softer approach than the principal and give us the best chances for anonymity. I know she told someone. I know the question was asked. But, I don’t think he got “busted” in any way involving cops or courts. He was miffed, but it worked out well, all things considered.
Not everyone would have done that. Not me, either. I only got involved because she brought me into it. I don’t have a great track record for that kind of thing. I was at a dance that same year. It was a big deal for me because it was a high school dance, not a junior high dance. It was also a public dance, not a school dance. The lights were darker. The security was more lenient. The crowd was older and rougher than I was used to. One kid was obviously drunk. Well, he wasn’t the only one, but he got my attention when he backed his girlfriend up against a pillar in the room in an argument. As it got worse, he had both of his hands around her shoulders, too. I remember just staring at the whole thing wondering when or how to do something. He was not necessarily hurting her yet. But, obviously this could escalate. (No, I did not use CSI terms like escalate back then, I just knew that this was likely to get worse before it got better.) So, there I was, frozen and useless, waiting for him to hit her, I guess. I don’t know what I would have done, because he was much older and would easily have kicked my ass. Plus, I was pretty sure he really wanted someone to give him a reason to become his personal punching bag. I knew I was in big trouble when she turned her head and looked around in a silent plea for someone to help her. I’ll never forget the look on her face—the fear. And that is when a pack of girls stepped between them so quickly and effortlessly that it left me wondering what happened. Before I knew it, there were several of them, Lynn among them, in his face verbally affronting him. How they got in there so deftly, I still don’t understand, but they didn’t do it physically. They just started hurtling questions at him, “What are you doing? You’re hurting her! Can’t you see how scared she is? What are you thinking? What’s wrong with you?...” and he was drunk, so he had no mental capacity to respond to any of it. So, he just sort of stood there all slumpy like a kid getting a lecture from his mom. Then they turned to her and enveloped her like only a group of girls can do and whisked her off to safety. I was amazed. I’ll never forget that whole scene. I’ll never forget feeling so helpless and then being so awestruck by the shear brilliance of how it was resolved. I learned a lot from that which I still carry with me to this day. For not unrelated reasons, I almost never went to dances after that.
That’s not to say I don’t like dancing. I really do. I just don’t like drama. But, my favorite Lynn story happened our junior year. Ever the advocate, Lynn came up to me in whisper mode again and bluntly asked, “If a girl wanted to ask a guy to a dance, how should she do it?” Again, why me? Who does she think I am? But I didn’t say anything like that. She was asking for some help that she thought I could provide, so I owed it to her to give it my best shot. That is how I thought about it. Of course, I was also thinking that I was giving HER advice on how SHE should go about asking some dude. I was pretty sure that she was not going to be asking me. The thought went through my head, but I quickly dismissed it as being too weird and direct, even for Lynn. So, I thought for a second about all of this and advised her to just go right up to him, make sure she got his full attention, eye contact, that sort of thing and ask politely but in very direct and unmistakable words so he would have no easy way to avoid giving the direct answer she deserves. She seemed to think that was pretty good wisdom. She thanked me and walked away into the crowd of students in the hall making their way from and to the next class. Then, somewhere out of that crowd came Suzi. And in a polite but direct language she proceeded to look me straight in the eye and ask me the Snowball Dance. What a dope I am. How did I not see that coming? Here’s the thing about Suzi. There’s nothing wrong with Suzi. One of the many activities our school had in Physical Education (aka Phy. Ed., gym, you know the one) was dance. Social dance—like training for a wedding dance of the day. So, we learned to waltz and square dance and two-step and even jitterbug (which you might call swing.) And over the course of that, Suzi and I were dance partners. And over the course of that, it was a mutual decision to be dance partners. I really enjoyed dancing with her, and I got the same impression from her. But we were not a couple, in high school terms. Neither of us really dated anyone. Give me the same situation and 10 times out of 10 I take Suzi up on her offer. And, I did, technically. I was so surprised by the whole thing that I was less than smooth about it. I think I probably sent several discouraging signals to her in my fumbling. I did have some stupid high-school-boy “reasons” for not wanting to go out with Suzi, but this was just one dance. As it turned out, the whole thing got canceled by weather and that was the end of all of it. Now, it’s just one of those awkward high school memories that hangs on as if to demand a better closure, as irrational and unlikely as that may be.
I lost track of Lynn after high school. I never went to our 10 year reunion. Somewhere in there, I did get a brief call from Lynn. It was out of the blue. I had not spoken to her in all that time. She was very excited about getting to see all of these old friends. I was not. And that was essentially the awkward end to the call. But, that was how I felt at the time.
And then, one day I got a different phone call. It was a reporter. She wrote for a Chicago news paper. She was calling me because I (unknown to me) was the only classmate who appeared in Lynn’s class on Classmates.com—a relatively new tool at the time. She was trying to get background information about Lynn from those who had known her. Wait a minute! “What do you mean HAD known her?”
“Oh… I thought you would have heard by now… I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this…but…umm… Lynn was murdered on St. Patrick’s day.”
Stunned does not begin to describe how I felt. Why? No, that’s not the question. How? Well, it turns out that Lynn had decided to give a woman hitch-hiker a ride. That did not surprise me. It also did not surprise me that Lynn had chatted her up in the process. Evidently, as they drove Lynn cordially pointed out the apartment where she lived as they passed nearby on the Interstate. Later this woman went back, found her, stabbed her many times to death, robbed her, and tried to burn the place down. Actually it was worse than that. I’ll spare both of us more details.
So, Lynn had managed to whisper-mode me one more time. I answered the reporter as best as I could. The problem was that my whole perspective was from 4th grade to high school. So, I said stuff like how it made sense to me that she would be trying to do what she felt was the right thing and trying to help someone out and how that was the kind of person I knew her to be. And all of that sounds fine, except for what it leaves out.
I had to do my own interviews with friends who were closer to Lynn and had kept in touch to learn who she had become over the years that I missed. I was very convicted to do so. I felt like I had deprived her of the chance to show and tell me herself. If I had been through so much and changed so much, certainly she had her own stories to tell and I never even gave her the chance—for my own selfish and self-centered reasons. And it was really cool to hear some of those stories. She had become much more socially out-going. She enjoyed clubs and going out with friends. She had been looking forward to St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. But, also, she has a mutual friend with me that became a pastor. She had also had those questions and conversations. She had recently been inspired to work at a soup kitchen. And, well, who knows what else?
The 1975 Bad Company song “Shooting Star” is about a different kind of death, and life, than Lynn’s. But what is the same is the brevity. What is the same is the brilliance. What is the same is the feeling after a shooting star flashes through a dark, clear night sky.
“Wow! “
“Did you see that?” “
“That was awesome!”
“Did you see what I saw?”
“Is it over already?”
But, mostly, how lucky am I to have been in the just the right place at just the right time to have seen it.
A scientist actually sees more than I do. They see planets and moons and all of that. I know which one is Venus, but that is it. So, I call them “stars.” But, I know there is more to it than that. I also know that a shooting star is not really a star at all. A shooting star is an object that is burning up as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere, leaving a brief visible trail. That’s just the kind of cold, factual analysis that you would expect from a scientist. But seeing a shooting star is awesome! It’s a flash of brilliance! Then, it’s over so quickly that it leaves you both wishing you could see more and almost wondering if you really even saw it the first time.
Let me tell you about a shooting star that flashed through my own life.
Lynn was the new kid in our class in fourth grade. Her last name and my last name are alphabetically close, so she sat in the desk in front of me. She was very quiet. Well, in a way… She wasn’t really shy. She had moments when her convictions would overtake her and she would speak up or act out passionately and/or loudly as the case may be. But, she was not a loud kid, or a bossy kid, or a joker, or anything most of the time. She would just sit there and not say anything, but there seemed to be a whole lot going on inside. Kids don’t really know what to do with that. They can “sense” it, though, and it caused most of us to keep our distance for the most part, but I don’t know why. So, Lynn was a loner, I guess you could say.
By the time we reached junior high, Lynn had a reputation as a bookworm. Schools these days have programs to encourage students to read. They have elaborate point systems for different books, online tests they take, and grand awards ceremonies for their achievements. Many kids get recognized in those ceremonies. We had nothing like that. Almost no one else was reading anything. Lynn, however, was extremely impressive. The teachers and librarians not only noticed but were so impressed that they created awards to recognize her achievements each year. No one else got any such award or were interested in trying, as far as I know. When we would hear the statistics of the tens or hundreds of thousands of pages she had read and the hundreds of books, it just boggled our mushy brains. We knew she was always reading something, but it was just so un-fathomable. We were not in her league by any measure.
Our little school only went through junior high. The town only had one high school, too. So, everyone merged into the “big” school at that time. That meant more and different friends to go along with more and different opportunities. Lynn, like the rest of us, was mostly the same, just more grown up—more emboldened. Her locker was still near mine. One day, she surprised me by moving in—into whisper mode—and asking what she should do if she thought someone was taking drugs. Not your average every-day conversation, y’know? Of course, I did not know what to say at first. Lynn was good for that kind of thing. She said nothing so much and then when she did it was monumental. Also, she was good for asking my advice on her monumental ordeals. I felt privileged to be her councilist. I thought about it a second and decided I needed more information. She said she thought she saw a dude (classmate, locker a few doors down) sneaking some pills a minute ago. He was looking around suspiciously and trying to hide it—that sort of thing. I thought some more. I knew who he was. So did she. It’s not like we were really friends, but we had classes together, we had talked before and were likely to talk again. For both of us, part of the issue was doing the right thing—for us and him—without “ratting” on him. I finally advised her to tell someone with authority. I think my specific advice was the School Counselor. He would take a softer approach than the principal and give us the best chances for anonymity. I know she told someone. I know the question was asked. But, I don’t think he got “busted” in any way involving cops or courts. He was miffed, but it worked out well, all things considered.
Not everyone would have done that. Not me, either. I only got involved because she brought me into it. I don’t have a great track record for that kind of thing. I was at a dance that same year. It was a big deal for me because it was a high school dance, not a junior high dance. It was also a public dance, not a school dance. The lights were darker. The security was more lenient. The crowd was older and rougher than I was used to. One kid was obviously drunk. Well, he wasn’t the only one, but he got my attention when he backed his girlfriend up against a pillar in the room in an argument. As it got worse, he had both of his hands around her shoulders, too. I remember just staring at the whole thing wondering when or how to do something. He was not necessarily hurting her yet. But, obviously this could escalate. (No, I did not use CSI terms like escalate back then, I just knew that this was likely to get worse before it got better.) So, there I was, frozen and useless, waiting for him to hit her, I guess. I don’t know what I would have done, because he was much older and would easily have kicked my ass. Plus, I was pretty sure he really wanted someone to give him a reason to become his personal punching bag. I knew I was in big trouble when she turned her head and looked around in a silent plea for someone to help her. I’ll never forget the look on her face—the fear. And that is when a pack of girls stepped between them so quickly and effortlessly that it left me wondering what happened. Before I knew it, there were several of them, Lynn among them, in his face verbally affronting him. How they got in there so deftly, I still don’t understand, but they didn’t do it physically. They just started hurtling questions at him, “What are you doing? You’re hurting her! Can’t you see how scared she is? What are you thinking? What’s wrong with you?...” and he was drunk, so he had no mental capacity to respond to any of it. So, he just sort of stood there all slumpy like a kid getting a lecture from his mom. Then they turned to her and enveloped her like only a group of girls can do and whisked her off to safety. I was amazed. I’ll never forget that whole scene. I’ll never forget feeling so helpless and then being so awestruck by the shear brilliance of how it was resolved. I learned a lot from that which I still carry with me to this day. For not unrelated reasons, I almost never went to dances after that.
That’s not to say I don’t like dancing. I really do. I just don’t like drama. But, my favorite Lynn story happened our junior year. Ever the advocate, Lynn came up to me in whisper mode again and bluntly asked, “If a girl wanted to ask a guy to a dance, how should she do it?” Again, why me? Who does she think I am? But I didn’t say anything like that. She was asking for some help that she thought I could provide, so I owed it to her to give it my best shot. That is how I thought about it. Of course, I was also thinking that I was giving HER advice on how SHE should go about asking some dude. I was pretty sure that she was not going to be asking me. The thought went through my head, but I quickly dismissed it as being too weird and direct, even for Lynn. So, I thought for a second about all of this and advised her to just go right up to him, make sure she got his full attention, eye contact, that sort of thing and ask politely but in very direct and unmistakable words so he would have no easy way to avoid giving the direct answer she deserves. She seemed to think that was pretty good wisdom. She thanked me and walked away into the crowd of students in the hall making their way from and to the next class. Then, somewhere out of that crowd came Suzi. And in a polite but direct language she proceeded to look me straight in the eye and ask me the Snowball Dance. What a dope I am. How did I not see that coming? Here’s the thing about Suzi. There’s nothing wrong with Suzi. One of the many activities our school had in Physical Education (aka Phy. Ed., gym, you know the one) was dance. Social dance—like training for a wedding dance of the day. So, we learned to waltz and square dance and two-step and even jitterbug (which you might call swing.) And over the course of that, Suzi and I were dance partners. And over the course of that, it was a mutual decision to be dance partners. I really enjoyed dancing with her, and I got the same impression from her. But we were not a couple, in high school terms. Neither of us really dated anyone. Give me the same situation and 10 times out of 10 I take Suzi up on her offer. And, I did, technically. I was so surprised by the whole thing that I was less than smooth about it. I think I probably sent several discouraging signals to her in my fumbling. I did have some stupid high-school-boy “reasons” for not wanting to go out with Suzi, but this was just one dance. As it turned out, the whole thing got canceled by weather and that was the end of all of it. Now, it’s just one of those awkward high school memories that hangs on as if to demand a better closure, as irrational and unlikely as that may be.
I lost track of Lynn after high school. I never went to our 10 year reunion. Somewhere in there, I did get a brief call from Lynn. It was out of the blue. I had not spoken to her in all that time. She was very excited about getting to see all of these old friends. I was not. And that was essentially the awkward end to the call. But, that was how I felt at the time.
And then, one day I got a different phone call. It was a reporter. She wrote for a Chicago news paper. She was calling me because I (unknown to me) was the only classmate who appeared in Lynn’s class on Classmates.com—a relatively new tool at the time. She was trying to get background information about Lynn from those who had known her. Wait a minute! “What do you mean HAD known her?”
“Oh… I thought you would have heard by now… I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this…but…umm… Lynn was murdered on St. Patrick’s day.”
Stunned does not begin to describe how I felt. Why? No, that’s not the question. How? Well, it turns out that Lynn had decided to give a woman hitch-hiker a ride. That did not surprise me. It also did not surprise me that Lynn had chatted her up in the process. Evidently, as they drove Lynn cordially pointed out the apartment where she lived as they passed nearby on the Interstate. Later this woman went back, found her, stabbed her many times to death, robbed her, and tried to burn the place down. Actually it was worse than that. I’ll spare both of us more details.
So, Lynn had managed to whisper-mode me one more time. I answered the reporter as best as I could. The problem was that my whole perspective was from 4th grade to high school. So, I said stuff like how it made sense to me that she would be trying to do what she felt was the right thing and trying to help someone out and how that was the kind of person I knew her to be. And all of that sounds fine, except for what it leaves out.
I had to do my own interviews with friends who were closer to Lynn and had kept in touch to learn who she had become over the years that I missed. I was very convicted to do so. I felt like I had deprived her of the chance to show and tell me herself. If I had been through so much and changed so much, certainly she had her own stories to tell and I never even gave her the chance—for my own selfish and self-centered reasons. And it was really cool to hear some of those stories. She had become much more socially out-going. She enjoyed clubs and going out with friends. She had been looking forward to St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. But, also, she has a mutual friend with me that became a pastor. She had also had those questions and conversations. She had recently been inspired to work at a soup kitchen. And, well, who knows what else?
The 1975 Bad Company song “Shooting Star” is about a different kind of death, and life, than Lynn’s. But what is the same is the brevity. What is the same is the brilliance. What is the same is the feeling after a shooting star flashes through a dark, clear night sky.
“Wow! “
“Did you see that?” “
“That was awesome!”
“Did you see what I saw?”
“Is it over already?”
But, mostly, how lucky am I to have been in the just the right place at just the right time to have seen it.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Dragons Live Forever, But Not So Little Boys
It’s been a long time since I was a little boy. In many ways, my mind is stuck in those days. In others, I have to really think hard to bring it all back. Some ideas are forged together strangely—from the heat and pressure, I guess. I saw the movie Pete’s Dragon in a theatre as a young little boy. For some reason, whenever I hear the song “Puff the Magic Dragon” I think of Pete’s Dragon. Part of me wants to see the movie again, so I would actually know what it was about, but a bigger part wants to just leave those scattered images right where they are, as they are. But, there’s much, much more behind that thought.
See, I had a friend named Pete, too.
I first remember Pete from first grade. My desk was right behind his. We both had the same color of red hair, which is that un-mistakeable color of red. Not a redish hue of blond, or a lightish brown. Red. Leprechaun red. Other people in our families had the red hair, too, but no one else in the school did. Granted, it was a small school, but the impact was the same. Evidently, red heads look funny to other kids. Although, anything that is not like everything else is “funny” to kids and subject to ridicule. Maybe everything is subject to ridicule. I don’t know. Either way, we did not enjoy being red heads. Adults seem to enjoy us little red headed kids, but that mostly just made it worse.
Our houses were nowhere near each other, so Pete and I only spent time together in school and with the other kids around. But, again, it was a small school, so the whole class playing together was still a pretty close-knit group. We had the most fun a recess. For many years, of those early years, the fad of the day was marbles. Now, I can say marbles and everyone knows what I’m talking about, but the way we played marbles and what it all meant was probably different than the rest of the world. For one, we played one at a time, and we always played for keeps. In other words, I would challenge one of my marbles against one of yours. And much negotiation took place in this process. We were always trying to win better marbles, so I was negotiating to try and get you to wager a marble that impressed me. And you would be doing the same thing. Some of the prized possessions were what we called “boulders” which were particularly large (about 1 inch diameter or slightly larger-- bigger was better) and among the most elite of these were “steelies” (actually large ball bearings, but they were large!... and shiny!... and didn’t scratch… and they had that great heft to them! ) or “clearies” which were the translucent, one color type. They looked like rounded gem stones. Beautiful. Of course, envy played a gigantic role in all of this. Without knowing anything else about a person, we sized them up by their marble bag. Pete and I (and many of my other elementary school friends) played and traded many marbles.
We played football a lot! For one thing, this is North Dakota we’re talking about. We have snow 6 months out of the year some years. Also, football season begins when school does and lasts just over half the school year. We loved to watch it, but mostly we loved to play it in the snow. Snow on the ground, even a mere few inches somehow makes landing softer. The sliding also leaves fewer stains on clothes and scratches on skin. We played all our rough and tackle games in the long snowy winters of ND. It was awesome! If you know how to enjoy it, winter is really fun.
Back in those days it seemed like the Pittsburg Steelers and/or the Dallas Cowboys were in the Superbowl every year. I grew up a Steelers fan. We had a conveniently even split in our class. So, we almost always played Steelers vs. Cowboys football at recess. Back then, we had as many as 3 recesses a day. The morning and afternoon recess was only 15 minutes. Lunch was half an hour. That seems paltry as an adult, but was plenty of time for a game as kids. Some of those years, I spent time as the QB of our team. It was an informal process as to who was QB. We pretty much based it on success. As long as we were winning or moving the ball, we stuck with what worked. When things went downhill, we’d unceremoniously fire that guy and quickly decide who we thought had the mojo to win. Call it a pecking order. Call it a “team captains picking order” or whatever. Young boys know what’s what.
We had no pass rush. The QB had to stay behind the line of scrimmage at all times. Everyone else was a receiver. That’s how we played. Everyone on defense was covering a receiver. Pete was an excellent receiver. Some guys just know how to get open. One way to do that is to “go long.” Pete was good for that. It’s actually pretty hard to cover someone that is just running as fast as they can. If you run ahead of them, all they have to do is stop and turn around to catch the ball. If you run behind them, they QB just has to lead them. Pete was good for both. But, mostly he was just plain committed to catching the thing. If he had to jump on your head to do it, he would. If he had to dive for the ground and load his sleeves and collar with snow, he would. Receivers like that make QBs look good. Any time you can consistently go long and make a successful catch, that’s going to be a fun game. Ah, the glory days! They’ll pass you by…
We played basketball some. For the longest time, we did not have the proper equipment on the playground. When we reached junior high, we got a new principal and he made some great changes from our perspective. Early fall and late spring provided some decent basketball weather. Basketball is hard to play in mittens, boots, and coats. The great thing about playing basketball with Pete was that he was fearless. We called him Pistol. Yeah, as in Pistol Pete, but not really. We called him Pistol because we could get him to shoot from anywhere. It didn’t matter where he was on the court or if he was well defended. All we had to do was yell, “Shoot it!” and he would. It was more fun than a real game. We were not that good, and we were often congested on the court. This is where a trained player or coach would go into the supreme aspects of basketball as a team game which creates opportunities to get open and find the open player. Whatever. We only had 15 minutes. We wanted to watch Pete launch it from half court with a hand in his face. That was fun! He actually made several of them, too.
Another improvement that principal made was computers. At first, we only had two. They were set up in the science room and we had to sign up to use them. It was a huge issue, logistically, for anyone in our family to not have to ride the bus home, which left right after school let out, basically. Same thing for “before school.” That was the only access time (because science classes were going on at recess). But, it did happen. I use to get so excited that the first thing I had to do was go to the bathroom. It was a big deal. Some of us used to take babysitting jobs just because the parents had a computer that we could use once we got the kids to bed. That was our payment. And we actually thought it was a pretty good deal. A few years later, my two brothers and I pooled our money together and bought that computer. It was an Apple IIe. Over the next few years, I learned and did much programming on that thing. My greatest accomplishment was a program I called Draw. I figured out how to make a glorified Etch a Sketch. The graphics were a poor definition in those days—about as good as an Etch a Sketch. So, holding down the “m” key to draw a line from any desired point on the screen down, made sense. I was old enough to get the formulas right to make a circle when I hit “c” and entered my desired diameter. It’s not much of stretch from there to make an arch or an oval. You get the idea. The biggest problem was that the world has never been sold on Apple computers. All of my programming skill was mostly useless by high school.
Pete was smarter than that. Pete used the computer to play games. One of his favorites was this game where he was a gun that arched 180 degrees left to right. Out of the sky would descend little paratroopers. The objective was to shoot the plane and the paratroopers. You could succeed either by shooting the trooper himself or dissevering him from his parachute and watching him splat to the ground. It was pretty fun. But, all video games are inherently fun. It goes without saying. Pete took a perverse pleasure in that gun, though. He made his own sound effects for good hits and the various deaths of his enemies. It was just as fun to watch and listen to him play as to play myself. He once joked that the game represented his ideal life: just him on his own island and a great big gun!
Pete and I and our small class of mates mostly lost track of each other around high school. Our small school only had nine grades. Today, it is only an elementary school. So, we all went to the one big high school with everyone else in town. We had more people to meet and know. We had more opportunities and interests. And we had the greater freedom that high school provided, including the ability to drive out of town from time to time. We started running in different circles. But, we still knew each other. We still bumped into each other and generally knew what each other was doing. We just were not doing it together for the most part.
After high school, Pete went into the military. I went to college. I saw him a handful of times when we both happened to be “home.” Eventually, we both ended up living in our home town again. But, we were almost strangers by that time. Our circles had grown further and further apart. Young men have other things on their agendas, if you know what I mean.
And then one day, the whole town heard the tragic news. You see, Pete had been murdered. By his own brother, who was living with him at the time. It was a murder/suicide, actually. Gunned down, through the apartment window, in fact. In a small town, any killing is a big, tragic story. This one was even bigger than that.
Their apartment is very near the high school. I see that house very often to this day. That and many other things often remind me of Pete. People like me write about stuff like that. It’s just what we do.
Pete was killed about 7 years ago, as of this moment. At our class reunion, we planted a tree to his memory, with his family. To anyone other than us, it’s just another tree in the park. To anyone other than us, we are just more faces in the crowd, small heads in old pictures, names in old books, and memories in old heads. But, memories are timeless. Memories live forever.
See, I had a friend named Pete, too.
I first remember Pete from first grade. My desk was right behind his. We both had the same color of red hair, which is that un-mistakeable color of red. Not a redish hue of blond, or a lightish brown. Red. Leprechaun red. Other people in our families had the red hair, too, but no one else in the school did. Granted, it was a small school, but the impact was the same. Evidently, red heads look funny to other kids. Although, anything that is not like everything else is “funny” to kids and subject to ridicule. Maybe everything is subject to ridicule. I don’t know. Either way, we did not enjoy being red heads. Adults seem to enjoy us little red headed kids, but that mostly just made it worse.
Our houses were nowhere near each other, so Pete and I only spent time together in school and with the other kids around. But, again, it was a small school, so the whole class playing together was still a pretty close-knit group. We had the most fun a recess. For many years, of those early years, the fad of the day was marbles. Now, I can say marbles and everyone knows what I’m talking about, but the way we played marbles and what it all meant was probably different than the rest of the world. For one, we played one at a time, and we always played for keeps. In other words, I would challenge one of my marbles against one of yours. And much negotiation took place in this process. We were always trying to win better marbles, so I was negotiating to try and get you to wager a marble that impressed me. And you would be doing the same thing. Some of the prized possessions were what we called “boulders” which were particularly large (about 1 inch diameter or slightly larger-- bigger was better) and among the most elite of these were “steelies” (actually large ball bearings, but they were large!... and shiny!... and didn’t scratch… and they had that great heft to them! ) or “clearies” which were the translucent, one color type. They looked like rounded gem stones. Beautiful. Of course, envy played a gigantic role in all of this. Without knowing anything else about a person, we sized them up by their marble bag. Pete and I (and many of my other elementary school friends) played and traded many marbles.
We played football a lot! For one thing, this is North Dakota we’re talking about. We have snow 6 months out of the year some years. Also, football season begins when school does and lasts just over half the school year. We loved to watch it, but mostly we loved to play it in the snow. Snow on the ground, even a mere few inches somehow makes landing softer. The sliding also leaves fewer stains on clothes and scratches on skin. We played all our rough and tackle games in the long snowy winters of ND. It was awesome! If you know how to enjoy it, winter is really fun.
Back in those days it seemed like the Pittsburg Steelers and/or the Dallas Cowboys were in the Superbowl every year. I grew up a Steelers fan. We had a conveniently even split in our class. So, we almost always played Steelers vs. Cowboys football at recess. Back then, we had as many as 3 recesses a day. The morning and afternoon recess was only 15 minutes. Lunch was half an hour. That seems paltry as an adult, but was plenty of time for a game as kids. Some of those years, I spent time as the QB of our team. It was an informal process as to who was QB. We pretty much based it on success. As long as we were winning or moving the ball, we stuck with what worked. When things went downhill, we’d unceremoniously fire that guy and quickly decide who we thought had the mojo to win. Call it a pecking order. Call it a “team captains picking order” or whatever. Young boys know what’s what.
We had no pass rush. The QB had to stay behind the line of scrimmage at all times. Everyone else was a receiver. That’s how we played. Everyone on defense was covering a receiver. Pete was an excellent receiver. Some guys just know how to get open. One way to do that is to “go long.” Pete was good for that. It’s actually pretty hard to cover someone that is just running as fast as they can. If you run ahead of them, all they have to do is stop and turn around to catch the ball. If you run behind them, they QB just has to lead them. Pete was good for both. But, mostly he was just plain committed to catching the thing. If he had to jump on your head to do it, he would. If he had to dive for the ground and load his sleeves and collar with snow, he would. Receivers like that make QBs look good. Any time you can consistently go long and make a successful catch, that’s going to be a fun game. Ah, the glory days! They’ll pass you by…
We played basketball some. For the longest time, we did not have the proper equipment on the playground. When we reached junior high, we got a new principal and he made some great changes from our perspective. Early fall and late spring provided some decent basketball weather. Basketball is hard to play in mittens, boots, and coats. The great thing about playing basketball with Pete was that he was fearless. We called him Pistol. Yeah, as in Pistol Pete, but not really. We called him Pistol because we could get him to shoot from anywhere. It didn’t matter where he was on the court or if he was well defended. All we had to do was yell, “Shoot it!” and he would. It was more fun than a real game. We were not that good, and we were often congested on the court. This is where a trained player or coach would go into the supreme aspects of basketball as a team game which creates opportunities to get open and find the open player. Whatever. We only had 15 minutes. We wanted to watch Pete launch it from half court with a hand in his face. That was fun! He actually made several of them, too.
Another improvement that principal made was computers. At first, we only had two. They were set up in the science room and we had to sign up to use them. It was a huge issue, logistically, for anyone in our family to not have to ride the bus home, which left right after school let out, basically. Same thing for “before school.” That was the only access time (because science classes were going on at recess). But, it did happen. I use to get so excited that the first thing I had to do was go to the bathroom. It was a big deal. Some of us used to take babysitting jobs just because the parents had a computer that we could use once we got the kids to bed. That was our payment. And we actually thought it was a pretty good deal. A few years later, my two brothers and I pooled our money together and bought that computer. It was an Apple IIe. Over the next few years, I learned and did much programming on that thing. My greatest accomplishment was a program I called Draw. I figured out how to make a glorified Etch a Sketch. The graphics were a poor definition in those days—about as good as an Etch a Sketch. So, holding down the “m” key to draw a line from any desired point on the screen down, made sense. I was old enough to get the formulas right to make a circle when I hit “c” and entered my desired diameter. It’s not much of stretch from there to make an arch or an oval. You get the idea. The biggest problem was that the world has never been sold on Apple computers. All of my programming skill was mostly useless by high school.
Pete was smarter than that. Pete used the computer to play games. One of his favorites was this game where he was a gun that arched 180 degrees left to right. Out of the sky would descend little paratroopers. The objective was to shoot the plane and the paratroopers. You could succeed either by shooting the trooper himself or dissevering him from his parachute and watching him splat to the ground. It was pretty fun. But, all video games are inherently fun. It goes without saying. Pete took a perverse pleasure in that gun, though. He made his own sound effects for good hits and the various deaths of his enemies. It was just as fun to watch and listen to him play as to play myself. He once joked that the game represented his ideal life: just him on his own island and a great big gun!
Pete and I and our small class of mates mostly lost track of each other around high school. Our small school only had nine grades. Today, it is only an elementary school. So, we all went to the one big high school with everyone else in town. We had more people to meet and know. We had more opportunities and interests. And we had the greater freedom that high school provided, including the ability to drive out of town from time to time. We started running in different circles. But, we still knew each other. We still bumped into each other and generally knew what each other was doing. We just were not doing it together for the most part.
After high school, Pete went into the military. I went to college. I saw him a handful of times when we both happened to be “home.” Eventually, we both ended up living in our home town again. But, we were almost strangers by that time. Our circles had grown further and further apart. Young men have other things on their agendas, if you know what I mean.
And then one day, the whole town heard the tragic news. You see, Pete had been murdered. By his own brother, who was living with him at the time. It was a murder/suicide, actually. Gunned down, through the apartment window, in fact. In a small town, any killing is a big, tragic story. This one was even bigger than that.
Their apartment is very near the high school. I see that house very often to this day. That and many other things often remind me of Pete. People like me write about stuff like that. It’s just what we do.
Pete was killed about 7 years ago, as of this moment. At our class reunion, we planted a tree to his memory, with his family. To anyone other than us, it’s just another tree in the park. To anyone other than us, we are just more faces in the crowd, small heads in old pictures, names in old books, and memories in old heads. But, memories are timeless. Memories live forever.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Bigfoot
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!
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!
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.
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