I have been a Batman fan for many years, owning probably around 1000 comics starring the character, spanning from the 1970s through today.
The 1989 Batman with Michael Keaton and directed by Tim Burton was good. It was dark, moody, and gave us the “Dark Knight” for the first time on the screen. I enjoyed it. However, each sequel got a little worse, with the two Joel Schumacher movies killing the franchise with the poor choices the director made.
Memento is now one of my all-time favorite movies. Insomnia was insightful and intriguing, even if I did not ultimately like it. Christopher Nolan is someone I really respect. Upon hearing that this man would take over the relaunch of the Batman franchise, I was ecstatic.
As I watched Batman Begins, I kept thinking, “This is what I’ve been waiting for.” Although Act 1 was a little long, and I hated the use of flashbacks (and some in the audience became a little confused by them… just put the flashbacks at the beginning as actual story, and go from there!), it gave us a concrete background and foundation for this self-made hero. It was not word-for-word what I know from the comic’s history, but that is fine. They tied aspects together in a coherent fashion that made sense within the world Nolan depicted.
Once Wayne first dresses in a prototype costume (not involving bat paraphernalia yet) and meets with Jim Gordon for the first time, the movie really takes off.
As a geeky fan boy, the scene where Wayne initially wears his bat costume and attacks a gang of thugs in a container yard had me on the edge of my seat. It was like watching the first part of Jaws, where you never see the shark, only the effect it has on the world around it. Like Jaws, you only see flashes and glimpses of Batman as he takes the men down one by one at first, using many different tricks and subterfuges. Finally, when you are envisioning that the remaining group members have all stained their shorts and have ganged up, Batman jumps into the middle of the group and thrashes them all as only Batman can.
Now this is BATMAN! This scene could have been ripped right from any Detective Comics or Batman issue and it felt so true to the spirit of the character.
Christian Bale was inspired casting, the first actor to really show the dichotomy of the Wayne and Batman personas. In one scene he is interrogating someone for information. The anger and hatred that Bale is able to convey is so right on I smiled broadly and actually clapped my hands together. Later, when he acts like a drunken boor as Wayne at a party thrown in his honor, Bale once again shows that he gets it. Bruce Wayne died shortly after his parents did and is now the mask. Batman is the real person. Everything he does as Wayne is an affectation; a means to an end. Batman is his reality now. Surrounding Bale are stalwarts of cinema; Morgan Freeman is perfect as Lucius Fox, Michael Caine plays a very affable and sincere Alfred, Rutger Hauer is great as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Cillian Murphy made a very good Scarecrow, Liam Neeson is powerful as Henri Ducard, and special cudos go to Gary Oldman for his turn as Jim Gordon (it is nice to see him playing a good guy again). Katie Holmes didn’t seem to be doing much more than an older version of Joey Potter, but she looked good and didn’t take anything away from the movie with her presence. The role called for heart, and Katie delivered that.
This movie will quickly be considered one of the all-time great comic book adaptations. Outside of this, it is a very well done action adventure movie for those who do not normally see a “comic book movie” because they think they won’t get it or follow along. It is an adult story, with a lot of violence and some scary scenes and I would not allow a child under the age of 10-12 to see, and certainly not without supervision.
June 20, 2005
Closer
Closer, the movie starring Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, and Jude Law, is a beautiful piece of shit.
The direction is superb and understated. The acting is spot on and powerfully real. The sound and cinematography are sublime. The score is worth the listen.
The story, however, had no focus. All the movie shows us is the banality of life. The lowest of the low decisions people make. At each opportunity that the characters have to turn back from the train wreck that is quickly becoming their lives, they choose the poorest option. The repetition of these poor decisions is so consistent as to be absurd. Pure random chance would cause some of this story to turn out better than it did.
Closer is about four people whose lives commingle in such a way so that everyone’s life is lost in the banal.
Movies can be about real life, and I have enjoyed films that are. Films can be about common people making common decisions, and they can be good. But in these cases they usually hold a mirror to our own lives, have a cautionary tale to tell, or a moral judgment to make. In Closer, every time it seems like a comment is forthcoming, or a moral, or something, the story shies away. At first I thought this might be about the duplicity we all bring to relationships. Next I figured it was cautioning that too much truth can hurt as much as it heals. I also flirted with the notion the movie was warning against mistaking passion or lust for love. Lastly, I thought maybe it was saying that people by their very natures are spiteful.
Closer shied from each of those, just as it had the chance to score the point. So in the end, I am left choosing between one of two morals to this story: People are stupid, which I already knew, and that relationships are a lie, which I refuse to believe.
A slice of life only works if you comment on it. Otherwise, the viewers could be living their own lives rather than watching what the filmmaker chooses to show them. This beautiful piece of shit enthralled me with its beauty, but, ultimately, left me unfulfilled.
The direction is superb and understated. The acting is spot on and powerfully real. The sound and cinematography are sublime. The score is worth the listen.
The story, however, had no focus. All the movie shows us is the banality of life. The lowest of the low decisions people make. At each opportunity that the characters have to turn back from the train wreck that is quickly becoming their lives, they choose the poorest option. The repetition of these poor decisions is so consistent as to be absurd. Pure random chance would cause some of this story to turn out better than it did.
Closer is about four people whose lives commingle in such a way so that everyone’s life is lost in the banal.
Movies can be about real life, and I have enjoyed films that are. Films can be about common people making common decisions, and they can be good. But in these cases they usually hold a mirror to our own lives, have a cautionary tale to tell, or a moral judgment to make. In Closer, every time it seems like a comment is forthcoming, or a moral, or something, the story shies away. At first I thought this might be about the duplicity we all bring to relationships. Next I figured it was cautioning that too much truth can hurt as much as it heals. I also flirted with the notion the movie was warning against mistaking passion or lust for love. Lastly, I thought maybe it was saying that people by their very natures are spiteful.
Closer shied from each of those, just as it had the chance to score the point. So in the end, I am left choosing between one of two morals to this story: People are stupid, which I already knew, and that relationships are a lie, which I refuse to believe.
A slice of life only works if you comment on it. Otherwise, the viewers could be living their own lives rather than watching what the filmmaker chooses to show them. This beautiful piece of shit enthralled me with its beauty, but, ultimately, left me unfulfilled.
June 16, 2005
Another Earthquake
Hmm... we just had a >=5.0 earthquake that lasted about 10 seconds (which is pretty long for an earthquake). This one was located in Yucaipa, which is very close to Irvine. That's two of similar magnitude near Yucaipa in less than 1 week. Plus the one just the other day at >7.0 up north of San Francisco. You have to wonder.
Actually, our building is still moving from aftershocks, too. Just felt another shift and roll.
Gotta love it.
Actually, our building is still moving from aftershocks, too. Just felt another shift and roll.
Gotta love it.
Thursday Thoughts
Three best “love” scenes in cinema (in no particular order):
- The trunk scene in Out of Sight. George Clooney kidnaps Jennifer Lopez and they escape in the trunk of a car driven by Clooney’s companion. During the drive, and the ensuing conversation, sparks fly. Note Clooney’s hand as he ever so gently touches her arm, hip, and waist with his fingertips.
- Shaving scene from Phenomenon. John Travolta has finally reached his “quiet place” and is learning to deal with the strange new thoughts and lack of sleep. He decides to go speak at a local event so that people won’t be afraid of him. Kyra Sedgewick visits and gives him a haircut and a shave to help him prepare for his presentation. Note how she is continually brushing against him, touching his neck and back, and, at the end, presses her cheek to his.
- The Player. Tim Robbins is having sex with Greta Scacchi. On screen, Robert Altman (the director) chooses to show only their faces in front of a fireplace. Without showing any overt actions, strictly through great acting, dialogue, and facial expressions, you see their vulnerabilities and passion.
Notable mention:
- Pump Up the Volume. After finding out who Hard Harry is, Samantha Mathis waits for Christian Slater near school. As he nears, she moves and they start circling each other, smiling and glancing at one another. Their circling gets closer and closer until they kiss. This circling theme is repeated a couple of times in the movie, to great effect.
- Titanic. Leonardo DiCaprio drawing Kate Winslet wearing the necklace (and nothing else). Yes, it has become cliché and often mocked, but it was still a great scene, much better than the one in the car.
- Pottery scene in Ghost. Another cliché and oft-mocked scene, it was pretty big in its day.
None of my best “love” scenes involve anything overtly sexual (and most of them don’t even involve nudity). A good love scene is so much more than nudity and blatant actions. Wish more filmmakers would learn that lesson.
What is your top love scene in a movie? And what constitutes a good love scene in your mind?
June 15, 2005
Censored
I started this blog so I could stand naked on my metaphorical mountaintop, flipping the bird to the world. I needed a place where I could vent all of the shit that goes through my head at work and at 2 am on those (many) sleepless nights. Some of my closest friends are quite happy that I started this, because they were tired of listening to my wild conjectures, lengthy discourses on comic books and movies, and weird political ideas. I honestly believed for the longest time that no one would read it or that they would stop in once and move on, never to return. I certainly never expected the response I have received!
One of my best and oldest friends reads this regularly. His girlfriend reads it. My mother is a faithful reader and commenter. An intriguing new female friend and her compatriots have become regular readers. Other friends and coworkers are at least semi-regulars. My ephemeral anonymity is gone. Many of these people see me often and know me well.
This is a good thing; it allows them to know what is going on with me without having to guess or make arrangements for lunch or dinner. They need not write an email or pick up the phone. Sometimes, what I share prompts them to contact me because of the severity of what I write or a need they sense. All very positive and I have grown because of it.
The crux of the problem is that I am finding it harder to continue posting here without censoring myself. Sometimes I want to post things that happen as they relate to my group of friends. At least two of them are regular readers and would instantly recognize themselves or others of the group if I did this. Would they be offended? Would it prompt discussion? Would I be blacklisted with the rest of the group for negative comments? Would I or they be embarrassed by the positive comments? And that intriguing female friend I mentioned—would she be embarrassed if I posted the glowing things about her that I would like to? Her friends read this too, remember, and they will quickly guess about whom I am posting. What about family issues? Will I offend, embarrass, or just annoy my mom by posting such things? What about my sister’s opinion, an infrequent visitor to this blog?
These thoughts have been weighing more heavily after two recent events, both dinners with friends.
First, I had a dinner get-together with a good buddy, Evan, whom I have known for about eight years now. Evan is one of the smartest and most unique individuals I know, and I value his opinion. He mentioned that he is amazed at what I am willing to post to my blog. He was astonished I would share so many intimate things. He will probably be surprised that I post this.
Secondly, about a week after dinner with Evan, I was invited up to a spontaneous dinner/movie night at Chris’. The participants were Chris, his girlfriend Cynthia, and me. This was one of a handful of times I have been around Cynthia in person. Maybe because of the few times we have met in person, I was surprised by how confidently she spoke with me on certain topics. Of course, as a frequent reader of my blog, she knows many more things about me than I do about her. My knowledge is limited to the info Chris chooses to share and what I have learned in the limited personal contact I have had with her so far. Do not mistake me; I am happy she feels she knows me well enough from my blog to talk with me about such topics. But I was caught a little off-guard at her openness toward me and realized it came from her “knowing” me better than I knew her.
The easiest solution I can see is to anonymously start a new blog. Do not share it with my cadre of friends or my family and go on posting. But this seems false to me. It seems like a concession that I am saying things I somehow should not be or that I am doing something wrong. Plus, I honestly feel and believe the things that I post or I would not type them. It is cathartic to know people who care about me are getting the information that I may not necessarily share if we were face to face. It is not that I would not tell them if they asked, but that I may not think to share such things (and they may not think or know to ask).
I am generally well spoken in conversation, however, many times I need to write something out before I can wrap my head around it or get comfortable with it. That act of assaulting the blank page helps me to think things through and come to conclusions better than almost anything else. It slows down my rapid fire thoughts and allows a whole to coalesce from the pieces in my mind.
And, in the end, that is why I am making this post. I need to wrap my head around this conundrum and come to a decision. Do I continue posting here, for all to see? Do I censor myself on those topics I think may cause issue (good or bad) for myself or others? Do I start a new blog and keep it to myself?
Hopefully a solution will resolve itself in my mind soon.
One of my best and oldest friends reads this regularly. His girlfriend reads it. My mother is a faithful reader and commenter. An intriguing new female friend and her compatriots have become regular readers. Other friends and coworkers are at least semi-regulars. My ephemeral anonymity is gone. Many of these people see me often and know me well.
This is a good thing; it allows them to know what is going on with me without having to guess or make arrangements for lunch or dinner. They need not write an email or pick up the phone. Sometimes, what I share prompts them to contact me because of the severity of what I write or a need they sense. All very positive and I have grown because of it.
The crux of the problem is that I am finding it harder to continue posting here without censoring myself. Sometimes I want to post things that happen as they relate to my group of friends. At least two of them are regular readers and would instantly recognize themselves or others of the group if I did this. Would they be offended? Would it prompt discussion? Would I be blacklisted with the rest of the group for negative comments? Would I or they be embarrassed by the positive comments? And that intriguing female friend I mentioned—would she be embarrassed if I posted the glowing things about her that I would like to? Her friends read this too, remember, and they will quickly guess about whom I am posting. What about family issues? Will I offend, embarrass, or just annoy my mom by posting such things? What about my sister’s opinion, an infrequent visitor to this blog?
These thoughts have been weighing more heavily after two recent events, both dinners with friends.
First, I had a dinner get-together with a good buddy, Evan, whom I have known for about eight years now. Evan is one of the smartest and most unique individuals I know, and I value his opinion. He mentioned that he is amazed at what I am willing to post to my blog. He was astonished I would share so many intimate things. He will probably be surprised that I post this.
Secondly, about a week after dinner with Evan, I was invited up to a spontaneous dinner/movie night at Chris’. The participants were Chris, his girlfriend Cynthia, and me. This was one of a handful of times I have been around Cynthia in person. Maybe because of the few times we have met in person, I was surprised by how confidently she spoke with me on certain topics. Of course, as a frequent reader of my blog, she knows many more things about me than I do about her. My knowledge is limited to the info Chris chooses to share and what I have learned in the limited personal contact I have had with her so far. Do not mistake me; I am happy she feels she knows me well enough from my blog to talk with me about such topics. But I was caught a little off-guard at her openness toward me and realized it came from her “knowing” me better than I knew her.
The easiest solution I can see is to anonymously start a new blog. Do not share it with my cadre of friends or my family and go on posting. But this seems false to me. It seems like a concession that I am saying things I somehow should not be or that I am doing something wrong. Plus, I honestly feel and believe the things that I post or I would not type them. It is cathartic to know people who care about me are getting the information that I may not necessarily share if we were face to face. It is not that I would not tell them if they asked, but that I may not think to share such things (and they may not think or know to ask).
I am generally well spoken in conversation, however, many times I need to write something out before I can wrap my head around it or get comfortable with it. That act of assaulting the blank page helps me to think things through and come to conclusions better than almost anything else. It slows down my rapid fire thoughts and allows a whole to coalesce from the pieces in my mind.
And, in the end, that is why I am making this post. I need to wrap my head around this conundrum and come to a decision. Do I continue posting here, for all to see? Do I censor myself on those topics I think may cause issue (good or bad) for myself or others? Do I start a new blog and keep it to myself?
Hopefully a solution will resolve itself in my mind soon.
Idle Thought, Appropos of nothing
Time and distance suck.
Specifically 4 hours and approximately 3350 miles (or around 5400 kilometers).
(cracks open a book on wormhole theories)
Specifically 4 hours and approximately 3350 miles (or around 5400 kilometers).
(cracks open a book on wormhole theories)
Tsunami in California?
With the huge destruction of life and property in the Indian Ocean still fresh in mind, it came as quite a shock to have the Emergency Broadcast System interrupt my TV viewing last night with a tsunami warning for the west coast of America.
I have lived in California all my life and earthquakes are a fact of life. Having the rational knowledge that earthquakes in the sea floor are the number one reason for tsunami creation does not necessarily translate to real-world expectations, however. From what I can see, the last tsunami to really hit this coast was back in 1964. That is prior to my birth and outside of my experience.
Secondly, I have only lived near the coast for a little over 4 years now. I am around 8 miles inland and live on the second floor, which should mean I am safe from the vast majority of tsunami effects. Because the coastal region in California has a number of challenges, including floods, liquefaction, mudslides, earthquakes, storms, and fires, tsunamis become something that happens in other regions, not here. There is enough to deal with already.
The amount of stress and anxiety that I experienced after the EBS broadcast its warning seemed out of context with the threat level. I attribute this to the images from December of people getting washed away in the floods. And all of the stories the news repeated during the first few days of the hundred who were missing and presumed dead.
The wakeup call was probably good. Today I am reading articles about areas that got to practice their emergency response systems (many failed), dry-run their evacuation techniques (many were successful), and got to see how certain infrastructures supported the emergency (phone lines clogged and became unusable in many areas, but other services seemed to hold up to the sudden strain).
Now for the real question on many minds: is this a precursor to more movement of our tectonic plate, or is this it for the near future? This makes two quakes above 5.0 in the last week with numerous 3s and 4s as aftershocks to those two.
I have lived in California all my life and earthquakes are a fact of life. Having the rational knowledge that earthquakes in the sea floor are the number one reason for tsunami creation does not necessarily translate to real-world expectations, however. From what I can see, the last tsunami to really hit this coast was back in 1964. That is prior to my birth and outside of my experience.
Secondly, I have only lived near the coast for a little over 4 years now. I am around 8 miles inland and live on the second floor, which should mean I am safe from the vast majority of tsunami effects. Because the coastal region in California has a number of challenges, including floods, liquefaction, mudslides, earthquakes, storms, and fires, tsunamis become something that happens in other regions, not here. There is enough to deal with already.
The amount of stress and anxiety that I experienced after the EBS broadcast its warning seemed out of context with the threat level. I attribute this to the images from December of people getting washed away in the floods. And all of the stories the news repeated during the first few days of the hundred who were missing and presumed dead.
The wakeup call was probably good. Today I am reading articles about areas that got to practice their emergency response systems (many failed), dry-run their evacuation techniques (many were successful), and got to see how certain infrastructures supported the emergency (phone lines clogged and became unusable in many areas, but other services seemed to hold up to the sudden strain).
Now for the real question on many minds: is this a precursor to more movement of our tectonic plate, or is this it for the near future? This makes two quakes above 5.0 in the last week with numerous 3s and 4s as aftershocks to those two.
June 12, 2005
Flows like Water
Well, I took some advice from Chris and once again took a stab at fixing my overly complicated DVD, VHS, Receiver, TiVo, TV setup. I picked up some S-Video cables recently, and used that to link to my receiver. I have everything running through the receiver and out to the TV now, which means I got rid of two cables and the entire switch box I was using before. The only thing sound-wise not going through the receiver is my TV. This is good because the cable signal, for some reason, winds up a half-second behind the display when I run the TV through the Receiver. It shouldn't, but does, so every show is like watchng Kung Fu Theatre on Saturday morning. This is bad because one of the speakers on the TV has a small short in it and sometimes gets real quiet. Best to just ignore the receiver and use the speakers. It's not like I watch a lot of TV without the TiVo anyway.
The other bad thing is that I had to take the VHS out of the loop for now. I couldn't get it to display and have sound at that same time. I think I may have just been tired, and I'll look at it again today sometime. It's only noon, so I have time to review today.
Dad, as an electrician, telephone guy, and teacher of electronics on the Marine Corps base, insists that electricity should flow like water. As long as you use that analogy and install your cables accordingly, everything should work and the signal/sound should "flow" from one device to the next in perfect harmony. My only response to this: I must not know how water flows. I do some sort of overly complicated version that usually ends up working, but uses about ten more cables, a couple of switch boxes, and duct tape in order to get the same result. Reminds me of those cartoons-- can't remember the cartoonist, but he was famous for presenting overly complicated devices to do simple things. Many of the Tom & Jerry cartoons used this same principle when demonstrating how to catch the mouse.
BTW, I've tried several of the $15-40 "universal" remotes and they all suck. I saw one recently that looked like a Palm Pilot, was about $150 and actually was truly programmable and you could download new devices through a USB cable and an internet connection. Anyone have an opinion on their successful use? I am, frankly, willing to pay this kind of money if I can truly have one remote that will actually run every device (and all the little features). Post a response with your opinions, please!
The other bad thing is that I had to take the VHS out of the loop for now. I couldn't get it to display and have sound at that same time. I think I may have just been tired, and I'll look at it again today sometime. It's only noon, so I have time to review today.
Dad, as an electrician, telephone guy, and teacher of electronics on the Marine Corps base, insists that electricity should flow like water. As long as you use that analogy and install your cables accordingly, everything should work and the signal/sound should "flow" from one device to the next in perfect harmony. My only response to this: I must not know how water flows. I do some sort of overly complicated version that usually ends up working, but uses about ten more cables, a couple of switch boxes, and duct tape in order to get the same result. Reminds me of those cartoons-- can't remember the cartoonist, but he was famous for presenting overly complicated devices to do simple things. Many of the Tom & Jerry cartoons used this same principle when demonstrating how to catch the mouse.
BTW, I've tried several of the $15-40 "universal" remotes and they all suck. I saw one recently that looked like a Palm Pilot, was about $150 and actually was truly programmable and you could download new devices through a USB cable and an internet connection. Anyone have an opinion on their successful use? I am, frankly, willing to pay this kind of money if I can truly have one remote that will actually run every device (and all the little features). Post a response with your opinions, please!
June 11, 2005
Working on a Saturday
I became a technical writer for many reasons. Some of those reasons are that it is a generally low-stress, don't have to work much overtime, never get paged in the wee-hours of the morning type of job.
So here I am, at work on a Saturday, wondering where I went wrong. Now, I don't mind the occasional overtime; it comes with the job (any job, for that matter). But this is already the third time this year I have felt the need to work on a weekend to stay caught up. Frustrating.
The good thing about it is that you can get so much more done without the constant bustle and distraction of the other people with whom you work. In only a couple of hours today I have managed to do about the same amount as I can on a work day. My email hasn't twitched once since coming in this morning. My phone has only sounded once, and that is my friend with whom I arranged to have lunch today. The rest has been music-turned-loud, nose-to-the-grind-stone get stuff DONE time.
And, I think I have done enough that I do not need to come back after lunch or tomorrow. I feel good about my Friday deadline and that I can get everything else ready by then-- and maybe earlier. Think I will shoot for Wednesday. ;-)
So here I am, at work on a Saturday, wondering where I went wrong. Now, I don't mind the occasional overtime; it comes with the job (any job, for that matter). But this is already the third time this year I have felt the need to work on a weekend to stay caught up. Frustrating.
The good thing about it is that you can get so much more done without the constant bustle and distraction of the other people with whom you work. In only a couple of hours today I have managed to do about the same amount as I can on a work day. My email hasn't twitched once since coming in this morning. My phone has only sounded once, and that is my friend with whom I arranged to have lunch today. The rest has been music-turned-loud, nose-to-the-grind-stone get stuff DONE time.
And, I think I have done enough that I do not need to come back after lunch or tomorrow. I feel good about my Friday deadline and that I can get everything else ready by then-- and maybe earlier. Think I will shoot for Wednesday. ;-)
Shave or not to Shave
I've been letting my hair, such as it is, grow out. Now I am sitting here debating on whether to shave it bald again. It's been warm enough to handle the shaved head (you would be amazed at how cold you get without any hair at all!), but I've had it so short or shaved for so long I've been toying with the idea of growning it out again.
Pic of me on the side is with head shaved bald. Decision will be made tomorrow morning, so comment before then if you want to weigh in on the debate.
Pic of me on the side is with head shaved bald. Decision will be made tomorrow morning, so comment before then if you want to weigh in on the debate.
June 10, 2005
New TV
I need to buy a new television. I would like to get one that fits into my current cabinet, which limits the sizes I can purchase. I currently have a 27" TV with about 4-5 inches to spare in my cabinet, so up to around 30" is likely doable (yes, I need to measure exactly; I'm getting there!).
Whatever I get MUST play DVDs as clearly as possible. I have some 120 DVDs (and counting), and equal number of VHS, and am a Netflix whore. Which means I'm leaning toward a TV with the nice digital connectors for DVD and VHS players. I also have a surround sound receiver and speakers to which I would want to connect the TV (which I cannot do with my existing TV).
Do I stay with a standard TV picture tube? Should I look long-term at a rear projection TV or a flat-panel TV of some sort? Should I get the movie aspect ratio screen (16:9) or a standard square picture?
I am constantly reading about the changing standards in TVs and in the broadcast signals which makes the decision more difficult. Apparently, a new law was just passed that will stop manufacturers from making TVs with analog receivers starting in about a month. Everything is being forced to digital. First, why is the government passing laws over such stuff and, second, digital receivers are much more expensive than analog receivers (typically by one to two hundred dollars).
There is always the great High Definition tuner debate raging in my head. Should I get a set without HD (much lower cost). Should I get one that is "compatible" (higher cost, but still requires a separate tuner). Should I get one that is fully compatible (has all equipment). If I go this route, will I actually sign up with an HD provider? Or will I be paying for something I will never use.
If I do get a digital TV tuner, will I actually upgrade to a digital tuner from my cable provider? Or will I stick with the no thrills service I have now? I am leaning toward the digital tuner even now, so I would likely upgrade at least that portion.
I cannot watch TV without my TiVo anymore. When friends suggested it would change the way I watch TV, I scoffed. But they were absolutely right. You get used to being able to pause live TV, rewind, schedule it to record things from work when a work-mate suggests a show you might like, etc. So, I have to make sure that the new technology I get does not interfere with my TiVo, DVD player, etc.
I live upstairs. Most of the 27" or bigger TVs I would be interested in weigh in at 100 lbs or more. I have to get that thing up the stairs and into the cabinet and my current TV down those stairs. Should I pay for delivery and/or set up?
Lastly, where do I put my current TV. It still works and could make someone a nice starting TV for whatever years it has left in it. It is feature poor and has two small burn spots starting in it (the main reasons I want to replace it), but someone who cannot normally afford a TV would probably be thrilled to get it. Is Goodwill a good idea? Should I try to give it away? What about trying to sell it cheap?
I hate these mid-range decisions. They are expensive enough you want to think them through, yet low-cost enough that all this planning and thinking seems strangely useless. In some ways the big purchases (like a car) are much easier.
Decisions, decisions.
Whatever I get MUST play DVDs as clearly as possible. I have some 120 DVDs (and counting), and equal number of VHS, and am a Netflix whore. Which means I'm leaning toward a TV with the nice digital connectors for DVD and VHS players. I also have a surround sound receiver and speakers to which I would want to connect the TV (which I cannot do with my existing TV).
Do I stay with a standard TV picture tube? Should I look long-term at a rear projection TV or a flat-panel TV of some sort? Should I get the movie aspect ratio screen (16:9) or a standard square picture?
I am constantly reading about the changing standards in TVs and in the broadcast signals which makes the decision more difficult. Apparently, a new law was just passed that will stop manufacturers from making TVs with analog receivers starting in about a month. Everything is being forced to digital. First, why is the government passing laws over such stuff and, second, digital receivers are much more expensive than analog receivers (typically by one to two hundred dollars).
There is always the great High Definition tuner debate raging in my head. Should I get a set without HD (much lower cost). Should I get one that is "compatible" (higher cost, but still requires a separate tuner). Should I get one that is fully compatible (has all equipment). If I go this route, will I actually sign up with an HD provider? Or will I be paying for something I will never use.
If I do get a digital TV tuner, will I actually upgrade to a digital tuner from my cable provider? Or will I stick with the no thrills service I have now? I am leaning toward the digital tuner even now, so I would likely upgrade at least that portion.
I cannot watch TV without my TiVo anymore. When friends suggested it would change the way I watch TV, I scoffed. But they were absolutely right. You get used to being able to pause live TV, rewind, schedule it to record things from work when a work-mate suggests a show you might like, etc. So, I have to make sure that the new technology I get does not interfere with my TiVo, DVD player, etc.
I live upstairs. Most of the 27" or bigger TVs I would be interested in weigh in at 100 lbs or more. I have to get that thing up the stairs and into the cabinet and my current TV down those stairs. Should I pay for delivery and/or set up?
Lastly, where do I put my current TV. It still works and could make someone a nice starting TV for whatever years it has left in it. It is feature poor and has two small burn spots starting in it (the main reasons I want to replace it), but someone who cannot normally afford a TV would probably be thrilled to get it. Is Goodwill a good idea? Should I try to give it away? What about trying to sell it cheap?
I hate these mid-range decisions. They are expensive enough you want to think them through, yet low-cost enough that all this planning and thinking seems strangely useless. In some ways the big purchases (like a car) are much easier.
Decisions, decisions.
June 2, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
It is funny how much reinforcement can make the difference. At work, I was slacking a bit. I had a project that I did not care for, and was working with a group of people who were difficult at best. Because of this, I was not giving one hundred percent and knew it. My boss sensed it and she took me into her office and basically said, “John, I know you can do more and can work harder than this. How can I help?” We worked out some ways in which I could be better motivated to do those tasks and, when it recently came time for my mid-year review, I was given a good mark to go with what I had accomplished since that little talking to.
So, my boss gave me some reinforcement by suggesting I was not working as hard as I could and helping me to reconstruct my priorities so that I could, and followed it by giving me the at-a-boy I deserved for kicking it back into gear and getting back on top. Now I want to continue on this trend so I can continue to succeed.
I play a cooperative game called City of Heroes. Many people are down on “pick-up groups” because you never know what you are going to get when you throw your lot in with a bunch of strangers. My last pick-up group wound up being a very good one, and I got a lot of compliments because of the quality job I did in helping everyone out. I raced around making sure that anyone who got attacked was safe, I ‘aggroed’ as much to me as possible (even though I was not the tank of the group) so that those who were more easily hit and killed within the game did not have to suffer defeat. Not only did a few people publicly state that they thought I did a good job, but they also asked if they could put me on their friends list and team with me in the future. What great reinforcement and I am much more likely to team with those people again if they ask me for help.
When I am Dungeon Master for my group of friends, I like to provide additional awards to people when I feel they did a particularly good job roleplaying their characters. This positive reinforcement, I feel, makes them want to do that same good job again and those who do not get the award want to follow suit next time so they can get the bonus award. In this way, I get players who want to play the game the way in which I want to DM it.
If IT does something to help me out, I like to say “Thank you.” Many people do not, as they assume that IT is ‘just doing their job.’ That may be true, but if they do it well, quickly, and with patience, why not say “Thank you” or “You do really good work” to the person? It makes them feel good about helping you, reinforces their perception of themselves and the job they do, and is polite.
Compliments are also another way to provide reinforcement. When someone is looking particularly good or fashionable, I like to tell them so. By complimenting them, I am reinforcing their ego and their decision to go with that style choice. It makes them feel good.
I also find that when I genuinely reinforce someone else, I tend to perk up and feel better too. I do not get this boost if I reinforce someone insincerely, which leads me to compliment, thank, and reinforce only when I truly mean it.
So, my task to you in this Thursday Thoughts is to find someone who you feel genuinely deserves some reinforcement and give it to them. Compliment someone on his/her choice of clothing, hairstyle, or other notable change. Thank your teacher or your boss for helping you learn and grow. Thank that person who just helped you do something faster or better. Compliment that man who wore a tie today, or that woman who put on her business suit and looks snappy. Show your appreciation to your parents, children, or neighbors. Thank someone for the job they did well, even if it does not relate to you or what you do in the least.
I think you might just find that you feel even better about yourself and your day will breeze on by.
So, my boss gave me some reinforcement by suggesting I was not working as hard as I could and helping me to reconstruct my priorities so that I could, and followed it by giving me the at-a-boy I deserved for kicking it back into gear and getting back on top. Now I want to continue on this trend so I can continue to succeed.
I play a cooperative game called City of Heroes. Many people are down on “pick-up groups” because you never know what you are going to get when you throw your lot in with a bunch of strangers. My last pick-up group wound up being a very good one, and I got a lot of compliments because of the quality job I did in helping everyone out. I raced around making sure that anyone who got attacked was safe, I ‘aggroed’ as much to me as possible (even though I was not the tank of the group) so that those who were more easily hit and killed within the game did not have to suffer defeat. Not only did a few people publicly state that they thought I did a good job, but they also asked if they could put me on their friends list and team with me in the future. What great reinforcement and I am much more likely to team with those people again if they ask me for help.
When I am Dungeon Master for my group of friends, I like to provide additional awards to people when I feel they did a particularly good job roleplaying their characters. This positive reinforcement, I feel, makes them want to do that same good job again and those who do not get the award want to follow suit next time so they can get the bonus award. In this way, I get players who want to play the game the way in which I want to DM it.
If IT does something to help me out, I like to say “Thank you.” Many people do not, as they assume that IT is ‘just doing their job.’ That may be true, but if they do it well, quickly, and with patience, why not say “Thank you” or “You do really good work” to the person? It makes them feel good about helping you, reinforces their perception of themselves and the job they do, and is polite.
Compliments are also another way to provide reinforcement. When someone is looking particularly good or fashionable, I like to tell them so. By complimenting them, I am reinforcing their ego and their decision to go with that style choice. It makes them feel good.
I also find that when I genuinely reinforce someone else, I tend to perk up and feel better too. I do not get this boost if I reinforce someone insincerely, which leads me to compliment, thank, and reinforce only when I truly mean it.
So, my task to you in this Thursday Thoughts is to find someone who you feel genuinely deserves some reinforcement and give it to them. Compliment someone on his/her choice of clothing, hairstyle, or other notable change. Thank your teacher or your boss for helping you learn and grow. Thank that person who just helped you do something faster or better. Compliment that man who wore a tie today, or that woman who put on her business suit and looks snappy. Show your appreciation to your parents, children, or neighbors. Thank someone for the job they did well, even if it does not relate to you or what you do in the least.
I think you might just find that you feel even better about yourself and your day will breeze on by.
May 26, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
I am tired. Tired of work, tired of being alone, tired of the state of the world, tired of people being idiots, tired of politics, tired of secrets, tired of lies, tired of truths, tired of being sick, tired of bills, tired of being tired.
I would like to take a vacation, but most of what I am tired of will still be with me on the vacation and will still be draining my soul even while I attempt to relax. And all of it will still be there when I return from vacation.
Everything is electronic and cookie-cutter and bland these days, which does not help.
I used to sit down and write a short story or a poem when I reached this level of dissatisfaction. Or I would sketch, draw, or paint something to take me away. But the sameness of things has even invaded my arts and everything I do seem puerile and stunted; as bland as what I see everywhere else. I have started three separate stories or ideas in the recent past and had each one just sort of slink away from me within a page or less of brainstorming and writing. I have not gone beyond doodling in quite some time, let alone painting. It is like I have a form of writer's block that has wormed its way into the darkest reaches of my life, far beyond just writing.
Every now and then something crops up, like a small candle in an otherwise dark room, that sparks my interest for a moment. A phenomenal story (whether book, TV, comic, or movie) or a passionate thought or something innovative and unique motivates me for a brief moment until the malaise creeps back.
I was sitting at a red light on my way to work the other day. I glanced around and every vehicle looked roughly the same. Glancing at those driving, I found myself surrounded by a mob of blond women who all looked pretty much the same; long, straight, unnaturally colored hair, overly tanned faces, gold necklaces, and sunglasses. Blah, blah, blah. Where is the sexy, pale, red-head? Where is the sultry raven-haired seductress? Where is the brown-haired, wide-eyed professional?
Most of us have passions that burn within. Some use it as a foundation and impetus for a job, and others have passions that seek outlets in hobbies or activities. These passions need stoking both from inside and outside. We all go through periods of lassitude and it is at those times that people need an external flame to help stoke the fires of their passions. I guess I am in that situation now; my light is nearly out and I am seeking some external source to get it burning steadily once more. Nothing I do seems to help. If I had my mom's faith, I would pray. If I had Chris' doggedness, I would push through it with my eye ever on the future. If I had a woman in my life and/or children, I might be able to find that passion within the relationship. Or I could be like Jennifer and seek solace and solutions in the past with the goal of reinventing the present and future.
Of course, the irony is that I read over what I have written and all I see is a sea of blandness and whining, the same things that I hear from everyone else. And I just want to crawl back into my little cave.
I would like to take a vacation, but most of what I am tired of will still be with me on the vacation and will still be draining my soul even while I attempt to relax. And all of it will still be there when I return from vacation.
Everything is electronic and cookie-cutter and bland these days, which does not help.
I used to sit down and write a short story or a poem when I reached this level of dissatisfaction. Or I would sketch, draw, or paint something to take me away. But the sameness of things has even invaded my arts and everything I do seem puerile and stunted; as bland as what I see everywhere else. I have started three separate stories or ideas in the recent past and had each one just sort of slink away from me within a page or less of brainstorming and writing. I have not gone beyond doodling in quite some time, let alone painting. It is like I have a form of writer's block that has wormed its way into the darkest reaches of my life, far beyond just writing.
Every now and then something crops up, like a small candle in an otherwise dark room, that sparks my interest for a moment. A phenomenal story (whether book, TV, comic, or movie) or a passionate thought or something innovative and unique motivates me for a brief moment until the malaise creeps back.
I was sitting at a red light on my way to work the other day. I glanced around and every vehicle looked roughly the same. Glancing at those driving, I found myself surrounded by a mob of blond women who all looked pretty much the same; long, straight, unnaturally colored hair, overly tanned faces, gold necklaces, and sunglasses. Blah, blah, blah. Where is the sexy, pale, red-head? Where is the sultry raven-haired seductress? Where is the brown-haired, wide-eyed professional?
Most of us have passions that burn within. Some use it as a foundation and impetus for a job, and others have passions that seek outlets in hobbies or activities. These passions need stoking both from inside and outside. We all go through periods of lassitude and it is at those times that people need an external flame to help stoke the fires of their passions. I guess I am in that situation now; my light is nearly out and I am seeking some external source to get it burning steadily once more. Nothing I do seems to help. If I had my mom's faith, I would pray. If I had Chris' doggedness, I would push through it with my eye ever on the future. If I had a woman in my life and/or children, I might be able to find that passion within the relationship. Or I could be like Jennifer and seek solace and solutions in the past with the goal of reinventing the present and future.
Of course, the irony is that I read over what I have written and all I see is a sea of blandness and whining, the same things that I hear from everyone else. And I just want to crawl back into my little cave.
May 19, 2005
Bowling Tournament Follow up
Steven, the gentleman who convinced me to bowl in the tournament I spoke about a little while ago (Reference here and here), just came by my desk at work and presented me with a check for $21.00. Apparently my team did well enough to move into 12th place, which was the last place to score money. Since most of us bowled well that day (and I bowled out of my mind!), it is nice that we were able to move into money.
Now, I spent $60 to enter the tournament, so this is obviously not the best return on my investment, but I cannot place a value on the experience I gained and camaraderie I felt that weekend.
Now, I spent $60 to enter the tournament, so this is obviously not the best return on my investment, but I cannot place a value on the experience I gained and camaraderie I felt that weekend.
May 16, 2005
Finding Neverland
Sometimes a movie (or book, or other creative work) expresses the truth better than the truth itself. It expresses it so well that people no longer remember the real facts and the movie’s truth becomes the only truth.
I just finished watching Finding Neverland. It is the poignant tale of James Barrie’s love affair with a family and how they inspired his greatest work, Peter Pan. Now, I am aware that the Barrie family has problems with the story and thinks it glosses over the realities as they know them.
What they feared, I’m certain, is that the movie would replace their history. And, with as beautifully made as the film is, I am sure they are right. Because, for me, it has. I now do not care about the circumstances of Barrie’s first wife leaving. I do not care about the circumstances wherein Barrie created Peter Pan.
What I do care about is that they got my vision on the screen. As a somewhat creative person, I have a hard time explaining to people how I see what I see. This movie shows what the reality for many creative people is: the way our world can fade away and we can literally see another world, other people, and different events.
I care about the relationship Barrie had with young Peter, who did not believe and who grew up way too fast.
I do feel for the Barrie family, though. History has been rewritten by the film industry a few times. It does not matter how accurate Saving Private Ryan is or is not, that is now an entire generation’s idea of that war. The wild west is now somewhere between Unforgiven and Dances With Wolves. Jaws made an entire country afraid to swim and ruined many resort town’s economies for years afterward. It is hard to separate the fact from the fiction in Titanic.
In the end, does it matter? If the story impresses us enough, we will seek out further information on it and research the reality. But, while those who make these types of films have an obligation to be accurate, they have a stronger imperative to tell a good story. For they are doing just what Barrie does in Finding Neverland… taking the realities of life and making something beautiful and lasting from them.
I just finished watching Finding Neverland. It is the poignant tale of James Barrie’s love affair with a family and how they inspired his greatest work, Peter Pan. Now, I am aware that the Barrie family has problems with the story and thinks it glosses over the realities as they know them.
What they feared, I’m certain, is that the movie would replace their history. And, with as beautifully made as the film is, I am sure they are right. Because, for me, it has. I now do not care about the circumstances of Barrie’s first wife leaving. I do not care about the circumstances wherein Barrie created Peter Pan.
What I do care about is that they got my vision on the screen. As a somewhat creative person, I have a hard time explaining to people how I see what I see. This movie shows what the reality for many creative people is: the way our world can fade away and we can literally see another world, other people, and different events.
I care about the relationship Barrie had with young Peter, who did not believe and who grew up way too fast.
I do feel for the Barrie family, though. History has been rewritten by the film industry a few times. It does not matter how accurate Saving Private Ryan is or is not, that is now an entire generation’s idea of that war. The wild west is now somewhere between Unforgiven and Dances With Wolves. Jaws made an entire country afraid to swim and ruined many resort town’s economies for years afterward. It is hard to separate the fact from the fiction in Titanic.
In the end, does it matter? If the story impresses us enough, we will seek out further information on it and research the reality. But, while those who make these types of films have an obligation to be accurate, they have a stronger imperative to tell a good story. For they are doing just what Barrie does in Finding Neverland… taking the realities of life and making something beautiful and lasting from them.
May 10, 2005
Burger Heaven
I haven't eaten a hamburger from a fast-food restaurant in, well, I can't even remember when. Probably over a year or longer.
See, I had a bad experience a few years back. I ordered two cheeseburgers from In 'n Out and both appeared cooked, being brown and sizzly on the surface. I took a great big bite of first one, then the other, and found them both to be not only raw but also still somewhat frozen on the inside! No matter where I went from then on, the memory of that disturbing day colored my preference for a hamburger.
I have, on occasion, bought meat and made my own hamburgers at home. But these culinary delights, still very infrequent, were known to be thoroughly cooked.
Today, as I walked to my vehicle to go grab lunch, my tastebuds actually suggested that a burger would be good. I headed to the local Jack in the Box and got an "ultimate" cheeseburger and a breakfast Jack (love these!).
After liberally applying some taco hot-sauce to both, I took a great big bite of the burger.
Heaven.
I don't know what about the meaty goodness of America's favorite lunch item that I was craving, but you would have thought it was made of ambrosia from the way I responded to it! At first I wolfed it, and then I tried to savor it, which never works out. I scarfed that meat like it was the last food on the planet. Yummy.
I guess maybe my distrust of the burger has gone away. Now, I'm not generally a burger sort of guy (more of a sandwich dude, really), but it is nice to know that I can put that item back on my menu of possible choices.
Man, it was so good, I may have to grab one on the way home!
See, I had a bad experience a few years back. I ordered two cheeseburgers from In 'n Out and both appeared cooked, being brown and sizzly on the surface. I took a great big bite of first one, then the other, and found them both to be not only raw but also still somewhat frozen on the inside! No matter where I went from then on, the memory of that disturbing day colored my preference for a hamburger.
I have, on occasion, bought meat and made my own hamburgers at home. But these culinary delights, still very infrequent, were known to be thoroughly cooked.
Today, as I walked to my vehicle to go grab lunch, my tastebuds actually suggested that a burger would be good. I headed to the local Jack in the Box and got an "ultimate" cheeseburger and a breakfast Jack (love these!).
After liberally applying some taco hot-sauce to both, I took a great big bite of the burger.
Heaven.
I don't know what about the meaty goodness of America's favorite lunch item that I was craving, but you would have thought it was made of ambrosia from the way I responded to it! At first I wolfed it, and then I tried to savor it, which never works out. I scarfed that meat like it was the last food on the planet. Yummy.
I guess maybe my distrust of the burger has gone away. Now, I'm not generally a burger sort of guy (more of a sandwich dude, really), but it is nice to know that I can put that item back on my menu of possible choices.
Man, it was so good, I may have to grab one on the way home!
May 9, 2005
CNN on Relationships
Last night on CNN the moderator presented the following statistic: (paraphrasing) in cases where one or both partners committed adultery, got divorced from the existing relationship, and then married the object of their infidelity, 75% of those marriages ended in divorce.
What does this tell us?
What does this tell us?
- Once a cheater, always a cheater.
- People who believe the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence will continue to look in the next yard over after jumping the fence.
- It is better to make it work with who you are with because cheating won't lead you to any more happiness.
The moderator of the program ended with this: while men who are slightly to moderately overweight have about the same opportunities to cheat as more-fit males (which surprised me-- you always think of the young, fit people as those more likely to get offers), they are statistically much less likely to. One conclusion reached by researchers is that these slightly overweight men are much more statisfied in their marriage/home life and this is why they don't cheat even if the opportunity presents itself.
So, women, be thankful for that little gut your man is growing, it may be a physical representation of his happiness with you and your relationship.May 4, 2005
Nicknames
I've never had a nickname. When put into situations that involve other Johns, I am always the one who winds up being "John" while the others gather the nicknames, pet names, or use their middle/last names. Because of this, I've always wanted a nickname.
The closest I think I ever came was back when Melanie used to call me "Mr. C" or "J.C." For awhile, my bowling team called me the Rock-- ostensibly because I was so steady and consistent as the anchor of the team. Of course, knowing that Dwayne Johnson uses that name professionally in his wrestling and acting careers makes it all the more amusing-- I am pretty far from the image he presents, as I am of average height and weight. We do have bald heads in common though.
I tried to convince people to use "Jaz." I liked this one and it had a simple explanation: It was the first letter of my first name and the last two letters of my last name. But, like all great nicknames, you cannot force one on people. Nicknames have to evolve naturally. I'm fairly certain the fact I sing about as well as a cat being burned alive has nothing to do with this nickname's failure to catch on.
At one point in my life, and my mom would have to tell you exactly my age but I would guess when I was around 5 years old, I made everyone call me "Ken." Don't ask. I was just tired of being another John in a sea of Johns.
Maybe, however, I should look on the lack of nickname as a sort of blessing. Maybe I am one of the quintessential Johns on the planet. So many of us do gather the nicknames, pet names, and other appellations that we need a few "representatives of the name" to enforce the rule.
Not only am I a John, which is derived from Hebrew meaning "God is gracious" and has come to mean a down-to-earth sort of person, but I am also a Year of the Boar (1971) and a Taurus (April), two more signs of my inherent John-ness. All signs point to the steadiness of my nature and earthiness of my demeanor.
In some cultures and fairy tales knowledge of a person's true name can either give you power over them or grant one access to his own inner power. In Dune, by Frank Herbert (not to be confused with my favorite horror author, James Herbert), the inspiration Moadib provides the people of Arakis (sp?) changes his name into a word of power. Even when dating, my girlfriends haven't referred to me by pet names. I would occasionally get a "Sweety" but, beyond that, I was always just John.
Maybe my "John-ness" is at the heart of who I am? To paraphrase the Bard, would this John by any other name be as sweet? And there is always the argument that I define the John I am as much as I am defined by being a John.
I think I will take a queue from the movie The Doors. When asked to state his name and occupation (within the band), Jim Morrison answered simply, "Jim." Of course, Jim is derived from James, another of the most popular names, so maybe this is a bad example.
Maybe someday a nickname will float out and stick. Until then, here's to all us Johns out there. Our name may be common, but we don't have to be.
The closest I think I ever came was back when Melanie used to call me "Mr. C" or "J.C." For awhile, my bowling team called me the Rock-- ostensibly because I was so steady and consistent as the anchor of the team. Of course, knowing that Dwayne Johnson uses that name professionally in his wrestling and acting careers makes it all the more amusing-- I am pretty far from the image he presents, as I am of average height and weight. We do have bald heads in common though.
I tried to convince people to use "Jaz." I liked this one and it had a simple explanation: It was the first letter of my first name and the last two letters of my last name. But, like all great nicknames, you cannot force one on people. Nicknames have to evolve naturally. I'm fairly certain the fact I sing about as well as a cat being burned alive has nothing to do with this nickname's failure to catch on.
At one point in my life, and my mom would have to tell you exactly my age but I would guess when I was around 5 years old, I made everyone call me "Ken." Don't ask. I was just tired of being another John in a sea of Johns.
Maybe, however, I should look on the lack of nickname as a sort of blessing. Maybe I am one of the quintessential Johns on the planet. So many of us do gather the nicknames, pet names, and other appellations that we need a few "representatives of the name" to enforce the rule.
Not only am I a John, which is derived from Hebrew meaning "God is gracious" and has come to mean a down-to-earth sort of person, but I am also a Year of the Boar (1971) and a Taurus (April), two more signs of my inherent John-ness. All signs point to the steadiness of my nature and earthiness of my demeanor.
In some cultures and fairy tales knowledge of a person's true name can either give you power over them or grant one access to his own inner power. In Dune, by Frank Herbert (not to be confused with my favorite horror author, James Herbert), the inspiration Moadib provides the people of Arakis (sp?) changes his name into a word of power. Even when dating, my girlfriends haven't referred to me by pet names. I would occasionally get a "Sweety" but, beyond that, I was always just John.
Maybe my "John-ness" is at the heart of who I am? To paraphrase the Bard, would this John by any other name be as sweet? And there is always the argument that I define the John I am as much as I am defined by being a John.
I think I will take a queue from the movie The Doors. When asked to state his name and occupation (within the band), Jim Morrison answered simply, "Jim." Of course, Jim is derived from James, another of the most popular names, so maybe this is a bad example.
Maybe someday a nickname will float out and stick. Until then, here's to all us Johns out there. Our name may be common, but we don't have to be.
Pressure
You never know when a realization will strike you. For some reason, yesterday I realized one of the primary reasons for the negativity in America: information overload.
We are all so interconnected by various mass media that we now know what is occuring throughout the entire world. More specifically, every single day and every single hour we have access to the violence, disasters, and economic woes happening everywhere.
Until the internet boom and the advent of 24-hour news outlets, people didn't know everything that happened in the world instantly. It could be days or weeks before news of a war in a foreign country would reach us. It would be even longer before the rumors of genocide would be unearthed. And, even then, only those circumstances of particular malevolence or interest to our country would get more than a blurb on the local news or in the newspaper. We were, in many ways, shielded from the woes of the rest of the world. This sheltered life allowed us to focus on our immediate surroundings and the issues that most affect us: our job, our family, our immediate community. Inbetween the world-shaking events, people had the time to find happiness in their immediate community and activities. This time also gave the mass media outlets a chance to provide people with perspective on the issues.
Now we must deal with all the troubles in our town, county, state, country, and the rest of the world. We are bombarded daily, hourly, with these images and the knowledge of these events. We don't have any surcease from this constant barrage. Where before we could breathe a little between events, now there is the constant pressure from all sides. Just as we finish dealing with the education money crisis in Irvine, we are made aware of the emergency room/hospital crisis in Orange County. Even before we can figure out what we are dealing with there, we are forced to reexamine the continuing budget and energy crises in California. During all of this time, we are being fed the rancor between Republicans and Democrats, the fears over the flat economy, and the woes being caused by the war, outsourcing, and trade deficits. We don't even catch our breath from this stress when the news is showing us images of the genocide in certain African nations, the terrorism happening in the Middle East, the death toll from the tsunami in the Indian Ocean, and the fears over nuclear attacks from Iran and North Korea. We are suffocating on the information overload provided to us.
While I believe in freedom of the press and in an American's right to know, I also think the mass media has certain obligations in its presentation of the news. We need a chance to breathe, take stock, and gain perspective. We need help digesting the information provided and people to show some of the pros and cons of the information to help us come to our own conclusions and act on the information provided.
And, maybe most importantly of all, we need time away from this overwhelming deluge of information. Time to sit with our back to a tree and a soft breeze on our face and watch our children play on the grass and gain some perspective on the truly important things in life.
We are all so interconnected by various mass media that we now know what is occuring throughout the entire world. More specifically, every single day and every single hour we have access to the violence, disasters, and economic woes happening everywhere.
Until the internet boom and the advent of 24-hour news outlets, people didn't know everything that happened in the world instantly. It could be days or weeks before news of a war in a foreign country would reach us. It would be even longer before the rumors of genocide would be unearthed. And, even then, only those circumstances of particular malevolence or interest to our country would get more than a blurb on the local news or in the newspaper. We were, in many ways, shielded from the woes of the rest of the world. This sheltered life allowed us to focus on our immediate surroundings and the issues that most affect us: our job, our family, our immediate community. Inbetween the world-shaking events, people had the time to find happiness in their immediate community and activities. This time also gave the mass media outlets a chance to provide people with perspective on the issues.
Now we must deal with all the troubles in our town, county, state, country, and the rest of the world. We are bombarded daily, hourly, with these images and the knowledge of these events. We don't have any surcease from this constant barrage. Where before we could breathe a little between events, now there is the constant pressure from all sides. Just as we finish dealing with the education money crisis in Irvine, we are made aware of the emergency room/hospital crisis in Orange County. Even before we can figure out what we are dealing with there, we are forced to reexamine the continuing budget and energy crises in California. During all of this time, we are being fed the rancor between Republicans and Democrats, the fears over the flat economy, and the woes being caused by the war, outsourcing, and trade deficits. We don't even catch our breath from this stress when the news is showing us images of the genocide in certain African nations, the terrorism happening in the Middle East, the death toll from the tsunami in the Indian Ocean, and the fears over nuclear attacks from Iran and North Korea. We are suffocating on the information overload provided to us.
While I believe in freedom of the press and in an American's right to know, I also think the mass media has certain obligations in its presentation of the news. We need a chance to breathe, take stock, and gain perspective. We need help digesting the information provided and people to show some of the pros and cons of the information to help us come to our own conclusions and act on the information provided.
And, maybe most importantly of all, we need time away from this overwhelming deluge of information. Time to sit with our back to a tree and a soft breeze on our face and watch our children play on the grass and gain some perspective on the truly important things in life.
April 27, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
Mark, the character played by Christian Slater in the movie Pump Up the Volume, had it right. Our generation is looking for someone, anyone, to lead us.
Previous generations had the World Wars to give them focus and conviction. In those wars, good and evil were more defined and clear cut. We had the infrastructure projects to pull the country out of the Depression, when we built huge highways and dams, among other things. Later we had Kennedy and the space race to energize the nation and provide jobs and focus. Even Reagan, taking office when we were still in the grips of the oil embargoes, turned our attention to defeating our old Cold War nemesis Russia and we soon saw the fall of the Berlin wall.
What have we seen since then? A "war" with Iraq that lasted hours and didn't solve anything. A President that had sex with his intern and didn't know the meaning of the word "relations." Now we have another war with Iraq that isn't solving anything and is wasting lives with no apparent plan or purpose. We have an unsteady economy that could topple at a moments notice.
We are losing jobs to outsourcing, losing faith in our country, and we have corrupt leaders who allow the California energy crisis to continue and who open up wildlife preserves to logging and oil drilling in order to make money for the richest one percent.
Once, when you asked children what they wanted to be when they grew up, many used to say they wanted to be a cop, a fireman, a doctor, a teacher, or even President. Most now say they want to be a pop or sports star.
People just don't have faith in themselves or their country any more.
What we need is another mission. We need our leaders to come out and say that, by the end of the decade, we will have the first permanent structure on the Moon or at the bottom of the sea. We will have a manned mission to Mars in 10 years.
Or, just as ambitious but less specific, let's end world hunger in the next 10 years. With proper leadership and coordination, the industrial nations can feed the world today-- why not do it? Or, let's set up inviolable world nature sanctuaries in South America and Africa, to preserve the ever decreasing jungles on this planet. Let's head a global effort to turn away from fossil fuels and toward renewable energy sources. Let's improve the viability of solar panels to 75% or better.
Yes, each of these ideas is a pie-in-the-sky, almost unattainable goal. But the same was said of taming the Colorado River. Peopled skoffed at a man orbiting the planet. Ten years later a man stepped foot on the moon. With the right leadership and direction, human beings can solve nearly any problem.
America's current leadership has chosen to take us in a direction that separates us from the rest of the world and creates divisiveness among our own people. What would happen if we led by example, instead? How many fewer people would join terrorist agendas if they looked to us and said, "Look at America, helping to feed our own people as well as the rest of the world." How many more nations would follow suit if, when the largest tsunami the world has ever seen strikes, America is the first one there offering the most aid money and resources?
Until such time, here's one more listener trying to find Hard Harry on the radio and praying for a voice to lead us.
Previous generations had the World Wars to give them focus and conviction. In those wars, good and evil were more defined and clear cut. We had the infrastructure projects to pull the country out of the Depression, when we built huge highways and dams, among other things. Later we had Kennedy and the space race to energize the nation and provide jobs and focus. Even Reagan, taking office when we were still in the grips of the oil embargoes, turned our attention to defeating our old Cold War nemesis Russia and we soon saw the fall of the Berlin wall.
What have we seen since then? A "war" with Iraq that lasted hours and didn't solve anything. A President that had sex with his intern and didn't know the meaning of the word "relations." Now we have another war with Iraq that isn't solving anything and is wasting lives with no apparent plan or purpose. We have an unsteady economy that could topple at a moments notice.
We are losing jobs to outsourcing, losing faith in our country, and we have corrupt leaders who allow the California energy crisis to continue and who open up wildlife preserves to logging and oil drilling in order to make money for the richest one percent.
Once, when you asked children what they wanted to be when they grew up, many used to say they wanted to be a cop, a fireman, a doctor, a teacher, or even President. Most now say they want to be a pop or sports star.
People just don't have faith in themselves or their country any more.
What we need is another mission. We need our leaders to come out and say that, by the end of the decade, we will have the first permanent structure on the Moon or at the bottom of the sea. We will have a manned mission to Mars in 10 years.
Or, just as ambitious but less specific, let's end world hunger in the next 10 years. With proper leadership and coordination, the industrial nations can feed the world today-- why not do it? Or, let's set up inviolable world nature sanctuaries in South America and Africa, to preserve the ever decreasing jungles on this planet. Let's head a global effort to turn away from fossil fuels and toward renewable energy sources. Let's improve the viability of solar panels to 75% or better.
Yes, each of these ideas is a pie-in-the-sky, almost unattainable goal. But the same was said of taming the Colorado River. Peopled skoffed at a man orbiting the planet. Ten years later a man stepped foot on the moon. With the right leadership and direction, human beings can solve nearly any problem.
America's current leadership has chosen to take us in a direction that separates us from the rest of the world and creates divisiveness among our own people. What would happen if we led by example, instead? How many fewer people would join terrorist agendas if they looked to us and said, "Look at America, helping to feed our own people as well as the rest of the world." How many more nations would follow suit if, when the largest tsunami the world has ever seen strikes, America is the first one there offering the most aid money and resources?
Until such time, here's one more listener trying to find Hard Harry on the radio and praying for a voice to lead us.
April 26, 2005
Birthday
On the 26th day of April at 11:40 pm in 1971, I came into this world. Average life expectance seems to be around 76 years old for America, so I am now nearing "midlife" for an American male. It amuses me to state that, because most people think of their late forties or fifties as midlife, even though it is really closer to the end.
Mom always likes to tell (and I enjoy hearing) the story about her being in labor at the military hospital on base, being told to leave and “don’t come back until your water breaks” (this is back when hospitals could do that sort of thing). The mad dash back to the hospital that night where mom pushed her way in and informed them that her water hadn’t broken but I was a-coming. They didn't believe her until they looked and saw my bald head crowning. Mom having her water break as she was cursing and pushing and bringing me forth in the world.
The mix-up during naming where mom thought they had agreed to the name “Eric Allen” but, when dad filled out the paperwork, I became “John Martin.”
There are the funny stories about my attempts to have birthday parties. Mom, being a good baker and cook in general, would make me interesting and unique cakes (the bunny cake, the 3-d castle cake with icing moat and Hershey’s chocolate for doors and windows, etc.), but I usually wound up crying or angry in the end—because I was uncomfortable being the center of attention and never really liked large gatherings. I gave up on birthdays well before my parents did, but they soon followed suit and we would just have a quiet night of just family, with maybe a few close friends.
Then the college years, where mom would come down and we would go to lunch or dinner at a nice restaurant and she would make me open presents and explain why she had given me each one. I still remember the looks on those around us as I unwrapped each present at Olive Garden and correctly guessed the reason for each one. I’m not sure, but I think we started new family trends in those who watched us that day.
The last ten years my birthdays have gotten quieter. In my days at QSI, we would have cake as a group and some would even sing. I miss my hugs from Judith. At FIC, it started bigger, when our department was bigger, and involved glitter-wars with Kari and watching the eager anticipation of Danielle just wanting to get to the damn cake! Now, with a much smaller department and being out of the way, it’s a simple affair—just how I like it.
I’ve mellowed a great deal too. While still a guy with plenty of soapboxes (which you know if you frequent this blog), I am trying to center myself. Actually, writing this has helped a great deal. Matter of fact, I once had a girlfriend exclaim “You’re a fucking robot!” because I am one who doesn’t emote well. I have the emotion, but I discuss, I analyze, and I act on the results instead of just overtly showing them. I’m working on that, too.
I don’t have many regrets.
- I regret not trying harder to make Jennifer stay. I think many things would be different today if I had done that. I still think of her nearly every day.
- I regret not asking Cathy out when I wanted to (she met her eventual husband three days later). I think this worked out for the best because, while I know I would have been great for her then, Steve turned out to be great for her long-term.
- I regret not being closer with dad, but, damn it, he can call me, too.
- I sometimes, but not often, regret choosing English Literature over a science degree in college. I still think I would make a damn-fine medical examiner, but have no desire to go back to school to change that decision now. And I enjoy Technical Writing and I am good at it.
- I regret not fighting Paul over Carmen in High School. While not a violent person by any means, I wanted to, but I just couldn’t egg him into it, even when he was threatening me. The ass had too much to lose, but thought he could get away with threatening me.
- I regret how I let Susan drift away.
- I regret that my inability to show my emotions and my need to over-analyze keeps a barrier between me and others. This regret I am working on and, I think, making some progress with.
- And I regret I’ve allowed my autoimmune hepatitis and rheumatoid arthritis take things I enjoy from me. And, I regret the fear this chronic illness has put into me.
In taking stock in my 34th year, I have a good life, with good family and good friends. I have many more peaks than valleys.
As I move forward from this day, with an eye toward hopefully another 34+ years to come, I see a few things to work on.
- Leaving the fear my chronic illness has given me behind. I need to be cautious and listen to my body, but it’s time to stop letting my illness make decisions for me.
- Continuing to work on my emotional growth and working to be a more open individual.
- Continuing to foster the great friendships I have and adding new friends to my existing circle.
April 22, 2005
Horror!
Sacrilege! Horror! A pox on whomever did this!
I just heard the "exclusive" radio dance remix version of U2's "With or Without You," arguably one of the all-time best slow songs EVER. The driving dance rhythm and funky pseudo-70s backing tracks almost smother Bono's singing.
How could they do this? Who said, "Let's take a perfect song, and "improve" it" with dance drum beats and fast rhythm guitar work?
The horror! The horror!
AAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
I just heard the "exclusive" radio dance remix version of U2's "With or Without You," arguably one of the all-time best slow songs EVER. The driving dance rhythm and funky pseudo-70s backing tracks almost smother Bono's singing.
How could they do this? Who said, "Let's take a perfect song, and "improve" it" with dance drum beats and fast rhythm guitar work?
The horror! The horror!
AAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
April 19, 2005
Story Idea
I had the following story seed awhile ago. Not sure what to do with it, if anything, but I like it.
From this pool emerged a large figure. It was tall, taller than the tallest man in our village by half a head or more. It had a broad, muscular, red chest. On its back were two red, bat-like wings, folded. Its powerful legs became hairy and coarse and ended in cloven feet like those of the antelope that leap through our plains. It had a broken visage that looked like somewhat like the big apes that live down by the river. Its mouth and teeth were like those of the powerful hyena that can snap bones and chew through our hardest woods. Its eyes were yellow and reflected light in the darkness like those of the great cats that prowl the savannah in the next valley. Starting at its brow and stretching from a thick bush to small line down his back, it sported a black, coarse mane of hair like those of the horses we ride on the hunt.
It stood at the edge of the pool of molten, bubbling rock and surveyed the icy valley. Coming to a decision, it reached for the large, twisted horn that hung from a simple silver chain stretching over its shoulder and down to its waist. Putting the horn to its thick, black lips it blew one long, discordant note and then let the horn fall to hang once more at its side.
It raised its thickly muscular arms to its chest and crossed them, keeping a massive, coal-black, spiked mace in its hand even as he did. It stood and waited.
Soon, a baying could be heard. From all parts of the cold northern lands figures approached the valley. First to arrive were the fleetest of foot and the closest. The Gresh, the great wolves of the north, with their oversized feet and jaws and grayish fur arrived, howling. The goblins were next, creeping down from the rocks with their gray-white skin, hooked noses, and blood-red mouths and eyes glinting. Next, in a sparkle of magic, arrived the Svartheim elves. Their cotton-white flesh and ice blue eyes seemed perfectly in tune with the snowfields of the north. They approached the figure and bowed. The powerful trolls arrived next. Their misshapen limbs belied their strength. The trolls could be found in nearly every color. Some carried massive oaken branches as clubs while others had thick metal gauntlets with which to rend their prey. Many of the sturdy half-men who live under the ground heeded the horn’s call as well, arriving with tributes of gold and cold-iron weapons that they laid at the cloven-hoofed feet of their new lord. Still others came to the call; the wicked wyverns, distant cousins to the noble dragons, the marsh hags of the east braved the cold and brought their cunning ways to aid this new power, and those we call the Night Horrors from the west glided to the north to lend their craft to this dark master. All those who have a devious nature or an evil heart felt that call and went to their new master, even some from our world, the world of Men heeded that fateful call.
As the valley filled, the winged figure looked on with pleasure. Soon it uncrossed its arms, reached for the massive black and green horn at its hip and once more and raised the horn to its lips. It blew another discordant note that caused the Gresh to howl and the trolls to gnash their teeth in pain.
As the tone ceased ringing through the valley, the half-men and the goblins immediately set to work. Tools were produced and construction began on a great wall around the bubbling pool. The trolls, goblins, and men began quarrying the basalt and granite, the wyverns and Gresh were harnessed to drag the stones to the work site, and the half-men cut and laid them with expert precision. The Hags and the Svartheim elves whispered and chanted near the center of the circle formed by the quickly erected wall. Blue and green sparks and fires issued forth from these powerful mages. The pool of magma writhed and seethed and bubbled all the more. Soon, tendrils of the fiery rock started to rise from the pool. The Gyre had been cast and the liquid fire poured out where the Svartheim directed. A tower started to take shape from the cooling rock.
For three days and three nights, through the worst snows that the north had to offer, those in the valley worked on the wall and the tower. On the morning of the fourth day each group completed their assigned tasks. Within the plain of the valley now stood a perfectly circular wall 75 feet high and 35 feet thick. Facing the southern entrance to the valley stood the gate, flanked by two smaller towers. The gate was also made from stone and only the combined strength of four of the biggest types of trolls, those we call Ogres, could open either one of them. The tower stood in the exact center of the circle formed by the wall and the mountains around the valley. The tower looked like the spiraled horn of the beautiful unicorn, only the molten rock had cooled into a glass-like, black sheen. Seen from above, the tower looked like the black pupil to the eye formed by the mountains and the wall. The hole in which the magma burned and bubbled had been elongated and wrapped around the tower’s base, forming a moat of molten rock.
A stone ramp and draw bridge were added to allow egress into the tower’s main entrance, some thirty feet about the floor of the valley.
For the first time since rising from the molten pool, the figure spoke. Its voice sounded deep, resonate, and clear.
“It is good.”
It then strode up the ramp, its cloven hooves sparking on the spell-hardened obsidian of his newly created keep, and entered its throne room.
And thus evil invaded our world.
But evil did not stay still. This dark lord of the north had plans for this world. With its army of followers, it bent its will toward the conquest of the world. It used foul magic to strengthen the winter and extend its influence farther south.
Thus started the time we call the Long Winter of a thousand years ago, wherein the Dark Lord stretched its influence as far as it could and all good people of the world had to ban together to repel its advance and send it back to its tower in the north.
-----
In a time before time, far to the north, in a frost-covered valley ringed on three sides by jagged, rocky mountains, there was a strange rift in the ground. In this rift a pool of molten rock bubbled and seethed. This pool was so hot that the ice and snow turned to steam for a hundred yards around it.From this pool emerged a large figure. It was tall, taller than the tallest man in our village by half a head or more. It had a broad, muscular, red chest. On its back were two red, bat-like wings, folded. Its powerful legs became hairy and coarse and ended in cloven feet like those of the antelope that leap through our plains. It had a broken visage that looked like somewhat like the big apes that live down by the river. Its mouth and teeth were like those of the powerful hyena that can snap bones and chew through our hardest woods. Its eyes were yellow and reflected light in the darkness like those of the great cats that prowl the savannah in the next valley. Starting at its brow and stretching from a thick bush to small line down his back, it sported a black, coarse mane of hair like those of the horses we ride on the hunt.
It stood at the edge of the pool of molten, bubbling rock and surveyed the icy valley. Coming to a decision, it reached for the large, twisted horn that hung from a simple silver chain stretching over its shoulder and down to its waist. Putting the horn to its thick, black lips it blew one long, discordant note and then let the horn fall to hang once more at its side.
It raised its thickly muscular arms to its chest and crossed them, keeping a massive, coal-black, spiked mace in its hand even as he did. It stood and waited.
Soon, a baying could be heard. From all parts of the cold northern lands figures approached the valley. First to arrive were the fleetest of foot and the closest. The Gresh, the great wolves of the north, with their oversized feet and jaws and grayish fur arrived, howling. The goblins were next, creeping down from the rocks with their gray-white skin, hooked noses, and blood-red mouths and eyes glinting. Next, in a sparkle of magic, arrived the Svartheim elves. Their cotton-white flesh and ice blue eyes seemed perfectly in tune with the snowfields of the north. They approached the figure and bowed. The powerful trolls arrived next. Their misshapen limbs belied their strength. The trolls could be found in nearly every color. Some carried massive oaken branches as clubs while others had thick metal gauntlets with which to rend their prey. Many of the sturdy half-men who live under the ground heeded the horn’s call as well, arriving with tributes of gold and cold-iron weapons that they laid at the cloven-hoofed feet of their new lord. Still others came to the call; the wicked wyverns, distant cousins to the noble dragons, the marsh hags of the east braved the cold and brought their cunning ways to aid this new power, and those we call the Night Horrors from the west glided to the north to lend their craft to this dark master. All those who have a devious nature or an evil heart felt that call and went to their new master, even some from our world, the world of Men heeded that fateful call.
As the valley filled, the winged figure looked on with pleasure. Soon it uncrossed its arms, reached for the massive black and green horn at its hip and once more and raised the horn to its lips. It blew another discordant note that caused the Gresh to howl and the trolls to gnash their teeth in pain.
As the tone ceased ringing through the valley, the half-men and the goblins immediately set to work. Tools were produced and construction began on a great wall around the bubbling pool. The trolls, goblins, and men began quarrying the basalt and granite, the wyverns and Gresh were harnessed to drag the stones to the work site, and the half-men cut and laid them with expert precision. The Hags and the Svartheim elves whispered and chanted near the center of the circle formed by the quickly erected wall. Blue and green sparks and fires issued forth from these powerful mages. The pool of magma writhed and seethed and bubbled all the more. Soon, tendrils of the fiery rock started to rise from the pool. The Gyre had been cast and the liquid fire poured out where the Svartheim directed. A tower started to take shape from the cooling rock.
For three days and three nights, through the worst snows that the north had to offer, those in the valley worked on the wall and the tower. On the morning of the fourth day each group completed their assigned tasks. Within the plain of the valley now stood a perfectly circular wall 75 feet high and 35 feet thick. Facing the southern entrance to the valley stood the gate, flanked by two smaller towers. The gate was also made from stone and only the combined strength of four of the biggest types of trolls, those we call Ogres, could open either one of them. The tower stood in the exact center of the circle formed by the wall and the mountains around the valley. The tower looked like the spiraled horn of the beautiful unicorn, only the molten rock had cooled into a glass-like, black sheen. Seen from above, the tower looked like the black pupil to the eye formed by the mountains and the wall. The hole in which the magma burned and bubbled had been elongated and wrapped around the tower’s base, forming a moat of molten rock.
A stone ramp and draw bridge were added to allow egress into the tower’s main entrance, some thirty feet about the floor of the valley.
For the first time since rising from the molten pool, the figure spoke. Its voice sounded deep, resonate, and clear.
“It is good.”
It then strode up the ramp, its cloven hooves sparking on the spell-hardened obsidian of his newly created keep, and entered its throne room.
And thus evil invaded our world.
But evil did not stay still. This dark lord of the north had plans for this world. With its army of followers, it bent its will toward the conquest of the world. It used foul magic to strengthen the winter and extend its influence farther south.
Thus started the time we call the Long Winter of a thousand years ago, wherein the Dark Lord stretched its influence as far as it could and all good people of the world had to ban together to repel its advance and send it back to its tower in the north.
April 14, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
I was originally in favor of an age limit in the NBA. In almost any sport, for that matter, but it seemed that the NFL was self-regulating in that regard (how many High Schoolers really have the size to go into the NFL?), and other sports, such as baseball and tennis, seemed to have decent farm systems or ranking systems that ensured that only the best quality made it to the truly professional level.
An age limit in the NBA, I argued, would allowed people to mature, to learn the game, and to prepare them to some degree for the rigors of the much longer and much harsher world of the professional basketball circuit. I further contended that very few of the straight-to-NBA High Schoolers made an immediate impact. Look at Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnet; both have been successful, true, but both took 2-3 years of playing to learn the ins and outs of the game and reach that "next level" their potential provided. It was only then that they became the big stars they are now. I furthered muttered that, with a couple of years of college, Kobe (and others of his general attitude and disposition) would have learned to get along and understand the personal dynamics of the team sport and Lakers fans would still be enjoying the Shaq/Kobe connection and a lot of championship celebrations. I also agreed that an age limit would likely allow the NBA to present and promote a better "product" to its fans.
While I still firmly believe all of those things, I am no longer in favor of an age limit.
First, this is America, wherein everyone has the right to grasp for that brass ring and make their mark. If one can do it with raw physical talent and little to no education, so be it. Grasp away!
Secondly, no one in the NBA has to draft a High School-aged recruit. It's not a requirement. If the NBA wanted to make a real point, then all it would need is for the owners and personnel managers to just not draft those who are not ready for the NBA level. If one truly thinks a High Schooler is too "raw" or will spend most of their time on the bench for two to three seasons, don't draft them. Go for the more proven talent that has a much better chance of being a star due to the training and experience they have coming out of college. At this point, you would have a High School star who cannot go to college and play ball (as they have most likely hired an agent when they declared for the draft) and they are not in the NBA. That will send a bigger message than any arbitrary age-limit ever would.
Look at the NFL. Maurice Clarrett inadvertently did more for college level players staying in school than any arbitrary rulings the sport could have enacted. He hired an agent, declared for the draft, wasn't allowed in, and couldn't go back to college and play. He screwed himself and learned a very harsh lesson. He then didn't stay in good shape nor did he prepare for the next season's draft, so this year his stock is falling fast and he will not get the same kind of rookie contract he might have gotten if he had just stayed in school, gotten an education and learned to play, and become a better player.
Next, it is true that a person may have a career-ending injury in college and never even make it to the big money in the NBA. Why take that chance? Get in, get a guaranteed contract, make your money and, if that big injury happens, you're still set for life, right? Of course it could be argued that the career ending injury in college means you still can get or finish your college education, and so can make a solid contribution and make good money in a different career-- but can that money ever compare to the millions you could have in the NBA? Also, a good college basketball career does not mean you will be a star in the NBA. So why bother? For every Michael Jordan and James Worthy, you'll have a Sam Bowie.
Lastly, if the NBA was really so concerned with their product, they wouldn't be allowing the kind of thuggery and chicanery that we see in nearly every game. They would do more to help their players manage their money, teach them to stay away from the groupies and hangers-on, and would aid them in their decision making as new millionaires.
It reminds me of the old statistic about lottery winners-- a large percentage of those who win lotteries are functionally broke because they can't curb their spending. The checks each year or the interest on the lump sums isn't enough and they get overwhelmed by purchases, taxes, bad investments, and poor decisions. In the NBA, you've got 18 year olds who are suddenly thrust into multi-million dollar basketball contracts, who become instant celebrities, and who likely get Wheaties and shoe advertising contracts. They become businesses and corporations unto themselves. Let them fail, and crumble under the weight of all that hype, media scrutiny, and expectation. Let them learn the hard way that those "friends" they have coming out of High School are really just looking at him as a dollar sign with legs. Some will survive this rite of passage and be successful. Some will crumble under the pressure and will be out of the NBA in short order, broke and without an education to fall back on.
In the end, I think the entire process is self-regulating. Enough High Schoolers and college drop-outs will be total busts that the NBA will stop drafting them or will draft them much lower. Maybe it will create a farm system that will allow the sport to hire raw talent but teach these kids the game before bringing them up to the bright lights and big money of the professional level.
And, finally, maybe some of the current crop of NBA stars will come out in national publications or on TV and say that they wished they had gone to college, or will promote the education they got through online and summer courses to show that education is still an important aspect of their lives. This will go far in showing the next generation that these stars did not neglect their education and, just maybe, one more person will go to college to be like his/her hero.
An age limit in the NBA, I argued, would allowed people to mature, to learn the game, and to prepare them to some degree for the rigors of the much longer and much harsher world of the professional basketball circuit. I further contended that very few of the straight-to-NBA High Schoolers made an immediate impact. Look at Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnet; both have been successful, true, but both took 2-3 years of playing to learn the ins and outs of the game and reach that "next level" their potential provided. It was only then that they became the big stars they are now. I furthered muttered that, with a couple of years of college, Kobe (and others of his general attitude and disposition) would have learned to get along and understand the personal dynamics of the team sport and Lakers fans would still be enjoying the Shaq/Kobe connection and a lot of championship celebrations. I also agreed that an age limit would likely allow the NBA to present and promote a better "product" to its fans.
While I still firmly believe all of those things, I am no longer in favor of an age limit.
First, this is America, wherein everyone has the right to grasp for that brass ring and make their mark. If one can do it with raw physical talent and little to no education, so be it. Grasp away!
Secondly, no one in the NBA has to draft a High School-aged recruit. It's not a requirement. If the NBA wanted to make a real point, then all it would need is for the owners and personnel managers to just not draft those who are not ready for the NBA level. If one truly thinks a High Schooler is too "raw" or will spend most of their time on the bench for two to three seasons, don't draft them. Go for the more proven talent that has a much better chance of being a star due to the training and experience they have coming out of college. At this point, you would have a High School star who cannot go to college and play ball (as they have most likely hired an agent when they declared for the draft) and they are not in the NBA. That will send a bigger message than any arbitrary age-limit ever would.
Look at the NFL. Maurice Clarrett inadvertently did more for college level players staying in school than any arbitrary rulings the sport could have enacted. He hired an agent, declared for the draft, wasn't allowed in, and couldn't go back to college and play. He screwed himself and learned a very harsh lesson. He then didn't stay in good shape nor did he prepare for the next season's draft, so this year his stock is falling fast and he will not get the same kind of rookie contract he might have gotten if he had just stayed in school, gotten an education and learned to play, and become a better player.
Next, it is true that a person may have a career-ending injury in college and never even make it to the big money in the NBA. Why take that chance? Get in, get a guaranteed contract, make your money and, if that big injury happens, you're still set for life, right? Of course it could be argued that the career ending injury in college means you still can get or finish your college education, and so can make a solid contribution and make good money in a different career-- but can that money ever compare to the millions you could have in the NBA? Also, a good college basketball career does not mean you will be a star in the NBA. So why bother? For every Michael Jordan and James Worthy, you'll have a Sam Bowie.
Lastly, if the NBA was really so concerned with their product, they wouldn't be allowing the kind of thuggery and chicanery that we see in nearly every game. They would do more to help their players manage their money, teach them to stay away from the groupies and hangers-on, and would aid them in their decision making as new millionaires.
It reminds me of the old statistic about lottery winners-- a large percentage of those who win lotteries are functionally broke because they can't curb their spending. The checks each year or the interest on the lump sums isn't enough and they get overwhelmed by purchases, taxes, bad investments, and poor decisions. In the NBA, you've got 18 year olds who are suddenly thrust into multi-million dollar basketball contracts, who become instant celebrities, and who likely get Wheaties and shoe advertising contracts. They become businesses and corporations unto themselves. Let them fail, and crumble under the weight of all that hype, media scrutiny, and expectation. Let them learn the hard way that those "friends" they have coming out of High School are really just looking at him as a dollar sign with legs. Some will survive this rite of passage and be successful. Some will crumble under the pressure and will be out of the NBA in short order, broke and without an education to fall back on.
In the end, I think the entire process is self-regulating. Enough High Schoolers and college drop-outs will be total busts that the NBA will stop drafting them or will draft them much lower. Maybe it will create a farm system that will allow the sport to hire raw talent but teach these kids the game before bringing them up to the bright lights and big money of the professional level.
And, finally, maybe some of the current crop of NBA stars will come out in national publications or on TV and say that they wished they had gone to college, or will promote the education they got through online and summer courses to show that education is still an important aspect of their lives. This will go far in showing the next generation that these stars did not neglect their education and, just maybe, one more person will go to college to be like his/her hero.
April 10, 2005
Bowling Tournament, Part 2
So today I was feeling more confident about my skills but concerned about the two sets of three games I would need to bowl.
Turns out that was exactly right.
We started with the doubles event, and I was paired with a Jackie against Mike and Karlee. Karlee was still hurting from the day before and she was holding her arm most of the day. Mike looked a bit more focused, but was still more interested in having a good time than anything else.
I started strong, with a 190, then lost it completely as the oil pooled and moved down the synthetic lanes. My next game was a whopping 133! I had no hook at all and had trouble holding any line whatsoever. I got my ass in gear and managed to finish the series with a 168-- only 10 pins off my average.
Two things really got to me: the fast pace (only 4 bowlers total) and the inconsistant lane conditions. It took me time to slow my own pace down and make the others wait for me (as long as it was reasonable, of course). It also took me awhile to find a line that would grant me some success in these conditions.
The singles matches had us moving over one set of lanes (from 5/6 to 7/8). There was no practice time on these lanes. At this point I was matched up against Jackie, but still the same group of four bowling together.
Still struggling with my conditioning, I was sweating and overheated to start and still struggling to find a line-- especially on brand new lanes with different oil patterns. Bowled a 131. However, I managed to slow down, I grabbed a Pepsi (ah, nectar of the gods! Sweet, sweet relief! Bow down before the might of the Pepsi!), and kept slowing my approach, my ball, and myself down until I was able to continue. Found a line by moving 2 full marks plus some boards to the right, changing my hand position, and bowling a nearly straight ball with a slight hook into the pocket. Picked it up in the second game and bowled a 168.
I finally hit my groove and found the exact line and release I needed for these abyssmal lane conditions in the third game. Managed to get some marks in a row and pulled a 182 to be high-man for that game among the four, which was nice.
So, what do I take away from the Tournament experience?
Turns out that was exactly right.
We started with the doubles event, and I was paired with a Jackie against Mike and Karlee. Karlee was still hurting from the day before and she was holding her arm most of the day. Mike looked a bit more focused, but was still more interested in having a good time than anything else.
I started strong, with a 190, then lost it completely as the oil pooled and moved down the synthetic lanes. My next game was a whopping 133! I had no hook at all and had trouble holding any line whatsoever. I got my ass in gear and managed to finish the series with a 168-- only 10 pins off my average.
Two things really got to me: the fast pace (only 4 bowlers total) and the inconsistant lane conditions. It took me time to slow my own pace down and make the others wait for me (as long as it was reasonable, of course). It also took me awhile to find a line that would grant me some success in these conditions.
The singles matches had us moving over one set of lanes (from 5/6 to 7/8). There was no practice time on these lanes. At this point I was matched up against Jackie, but still the same group of four bowling together.
Still struggling with my conditioning, I was sweating and overheated to start and still struggling to find a line-- especially on brand new lanes with different oil patterns. Bowled a 131. However, I managed to slow down, I grabbed a Pepsi (ah, nectar of the gods! Sweet, sweet relief! Bow down before the might of the Pepsi!), and kept slowing my approach, my ball, and myself down until I was able to continue. Found a line by moving 2 full marks plus some boards to the right, changing my hand position, and bowling a nearly straight ball with a slight hook into the pocket. Picked it up in the second game and bowled a 168.
I finally hit my groove and found the exact line and release I needed for these abyssmal lane conditions in the third game. Managed to get some marks in a row and pulled a 182 to be high-man for that game among the four, which was nice.
So, what do I take away from the Tournament experience?
- I met some really nice people. A lot of thanx go to Jackie, Karlee, and Mike for two fun afternoons.
- If I focus on having fun first, relaxing second, and bowling against myself third-- good things will happen.
- I need to improve my ability to adjust to lane conditions.
- I need to bowl at my own pace, and not let other bowlers or administrators put too much external pressure on me to speed up.
- My conditioning is atrocious.
- That, if I wear my brace, tape it securely, and make sure I sit between frames, my knee can survive 6 games of bowling in one afternoon. One note: my hips are sore, which indicates I was favoring the knee, and it is sore, just not too bad.
I don't think I will be doing another tournament for some time, but it was a great learning experience and I have many important take-aways that I can use in my usual league games.
Bowling Tournament, Part 1
So today (Saturday, April 9th) was the first day of the two-day bowling tournament a guy at work talked me into. The team event was held at the lanes right down the street from where I live. While I felt the organization left a little to be desired (if I wasn't hooking up with said friend, I would not have known where to go or what to do), I settled in and found my team.
We wound up being two guys and two girls. The guy and one girl were a married couple, Mike and Karlee. Both were quite nice and seemed like old hats to this; they've done national tournaments, so it probably was. Jackie was our fourth-- very personable, which is good as she is my doubles partner for tomorrow.
We all had scratch averages in the vacinity of the 170s, with Mike and I being the two highest.
I was the rabbit, or first one to throw for my team. I haven't been in that position for many years, as I'm usually the anchor on my regular bowling teams. It was fun and a little nerve-wracking moving out to throw first. Provides a very different overall feel to the game.
I wound up throwing 195, 210, and 186. As I am a 178 average (and improving), I felt really good about the day. Mike was right behind me in the first two, and beat me in the last game. Karlee had an awful first game, but came back and was high bowler in the second, then flattened out in the third. She's battling an injured arm, so every throw was painful. Jackie started okay, then had a crappy second, then stormed back for a 200 in the third.
For some reason, the doubles and singles events are both tomorrow, and at a different alley. The first day's alley uses real-wood lanes (a rarity in today's bowling) and the second day's alley has synthetic. Mike said that the new alley should be very similar to the alley I have my league in, so I should feel a bit more comfortable.
My arthritic knee held up just fine, so I feel pretty good about tomorrow's bowling-- even if there are 6 total games to bowl. I only worry about my conditioning. I'll likely be very tired in the second set of three games. That may wind up helping me (as I'll be more loose) or hurting me (as I'm more likely to have mental mistakes).
I have no illusions that I will win the tournament or even place. I'm doing it more for the experience. I did find it amusing that our team missed the money cut-off by 5 pins!
I'll let you know how tomorrow's bowling goes.
We wound up being two guys and two girls. The guy and one girl were a married couple, Mike and Karlee. Both were quite nice and seemed like old hats to this; they've done national tournaments, so it probably was. Jackie was our fourth-- very personable, which is good as she is my doubles partner for tomorrow.
We all had scratch averages in the vacinity of the 170s, with Mike and I being the two highest.
I was the rabbit, or first one to throw for my team. I haven't been in that position for many years, as I'm usually the anchor on my regular bowling teams. It was fun and a little nerve-wracking moving out to throw first. Provides a very different overall feel to the game.
I wound up throwing 195, 210, and 186. As I am a 178 average (and improving), I felt really good about the day. Mike was right behind me in the first two, and beat me in the last game. Karlee had an awful first game, but came back and was high bowler in the second, then flattened out in the third. She's battling an injured arm, so every throw was painful. Jackie started okay, then had a crappy second, then stormed back for a 200 in the third.
For some reason, the doubles and singles events are both tomorrow, and at a different alley. The first day's alley uses real-wood lanes (a rarity in today's bowling) and the second day's alley has synthetic. Mike said that the new alley should be very similar to the alley I have my league in, so I should feel a bit more comfortable.
My arthritic knee held up just fine, so I feel pretty good about tomorrow's bowling-- even if there are 6 total games to bowl. I only worry about my conditioning. I'll likely be very tired in the second set of three games. That may wind up helping me (as I'll be more loose) or hurting me (as I'm more likely to have mental mistakes).
I have no illusions that I will win the tournament or even place. I'm doing it more for the experience. I did find it amusing that our team missed the money cut-off by 5 pins!
I'll let you know how tomorrow's bowling goes.
April 6, 2005
Blogging
For the most part, blogs have atrocious spelling, poor grammar, and abysmal punctuation. Many more people blog than really have anything to say (I may fall into that category-- you be the judge). Although a technical writer in my career, I am frequently surprised and scared by the errors in my own posts (of course, in my career it is important to have someone review your work-- since you wrote it, you are frequently to close to it to catch every mistake. The same holds true for any writing, or course, except I don't have editors in my personal life).
I hear many people both scoff at, and be in a little awe of, those who blog. I've heard this said with both derision and surprise, "You blog?"
One thing I haven't seen mentioned is that blogging gets people to do one of two things that have been on a steady decline in this country: read and/or write.
Every single blog you read is one more page of text you read. Every entry you write is one more page of text you wrote. Even if just recounting your day's activities in a journal, laughing at or vilifying those around you, or adding a few more entries to that great American novel, you are being creative and communicating with those in the world around you.
If your blog is the only way you can get what is inside you out, then blog on! It may be the cheapest form of therapy anyone can have.
Don't let the grammar and spelling errors that abound stop you from reading blogs, either. There are a lot of good opinions, interesting ideas, and earth shaking concepts out there in the world of blogs. Seek them out, comment on them, and form your own conclusions. Yes, sometimes you need a lot of patience to read that fusia and olive colored blog with blue lettering and the obligatory animation that takes forever to load and has an annoying looped soundbyte attached, but the person who made that blog may just have something important to say that will change your life.
I use my main blog space (and my mother hates it when I use this allusion) to metaphorically stand naked on the top of a mountain, flipping the world the Bird. It allows me to vent those frustrations and rampant ideas I have in a forum where I believe others will listen. I don't care if you agree, and I love reading your comments whether you agree or not, but that isn't the point-- I get it out of my head.
I also have two side blogs where I express more of my creative side (see sidebar for links to other blogs).
The important thing is, I get the word out there and I feel better, healthier, and more constructive about things afterward. As I stated earlier, it is very cheap therapy.
So, if you have something to say, I challenge you-- grab your virtual pen and join the fray!
I hear many people both scoff at, and be in a little awe of, those who blog. I've heard this said with both derision and surprise, "You blog?"
One thing I haven't seen mentioned is that blogging gets people to do one of two things that have been on a steady decline in this country: read and/or write.
Every single blog you read is one more page of text you read. Every entry you write is one more page of text you wrote. Even if just recounting your day's activities in a journal, laughing at or vilifying those around you, or adding a few more entries to that great American novel, you are being creative and communicating with those in the world around you.
If your blog is the only way you can get what is inside you out, then blog on! It may be the cheapest form of therapy anyone can have.
Don't let the grammar and spelling errors that abound stop you from reading blogs, either. There are a lot of good opinions, interesting ideas, and earth shaking concepts out there in the world of blogs. Seek them out, comment on them, and form your own conclusions. Yes, sometimes you need a lot of patience to read that fusia and olive colored blog with blue lettering and the obligatory animation that takes forever to load and has an annoying looped soundbyte attached, but the person who made that blog may just have something important to say that will change your life.
I use my main blog space (and my mother hates it when I use this allusion) to metaphorically stand naked on the top of a mountain, flipping the world the Bird. It allows me to vent those frustrations and rampant ideas I have in a forum where I believe others will listen. I don't care if you agree, and I love reading your comments whether you agree or not, but that isn't the point-- I get it out of my head.
I also have two side blogs where I express more of my creative side (see sidebar for links to other blogs).
The important thing is, I get the word out there and I feel better, healthier, and more constructive about things afterward. As I stated earlier, it is very cheap therapy.
So, if you have something to say, I challenge you-- grab your virtual pen and join the fray!
April 1, 2005
Idle Comment
Is anyone else freaked by the King in the new series of Burger King ads? Man, that costume and that perpetually grinning face just weird me out.
I especially don't like the one where the door opens and that grinning face is just standing there-- too Jason-esque/slasher filmish for me, I guess.
It's weird to type that, too. I watch horror films all the time and so rarely get a good fright. Then THAT comes on TV... shudder.
I especially don't like the one where the door opens and that grinning face is just standing there-- too Jason-esque/slasher filmish for me, I guess.
It's weird to type that, too. I watch horror films all the time and so rarely get a good fright. Then THAT comes on TV... shudder.
March 31, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
I'm not the best eater in the world. I'm one of those scary people who forgets to eat, will just stop eating because he's tired of doing it, and who will ignore his hunger until it goes away. It's not that I dislike food, it's just that the act of eating isn't a priority. I rarely "must-have" a food or am "feeling like" eating a particular flavor.
My refrigerator is a barren wasteland. There is little in the way of "real food" in there, and even the copious amounts of beverages that I normally stock are woefully inadequate at the moment. My cupboards are equally bare; I've got some dried pasta and a bunch of condiments, but not much more.
When you are one person, buying and storing food seems like a big hassle. Cheese and meats frequently go bad not because I don't want them, but because I can only eat so much over so long a period of time before they spoil. I have bought loaves of bread (the smallest ones I can find on the shelf) and wound up throwing more than half of it away-- once it's opened for that first PBJ, the damn clock is ticking.
Even bottled, canned, and dried foodstuff has gone bad on me before.
And I hate food shopping. The stores don't cater to people like me, they cater to mom's with big families and who need quick solutions on the go, go, go!
Actually, my local Albertson's used to have a section just for me-- I called it the single-guy's gourmet. Out of the 2000 or so square feet in this store, there was a little spot on the end of one of the floor refrigerators filled with pre-made meals that the store wanted to quickly sell through. So they packaged two breasts and some bread, or corn and fish, steak and rice, or some other combo in small, not more than two person-sized meals, with the spices and trimmings included, for cheap. Basically, just the right amount of meal, with just the right amount of effort needed to finish it.
I did much of my shopping there. I could get a steak, chicken, pork, and fish meal, enough for two servings each, usually, for relatively low prices. And all that was needed on my end was to fire up the grill or put it in the oven. Usually 20 minutes later I'm eating something good with little effort.
I sometimes feel like, if I could just get someone to come into my apartment, review my eating habits and dietary needs, and then go shopping and stock me up with everything I'm missing, I could then maintain it from that point. But I have no desire to make the initial effort. I actually don't mind cooking, and sometimes really enjoy it, but I just don't want to make the effort most days. Again, when you're cooking for one, why bother?
And now I'm heading back to the apartment, knowing that the cheese is close to going bad, that my loaf of bread is likely already on it's way to penicillin, and that any milk I do have is not something I want to reopen. Here's wishing someone develops The Jetson's full-course meal pills soon!
My refrigerator is a barren wasteland. There is little in the way of "real food" in there, and even the copious amounts of beverages that I normally stock are woefully inadequate at the moment. My cupboards are equally bare; I've got some dried pasta and a bunch of condiments, but not much more.
When you are one person, buying and storing food seems like a big hassle. Cheese and meats frequently go bad not because I don't want them, but because I can only eat so much over so long a period of time before they spoil. I have bought loaves of bread (the smallest ones I can find on the shelf) and wound up throwing more than half of it away-- once it's opened for that first PBJ, the damn clock is ticking.
Even bottled, canned, and dried foodstuff has gone bad on me before.
And I hate food shopping. The stores don't cater to people like me, they cater to mom's with big families and who need quick solutions on the go, go, go!
Actually, my local Albertson's used to have a section just for me-- I called it the single-guy's gourmet. Out of the 2000 or so square feet in this store, there was a little spot on the end of one of the floor refrigerators filled with pre-made meals that the store wanted to quickly sell through. So they packaged two breasts and some bread, or corn and fish, steak and rice, or some other combo in small, not more than two person-sized meals, with the spices and trimmings included, for cheap. Basically, just the right amount of meal, with just the right amount of effort needed to finish it.
I did much of my shopping there. I could get a steak, chicken, pork, and fish meal, enough for two servings each, usually, for relatively low prices. And all that was needed on my end was to fire up the grill or put it in the oven. Usually 20 minutes later I'm eating something good with little effort.
I sometimes feel like, if I could just get someone to come into my apartment, review my eating habits and dietary needs, and then go shopping and stock me up with everything I'm missing, I could then maintain it from that point. But I have no desire to make the initial effort. I actually don't mind cooking, and sometimes really enjoy it, but I just don't want to make the effort most days. Again, when you're cooking for one, why bother?
And now I'm heading back to the apartment, knowing that the cheese is close to going bad, that my loaf of bread is likely already on it's way to penicillin, and that any milk I do have is not something I want to reopen. Here's wishing someone develops The Jetson's full-course meal pills soon!
March 22, 2005
Blame
Another child has rampaged and killed people. Rather than blaming the real culprit—the child and whomever allowed him access to the weapon and ammunition—you will begin to see many reports on how Music, Video Games, Gun Manufacturers, and even the Internet are somehow to blame. The parents of the slain children will want a scapegoat. The parents of the child who committed this act will want to blame someone for his actions.
Music—the music industry releases hundreds of titles each year and millions of people buy them. Of the 350 million people in our country, nearly all listen to the radio, buy cds, or in some other way have music as a constant influence in our lives. Whether it is rap, heavy metal, country, or pop, the shear numbers of those who listen and “connect” with a song(s) is staggering.
Video Games—the video game industry is a multi-billion dollar a year industry. Video games are sent around the world. In places like China, Korea, and Japan, video games are played by more people of greater age ranges even than here in America. There are huge numbers of European video game players. And the numbers of players in America are staggering. Yet, most video game players are the people you want to meet.
Gun Manufacturers/Owners—there are approximately 70-90 million legal gun owners in America. (It's hard to nail down a specific number, this range seems to be the census.)
The Internet—this is so pervasive that nearly ever person on the planet in a second- or first-world nation is touched by this medium.
If these industries/entities, and most any other you could name as being somehow “at fault,” actually were the bad guy, with the numbers of people who use their products, we would have an epidemic of violence on the scale of genocide.
But we don’t.
As we look deeper at this child, we will find patterns of abuse or neglect. We will find indications he was a violence-prone person with antisocial behavior most likely from an early age. We will likely find that there were plenty of ignored warning signs along the way. Just like we found with the two boys who committed the atrocities in Columbine. Just like we find in any other predatory, violent act.
We have plenty of laws in place that, if properly enforced and maintained, would keep guns (and other dangerous weapons) out of the reach of those who shouldn’t have them, children included. Most responsible gun owners follow the safety rules of never leaving a gun out, never storing a gun and it’s ammunition in the same place, and always using safety and education as a first line of defense to ward against gun accidents and violence.
At some point we have to lay the blame squarely where it should be: on the child. This child is at fault. No matter how abused or neglected, no matter how picked on or ridiculed he was, he still made the choice to seek out a weapon and commit these acts. Others may share some of the blame, but it is still his in the end. If he got the weapon from his parent’s stash, then his parents are partially to blame for not properly securing the weapon and not teaching the child the proper gun etiquette, safety, and respect. If he somehow bought or obtained this weapon from a dealer of any sort, then that dealer is also somewhat to blame—the law is very strict on the ages of those who can purchase weapons and many places (it may even be all now) also require you to show proof that you went through a gun safety course. On top of all of this, there are the mandatory waiting periods and background checks. Add in the fact that the boy apparently wore a bullet-proof vest, and you know that this person planned for this violence and it was premeditated.
The fallacy of blaming the weapon, or some form of media, is prevalent in our society and can be traced pretty far back. In the 1950s, Fredric Wertham wrote a book called “The Seduction of the Innocent.” In it he suggested that the growing prevalence of comic books was creating a world of antisocial children who were prone to violence and criminal acts. He made this supposition because he went to juvenile halls and youth prisons and interviewed the children there. He noted that the jails had comic books and the kids liked reading them. Because of this, he concluded that comic books had caused the acts. He never bothered to find out that the prisons bought the comics and had them available as cheap sources of entertainment. He never asked if the boys read the comics before or after coming to prison. He never found out that the guards found the boys to be less hostile and easier to watch if they had comic books (and other such literature) available to them while they were incarcerated. Wertham put one and one together and came up with the answer he wanted because he didn’t like comic books. Similar studies found correlations to pornography in the 70s and 80s. Others have linked Dungeons and Dragons and other popular, but misunderstood, roleplaying games to violence and criminal acts. Every single one has been dismissed by a majority of healthcare professionals as baseless supposition at best, and outright lies with no credible scientific evidence to back it up.
And today that “blame trend” continues. No one is responsible for his/her own actions. The simple fact is, once we look at the life of those who commit these crimes, we nearly always find patterns of steadily rising acts of violence, bouts of severe depression or paranoia, run-ins with authority (police, school, parents).
The US Department of Justice backs these facts up. Even at our worst, there are less than 20,000 gun related homicides per year. Out of the tens of millions of people who own guns, you’d think that stat would be higher if the guns or the gun manufacturers were really at fault. When you add all of the illegal gun owners into this mix, it becomes an even smaller percentage. Even if you take into account nonfatal gun-related violence, that number is still only around 100,000 incidents per year. Similar statistics can be used to show the large number of people who buy music and video games in comparison to the very small amount of violence and deaths that occur in relation.
This act, as with Columbine, stands out for the shocking brutality of it. It stands out because it is a child committing violence on other children. We are horrified that our society can create the type of person who could do such a deed. And, because of media saturation of the event, it will stay in our public consciousness for many weeks and months to come. But it is still not the music, video game, gun manufacturers, nor the internet's fault.
I am sorry for those who lost their lives and feel bad for their families. I feel pity for the family of the one who committed this act and who now have to live with the media scrutiny and the questions. But I do not blame anyone except the person who committed this act. He made his choice and now a lot of people have to live with it.
Music—the music industry releases hundreds of titles each year and millions of people buy them. Of the 350 million people in our country, nearly all listen to the radio, buy cds, or in some other way have music as a constant influence in our lives. Whether it is rap, heavy metal, country, or pop, the shear numbers of those who listen and “connect” with a song(s) is staggering.
Video Games—the video game industry is a multi-billion dollar a year industry. Video games are sent around the world. In places like China, Korea, and Japan, video games are played by more people of greater age ranges even than here in America. There are huge numbers of European video game players. And the numbers of players in America are staggering. Yet, most video game players are the people you want to meet.
Gun Manufacturers/Owners—there are approximately 70-90 million legal gun owners in America. (It's hard to nail down a specific number, this range seems to be the census.)
The Internet—this is so pervasive that nearly ever person on the planet in a second- or first-world nation is touched by this medium.
If these industries/entities, and most any other you could name as being somehow “at fault,” actually were the bad guy, with the numbers of people who use their products, we would have an epidemic of violence on the scale of genocide.
But we don’t.
As we look deeper at this child, we will find patterns of abuse or neglect. We will find indications he was a violence-prone person with antisocial behavior most likely from an early age. We will likely find that there were plenty of ignored warning signs along the way. Just like we found with the two boys who committed the atrocities in Columbine. Just like we find in any other predatory, violent act.
We have plenty of laws in place that, if properly enforced and maintained, would keep guns (and other dangerous weapons) out of the reach of those who shouldn’t have them, children included. Most responsible gun owners follow the safety rules of never leaving a gun out, never storing a gun and it’s ammunition in the same place, and always using safety and education as a first line of defense to ward against gun accidents and violence.
At some point we have to lay the blame squarely where it should be: on the child. This child is at fault. No matter how abused or neglected, no matter how picked on or ridiculed he was, he still made the choice to seek out a weapon and commit these acts. Others may share some of the blame, but it is still his in the end. If he got the weapon from his parent’s stash, then his parents are partially to blame for not properly securing the weapon and not teaching the child the proper gun etiquette, safety, and respect. If he somehow bought or obtained this weapon from a dealer of any sort, then that dealer is also somewhat to blame—the law is very strict on the ages of those who can purchase weapons and many places (it may even be all now) also require you to show proof that you went through a gun safety course. On top of all of this, there are the mandatory waiting periods and background checks. Add in the fact that the boy apparently wore a bullet-proof vest, and you know that this person planned for this violence and it was premeditated.
The fallacy of blaming the weapon, or some form of media, is prevalent in our society and can be traced pretty far back. In the 1950s, Fredric Wertham wrote a book called “The Seduction of the Innocent.” In it he suggested that the growing prevalence of comic books was creating a world of antisocial children who were prone to violence and criminal acts. He made this supposition because he went to juvenile halls and youth prisons and interviewed the children there. He noted that the jails had comic books and the kids liked reading them. Because of this, he concluded that comic books had caused the acts. He never bothered to find out that the prisons bought the comics and had them available as cheap sources of entertainment. He never asked if the boys read the comics before or after coming to prison. He never found out that the guards found the boys to be less hostile and easier to watch if they had comic books (and other such literature) available to them while they were incarcerated. Wertham put one and one together and came up with the answer he wanted because he didn’t like comic books. Similar studies found correlations to pornography in the 70s and 80s. Others have linked Dungeons and Dragons and other popular, but misunderstood, roleplaying games to violence and criminal acts. Every single one has been dismissed by a majority of healthcare professionals as baseless supposition at best, and outright lies with no credible scientific evidence to back it up.
And today that “blame trend” continues. No one is responsible for his/her own actions. The simple fact is, once we look at the life of those who commit these crimes, we nearly always find patterns of steadily rising acts of violence, bouts of severe depression or paranoia, run-ins with authority (police, school, parents).
The US Department of Justice backs these facts up. Even at our worst, there are less than 20,000 gun related homicides per year. Out of the tens of millions of people who own guns, you’d think that stat would be higher if the guns or the gun manufacturers were really at fault. When you add all of the illegal gun owners into this mix, it becomes an even smaller percentage. Even if you take into account nonfatal gun-related violence, that number is still only around 100,000 incidents per year. Similar statistics can be used to show the large number of people who buy music and video games in comparison to the very small amount of violence and deaths that occur in relation.
This act, as with Columbine, stands out for the shocking brutality of it. It stands out because it is a child committing violence on other children. We are horrified that our society can create the type of person who could do such a deed. And, because of media saturation of the event, it will stay in our public consciousness for many weeks and months to come. But it is still not the music, video game, gun manufacturers, nor the internet's fault.
I am sorry for those who lost their lives and feel bad for their families. I feel pity for the family of the one who committed this act and who now have to live with the media scrutiny and the questions. But I do not blame anyone except the person who committed this act. He made his choice and now a lot of people have to live with it.
March 21, 2005
They F*&# You in the Drive Thru!
I just got back from going to the drive through at a newly opened branch of Taco Bell/KFC. I have gone through the drive-through 3 other times and have had problems, but not insurmountable ones, each time. Once I ordered a chicken meal and substituted a breast for one piece of the meal. They tried to charge me the breast substitution price twice because the meal came with a breast already (try explaining that, when a meal starts with a breast and a wing and you want to substitute another wing, that does NOT mean they substitute a breast for the first breast and then a breast for the wing, at a total substitution charge of $1.60 (for two breasts)!). Another time they tried to convince me there was no sauce on their quesadillas, even though they slather each one with a vile green sauce that is anathema to me. And each time the fact that not one worker was even remotely fluent in English was a major stumbling block to ordering and then fixing the order when it was wrong.
This time the place took it to a whole new level. I clearly said “T3,” which is a three regular taco combo with a large beverage. I then said “With Soft tacos” (you have a choice of crunchy or soft) and “Pepsi.” What I saw on the little screen confirmed this. I then said, “Quesadilla, no sauce.” All of a sudden, the window read 3 taco supremes, no sauce, and a chicken quesadilla. Strange. The woman then read back my order, I assume, because she said everything in Spanish. Based off what I was seeing on the menu, I said, “No.” I then reiterated my order speaking as clearly as I could into the microphone. This time, everything appeared to be correctly written on the monitor, so when she read it back in Spanish, I just said, “Okay.” As I turned my head to start driving forward, I saw the window flash and $5.47 came up again. Weird.
Now, I try to eat my lunch for around $5 a day. I like Taco Bell because there are multiple menu items I can get and stay within my budget goals. Yes, it’s crap food, but it’s filling and cheap. I have ordered this same meal, no matter the menu designation, a lot. It always comes up to $4.83. It’s something like $3.79 for the meal deal, and about another buck for the quesadilla and the tax.
The woman and the money window says, “$5.47.” I ask, “Why?” She says, “You order T4 with quesadilla.” I say, “No, I ordered T3 with a quesadilla. Three soft tacos.” Much Spanish to someone inside later, she responds with, “Same price. $5.47.” I say, “This order has never cost me above $5 in the past.” I’m not being mean when I say this statement was beyond her ability to grasp. So I break out some more money, pay her and hope to have better results at the food window.
At the food window, I am handed a small beverage in a paper cup. What I ordered comes with a large beverage in a plastic cup. I point this out to her. All she can muster is “Out.” To which I reply, “I was charged for a large plastic cup.” I continue to try to get my point across, but again I run into a language barrier that I cannot get across. I know to little Spanish and she knows too little English.
I have to admit, at this point I’m mad, but I always try to remain polite when I’m mad. I ask for the manager. A third girl appears. I ask if she is the manager and she replies with a cryptic, “I’m currently in charge.”
I say, “First, I ordered a T3 and got charged for a T4. Secondly, both the meal I ordered and the meal I was charged for come with a large plastic cup sized beverage.”
She says, “We are out of plastic cups.” To which I respond, “So you also over-charged me for my beverage, then.” She says, “Same price.”
I laugh. Out loud and in her face. I can’t help it. She’s trying to convince me that a small and a large are the same price? Does she really think I’m that stupid?
“They are $.20 different. I can refund you the $.20?” she says. I guess my laugh indicated that I had found her error.
I reply, “What about the $.50 difference in price between what I ordered and what was charged? You need to refund me more than $.20.”
“Same price,” she responds. I laugh again.
I say, “You know what, just give me my food, keep all of the money you just stole from me, and I will contact Taco Bell about this and choose not to ever come back to this particular store.”
From the look on her face, I’m guessing she is an assistant of some sort, and she was hoping to satisfy me without having the actual store manager or anyone else know about it.
I then take my food and drive away.
So, from my perspective, I have the following beefs with this Taco Bell/KFC branch:
- Two of the three people had poor English skills. This is a problem because they are working in a predominantly English-speaking area (in Irvine and on a college campus). Note: I do not care if English is their first, second, or twenty-third language—I just want them to speak it clearly and understand it effectively.
- I ordered one meal (T3), was charged for another meal (T4), and then was told that both were the same cost.
- I ordered and was charged for a large beverage in a plastic cup but received a small beverage in paper cup.
- I received no refund for the difference in the costs for any of the disparities encountered. I was blatantly lied to be “the person currently in charge” when I pointed this out. Reluctantly the same person offered a $.20 refund—but only after I pointed out the difference.
Long story only marginally longer: I have used the Taco Bell website to make a formal complaint about this entire incident. If this goes like any other incident with a fast-food chain, I will receive a couple of worthless coupons in the mail and no apology whatsoever.
In the meantime, I will stop frequenting that Taco Bell/KFC and will ask any and all of my friends and coworkers not to visit that establishment.
Taco Bell/KFC
4101 Campus Drive
Irvine CA 92612
March 17, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
I once either heard or read this allegory: a man goes to St. Peter and, for some reason, Peter takes him on a tour of the afterlife. First they visit Hell. The man is shown a large room with a big table filled with the most sumptuous feast imaginable. Everything to eat is there. The catch is that the silverware is so large that each individual cannot use it to eat the food. People are struggling to fit a few peas onto a spoon and then cannot lift the monstrous spoon up to their mouths. Others cannot work the knife and the fork because the can barely lift even one of the utensils, let alone two. The people in the room are starving, frantic, and obsessed.
Peter then takes the person to Heaven. Here he sees the exact replica of the room in Hell with the same monstrous silverware and the same huge, feast-filled table. But the people are laughing, joking, and having a good time. The difference, Peter points out, is in how they deal with the situation. In Heaven, each person is helping the other; one is using the knife, another the fork, while a third uses the oversized silverware to feed yet another person. When one is full, they switch places so all can eat their fill and enjoy the feast.
The moral of the story—Heaven and Hell are what you make them.
A person in a cube near me at work has been out for six weeks. Why he was out is his business, and I won’t ask him. But, upon returning, he is greeted by many friends and colleagues who wish him well and welcome him back. His response? “I can’t believe I came back to this hell-hole.” I also heard, “Yeah, I’m back in the cesspool that is [place I work].” I heard these comments not an hour into his first day after returning.
I have to admit that hearing this irritated me. Yes, he’s probably disappointed to find out that things went on without him. He may even be disappointed that many things are still the same. But at least give the place a chance before you stroll back down that path to misery.
I have a good job and I enjoy where I work most of the time. It is true that right now I am doing work that I don’t enjoy and that is a taxing me, but I still enjoy the people and the business well enough. I am paid well and have adequate job security for the times in which we live.
If I ever reached the point where I honestly felt like the place I worked was a “hell-hole” or “cesspool,” I would look for a new job. Why come back from an extended leave if that is how you felt about the place you work? I don’t know why he was gone as long as he was, but surely he could have found some time to do some Monster.com job searches and interviewed for a job or two?
I was struck by how we are both in similar situations but our responses to them were so different. It seems to me that he and I are in mirror images of the same room; in his version, he is miserable and morose, while in mine I am content and well-adjusted.
Peter then takes the person to Heaven. Here he sees the exact replica of the room in Hell with the same monstrous silverware and the same huge, feast-filled table. But the people are laughing, joking, and having a good time. The difference, Peter points out, is in how they deal with the situation. In Heaven, each person is helping the other; one is using the knife, another the fork, while a third uses the oversized silverware to feed yet another person. When one is full, they switch places so all can eat their fill and enjoy the feast.
The moral of the story—Heaven and Hell are what you make them.
A person in a cube near me at work has been out for six weeks. Why he was out is his business, and I won’t ask him. But, upon returning, he is greeted by many friends and colleagues who wish him well and welcome him back. His response? “I can’t believe I came back to this hell-hole.” I also heard, “Yeah, I’m back in the cesspool that is [place I work].” I heard these comments not an hour into his first day after returning.
I have to admit that hearing this irritated me. Yes, he’s probably disappointed to find out that things went on without him. He may even be disappointed that many things are still the same. But at least give the place a chance before you stroll back down that path to misery.
I have a good job and I enjoy where I work most of the time. It is true that right now I am doing work that I don’t enjoy and that is a taxing me, but I still enjoy the people and the business well enough. I am paid well and have adequate job security for the times in which we live.
If I ever reached the point where I honestly felt like the place I worked was a “hell-hole” or “cesspool,” I would look for a new job. Why come back from an extended leave if that is how you felt about the place you work? I don’t know why he was gone as long as he was, but surely he could have found some time to do some Monster.com job searches and interviewed for a job or two?
I was struck by how we are both in similar situations but our responses to them were so different. It seems to me that he and I are in mirror images of the same room; in his version, he is miserable and morose, while in mine I am content and well-adjusted.
March 15, 2005
My Tori Amos Dream
I had the following dream (with some small variations) again. I love this dream; it is one of the few recurring dreams that I look forward to. Most of my recurring dreams are violent, scary, or disturbing.
Note: I previously posted this on my website. But, since I dreamed it again, and I never updated that website, I thought I'd move it here and share with a new audience.
I am in some unnamed city and it is dark and cold, sometimes it is raining outside, and some force or event or need drives me to seek shelter in a bar. It is one of those bars that you walk down into and no matter when you stop by, day or night, it has this cloud of smoky air and a perpetual darkness about it.
If it's raining, my pants and shirt are soaked, as though the jacket I am wearing wasn't made for the amount of precipitation unleashed outside.
I order a Pepsi from the somewhat attractive but certainly life-weary waitress and sit down at a table toward the back. I notice a woman at the piano in the corner with an old brandy snifter partly filled with bills and change. She's just beginning to entertain the meager audience.
Counting myself, the audience is mostly men, with only one or two women hidden in dark corners. Everyone else looks like they have grown into their chairs and I guess they are this bar's regulars. Each is drinking away some part of his life he would rather forget or not be involved in.
As I slump into a seat at a table and let the events that carried me here spill over my memory, the piano eases to life. The red-headed woman begins to sing. The songs are painfully well-known to me. I examine the singer more carefully and see it is Tori Amos.
Even in the reality that is the dream, I am not surprised to see her here.
She plays some cut down versions of 'Little Earthquakes,' 'Crucify,' and 'Concertina,' then kicks into a rocking version of 'Caught a Lite Sneeze.' She pauses long enough that I almost think she's finished. She closes her eyes, and begins to sing 'China.'
She invests her entire self in the song, her lower lip constantly kissing the bottom of the black and silver microphone and quivering slightly.
She does not open her eyes and the mourning in her voice and the sad sob that creeps out during the high notes brings me to tears. Her voice becomes gravelly and full of anguish during the low lyrics.
"China, all the way to New York..."
I sit mesmerized. All sound outside of the piano and her voice cease to exist. I am transported to a world of pain and loss and unfulfilled love.
"Sometimes, I think you want me to touch you..."
Tori is barely moving. Her hands on the piano's ebony and ivory keys seem to move of their own volition. I barely see her draw breath. She is elsewhere and the song sings itself.
"Funny how the distance learns to grow..."
I see a tear streak down her face as I feel wetness on mine. I can't move. I don't remember blinking. My heart is stuck between rhythms.
"I can feel the distance... I can feel the distance..."
The song finishes. Tori stays at the piano, her polished nails poised over the piano keys and her funny-shaped lip still shaking and just, just, touching the microphone. It is very quiet in the bar. The few customers are all, like me, mesmerized.
Finally, the Muse releases her and Tori is able to whisper a very faint, almost hoarse "Thank you" into the stillness.
This releases me. I stumble forward, the half finished Pepsi, forgotten, sweating a large wet circle onto the Formica tabletop.
I pull a bill, I don't know what denomination, out of my pocket and slip it into the brandy snifter. Tori doesn't even look at me as she begins the initial notes to 'Happy Phantom.'
I bend close to her ear and whisper a throaty, "Thank you."
The barest hint of a smile plays in the corners of her too-red lips. The curls of her red hair then move to cover her expression in that way that only women's hair can.
I touch her shoulder with a very brief squeeze, then hurry toward the door and whatever waits outside.
The world looks remarkably fresher and cleaner as I emerge from the bar. And I can die happy, because I have experienced Tori Amos singing 'China' in a smoke-filled bar.
Note: I previously posted this on my website. But, since I dreamed it again, and I never updated that website, I thought I'd move it here and share with a new audience.
----------
I am in some unnamed city and it is dark and cold, sometimes it is raining outside, and some force or event or need drives me to seek shelter in a bar. It is one of those bars that you walk down into and no matter when you stop by, day or night, it has this cloud of smoky air and a perpetual darkness about it.
If it's raining, my pants and shirt are soaked, as though the jacket I am wearing wasn't made for the amount of precipitation unleashed outside.
I order a Pepsi from the somewhat attractive but certainly life-weary waitress and sit down at a table toward the back. I notice a woman at the piano in the corner with an old brandy snifter partly filled with bills and change. She's just beginning to entertain the meager audience.
Counting myself, the audience is mostly men, with only one or two women hidden in dark corners. Everyone else looks like they have grown into their chairs and I guess they are this bar's regulars. Each is drinking away some part of his life he would rather forget or not be involved in.
As I slump into a seat at a table and let the events that carried me here spill over my memory, the piano eases to life. The red-headed woman begins to sing. The songs are painfully well-known to me. I examine the singer more carefully and see it is Tori Amos.
Even in the reality that is the dream, I am not surprised to see her here.
She plays some cut down versions of 'Little Earthquakes,' 'Crucify,' and 'Concertina,' then kicks into a rocking version of 'Caught a Lite Sneeze.' She pauses long enough that I almost think she's finished. She closes her eyes, and begins to sing 'China.'
She invests her entire self in the song, her lower lip constantly kissing the bottom of the black and silver microphone and quivering slightly.
She does not open her eyes and the mourning in her voice and the sad sob that creeps out during the high notes brings me to tears. Her voice becomes gravelly and full of anguish during the low lyrics.
"China, all the way to New York..."
I sit mesmerized. All sound outside of the piano and her voice cease to exist. I am transported to a world of pain and loss and unfulfilled love.
"Sometimes, I think you want me to touch you..."
Tori is barely moving. Her hands on the piano's ebony and ivory keys seem to move of their own volition. I barely see her draw breath. She is elsewhere and the song sings itself.
"Funny how the distance learns to grow..."
I see a tear streak down her face as I feel wetness on mine. I can't move. I don't remember blinking. My heart is stuck between rhythms.
"I can feel the distance... I can feel the distance..."
The song finishes. Tori stays at the piano, her polished nails poised over the piano keys and her funny-shaped lip still shaking and just, just, touching the microphone. It is very quiet in the bar. The few customers are all, like me, mesmerized.
Finally, the Muse releases her and Tori is able to whisper a very faint, almost hoarse "Thank you" into the stillness.
This releases me. I stumble forward, the half finished Pepsi, forgotten, sweating a large wet circle onto the Formica tabletop.
I pull a bill, I don't know what denomination, out of my pocket and slip it into the brandy snifter. Tori doesn't even look at me as she begins the initial notes to 'Happy Phantom.'
I bend close to her ear and whisper a throaty, "Thank you."
The barest hint of a smile plays in the corners of her too-red lips. The curls of her red hair then move to cover her expression in that way that only women's hair can.
I touch her shoulder with a very brief squeeze, then hurry toward the door and whatever waits outside.
The world looks remarkably fresher and cleaner as I emerge from the bar. And I can die happy, because I have experienced Tori Amos singing 'China' in a smoke-filled bar.
March 11, 2005
Cursing
Fuck.
That is one invective that just rolls off the tongue. It actually feels good to say it. You almost bite your lower lip to begin and the sound starts way in the front of your mouth. Then it moves back into the schwa sound in the middle and seems to reverberate around your entire, open mouth. Then it ends at the far back of your mouth in a near spit as you hit that hard “k” sound.
And it is very useful as a curse, isn’t it? Surprise, anger, consternation, envy, even a rough form of sensuality can all be expressed with this one word. You can even use the single word and let it roll around on your tongue until you get the right feel; “Fuck!” “Fuck?” “fuck.” “FUCK!” I’m sure we’ve all heard the little sound bite that floated around the internet a few years back about how it can be used as nearly all parts of speech; “Fuck the fucking fuckers!”
“Fuck” is my favorite curse word. I’ve never liked saying “Shit.” I use the lesser evils of “Damn” and “Hell” a bit. I never, ever use “Cunt” - I hate that word. I rarely use “Bitch.” “Crap” is said, but just doesn’t sound as good.
I pick my times and places to say “Fuck.” While it is true I sometimes fall into a streak where I’m cursing like a sailor, most of the time I pick what I say pretty carefully. I only whip out a good “Fuck” when I think the word will add to the meaning or emotion of a sentence or a moment.
I also rarely curse at work. It’s just not polite. Now, the guys in sales and marketing, they curse a lot. I hear some of the product support people and almost see the blue clouds over their heads. I, however, chose my times and my places.
Let me wander closer to the point of this message: Because I generally curse judiciously and with thought, people pay attention. And, really, isn’t that why we use curse words in the first place? We want to get people’s attention and show our emotion at the same time. But if you use those words in everyday speaking, they lose their appeal and power to persuade.
If every morning I came to work and said “What the fuck is up, bitch?” to my boss, outside of being fired, she would grow accustomed to hearing that kind of language from me. If a time came when I really needed to punctuate a point, she would miss it. The punctuation would drown in the white noise of cursing I created by over-use of those words.
And so I reach my point: let’s all step back and rein it in, eh?
That is one invective that just rolls off the tongue. It actually feels good to say it. You almost bite your lower lip to begin and the sound starts way in the front of your mouth. Then it moves back into the schwa sound in the middle and seems to reverberate around your entire, open mouth. Then it ends at the far back of your mouth in a near spit as you hit that hard “k” sound.
And it is very useful as a curse, isn’t it? Surprise, anger, consternation, envy, even a rough form of sensuality can all be expressed with this one word. You can even use the single word and let it roll around on your tongue until you get the right feel; “Fuck!” “Fuck?” “fuck.” “FUCK!” I’m sure we’ve all heard the little sound bite that floated around the internet a few years back about how it can be used as nearly all parts of speech; “Fuck the fucking fuckers!”
“Fuck” is my favorite curse word. I’ve never liked saying “Shit.” I use the lesser evils of “Damn” and “Hell” a bit. I never, ever use “Cunt” - I hate that word. I rarely use “Bitch.” “Crap” is said, but just doesn’t sound as good.
I pick my times and places to say “Fuck.” While it is true I sometimes fall into a streak where I’m cursing like a sailor, most of the time I pick what I say pretty carefully. I only whip out a good “Fuck” when I think the word will add to the meaning or emotion of a sentence or a moment.
I also rarely curse at work. It’s just not polite. Now, the guys in sales and marketing, they curse a lot. I hear some of the product support people and almost see the blue clouds over their heads. I, however, chose my times and my places.
Let me wander closer to the point of this message: Because I generally curse judiciously and with thought, people pay attention. And, really, isn’t that why we use curse words in the first place? We want to get people’s attention and show our emotion at the same time. But if you use those words in everyday speaking, they lose their appeal and power to persuade.
If every morning I came to work and said “What the fuck is up, bitch?” to my boss, outside of being fired, she would grow accustomed to hearing that kind of language from me. If a time came when I really needed to punctuate a point, she would miss it. The punctuation would drown in the white noise of cursing I created by over-use of those words.
And so I reach my point: let’s all step back and rein it in, eh?
March 10, 2005
Thursday Thoughts
If I was CEO of either Target or Kmart, or any one of the (few) competitors of Wal-Mart, I would use the current political climate and take my store in a different direction.
Wal-Mart’s ability to give us low prices is based on its size and willingness to use foreign products, which can be manufactured in many second and third world nations for much cheaper than America can make the same product. By leveraging its size and its access to these incredibly inexpensive items, it can force local manufacturers into deals that then force those manufacturers to look at ways to lower their own costs—which usually winds up being downsizing or outsourcing. Either of these choices takes money away from both the American workers (they are out of a job) and the American economy (both through job-loss and trade inequities).
I would do the opposite. As head of Target (say), I would shift my store focus to using as many American company products as possible and trying to especially pursue those items made IN America. Those items that were not made in America, I would clearly label in my stores. I would then change my advertising focus to say, in essence, “Our prices are higher than Wal-Mart’s, but all of our products are made in America. We focus on things made in America by American workers and American companies.”
With the hot-bed issues of patriotism, nationalism, and the fear of outsourcing work offshore to other nations, I think this message would sell. If it does sell, the resulting purchases would help boost the American economy by keeping jobs and money inside the United States.
Unless America can figure out a way to replace the blue-collar jobs it is losing, Americans are looking at even leaner times ahead. As China, in particular, moves into the first-nation status and exerts more power in the global economy, America's economy will get weaker. Any nation or area that can take American jobs and do them cheaper and faster will get increasingly more work from companies looking to compete. The cycle will continue until we are, like many former world-leading nations in Europe, marginalized and forced to enter unions of nations to bolster our economic strength.
Or, we can do everything in our power to bring those nations along at an even faster clip. The faster those nation’s economies expand and grow, the more quickly they reach the same manufacturing costs as are in America and the prices stabilize and competition returns. But I don’t see that happening any time soon!
Wal-Mart’s ability to give us low prices is based on its size and willingness to use foreign products, which can be manufactured in many second and third world nations for much cheaper than America can make the same product. By leveraging its size and its access to these incredibly inexpensive items, it can force local manufacturers into deals that then force those manufacturers to look at ways to lower their own costs—which usually winds up being downsizing or outsourcing. Either of these choices takes money away from both the American workers (they are out of a job) and the American economy (both through job-loss and trade inequities).
I would do the opposite. As head of Target (say), I would shift my store focus to using as many American company products as possible and trying to especially pursue those items made IN America. Those items that were not made in America, I would clearly label in my stores. I would then change my advertising focus to say, in essence, “Our prices are higher than Wal-Mart’s, but all of our products are made in America. We focus on things made in America by American workers and American companies.”
With the hot-bed issues of patriotism, nationalism, and the fear of outsourcing work offshore to other nations, I think this message would sell. If it does sell, the resulting purchases would help boost the American economy by keeping jobs and money inside the United States.
Unless America can figure out a way to replace the blue-collar jobs it is losing, Americans are looking at even leaner times ahead. As China, in particular, moves into the first-nation status and exerts more power in the global economy, America's economy will get weaker. Any nation or area that can take American jobs and do them cheaper and faster will get increasingly more work from companies looking to compete. The cycle will continue until we are, like many former world-leading nations in Europe, marginalized and forced to enter unions of nations to bolster our economic strength.
Or, we can do everything in our power to bring those nations along at an even faster clip. The faster those nation’s economies expand and grow, the more quickly they reach the same manufacturing costs as are in America and the prices stabilize and competition returns. But I don’t see that happening any time soon!
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