We've all been hearing about the new movie honoring Jackie Robinson. Haven't seen it yet, but GWCTRA (Girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous) and I will be soon. I've seen the trailers and read the reviews, which match my reaction to the trailers. Which is that it seems shallow and formulaic and maybe too reverent. Yet, I still want to go and will keep an open mind.
But what you don't know is that Karl Rove is looking to cash in on this trend of "biopic with a number" title. Coming soon to a theater near you..."43".
Through some dogged research, sleuthing ability, and a recent discovery of some old mushrooms in the cellar, I have learned what the storyline is.
George W. Bush is born, not into luxury in New Haven, as we were told. Instead, he grew up in a shotgun shack on the outskirts of Midland, TX.
Through dogged persistence and something about a place called the Cayman Islands, he manages to get himself a scholarship to Yale. He wants to major in "freedom". Told there's no such major, he organizes a group of recently naturalized citizens to picket the hallowed halls of the famous university, ultimately winning a pledge from the deans to create such a major. He then says to President Kingman Brewster, in that famous folksy way of his, "Aw, ah was just pullin' your leg. You're doin' a heckuva job, Brewski." Everyone laughs and looks adoringly at the future POTUS.
But all is not well at Yale. 43 wants to be a star first baseman, like dad. But his teammates would have none of that, sneeringly rejecting him on the shaky ground that he can only hit .091 or that he cannot catch a ball because of his diagnosed case of tunnel vision, which only enables him to see only a thin line of light to his right side.
But our protagonist will eventually rise above it all. His mentor, Darth Voldecheney, says the words that will change his life. "I don't want a man who fights. I want a man who's smart enough to invade a foreign country for no reason whatsoever."
Our hero is inspired. His academic performance improves markedly, enabling him to graduate with a C average. He moves back to Texas and becomes the first black man to discover oil. (The storyline may take a few literary leaps in places). He enters politics. He fights for the people he represents; his working class millionaires.
And, as we all know, he would eventually rise to the highest position in the land. Under his leadership, all Americans prosper and terrorists are brought to their knees. And we all live happily ever, uh, um, well, I don't want to give away the ending. Besides, the mushrooms are wearing off.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Here we are again
As I write this, we're about 19 hours past the latest atrocity. This one, of course, in Boston.
As was true the last time I blogged about murderous acts like these, I find I'm at a loss for words. I can't add anything that hasn't already been said. Yet, I can't remain silent either. I ask myself what good I can possibly do just by doing a weekly blog. The answer, of course, is nothing. Yet, after all, a blog is, among other things, a venting mechanism. So I'll vent away...
After the Newtown tragedy, I did go up there for a few hours and it felt like I was doing something to help. I won't be going to Boston. I can't imagine why I would go. I can only do what, I'd hope, any responsible person would do. Which is to keep speculation to myself and my closest friends and to be as patient as possible while the authorities sort it all out. But it sure isn't easy. I want answers right now. I want to find the perpetrators and exact my own justice. I want to know how this could happen, when the authorities knew coming in that this week is THE week for domestic terrorism (if that's what it is).
I don't want to be numb to these tragedies. Yet, numbness seems like a tempting way to go. Imagining what these families must be going through is painful. Part of me wants to avoid all this. Yet, I know this isn't the healthy reaction. The only healthy reaction I can come up with is to be as empathic as I can and know that, despite all this madness, there's something greater than myself that will guide us through it. If this power exists, call it God, the Divine, some life force, then how could this same power allow such a thing to happen?
I recently read a book by Krista Tippett. She hosts a show in Public Radio called On Being. The show was formerly called Speaking of Faith. She often looks at the issues of science and spirituality. She wrote a book replaying conversations she's had over the years on these subjects. One was an interview with Sir John Polkinghorne, who is a physicist and former Anglican priest. His philosophy seems to be that God, as he understands it, essentially gives us tools to work with. We can use them any way we want. I don't entirely understand his views and what I do understand would take too long to put in here. But what he says resonates with me. I can believe that it's up to us to use what God gives us for good or evil.
I believe even more that the only way we can stop these tragedies is to set good examples, especially those of us who are parents. As Graham Nash said, "Teach your children well." Whoever is responsible wasn't taught good lessons. Yet, they ARE responsible. No amount of physical abuse or neglect can mitigate against these atrocities.
I think we all suffer, to varying degrees, from an overload of distractions. I'm as guilty as anyone. I'll go through periods when I want no part of NPR or any other news. I sink into sports stories, sometimes to excess. And when it's excessive, I know in my heart that I'm escaping something. An occasional escape seems healthy. But doing it constantly means I'm not paying attention to things that matter.
And this matters. I want to be brave enough to feel the pain of losing innocent lives. Yet at the same time, I want to believe that if we all do the work we need to, such as quieting our minds, avoiding toxic news, nourishing ourselves, then we'll honor all these lives that were snuffed out in murderous acts like these.
As was true the last time I blogged about murderous acts like these, I find I'm at a loss for words. I can't add anything that hasn't already been said. Yet, I can't remain silent either. I ask myself what good I can possibly do just by doing a weekly blog. The answer, of course, is nothing. Yet, after all, a blog is, among other things, a venting mechanism. So I'll vent away...
After the Newtown tragedy, I did go up there for a few hours and it felt like I was doing something to help. I won't be going to Boston. I can't imagine why I would go. I can only do what, I'd hope, any responsible person would do. Which is to keep speculation to myself and my closest friends and to be as patient as possible while the authorities sort it all out. But it sure isn't easy. I want answers right now. I want to find the perpetrators and exact my own justice. I want to know how this could happen, when the authorities knew coming in that this week is THE week for domestic terrorism (if that's what it is).
I don't want to be numb to these tragedies. Yet, numbness seems like a tempting way to go. Imagining what these families must be going through is painful. Part of me wants to avoid all this. Yet, I know this isn't the healthy reaction. The only healthy reaction I can come up with is to be as empathic as I can and know that, despite all this madness, there's something greater than myself that will guide us through it. If this power exists, call it God, the Divine, some life force, then how could this same power allow such a thing to happen?
I recently read a book by Krista Tippett. She hosts a show in Public Radio called On Being. The show was formerly called Speaking of Faith. She often looks at the issues of science and spirituality. She wrote a book replaying conversations she's had over the years on these subjects. One was an interview with Sir John Polkinghorne, who is a physicist and former Anglican priest. His philosophy seems to be that God, as he understands it, essentially gives us tools to work with. We can use them any way we want. I don't entirely understand his views and what I do understand would take too long to put in here. But what he says resonates with me. I can believe that it's up to us to use what God gives us for good or evil.
I believe even more that the only way we can stop these tragedies is to set good examples, especially those of us who are parents. As Graham Nash said, "Teach your children well." Whoever is responsible wasn't taught good lessons. Yet, they ARE responsible. No amount of physical abuse or neglect can mitigate against these atrocities.
I think we all suffer, to varying degrees, from an overload of distractions. I'm as guilty as anyone. I'll go through periods when I want no part of NPR or any other news. I sink into sports stories, sometimes to excess. And when it's excessive, I know in my heart that I'm escaping something. An occasional escape seems healthy. But doing it constantly means I'm not paying attention to things that matter.
And this matters. I want to be brave enough to feel the pain of losing innocent lives. Yet at the same time, I want to believe that if we all do the work we need to, such as quieting our minds, avoiding toxic news, nourishing ourselves, then we'll honor all these lives that were snuffed out in murderous acts like these.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Being true to the adjective
Hello all: Some random thoughts:
1: When I fill out an online form and I’m
asked to fill in my year of birth, it takes me 5 minutes to scroll down.
2: As I get older, it seems that people
increasingly use smaller fonts and softer voices.(By the way, this blog has undergone a font upgrade, along with some other changes. Thanks to my good friend Andy for the suggestions.)
3: Can you have a beck without a call? Or a nook without a cranny?
4: Why are criminal actions against
monstrous acts of depravity called complaints? Don’t we generally complain
about the weather and taxes?
5: I'm increasingly less patient with loud things. Loud people, loud headlines, loud anything. But yet, I almost certainly have a hearing loss.
6: The nicest American accents are low-country Virginia and Carolinas.
7: The most irritating accent is a Michigan accent...non-Detroit. (Apologies to my friends Leanne and Bob, if they should happen upon this. Their accents are actually pretty muted...thank God)
8: There are two versions of nice people. There's nice/Irish, which is generally outgoing. And there's nice/Canadian, which is more low-key. But I find myself drawn to both. And yes, Americans are generally nice too.
9: Everyone I've ever met named Heather has blond hair.
10: Every band I've ever heard in my childhood seems to be on a comeback tour.
11: Every time I think I've pissed someone off, I'm wrong. When I really do hurt someone or make them angry, it always surprises me.
12: The two biggest mysteries to me are money and women. The former confounds me. The latter fascinates me. And I'm not sure which is #1. However, with GWCTRA in my life, my fascination is now highly focused. But I'm no more educated now than I was 40 years ago.
13: I find myself getting irritated when someone does a Powerpoint presentation and reads the slides verbatim.
14: Country songs are the most deceptively hardest songs to write of any genre.
15: The mark of a bad comedy is whenever the camera pans in very close on someone being scared. So close that you can see their irises.
16: I find myself increasingly ignoring headlines that seem salacious. I guess if I click on one, I'm making money for the moron who wrote it. And as a corollary, I have no idea how much money he's making. Nor the business model that it's based on.
17: I find that in sports, I'm increasingly rooting for (or against) people more than teams.
18: The older I get, the less sure I am about almost anything. And it's strangely liberating.
That's all for now. Thanks for stopping by.
...gp
10: Every band I've ever heard in my childhood seems to be on a comeback tour.
11: Every time I think I've pissed someone off, I'm wrong. When I really do hurt someone or make them angry, it always surprises me.
12: The two biggest mysteries to me are money and women. The former confounds me. The latter fascinates me. And I'm not sure which is #1. However, with GWCTRA in my life, my fascination is now highly focused. But I'm no more educated now than I was 40 years ago.
13: I find myself getting irritated when someone does a Powerpoint presentation and reads the slides verbatim.
14: Country songs are the most deceptively hardest songs to write of any genre.
15: The mark of a bad comedy is whenever the camera pans in very close on someone being scared. So close that you can see their irises.
16: I find myself increasingly ignoring headlines that seem salacious. I guess if I click on one, I'm making money for the moron who wrote it. And as a corollary, I have no idea how much money he's making. Nor the business model that it's based on.
17: I find that in sports, I'm increasingly rooting for (or against) people more than teams.
18: The older I get, the less sure I am about almost anything. And it's strangely liberating.
That's all for now. Thanks for stopping by.
...gp
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Thanks, and other courtesies
Thanks for reading. I mean it.
Thanks for spending your hard earned time with me.
(I don't really mean that.)
Not that I don't appreciate you visiting. I really do. But when I exaggerate the level of appreciation, it probably comes off as phony, or even sarcastic.
I doubt I've ever been a paragon of courtly behavior. I'm not awful. Just not a role model. In truth, I have no business writing a blog about this. Maybe it's an age thing. Remember how your parents and grandparents used to bemoan the loss of manners in society? I'm basically turning into them. A deserved irony.
Which leads me to what's on my mind. The simple phrase "thank you."
I used to live in the south, where folks are polite. It's in the southern upbringing. But I don't get a sense that it's always sincere. Ironically, in the much more brusque northeast, folks here may not say thanks as much, but they're more likely, in my experience, to show appreciation from the heart. The best combination in my experience, is the midwest. Where people say thanks and, I sense, really mean it.
The words "thank you" may be the two most powerful words on the planet, when meant sincerely. I've heard that all prayer can be classified into four categories: "Wow", "Oops", "Please", and "Thanks."
On a secular level, this last category troubles me. Maybe it's just me but I don't hear the "T" word/phrase as much as I used to. We have a "thank you" gap.
The true test is the door. Do people hold a door open for you? Do you do the same? If so, does the recipient of your good deed say thank you? I do try to make a point to hold the door open for people. Some notice and say thanks. A larger group completely ignores the courtesy. The largest group of all mumbles what sounds close enough to "thanks". Which is good enough for me. Quite often, they're talking on the phone or texting, which I've grudgingly come to accept as the norm today.
I can't definitively say that we as a society are seeing our manners erode. I just sense it. And it's not just the door thing. In my local library, a place I like to do work at, about once a week, there'll be someone talking in a normal to loud conversational voice. As if they're outdoors. And the library staff won't "shhh" him/her. Aren't librarians trained to "sssh"? Isn't there a "sssh"101 course that's required? Apparently, it's not part of the curriculum anymore. So I take it upon myself, with a little voice in the back of my head saying "Are you insane? What if they threaten you? What if they have a gun?" But I'm learning to, as the western cliche goes, "smile when you say that". I consciously keep a smile and ask, nicely, if they could lower their voice. And I do NOT make eye contact. In fact, I walk away. This method has yet to backfire. But still, I'm angry that I have to do this at all. And if it's a phone call, that's even more of a challenge.
Each time, I ask myself why this is necessary. Don't people get it? Were they raised this way?
I suspect every person who ever hit their mid-50's says the same thing. (In 10 years, of course, no one will say it. They'll text it instead)
I just read an article saying that most students openly text in class during lectures. As an adjunct professor, I see it too. I tell my students that I don't allow it. They have no reaction. And some apparently forget that it's my class rule, so they need to be reminded again. I haven't yet deducted behavior points for this, but I'd consider it. I also have two students in my class who talk to each other incessantly. I've warned them, only to see it abate, then pick back up again.
At times, I ask myself what is wrong with society? But in my more lucid moments, I see this as a classic "one bad apple" thing. If I were to evaluate each person I meet on their courtesy, I suspect I'd be more hopeful. And it's also true that as technology changes at an ever increasing rate, we have that much more of a challenge in adjusting to it. Texting and cell phones being the most obvious examples.
It's probably important to make some adjustments to the new realities. It's certainly healthier. Maybe it's just the core courtesies that need to be kept as they are. It's really as simple as the Golden Rule, something that exists, in some form, in every major religion.
And a sincere thank you heads the list.
So...thanks for reading. And I mean it.
Thanks for spending your hard earned time with me.
(I don't really mean that.)
Not that I don't appreciate you visiting. I really do. But when I exaggerate the level of appreciation, it probably comes off as phony, or even sarcastic.
I doubt I've ever been a paragon of courtly behavior. I'm not awful. Just not a role model. In truth, I have no business writing a blog about this. Maybe it's an age thing. Remember how your parents and grandparents used to bemoan the loss of manners in society? I'm basically turning into them. A deserved irony.
Which leads me to what's on my mind. The simple phrase "thank you."
I used to live in the south, where folks are polite. It's in the southern upbringing. But I don't get a sense that it's always sincere. Ironically, in the much more brusque northeast, folks here may not say thanks as much, but they're more likely, in my experience, to show appreciation from the heart. The best combination in my experience, is the midwest. Where people say thanks and, I sense, really mean it.
The words "thank you" may be the two most powerful words on the planet, when meant sincerely. I've heard that all prayer can be classified into four categories: "Wow", "Oops", "Please", and "Thanks."
On a secular level, this last category troubles me. Maybe it's just me but I don't hear the "T" word/phrase as much as I used to. We have a "thank you" gap.
The true test is the door. Do people hold a door open for you? Do you do the same? If so, does the recipient of your good deed say thank you? I do try to make a point to hold the door open for people. Some notice and say thanks. A larger group completely ignores the courtesy. The largest group of all mumbles what sounds close enough to "thanks". Which is good enough for me. Quite often, they're talking on the phone or texting, which I've grudgingly come to accept as the norm today.
I can't definitively say that we as a society are seeing our manners erode. I just sense it. And it's not just the door thing. In my local library, a place I like to do work at, about once a week, there'll be someone talking in a normal to loud conversational voice. As if they're outdoors. And the library staff won't "shhh" him/her. Aren't librarians trained to "sssh"? Isn't there a "sssh"101 course that's required? Apparently, it's not part of the curriculum anymore. So I take it upon myself, with a little voice in the back of my head saying "Are you insane? What if they threaten you? What if they have a gun?" But I'm learning to, as the western cliche goes, "smile when you say that". I consciously keep a smile and ask, nicely, if they could lower their voice. And I do NOT make eye contact. In fact, I walk away. This method has yet to backfire. But still, I'm angry that I have to do this at all. And if it's a phone call, that's even more of a challenge.
Each time, I ask myself why this is necessary. Don't people get it? Were they raised this way?
I suspect every person who ever hit their mid-50's says the same thing. (In 10 years, of course, no one will say it. They'll text it instead)
I just read an article saying that most students openly text in class during lectures. As an adjunct professor, I see it too. I tell my students that I don't allow it. They have no reaction. And some apparently forget that it's my class rule, so they need to be reminded again. I haven't yet deducted behavior points for this, but I'd consider it. I also have two students in my class who talk to each other incessantly. I've warned them, only to see it abate, then pick back up again.
At times, I ask myself what is wrong with society? But in my more lucid moments, I see this as a classic "one bad apple" thing. If I were to evaluate each person I meet on their courtesy, I suspect I'd be more hopeful. And it's also true that as technology changes at an ever increasing rate, we have that much more of a challenge in adjusting to it. Texting and cell phones being the most obvious examples.
It's probably important to make some adjustments to the new realities. It's certainly healthier. Maybe it's just the core courtesies that need to be kept as they are. It's really as simple as the Golden Rule, something that exists, in some form, in every major religion.
And a sincere thank you heads the list.
So...thanks for reading. And I mean it.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Unis
(As in "YOU-knees". As in, short for uniforms)
I've always been interested in uniforms. As some know, I've had a theory that, at the pro level, there are two factors that will prevent any team from winning a championship. Those are...stupid nicknames. And ugly uniforms. As Exhibits A and B of the latter, I bring you the Cincinnati Bengals and the mid-1980's Houston Astros. The latter, a franchise of mostly very good teams who couldn't get past the hump because their uniforms bore an uncanny resemblance to ice cream vendors.
The converse is not true. i.e. Great uniforms don't guarantee anything. But I will say that the coolest unis in sports are usually worn by successful franchises. If I had to pick one, I'd pick the Steelers. A great franchise name and a great uniform. In fact, I've always had an attraction to black and gold and Pittsburgh is the only city that has all its franchises (including U of Pittsburgh) with the same color scheme.
Traditional uniforms are fine too. Low key, stately, no major statement to make. These teams let their games do the talking. I like that.
My good friend Andy and I have a philosophical difference about unis. He's basically OK with loud uniforms. Or even multiple uniforms. Our team, the Mets, don't wear uniforms. At least not by my definition. To me, a uniform is something the viewer can visually depend on. A "look". Most teams have 2 looks. One for home, one for away. And the two are visually similar. The Mets have, seemingly, 162 looks. One for each game of the season. I can't match the Mets with a uniform. They may be the only team in professional, or even collegiate, sports with this characteristic. They haven't won a World Series since 1986. At which time, they were still in the basic home/away mode of 2 uniforms. I rest my case.
I'm also not in love with green as a sports color. It looks political, not like a school that's trying to present a winning look. Green, if it's the color, should be understated. Michigan State is one school that does "green" nicely. At the pro level, the Celtics do it well also. The Oregon Ducks are big time ugly (and green-in-your-face) and flashy, but they've been successful.
In general, I don't think college teams, unlike the pros, have to worry about unis. Unless, that is, ugliness is taken to a whole new level.
Which is the point of this blog. I bring you...Notre Dame.
First, GWCTRA and I went to see the movie Amour a few weeks ago. A very well done movie that pulls no punches about the elderly and saying goodbye to those we love. It's a gut wrenching movie. I'd like to recommend it, but it's so depressing that I just cannot do so. It took me 2 or 3 days to get it out of my head.
The reason for this digression is that it'll take me at least that long to get the Notre Dame uniforms out of my head.I've been visually assaulted. My sports sensibilities have been scrambled.
Imagine the love child of the Green Hornet and the Village People. Imagine that famous Pink Floyd green pyramid poster from Dark Side of the Moon on steroids. Imagine Joe Arpaio, that upstanding patriot who believes that the way you bring justice to Arizona is by humiliating prisoners and forcing them to wear pink lacy things. Well, Joe, your experiment has morphed over to the NCAA's, substituting green for pink.
This doesn't begin to explain how hideous these unis are. I may have been wrong but I could swear I saw green stockings on some of the players. And green boxers too. It's almost impossible to tell because you can't really get the full effect in one look. You can look above the waist and see green hi-liters and stuff on the arms. You can look midrange and see the boxers. You can look a bit lower and see green leggings, or something like that. Or you can look at the feet and see...I don't know...slippers?
It's no surprise, at least to me, that the Fighting Irish got blown out by Iowa State. And sadly, this is one of the storied schools in history.
I'm OK with the Irish. I know some don't like them in the same way that some hate the Dallas Cowboys (of which I'm definitely one). The "America's Team" thing. But the Irish are a college without a history of arrogance or thugism. Two qualities the Cowboys are loaded with.
Notre Dame doesn't deserve a fate like this. No one should be forced to parade themselves in such a great tournament in this manner. It's tough enough when you're a team of SWHIGs. (Slow White Guys). That alone usually means you're bounced by the 2nd round. But having to wear those monstrosities?
Life just ain't fair sometimes.
I've always been interested in uniforms. As some know, I've had a theory that, at the pro level, there are two factors that will prevent any team from winning a championship. Those are...stupid nicknames. And ugly uniforms. As Exhibits A and B of the latter, I bring you the Cincinnati Bengals and the mid-1980's Houston Astros. The latter, a franchise of mostly very good teams who couldn't get past the hump because their uniforms bore an uncanny resemblance to ice cream vendors.
The converse is not true. i.e. Great uniforms don't guarantee anything. But I will say that the coolest unis in sports are usually worn by successful franchises. If I had to pick one, I'd pick the Steelers. A great franchise name and a great uniform. In fact, I've always had an attraction to black and gold and Pittsburgh is the only city that has all its franchises (including U of Pittsburgh) with the same color scheme.
Traditional uniforms are fine too. Low key, stately, no major statement to make. These teams let their games do the talking. I like that.
My good friend Andy and I have a philosophical difference about unis. He's basically OK with loud uniforms. Or even multiple uniforms. Our team, the Mets, don't wear uniforms. At least not by my definition. To me, a uniform is something the viewer can visually depend on. A "look". Most teams have 2 looks. One for home, one for away. And the two are visually similar. The Mets have, seemingly, 162 looks. One for each game of the season. I can't match the Mets with a uniform. They may be the only team in professional, or even collegiate, sports with this characteristic. They haven't won a World Series since 1986. At which time, they were still in the basic home/away mode of 2 uniforms. I rest my case.
I'm also not in love with green as a sports color. It looks political, not like a school that's trying to present a winning look. Green, if it's the color, should be understated. Michigan State is one school that does "green" nicely. At the pro level, the Celtics do it well also. The Oregon Ducks are big time ugly (and green-in-your-face) and flashy, but they've been successful.
In general, I don't think college teams, unlike the pros, have to worry about unis. Unless, that is, ugliness is taken to a whole new level.
Which is the point of this blog. I bring you...Notre Dame.
First, GWCTRA and I went to see the movie Amour a few weeks ago. A very well done movie that pulls no punches about the elderly and saying goodbye to those we love. It's a gut wrenching movie. I'd like to recommend it, but it's so depressing that I just cannot do so. It took me 2 or 3 days to get it out of my head.
The reason for this digression is that it'll take me at least that long to get the Notre Dame uniforms out of my head.I've been visually assaulted. My sports sensibilities have been scrambled.
Imagine the love child of the Green Hornet and the Village People. Imagine that famous Pink Floyd green pyramid poster from Dark Side of the Moon on steroids. Imagine Joe Arpaio, that upstanding patriot who believes that the way you bring justice to Arizona is by humiliating prisoners and forcing them to wear pink lacy things. Well, Joe, your experiment has morphed over to the NCAA's, substituting green for pink.
This doesn't begin to explain how hideous these unis are. I may have been wrong but I could swear I saw green stockings on some of the players. And green boxers too. It's almost impossible to tell because you can't really get the full effect in one look. You can look above the waist and see green hi-liters and stuff on the arms. You can look midrange and see the boxers. You can look a bit lower and see green leggings, or something like that. Or you can look at the feet and see...I don't know...slippers?
It's no surprise, at least to me, that the Fighting Irish got blown out by Iowa State. And sadly, this is one of the storied schools in history.
I'm OK with the Irish. I know some don't like them in the same way that some hate the Dallas Cowboys (of which I'm definitely one). The "America's Team" thing. But the Irish are a college without a history of arrogance or thugism. Two qualities the Cowboys are loaded with.
Notre Dame doesn't deserve a fate like this. No one should be forced to parade themselves in such a great tournament in this manner. It's tough enough when you're a team of SWHIGs. (Slow White Guys). That alone usually means you're bounced by the 2nd round. But having to wear those monstrosities?
Life just ain't fair sometimes.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Chutes and ladders
The numbers 24 and 87 were etched into my brain back in elementary school. They signify life. That is, if you remember the game Chutes and Ladders.
I do. The object of the game was to get from space #1 to space #100. Along the way were various ladders, in which of course you ascended. And a series of chutes, which of course did the opposite. Very simple game, really. But I remember being fascinated with the numbers, what they signified, and all the luck involved. 24 was the longest ladder, and if your piece landed on it, you climbed all the way up to, I think, #83. At that point, if you spun a 4, you'd hit #87, which was the longest chute. And that dropped you all the way back to, I think, #19.
That was my day Thursday. I woke up, checked my bank account, and saw that my state refund got direct deposited into my checking account. A little later, I got an email from my local university, SCSU (Southern CT State Univ) telling me that I was recommended for acceptance by the social work faculty committee. Technically, I'm not in yet, but I'm told it's proforma at this point.
A little later, my good friend Pat and I got together for lunch and she made me this incredible West African peanut soup. This incredible soup, which contains only a few ingredients, brought some rare joy to my otherwise joy-free diet.
A little later, I got a call from a temp agency asking if I was available for a part time job. The job didn't materialize, but that was OK. I was still buzzing from the earlier news. Even the international news wasn't as bleak as normal. The economy is picking up steam...other not-so-terrible news.
Then...then...while I'm at the library, GWCTRA (Girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous) texts me. "I've got 3 inches of water in my basement." I switch gears, haul out of there and head over. On the way there, I stop at a local discount place to pick up some wading boots. I pick out a size 12 and arrive at her house. Indeed, the basement is flooded. Her son is already baling the basement, along with her. I try on the boots and I can't even come close to getting them to fit. I look underneath and see the size...it's a 7. I drive all the way back and swap them for the correct size.
Won't go into all the details but I've been getting a crash course in sump pumps, sheet rock, insulation, and every other component of basement repair and maintenance. For the last 4 days, I've done that and sleep, and very little else. School, financial aid, everything else that was a top priority in my life has taken a back seat.
I am most definitely not complaining. In fact, it's fascinating. Priorities and focus switched in an instant. This isn't Katrina here. Everyone is safe. The house is fine, for the most part. The biggest loss has been her dryer, which is too expensive to fix.
For me, I've gone from 24 to 83 to 87 to 19 in a matter of hours. GWCTRA and I have worked quite well together in this. Given the financial gravity of the situation, which unfortunately, affects her, the homeowner, it's been a lesson for me in so many ways.
One is that we make a pretty damn good team. We've done great at picking each other up, and allowing ourselves to be stressed and difficult without the other one freaking out.
Another lesson is that I keep learning, over and over again, that the more I try to order my life, the more it gets thrown into disarray. Not only that, the more I look at the scope of my "stuff", the more miniscule it appears when nature and/or God conspire to rearrange things.
It's melodramatic to introduce another game to my life..."52 card pickup". It's more like, maybe, "10 card pickup". But it still involves sudden reshuffling. GWCTRA's cards that are in disarray are more in the 20's. But that's par for her neighborhood, which seems to be subject to the vagaries of the local water tables.
In the meantime, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to find, I suspect, more water in the basement. And we'll go back to the wet vacs. And checking the sump pumps. And making sure the water is going away from the house, not toward it. And I'll get pissed and stressed at some point. As will my girlfriend. And we'll be grimy and filthy. We'll clean up. And then, we'll cook dinner together and clean up afterwards. And at the end of the day, we'll hold each other as we fall asleep.
And we'll wake up the next day to another game of Chutes and Ladders.
...gp
I do. The object of the game was to get from space #1 to space #100. Along the way were various ladders, in which of course you ascended. And a series of chutes, which of course did the opposite. Very simple game, really. But I remember being fascinated with the numbers, what they signified, and all the luck involved. 24 was the longest ladder, and if your piece landed on it, you climbed all the way up to, I think, #83. At that point, if you spun a 4, you'd hit #87, which was the longest chute. And that dropped you all the way back to, I think, #19.
That was my day Thursday. I woke up, checked my bank account, and saw that my state refund got direct deposited into my checking account. A little later, I got an email from my local university, SCSU (Southern CT State Univ) telling me that I was recommended for acceptance by the social work faculty committee. Technically, I'm not in yet, but I'm told it's proforma at this point.
A little later, my good friend Pat and I got together for lunch and she made me this incredible West African peanut soup. This incredible soup, which contains only a few ingredients, brought some rare joy to my otherwise joy-free diet.
A little later, I got a call from a temp agency asking if I was available for a part time job. The job didn't materialize, but that was OK. I was still buzzing from the earlier news. Even the international news wasn't as bleak as normal. The economy is picking up steam...other not-so-terrible news.
Then...then...while I'm at the library, GWCTRA (Girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous) texts me. "I've got 3 inches of water in my basement." I switch gears, haul out of there and head over. On the way there, I stop at a local discount place to pick up some wading boots. I pick out a size 12 and arrive at her house. Indeed, the basement is flooded. Her son is already baling the basement, along with her. I try on the boots and I can't even come close to getting them to fit. I look underneath and see the size...it's a 7. I drive all the way back and swap them for the correct size.
Won't go into all the details but I've been getting a crash course in sump pumps, sheet rock, insulation, and every other component of basement repair and maintenance. For the last 4 days, I've done that and sleep, and very little else. School, financial aid, everything else that was a top priority in my life has taken a back seat.
I am most definitely not complaining. In fact, it's fascinating. Priorities and focus switched in an instant. This isn't Katrina here. Everyone is safe. The house is fine, for the most part. The biggest loss has been her dryer, which is too expensive to fix.
For me, I've gone from 24 to 83 to 87 to 19 in a matter of hours. GWCTRA and I have worked quite well together in this. Given the financial gravity of the situation, which unfortunately, affects her, the homeowner, it's been a lesson for me in so many ways.
One is that we make a pretty damn good team. We've done great at picking each other up, and allowing ourselves to be stressed and difficult without the other one freaking out.
Another lesson is that I keep learning, over and over again, that the more I try to order my life, the more it gets thrown into disarray. Not only that, the more I look at the scope of my "stuff", the more miniscule it appears when nature and/or God conspire to rearrange things.
It's melodramatic to introduce another game to my life..."52 card pickup". It's more like, maybe, "10 card pickup". But it still involves sudden reshuffling. GWCTRA's cards that are in disarray are more in the 20's. But that's par for her neighborhood, which seems to be subject to the vagaries of the local water tables.
In the meantime, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to find, I suspect, more water in the basement. And we'll go back to the wet vacs. And checking the sump pumps. And making sure the water is going away from the house, not toward it. And I'll get pissed and stressed at some point. As will my girlfriend. And we'll be grimy and filthy. We'll clean up. And then, we'll cook dinner together and clean up afterwards. And at the end of the day, we'll hold each other as we fall asleep.
And we'll wake up the next day to another game of Chutes and Ladders.
...gp
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Spring fever
Before I begin, I posted something in last week's blog, since deleted, which caused some hard feelings for 2 good friends of mine. In short...they were right. I was wrong. Apologies already made and accepted. I wrote like the very jerks I was writing about. Education through irony.
Now, on to one of my favorite obsessions...the weather. Today begins the last full week of winter. Other than 2011, when we had another brutal winter, this is the first time I've counted the days until spring. I'm trying to break up the remainder of winter into smaller pieces much like a prisoner breaks up the remaining time until he's freed. 11 days. 264 hours. 15,840 minutes. 950,400 seconds. (give or take) And yeah, I know we can still get some nasty weather in the first 3-4 weeks of spring. But that doesn't affect me the same way. It's like the psychopath making his last attack before he finally dies. You know he'll be dead before long.
It wasn't until this weekend that I realized something. In past winters, we've always had little tastes of spring. The January thaw, occasional temperature spikes, etc. We haven't had a single one this winter. Not one. We also haven't had any bitter cold days, but those never bother me. It's been a relatively narrow temperature range since November. Not surprisingly, we've had, it seems, more overcast days this season than I can remember.
And, not surprisingly, it's been the most depressing winter in my memory. If not for GWCTRA, I may be residing in one of our state's many fine residences for those with mental illnesses.
Which is why this past weekend has me on something of a high. All weekend, I've felt like Mr. Rogers on nitrous oxide.
And I'm picking up the same thing in others. Yesterday and today...blue skies, and highs in the low 50's. We walked along the beach. Everyone was smiling. Kids skimming stones and throwing very slushy snowballs. (None directed at me, I think) Older couples walking hand in hand with a grace that, I suspect, I wouldn't have seen just a week ago, when we were hit with yet another freak storm. This one like a drunken guest that wouldn't leave the house. It staggered, spun, went in reverse, did the meteorological moves of an Olympic gold medal gymnast. All it needed was a horse and parallel bars.
I don't know what, if any, research has been done on spring fever. Maybe it's not a fever. Maybe nothing really happens to the body. But for me, it's almost intoxicating.
I went to school undergraduate in a little town called Plattsburgh, NY. 17 miles south of the border, tucked just north of the Adirondack Mountains, and on Lake Champlain. Beautiful area. Bitter cold in the winter. We hit -24F (without wind chill) on 2 occasions. We'd spend the last 2-3 weeks of the semester alternately studying for finals and finding some tire tubes, tying them together, and heading into the Saranac River, taking it a bit short of its mouth at the lake. We'd dock at Filion's, one of our local watering holes.
I have many fond memories of school, with this one on my short list of favorite things to do.
As a kid, I had similar feelings. Just this sense of connection with something greater, based on living in an area with 4 distinct seasons.
Not only that, baseball is less than 3 weeks away. All the cliches we associate with the beginning of spring.
I feel like a survivor of sorts. Along with my fellow northeasterners. There's been no shortage of real tragedy and misery here. Sandy, the December shootings, the February blizzard. It's been something of a nightmare. And one that has only tangentially affected me, at least in comparison to so many others. So, perhaps for those of us incredibly lucky enough not to have lost anything, the greater the adversity, the greater the sense of joy.
Ah, I can smell the baseball leather. I can hear the snow melting, like the Wicked Witch. I can see the smiles coming back. Hello spring.
Thanks for reading...gp
Now, on to one of my favorite obsessions...the weather. Today begins the last full week of winter. Other than 2011, when we had another brutal winter, this is the first time I've counted the days until spring. I'm trying to break up the remainder of winter into smaller pieces much like a prisoner breaks up the remaining time until he's freed. 11 days. 264 hours. 15,840 minutes. 950,400 seconds. (give or take) And yeah, I know we can still get some nasty weather in the first 3-4 weeks of spring. But that doesn't affect me the same way. It's like the psychopath making his last attack before he finally dies. You know he'll be dead before long.
It wasn't until this weekend that I realized something. In past winters, we've always had little tastes of spring. The January thaw, occasional temperature spikes, etc. We haven't had a single one this winter. Not one. We also haven't had any bitter cold days, but those never bother me. It's been a relatively narrow temperature range since November. Not surprisingly, we've had, it seems, more overcast days this season than I can remember.
And, not surprisingly, it's been the most depressing winter in my memory. If not for GWCTRA, I may be residing in one of our state's many fine residences for those with mental illnesses.
Which is why this past weekend has me on something of a high. All weekend, I've felt like Mr. Rogers on nitrous oxide.
And I'm picking up the same thing in others. Yesterday and today...blue skies, and highs in the low 50's. We walked along the beach. Everyone was smiling. Kids skimming stones and throwing very slushy snowballs. (None directed at me, I think) Older couples walking hand in hand with a grace that, I suspect, I wouldn't have seen just a week ago, when we were hit with yet another freak storm. This one like a drunken guest that wouldn't leave the house. It staggered, spun, went in reverse, did the meteorological moves of an Olympic gold medal gymnast. All it needed was a horse and parallel bars.
I don't know what, if any, research has been done on spring fever. Maybe it's not a fever. Maybe nothing really happens to the body. But for me, it's almost intoxicating.
I went to school undergraduate in a little town called Plattsburgh, NY. 17 miles south of the border, tucked just north of the Adirondack Mountains, and on Lake Champlain. Beautiful area. Bitter cold in the winter. We hit -24F (without wind chill) on 2 occasions. We'd spend the last 2-3 weeks of the semester alternately studying for finals and finding some tire tubes, tying them together, and heading into the Saranac River, taking it a bit short of its mouth at the lake. We'd dock at Filion's, one of our local watering holes.
I have many fond memories of school, with this one on my short list of favorite things to do.
As a kid, I had similar feelings. Just this sense of connection with something greater, based on living in an area with 4 distinct seasons.
Not only that, baseball is less than 3 weeks away. All the cliches we associate with the beginning of spring.
I feel like a survivor of sorts. Along with my fellow northeasterners. There's been no shortage of real tragedy and misery here. Sandy, the December shootings, the February blizzard. It's been something of a nightmare. And one that has only tangentially affected me, at least in comparison to so many others. So, perhaps for those of us incredibly lucky enough not to have lost anything, the greater the adversity, the greater the sense of joy.
Ah, I can smell the baseball leather. I can hear the snow melting, like the Wicked Witch. I can see the smiles coming back. Hello spring.
Thanks for reading...gp
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