A Dylan Moment

Oh the times...they are a-changin'...so they say.

Today was one of those days where I got knocked out of my routine, and I was actually at a loss.

The first moment of the day should have been key that something was up. For the first time in almost two months, I woke up without pain.

I haven't really been talking much about this, but starting in July, I came down with something. I have no idea what. Neither did anyone else (this includes medical-type people). It seemed to vanish, but the pain remained and (for lack of a better term) flared up. When I returned from Seattle at the end of August, the pain was almost unbearable and fatigue set in constantly. Again, the medical people had no idea.
"Maybe it's Cancer," one said to me.
"Maybe you have Leukemia," another said.

September started, and the pain and fatigue remained. I thought I was just having a hard time snapping back from a stressful and difficult time in Seattle, but that was not the case. At this point, including last Friday, so much blood has been taken that I think I worry there's another me out there.

So I've taking the pills that apparently (I am told) kill Anthrax...and I feel better. Am I perfect? No way, but I'm not dying...yet. There's too much to take care of first.

Still, it's been weird spending so much time with doctors and nurses. Outside of teachers, nurses are the most looked down upon workers. The nurse in the Emergency Room (post Seattle) was fantastic. She talked to me, made sure I was warm, brought me water, and explained terms to me I didn't understand. What I found fascinating was hearing a conversation as I was being wheeled to the x-ray or MRI or whatever it was (don't remember totally well) between the doctor attending me and the nurse where the doctor was dressing her down for explaining things to me. That saddened me. She made me feel better, and she was being scolded for it. Not fair.

The other way my life is changing is that I'm turning more into my father...and that's a very weird experience.

Many people will agree that I am very good at reading into people. I know what people are thinking, I know how to diffuse situations, I know how to screw with minds, and I know what's going on between people. Yet today I could not get a read for myself.

A few weeks back I was in a car accident. No blood or anything, just need annoying body work done. Today I got my rental car, so I stopped by the rental place near the body shop. There was a nice young lady working behind the desk.

Now, being the nerd or dork that I am, I joke around and try to make people laugh, and usually I'm good at it. However, I am also polite when I talk to people who I can tell are having a bad day. She was smiling, but something said she wasn't happy, so I asked her how she was doing. There was a pause and her head tilted slightly as if a cartridge was clicking into place in her brain. She looked me over and then started talking to me in the non-clerk voice.

When we went outside to look at the car, she wrote the normal notes and I signed the forms, but then she took the form back after it was ripped off and wrote something else.
It turned out that she was writing a phone number. "If you need anything," she said, "You can call this number, or this number is my cell phone. Call anytime."

I didn't think anything about it. I was actually focused on picking up my son and a lesson plan I've been kicking around in my head. I smiled, said, "Thank you so much (and used her name...it's polite), and then hopped in and drove off.

Hours later, my wife saw the paperwork and said, "What's this?"
"That's the paperwork for the car."
"No, not that," she said coyly. "This...at the top."
I looked it over, because I hadn't before. There, at the top of the paperwork, was the clerk's name...but she put a heart in it. The number she gave for the cell was not the same area code as the rental place.
My wife began to make fun of me. "You got a number?" Then she laughed hard.
"I did?" I asked.
"Oh my Gooooooood," my wife said. "Tell me what happened at this place."

I told her the story, and she laughed harder. "You really didn't get that she liked you?"
"Umm...no. How was I supposed to know?"

It's at this point that my wife quietly laughs again and says, "You are turning into your father."

This might be true. My father is a professor, and his brain is wired like a professor's. For example, he once had a car accident. The EMTs asked him, "What day is it?"
"I don't know," he responded.
They kept asking him about the day, his clothes, etc. My mother finally wised up and said, "He's a History professor."
Immediately an EMT says, "Sir, tell me about the Magna Carta."
As if a switch had been flipped, my father begins talking about King John, the document, and more.
"Your fine, sir," the EMT says.

However, the best example comes from my childhood. My parents, though living in New York, maintained a small home in Connecticut (a place to get away). There was a hurricane (Gloria) that managed to maintain its strength and hit the North East. The rain, the lightning, and the wind took its toll, but we kept our power and phones. So did some other people. One person in particular is who we will focus on: her name was Libby.

Libby was married to a friend of my mother. She was somewhat promiscuous, very forward, and about fifteen years younger than my father. She also had a crush on him. Everyone knew this...except him. He just thought she was really nice. So here it is, post-storm, and the phone rings. It's Libby, and she wants to talk to my father.
"Dan," she says to him, "My power is out...I can't believe my phone works. I'm alone and kind of scared. Could you come over and keep me safe. I even have a bottle of wine to pass the time."

A couple of things happen. My father hangs up and goes to my mother and tells her about the call. She does the exact same thing to my father that my wife did to me today.
"Dan...do you understand why she called?"
"She's scared?"
"Dan...let's think about this...."
He doesn't get it. However, she knows that he's not going to cheat, so she sends him over.
"Go ahead, Dan. I think you'll get it when you get there."

Libby told my father there was no power, but when he arrived, the porch light was on. However, the inside of the house had candles. She had wine...but he stopped drinking when he decided to marry my mother (in a very romantic gesture). He was clueless...but when he saw she was ok, he merely said, "Oh...everything's ok? Good. Have a good night." Then he got in his car and drove home.

He still didn't get it. My mother had to walk him through it. His response? "Huh...."

So I guess that's what is starting to happen to me. I recall my boss once saying to me that she was afraid I would end up on the front page of the newspaper for doing something inappropriate, and I swear the first thing I thought of was decking one of my colleagues or something like that. I didn't get until later that she was alluding to the idea that I might do something inappropriate with a student (not going to happen...ever) because I predominantly had female students in my room last year.

It's funny, because when I was in high school, it was all about Mr. Khan. He was the girls' Basketball coach and he taught religion and ethics (when it was in schools), and every girl in the school wanted him as an advisor or teacher. You know the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the girl blinks "Love you" at Dr. Jones? That happened to Khan, but change love to the vernacular for fornicate and add a question mark after "You" and that's what happened to him. Come to think of it, he left after my sophomore year. Headed East...it was very sudden...hmmmm.

Thanks to genetics (I think), I can officially: I'm stupid, but I'm friendly.

Of course what do I know? I can tell when a person is concerned, but not when someone wants a date. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

A Pre-Show Laugh

I was going to talk about how tomorrow is opening day (the real one as students arrive).

I was going to talk about how hard this year is going to be as most of the students I really like are gone or are in PSEO.

And I was going to talk about my jitters. Five years in, and I still get nervous the night before I start teaching.

Instead, however, I am going to paste this incredibly funny comic (on multiple levels) from one of the best sites ever: xkcd. If you haven't seen their stuff before, click through it. While many people have fallen in love with Garfield Minus Garfield (which is hysterical), I remain a staunch supporter of xkcd.

If you're a teacher, then good luck tomorrow.

If you're a parent, then be kind tomorrow.

If you're a student, then be awake tomorrow...and have a good day.

Namaste.

Musical Memories (or MY top ten film scores)

I am a cinephile (not to be confused with a cinemaniac...there's a difference).
For me, what I hear is more important than what I see. That sounds odd considering that film is a visual medium, but the music of a film has the ability to transport us back to the film. In this case, the rhythm and melody compliment the images put forth. Sound is incredibly important, and when a score is pitch perfect, just a few notes is enough to recall everything. Is image the main ingredient in cinema? Most definitely, but without the sound, the music...the film is not memorable. Silent film only works when there is an accompanying music player.

So, I present to you MY (meaning this is my interpretation and opinion) top ten film scores (not to be confused with soundtracks). These are in no particular order, so it's just a list, not a best to worst or vice versa.

In case you are wondering, to be a score means to be music separated from songs used within the film. It cannot have a pop culture song, nor can it be music from somewhere else (which is why 2001: A Space Odyssey is not on my list as the song is Thus Sprach Zarathustra by Wagner...which makes it a soundtrack instead of a score.

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1. Star Wars

Perhaps the most well known theme of all time. John Williams was already an accomplished composer (and will be on this list many times) when he wrote this music for George Lucas. It is almost impossible to NOT know the music. Everyone recognizes it and is instantly transported to this galaxy far, far away.

The piece is extremely horn heavy (another signature of John Williams which would be used in a few other of his famous films: The Indiana Jones series), which allows you to not only hear but also feel the adventure that is being spun around you.

The music swells and prepares you for dogfights, lightsaber battles, and a never-ending conflict between good and evil. Once the music starts, you eagerly await that screen crawl as the episode (regardless of whether or not you like it) starts.

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2. Raiders of the Lost Ark (The Indiana Jones Series)

Another famous score by John Williams. Again, he is heavy with the horn, but this time, instead of a science fiction feel, the piece honestly feels like a world-traveling hero anthem. From the moment the music starts and our hero steps on to the screen, you are adrenaline-ready, and you want to get the idol or stones or grail. I don't know anyone who dislikes the music to this movie regardless of how they feel about the movies themselves.

This might just be the most recognizable score (even more so than Star Wars) and is probably the most likely candidate to be an Ohrworm. Just hearing the music once and having someone remind you of it means that you'll be whistling the tune for days on end.

Funny enough, on my first day of college (oh soooooooo long ago), they blasted The Raiders' March (as it is known) over loud speakers over the campus to pump us up to go class. My first class ever (a Psych course) had over 300 students humming and whistling the tune together as we read through the syllabus.

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3. Jaws

Yes, the very first (but third on our list) of John Williams' famous film scores came from this Steven Spielberg directed horror movie. If a film maker (or musician) ever wanted to demonstrate the sheer power of sound in horror movies, he or she could start with Jaws. The shark itself is not seen very often, but the pounding drums and horns tell the audience that the shark (lovingly named Bruce) is coming. The very building of the horns told us exactly when the shark would strike.

The score also illustrated how the music of a film could enter pop culture. How many kids made the "Daa da. Daaa Da. Duh duh duh duh," sound before attacking friends and family? The Zucker Brothers (with Jim Abrahams) would use Jaws as a joke to open Airplane. When the music starts at the beginning of that movie and the airplane's tail appears, the audience laughs at the idea of a plane being a horror object.

Again, like Williams' other movies, Jaws has a particular sound that tells you John Williams wrote it, but it doesn't sound like anything else. Williams has this ability to use the same sounds but make them appear very different. This might be why he is considered one of the foremost composers EVER.

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4. James Bond

First, go and refresh your memory of this swinging score.

Finally, a non-John Williams piece. However, like Williams, John Barry's sixties spy theme is instantly recognizable and beloved. Very few, if any, people hate Bond's musical introduction. The opening is sophisticated like smooth jazz, but after a few notes of the melody, Barry adds a guitar and horn to make us feel how the character will use subterfuge. A few seconds later, the music swells and blasts us into the adventure Mr. Bond will be having.

The music, like the spy himself, is so cool that it is very hard to not tap along to the beat (just as it is so hard for female characters in the films to avoid Bond's charms).

I also have to admit that I was big fan of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. First of all (spoiler alert!), Bond loses to Blofeld and has his bride die in his lap. Secondly, the music, including the soundtrack song by Louis Armstrong ("We Have All the Time in the World") is possibly the best in Bond history. If you have not seen (or heard) the film, go now. This list can wait....

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5. Rocky

Yo, Adrian, if you are unfamiliar with this tune, take a second and listen. Some know the song better as "Gonna Fly Now", but Stallone's composer (Bill Conti) created a song that is glorious and brings out the beauty in a character that is not, at first, glorious and beautiful. At the same time, the song is inspiring. After watching

Rocky Balboa run up the steps, this song sweeps over the audience, and you believe that you can overcome the odds.

The next time you're out running and start to hit the wall, have this song on your iPod or in your mind and you will find you can keep going.

When this theme was played at the Oscars in 1976, the underdog aspect took over the audience and everyone rooted for the film to win. If you're an underdog and you need a theme, look no further.

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6. Gone with the Wind

I have to begin by admitting that I am not the biggest fan of this film. Yes, it is a beautiful sweeping epic with amazing sets, some interesting acting, and a good source material...but I truly feel that it has been overvauled as time has passed.

Still, the musical score easily gives away how sweeping of an epic this film is. Max Steiner (who did not win the Oscar) may have influenced Maurice Jarre (more when we get there) in many ways. As the music builds and falls, the audience can feel the love Rhett and Scarlett will share, the trials they will face, and ultimately feel how it will all fall apart. The musical notes seem so simple, but carry so much.

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7. Lawrence of Arabia

It's only fair that by bringing up Jarre that I put his work here. An iconic score is one of the very reasons why filmmakers like Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Martin Scorcese love the movie.

Again, like Gone with the Wind, this film is an epic. The long sweeping shots, the large amount of characters (with no speaking roles for women...which was interesting and noticed at the time), and amazing locations (who knew a desert could be...beautiful). The savagery of the land is heard in the first minute of the overture until the calming influence of Lawrence enters and portrays the beauty he would come to see in the desert tribes.

David Lean couldn't have asked for a better score.

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8. Psycho

Bernard Herrmann creates a suitable mood with his music. Watch the opening to not only hear the rushed strings and papable terror in the music, but to see the opening credits as designed by one of the best ever: Saul Bass.

When most people think of Psycho, they think of the famous shower scene music, which is properly terrifying. Watching Janet Leigh get stabbed (but hearing a Watermelon actually taking the brunt of it), one can't but feel the terror. However, the opening theme is quite well done. Even Busta Rhymes would steal...errr...sample Herrmann's work for one of his songs.

This score would also influence many of the horror genre films of the 60's and beyond. The villain of the piece would have his or her own theme that was supposed to terrify the audience. Indeed, at a midnight showing of Psycho I attended while in high school, my date literally jumped out of her seat when the strings kicked in during the shower scene.

Modern horror depends on sights and gore, but true horror...horror of the 60's and 70's depended on the sounds to frighten the audience. Herrmann recognized this when he made a score that complimented the film entirely.

I have to admit that I am a bigger fan of Rear Window and Rope, though Psycho is definitely up there.

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9. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

One could argue that all of Ennio Morricone's music could go here. His style is entirely his own and very hard to copy. However, of all of his music, this spaghetti western theme is the most well known and used.

The third film in Sergio Leone's "Man with No Name" trilogy is still widely considered the best western ever made. And the score, in particular the opening theme, should feel cheesy, but is instead enrapturing. The guitar, the flute, and even the singers yelling, "Wah Wah Waaaaah," sounds incredibly dumb, but as the music flows during the credits, the audience becomes excited over what is to come. The silliness evaporates, and we stare in awe at Eastwood's Nada (no name), Van Cleef's bounty hunter, and even Eli Wallach allowing himself to be called ugly. Morricone's music even heightens the Mexican Standoff that occurs later in the film.

If you've never seen the film (there are still those that haven't), watch it the first time, but then play it again and just listen. Sound and score are amazingly balanced. The music itself would be copied and used for the next forty years.

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10. Back to the Future

I know, I know...a controversial choice. There are so many films out there, so why choose a silly 80's film starring Alex P. Keaton (better known as Michael J. Fox)? Because Alan Silvestri's score not only emulates something that John Williams does (heavy on the horns), but it is a piece that brings across the heroic nature of Marty McFly, the adventure to come, and the easily recognizable notes.

Sure, Zemeckis' film can be known for its soundtrack (the 80's leaning on Huey Lewis, while the 50's leans on Chuck Berry), but the score is as recognizable and thrilling (though anyone who hates "The Power of Love" doesn't understand the 80's).

As Marty Mcfly rides around the town square in both Back to the Future and BttF2, the horns kick in, and we root for the kid (he was almost thirty when he made part two) to get away from the bad guys. That's how a heroic score should be.

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Of course these ten are debatable. That's a given. These are my top ten. The AFI, the casual fan, and the hardcore cinephiles will probably (and do) disagree.

There are also songs, not scores, but songs that I would add to the mix as well.

For example:

"Central Services/ The Office" by Michael Kamen from the film Brazil. This has been used so often but most people don't know it. Most recently, it was used for the Wall-E preview. Listen here or watch this (it's about 50 seconds in).

"Lux Aeterna" by Clint Mansell from the film Requiem for a Dream. Yes, it's been remixed, but this song has been used so many places now. Listen here.

"Backdraft" by Hans Zimmer. His work has been used in SO many trailers it's insane. Listen here.

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That's my list. What about you? Are there scores that are instantly recognizable and memory-inducing? Have you ever stopped and watched a film solely due to the music playing?

Of course what do I know? I'm a -phile, not a -maniac. I could be wrong.

Namaste...and good listening.

Returning to Reality

This may not excite you.
This may not surprise you.
This may not even make it all the way to MN Speak.

I am a teacher, an English teacher to be exact, and today is the day I return to work. Today teachers in my district return to their classrooms. The chairs, tables, and desks will need to be put in order, the materials will need to be pulled out of cabinets, and copies will need to be made.

People who haven't seen each other for months will exchange pleasantries. Some will be heartfelt and meaningful. Others will be civil and professional.

Many teachers have spent the last two and a half months (It's not a full three months off that we get, folks) thinking about the next school year. Some have written curriculum. Others have worked on their teaching. I, incidentally, wrote a book on using the online grading system for my district. Probably won't get paid for it either.

So what do we really think about as we return? It depends.
Some teachers are super pumped for the return of the students. The room is polished and everything is ready to go in mid-July.
Other teachers mourn the end. As the room slowly comes together, you can see those teachers staring wistfully out the window as they copy the syllabus.

This, however, will be about me. Many people know what kids go through when they return to school. Every single one of us can remember that horrible feeling of knowing the Summer is over, that we will have to start reading and doing homework again, and that our life will adhere to an odd routine for several weeks. Here's the thing: It's the same way for many of the teachers.

Over the Summer, I had no real schedule or routine. I had work to do, but it was up to me as to when to work on it. My July, for example, featured me organizing the entire reading life of a friend of mine (and he can't do it without me).
As you are reading this, I am probably standing at my chalkboard working out the first week of my lessons.

I won't sleep much for the next few months once this day starts. And while I don't dream very much now, my nights will now be filled with images of work. Nightmares and heavenly scenarios will battle for time in my sleep-filled eyes.

And I will come to grips with the realization that I will not have time for the people in my life for a while. It would be great to have lunch with friends, but that won't happen. When I leave work, I can't stop for a drink with a buddy...I'l have to get home and grade.

Once, not too long ago, a gentleman I sat next to on a plane told me I was a hero.
"Why," I asked.
"Because you do a job that not very many people want to do. It lowers the life expectancy, you get paid nothing, and...well...no one really likes you very much."
"Um, thanks...I think.
"You're a hero."
So because I step into a room with teenagers, I'm a hero?
No.
I'm not a hero, just as some guy who spends his days doing nothing but writing or editing online sites is no hero, nor is a baseball player a hero.

A hero is a person who endagers his or herself for the betterment of other people.
A cop is a hero.
A firefighter is a hero.
A doctor can be a hero.
I am not a hero. I'm a teacher.

Appreciate a teacher, yes, but do not use the term hero. That is a misnomer.

Now let me make a few things clear:

1. I miss having no schedule. It's a routine now. Up at the same time, get on the highway at the same time, teach at the same time, dinner will be at the same time, and bath (for my son) and bed (for me) will be at the same time. Very little leeway for things to change.

2. There is something quite awful about waking up before the sun rises. Even worse, there will be days when I don't see the sun. Seriously.

3. I love my job. The interaction between students and teachers alone is worth it.

4. You cannot teach. If you're a teacher, yes, you can teach, but to0 many people think they can teach.
Yes, the old saying is, "Those who can, do...those who can't, teach." That's great and all, but untrue. If you're in a cubicle, in a shop, or sitting in your home in your underwear, there is a reason you're there instead of teaching: it's not just standing in front of a room and talking. Too many people think it is.
Just because you can write witty blurbs on your blog or website doesn't mean you can step into my world.
I, for example, cannot walk into WCCO and do Jason DeRusha's job, nor could I design a newspaper like the Star Tribune, and yet so many people like to tell me how easy my job is and how easy it would be to do it. You have to know the material, know how to deliver it, and know what to do when everything fails.

My room will be dusty, so I will clean it. I will need desks, so I will have to bargain with other teachers and the custodial staff to...procure some more. This is what my life as a teacher is like. It's a never-ending battle to help my students to learn something.

The first week is not like riding the rollercoaster. Does the anticipation build? Yes. Do the nightmares start again? Yes, but it's not like getting to the top of the mountain. No the school year is like riding a bull. You will get tossed, you will get pulled. You might crash off the bull or get hurt, but you keep coming back for the a simple reason: Because the feeling a person gets when they have helped turn on the light in someone is intoxicating.
It eats you alive, and you never, ever, want it to go away. You will bleed, sweat, and cry everyday in that hot box you call a classroom just to try and experience that feeling again.

Co-workers may fall around you. Some may wait until Summer hits to walk, others leave early. Yet, in the light of August, those feelings don't really come. Every teacher is a fountain of potential ready to help the kids search for their own meanings to and of life.

As I stand at my blackboard, the thought bursting from my brain in to the air will be simple: we are rested and ready.
Sure, it will get tough. By December, you'll look at your colleagues and see some people twitch at certain buzz words. "Accountability," will make some people moan, but in August, the sun breaks through and everyone stands together in a collective. No backstabbing, no anger, and no lack of professionalism.

So I will be in that classroom. I will be preparing for the open house welcome back later this week, because this is what I do. I teach. Teaching is a job about social and educational practices. This is who we are.

Will there be tough kids? Yes.
Will there be tough parents? Yes.
Will there be tough choices? Yes.
Will there be tough sacrifices? God yes.
Will I inevitably have a moment where I curse NCLB? Most definitely.
And they will all be worth it if I gain even one student like the kids who left me last year. I will miss them, but their ghosts and shadows will clear my room with a sweep at the end of this day.

I am a teacher, and this is how I prepare. I may not be cool, I may not be hip, and I may not be avant-garde (look it up, class is in session), but I do a job that takes dedication, concentration, and alliteration (The English part).

Of course, what do I know? I have a job that many call: a fallback. I could be wrong. Namaste.

As the Favre Jets

I feel vindicated.

When the whole Brett Favre debacle started, there was some talk of him being traded. I said, "He might end up on the Jets," and many people laughed at me.

When the trade rumors started, the teams were named: NY Jets and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

With this information, I did something I don't normally do: I called into a radio show. Colin Cowherd to be exact.

I said that Favre would end up with the Jets. "The Jets need to get on the back page again. The Giants won the Super Bowl...the Jets went 4-12. If Favre comes to the Jets, they grab the headlines, the fans buy more jerseys, and the tickets get snapped up."

I was called a meatball. I was called an overzealous football idiot.

The sports pundits from around the globe said Favre would retire before he became a Jet. I held steadfast.

Today, Favre became a Jet...and immediately the pundits talked about how it wouldn't work and how "Vegas" says it will fail.

I tried calling back into the Colin Cowherd show, but the producer wouldn't put me on the air.

So let's cover this again.

1. Favre brings in revenue. Yes, I would rather see him in Green Bay. It's like Unitas going to San Diego and Montana going to Kansas City. These people look wrong with another uniform on. Favre will too, but he will make the team and himself millions. Favre will become an icon for the city. He also will make people watch and buy tickets for the games. It makes sense for the Jets, who are close to a new stadium to get a name player.

2. Favre gets publicity. The Jets were the forgotten team. Like the Mets in the late 90's to the Yankees, the Jets were losing the pages of the Post and Daily News to the Giants. Favre will get them that publicity. It may not all be good, but it will be there.

3. Favre is a better QB. The NFL is a QB driven league. Sure, you want the running backs for the fantasy leagues, but the winning teams over the last few years all had great quarterbacks. Are the Jets going to win the Super Bowl? No. Is Favre a better QB than Pennington and Clemens? Very much so.

4. "Vegas" is not always right. Who was supposed to win the Super Bowl last year? (Hint: It wasn't the New York Giants...but they won.) Look, Las Vegas Bookies cap games. Sure, they can be very right about games...but they can also be very wrong. Several sports pundits talked about how "Vegas" says the Favre trade won't help the team. Well, "Vegas" also picked the wrong teams for the Super Bowl the last few years. Don't always trust "Vegas" because "Vegas" wants the money.

So to all you sports know-it-alls who have radio shows, tv shows, blogs, and more and told us folk who believed and said that Favre would be a Jet that we were idiots: Suck it!

Now, today should be the end of the mass media frenzy where everything is 5 BFPM (Brett Favre's per minute).

Oh, and John Madden will now be living in New Jersey.

Of course what do I know? I'm a meatball, baby. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Olympic Fever...No One is Catching It

The Olympics officially start on Friday (We'll just ignore the fact that the American Women Soccer team lost to Norway 2-0 today....Way to give up two goals in the first five minutes Hope Solo...awesome).

And yet, I don't really know anyone who is really excited about this.

The Olympics are the pinnacle of world competition. It is a chance for athletes from Sudan, for example, to compete against their peers from Nicaragua. It used to be that the world looked at the games and said, "Where else can you truly see athletes of the highest caliber competing against one another.

When the 2000 Olympics were approaching, I was extremely excited. The idea of the competition, the manners the countries show each other, and the good nature and good will from everyone just seemed to be flowing. I watched the opening ceremonies live (though part of this was due to knowing several members of the stage crew and design team). For the first few days, I watched almost every event televised. I cheered for Ian Thorpe, though I really wanted him to lose and wanted my country to come out on top. I wanted to hear the American National Anthem and see my fellow countrymen and countrywomen crying at the spectacle. I wanted a scene not unlike Derek Redmond's, where his dad came running out of the crowd, shoved the security guy out of the way, and helped his son finish the race (all of this at the 1992 Olympics).

(See the video here. It's amazing to see.)

Or even to have an athlete do what Tommie Smith and John Carlos did at the 1968 Olympics (although no one ever talks about how Australian Peter Norman was sympathetic and helped them...though the two men were pallbearers at his funeral).

And yet, by end of those Olympics, something became clear: it was no longer a celebration of humanity's best offerings to athletics. It was a giant corporate shill. Logos proudly blazoned where every television camera could catch them. Athletes winning a medal and immediately doing a commercial. It was heartbreaking to watch, because it no longer meant that the world was competing for bragging rights, it was for dollars.

2002 came, and I was excited for Salt Lake City. However, I was an extremely vocal about how angry I was when it came to moving the Winter Games so the Winter and Summer games no longer fell in the same years. It was obviously a money issue.

As it was post 9/11 and happening in America, there was a great deal of emotion for me and many other Americans. I nearly teared up when NBC showed the first American gold medal presentation...until I started really looking at how NBC was trying to get us to cry. The way they shot the scenes, the way they had the commentators constantly bring up the tragedy. Again, instead of marketing a product, now they were marketing an event as the way to heal America.

It didn't work. I lost interest in those games.

The Summer Olympics returned home in 2004, but I had no real interest aside from laughing at the horrible mascot that was quite penis-like. Sure, I saw the Track and Field (as a kid, I loved watching Daley Thompson), but with the televised presentation, it soon became too hard to watch. Again, the networks blew every little thing up...and then it went online.

The world has changed quite drastically since the last summer Olympics, and I believe I know why so many people are not excited for these games.

First and foremost: we no longer trust our athletes.

Too many people are coming forward and admitting doping, cheating, and lying about it.

The men's 1,600 meter relay team lost their gold medals because Antonio Pettigrew admitted to doping and cheating. That's six medals now that the United States has lost from that Olympics.

On top of that, the swimmers are being accused of "Technological Doping" for their new body suits.

So the bottom line is: we can't trust them. If an athlete breaks a record, instead of celebrating the achievement, the world will wonder, "Did he/she dope up? Did he/she cheat? Is this legit?"

The second reason is the place the Olympics are being held. A large portion of the world doesn't really like China. As the torch rounded the world, Pro-Tibet protesters did everything they could to demonstrate their anger and frustration. And now, the first protest banners have appeared outside the Olympic Stadium in Beijing.

Add to that the human rights violations, the worry that athletes have about the air, and the last minute decree to remove all dog meat, and you have a potentially volatile situation.

Personally, I find it fascinating that a blanket law was made two years ago against spitting.

The final piece are the games themselves. There are several events that don't really belong in the Olympics. Most people (and most video game makers) hit the events that we actually care about and think of when we think of the Olympics:

Track and Field (such as dashes, relays, Pole Vault, etc)

Swimming

Diving

Fencing

Archery

Gymnastics (Go little Kerri Strug!)

Judo and Wrestling

These are the sports we think of and enjoy. Yet, there are so many more events, and they are done, in some ways, poorly.

Baseball? Is Baseball really worthy of the Olympics? And look at what they are doing to make sure games don't go very long: if the game is tied in the 11th inning, teams will start with a runner on 1st and 2nd with no outs. The teams can also choose who from where in the order they will start batting (meaning you can put your leadoff and number two hitter on base and start with the heart of the order). Come on. That's incredibly lame.

Other sports that don't really deserve to be called Olympic (in my opinion):

Soccer (Football). You have the World Cup and so many teams. It shouldn't be in the Olympics.

Softball. See baseball.

Field Hockey. What? This is another sport that seems insane to compete on the Olympic level. I know some gals who played field hockey, and they think it's insane.

Handball. Oh come on. Now we're just filling in for more athletes to help the host city get more money.

Basketball. This is a farce on many levels. The American team used to be almost solely college kids. Now we send the best of the best...and they don't mesh...and they lose.... This needs to be removed as well.

Sailing. I don't know where to begin.

Look, I get that the host city needs to make back a ton of money, and that over the course of the last few Olympics, the host cities have lost a great deal of money, but there are too many sports that very few people worldwide want to watch. We love to see the volleyball, we love to see the badminton (fast action), but how can you make sailing exciting for kids watching?

Here's what needs to happen: get it down to fewer events.

Yes, we want Track and Field.

Yes, we want Diving and Swimming.

Yes, we want the Weight Lifting

Just cut out the boring and unnecessary events.

Of course the way the Olympics are heading, maybe we should just have the All Drug Olympics.

And I could be wrong. Maybe, outside of the families of the athletes, there are people totally salavating about Friday and the following 15 days...besides Bud Greenspan. I just haven't heard anyone say it or show any enthusiasm for the games.

Of course, I'm doping to write this blog...you know...steroids and all. I could be wrong.

Ramblings for the Evening (7/23/08)

"Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world. " ~Ada Louise Huxtable

It's easy to get lost around this time of year.
So, without further ado: The living is easy
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Sad Nature of Dumping:
First things first: go watch this video.

Done? Good. This is sadly a very poignant and true video. Not in the sense of a "dancing heart", but that many guys (and some girls) have the same problem as the young man.

I'm hoping, boys and girls, that many of you are paying attention.

While I cannot say I know the young man's experience (instead of comparing, I just became bitter), I watched a young man have this happen to him (by his own faulty design, I might add). Here's a hint: It ain't love if she doesn't feel it too.
And yet this young man will forever compare any girl that he tries to be with to his first love who jilted him.

I went to college with a guy who was the same way. He married young, and his wife left him. For the next five years, he looked for women like his ex-wife to use, abuse, and toss in the refuse.

Of course, if nothing else, enjoy the awesome effects of the video and the great song by Gnarls Barkley.
-----------------------------------------------
Medical Dysfunction:
I make no secret that I really dislike going to the hospital and have a disdain for doctors. However, today was both a refreshing and depressing experience.
For the last few days something has been very wrong with me. Starting on Sunday, I suddenly came down with a fever of 103.2. Over the course of the next few days, the fevers would yo-yo up and down, but I would also gain pain, dizziness, a feeling I can imagine as evisceration in my stomach, and more. Add to the fact that I'm alone, and help was almost sought.
Ok, I managed to avoid the doctor until today.
Even I have to admit: four days of fever means it's time to go to the doctor.

Now, my guy couldn't see me. "I'm sorry you're sick," he tells me, "But I have patients in dire need. You know...triage?"
Fine, so I ask to see the PA. This is the secret of going to the doctor. The P.A. (Physician's Assistant) is eager to look good, so he or she will talk to you like a human being. She or he will look you in the eye and explain to you what's going on. And should the P.A. be unable to explain something...she or he will go to the doctor for a consult. You get the best of care because this person WANTS to make sure you get well.

Of course after thirty-five minutes (and three consults), she sat me down and said, "We really don't know what this is. So...we're going to try and treat symptoms. We also need to take blood."

Giving blood isn't a problem for me, though the woman in the chair next to me looked like she was going to faint. Turned out she had lied about eating that morning.

I sat in the waiting area as they needed to room I had been in, and I was amazed and kind of saddened by two facts:
1. The waiting area was almost completely full.
2. Almost 100% of those waiting were older.

With nothing else to do for a half hour (my blood had to be spun), I started talking to a couple in the corner.
"How long you been waiting?" I asked.
The elderly gentleman responded, "Well...I would guess about forty-five minutes."
His wife quietly peeped up, "No longer. We were just getting settled when they called you up."

And I found this fascinating. I arrived, gave my insurance card, sat for all of one minute, and they called me up. These two had not even seen the doctor yet. Turned out that he was having numbness issues, and she came to support him. He had an appointment, the doctor just took forever to get to him. When I left, they were still sitting there.

What will happen to our baby boomers? If a ton of them have issues, will they be served? I've been thinking alot about the woman who died on the floor of the emergency room as well as how expensive it is to go to the doctor. Hell, the woman who check me in talked about how ridiculous my co-pay is. She looked at the company and said, "Huh, they really don't want anyone healthy."

I don't care about my health problems. I've got a sibling versed in the eastern medical arts, and I know that many colds are solved by soup, water, and Gatorade. But grandma and grandpa Smith out there are pretty much screwed.
Maybe I'm overreacting....
And finally...
------------------------------------------
That Creeping Feeling:
Oh Target...you rascally place you. It's only July, and yet your stores are now stocked with "Back to school" items.
It's too early. There is not a single student I know, nor a single teacher I know, who is jumping up down saying, "School's almost back in!!!"
Too early.
Wait until August 1st. That gives most kids lead in time. The products are going to sell better closer to the opening of school anyway.
Too early.
Of course what do I know? I'm a teacher. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Watchmen

Ok...yeah...I'm a geek. However, if you ever read the series, you would understand why people are getting excited about this. The morals of the story still reach to us today almost 20 years later.

Enjoy the preview.

Here.

Or...

"Official Trailer"

Pulling Back the Curtain

When I was a child, I used to love going to carnivals. The sounds, sights, and smells of the midway drew me in. Perhaps it is because children love flashing lights, loud noises, and junk food, but I was always drawn to it.

My first carnival was not even really a carnival. It was a street fair that my father took me to in New York. They still had games, they still had vendors, and there were some rides, but there was also dancing, music, and culture. They were very happy times I spent with my father. He eating his chocolate, popcorn, and ice cream (all which he was not supposed to eat), and me running around, riding on the rides, and playing the various games.

And yet, as an adult and a parent, I returned to a carnival for the first time, yesterday, and it was quite a horrifying experience. Not that anything really bad happened, but that I saw what the carnival really was as opposed to what I thought it to be.

As a child, I really enjoyed rides. Roller coasters, spinning wheels, and more. I particularly liked the ride where you sat in a chair/swing, and got spun around really fast. That was awesome. I could not imagine anyone disliking it. This was particularly seen for me when I went to Disney World as a child with my mother. There was a ride where you went up in a tower and climbed into a faux airplane. As the tower spun around, you could lower and raise the airplane as you wished. My mother went with me on the ride as my father was not there, and my aunt, extremely diabetic and disabled, could not do it. My mother, unfortunately, has an extreme fear of heights. However, I did not know this at the time. Thus, whenever made the plane climb and fall, I was not aware that my mother's screaming was because of fear. I thought she was having as much fun as I was.

And yet, after my car accident, I found that rides are not as much fun for me anymore (this could also have to do with the fact that the last few times I have been on a roller coaster, something bad has happened). Most of the time it is because my equilibrium is off, and so instead of enjoying the rush, my head begins to pound and spin. Not pleasant.

So there I was, at the carnival with my son, my neighbor, and his son, and the boys wanted to go on rides.
"I'm not doing it," my neighbor says. This means it's up to me. The first ride was simple: a merry-go-round. Neither of the boys had been on one, so I put my neighbor's son on a horse, and sat on a bench with my son (he's not ready for the horses just yet). They loved it. It was like magic for them. I, however, had water pour down on me from a hole in the top, and I noticed how incredibly rundown the ride was. It used to be beautiful, but so much use and lack of caring had made it inglorious. Paint chipped, a few horses broken, and some seats missing. And yet, this is the kind of thing that a child will ignore. They won't remember the broken and bad. My son saw a horse today in a picture book and said, "Merry-go-round!" He was so excited about it.

We went on other rides as well (mostly spinning), but I was shocked at how badly kept most of the rides were. Several "cars" of the "Indy Racing" ride were broken. The dinosaur ride was smashed, but still set up. "Your son can sit in the Triceratops," I was told, "but it won't go anywhere."

There sat my son, Little Ironic, in a Triceratops, saying, "Go, dinosaur, GO!"

Like I said before, I don't really enjoy the rides anymore, but my neighbor wouldn't go, and the boys needed an adult to ride "The Spinning Bears". You know this ride: you sit in a bear with a wheel. As the ride goes around, you turn around the wheel faster and faster to make the bear spin. I took the boys and did that ride, and I felt like my mother with my at Disney World. Even though my head hurt, I spun the bear so the boys would be happy.

The other part of the carnival is, of course, the games. Now I have been on to this aspect for years. My father used to clue me in on how to beat the Carnies at their own game. For example: If you try to knock the milk jugs down by just throwing at the bottom, it won't go. You have to hit the middle.

You like the rings? You need a good toss as the ring is just barely bigger than the top of the bottle.

Toss a ball on a cup? Ok, you need spin and to aim away from where you want to land.

Most carnivals don't have the machine guns anymore, but the street fairs had the paper target stars and guns that shot metal BBs. Destroy the star completely, win a prize. My father taught me to shot once or twice before opening up. Why? Because the sights are off. You figure out which way it's cocked...then open it up. Carnies hated him. Now they hate me.

When I was kid, I loved the dart booth. You got to pop balloons by throwing darts at them, AND you won a prize. No matter what, they gave you something. That was awesome. However, with age comes wisdom, and now the dart booth has lost it's luster through experience.

In high school, I took a girlfriend and some other friends to a local carnival. There was a big bear that she fancied at the dart booth. I thought, "Ok, I'll win her the bear while she and her friend are getting caricatures." I went to the booth, paid my two bucks, went to the farthest line, popped the balloons... and was handed a tiny frog.

"Wait, I stood behind the farthest line," I protested.

"Yes, you did," Carnie Carl tells me, "but you have to win two mediums to make a large. Two larges to make an extra large, and two extra larges to make Benny the Bear here."

"So I have to play seven more times?" I ask.

"And win, sir," Carl yells. You can do it.

It was at this point that games started to make sense to me. It wasn't about skill or luck as many people think it is. Sure, sometimes you get lucky. I went to fair when I was nine and won a pearl by picking the one clam that had one in it. That was luck. However the "Duck" game is not luck. It's about playing over and over.

I turned to Carl and said, "If I give you 25 bucks, can I pop three balloons, take the big bear, and give it to my girl?"

Carl turned to me and smiled, "Well, well, well. A man who understands the game. Sure, kid."

So I got to impress my girlfriend and give her a big bear. A win-win...for 25 dollars.

Fast-forward to last night. Once again I went against my better judgement and played some of the games. First up was the "Pick the Color" game. Color squares are strewn around the booth. You put a quarter on what you think will win and get a prize (a bear or whatever). I chose Pumpkin...because it was where I was standing. My son, while the wheel is spinning, picks up the quarter and shows it to the carnie. He smiles. "You have a cute kid," he says. "Thanks," I reply. The ball lands on "Pumpkin", and I feel very smart...but I don't win the carnie explains. "Your cute kid picked up the quarter."

"You saw it," I replied. "He's two. He likes shiny. Come on!"

"Nope. You lose."

My son smiles as the frog he is pointing at dances above him, but he can't have it.

Slightly angry, I move on to the games I know how to beat. "Goblet Toss." You put a ball on a colored goblet and get a prize. Different colors mean different sizes. Yellow is best and hardest, but my father taught me how to win, so I spin a ball on to yellow.

"Daaaaaamn," Mountain Dew Carnie says. "Ooook." He hands my son a frog.

"How'd you do that?" my neighbor asks.

"Easy," I reply not thinking first. "It's all about spin."

MDC stops. "You're a fucking ringer! Hey, we got a ringer!" he yells to the other booths.

Suddenly the guy at the Milk Jug Toss stares at me and boos. BOOS!

"Dude!" I yell. "Kids present. Watch the swearing."

I'm told I can't play the game anymore. "No. I won't sell to you," MDC says.

The only booth open to me? The Dart Booth. My son sees a purple raccoon and gets excited.

"What do I need to do to win the raccoon?" I ask the female carnie.

"Stand behind that line," she says indicating the farthest line, "Pop six balloons, and trade in the frog."

"Can I just give you ten bucks?" I ask remembering the last time I played the Dart Booth.

"No, Mr. Ringer. Behind the line. Money first."

I won my son that raccoon. Did it with a few of the other operators starin and STILL booing me.

And yet I don't think my son understands what happened to me. He just saw the balloons pop and cheered. He laughed. He hugged the raccoon all the way home last night. To him, this will be a happy memory of lights, smells, and sounds. He'll remember playing with his buddy on the rides and watching daddy throw darts.

That is the exact idea behind life as a child versus as an adult. When you're a kid, magic and wonder still exist. As an adult, because of experiences and understanding and knowledge, the wonder and magic are gone.

Take a magic trick: (ILLUSIONS, Michael!)

As a kid, you watch the woman get sawed in half, and you think, "WOW! She is in half." Then she's put back together and you marvel at what you've seen.

As an adult, you wonder how hard it was to find a second person who has legs like the assistant's. You know how the trick works, so you compare to the last time you saw it and talk about who did it better.

Another way to look at it is when you do a craft or a job that is like a craft. I can design lighting. Before I learned how to do this, I would marvel at theatre experiences that dealt with color and shadow. Now, with the knowledge and experience I have, I find myself saying, "Why that color? Roscolux 23 would have been more saturated." I have become what Brecht always hoped for: alienated from becoming part of the experience.

The more knowledge, understanding, and experience a person gains, the less a person can be impressed by the world. It's a sad state, but when you realize this, you know you're becoming an adult.

As a child, I hugged Donald Duck. I always liked Donald more than Mickey. Maybe it's because Donald's temper reminded me of my father. Maybe it was the way he sounded. Maybe I identified with him. I don't know, but I liked him alot. So I hugged him, and I believed it was really him.

Now, I know I just hugged a person in a suit. The illusion is gone. I even know how to make a suit like that, which is really sad.

I saw this idea with my son when we took him to "meet" Thomas the Tank Engine for his second birthday. He saw Thomas (this one, unlike other places, was not a functioning engine other than moving eyes and steam peeps), and talked to the engine as if it were real. He told it, "I like Thomas," which is about as close as he gets right now as saying, "I love you." As Thomas pulled out to take the group after us for their ride, a child next to my son started bawling. He believed that Thomas wouldn't come back. He was so into believing that little engine was Thomas that its pulling away left a hole in his heart. When he's an adult and he sees the video his parents made of him crying, he will laugh at it and say, "How could I have been so stupid?"

And the saddest part, for me, are the Carnies. I never really looked at them when I was a child, but they are very unhappy. This is their lot in life, and most hate it. The guy who ran the "Indy Racing" ride was wasted. He even lit up a joint while operating the ride. No one said anything because he was functioning fine. Some of his compadres, however, were not doing so well. The Basketball guy was so drunk, he couldn't stand up. He told the winners which prizes to choose without ever standing up. Again, my son won't think about that. He'll just remember the lights and laughing.

It is quite sad to me that as we grow up, we lose that ability to be shocked and awed. We begin to think more about the consequences of actions and though we can live in the moment, we KNOW we'll pay for it.

So, dear reader, remember and think on this as you go forth in the world. The moment you know someone is behind the curtain, and you pull it back...that is the moment you are no longer a child.

When I was younger, carnivals were these wonderful havens of fun and frolicing. Now, I see them as a sad bastion of people desperate for money. Sure, it's wonderful for my child, and I hope he holds on to that wonder for a long time (I began to understand logic when I was five, and it made life difficult).

It will only get worse as you get older, too. As a child, magic exists. As an adult, you know how the trick works and can do it. As an older person, you can explain it, but your body (and sometimes mind) begins to betray you, and you long for that time when you could do the trick. You even long for the time when you didn't know how it worked.

It is ironic, however, that as kids, we desperately want to be adults, and as adults, we envy (and sometimes wish) we were kids.

And don't tell your children how the trick works...not yet anyway. Let them believe that magic exists, because it's good for our souls.

Of course, what do I know? I'm a Carnie's worst nightmare: a broke ringer. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

It Feels Just Like I'm Dead for the Third Time

So Ironic is dead...again. This is the third time.

How is it possible that I'm dead and still writing? Well, because I'm not REALLY dead. Several people just think I am.

So how does this happen three times?

Time #1:

I was in a car accident during my junior year of college. It was a pretty serious accident, and I was hurt badly. My left arm was dislocated, I hit my head on the windshield (and was wearing a seat belt, thank you very much), and was burned and bruised by the airbag.

Dazed, bleeding, and looking like a zombie, I got out of my car and went over to the car that hit me. As I hobbled over to his car, he got out holding an ice scraper (I think he was afraid that I would I either kill him or bite him).

I asked him, "Are you ok?"

He responded, "Yes, just bruised. You?""

"I can't see well, kind of a red blurriness. Also my arm hurts. I think I'm going to sit here for awhile, maybe pass out. Just let me know when the ambulance arrives."

"Umm. Ok. Wait, did you say pass out? I don't think that would be a good idea."

And I fell/sat against his car...and I didn't move.

(We'll call him) Dave thought I was dead. "FUUUUUUCCKKK!!" he yelled.

I don't really remember much until the cops showed up, but I remember that Dave kept talking (into a cell phone or himself) about how bad it was that I was dead. Remember: I'm NOT dead, but I do look bad.

So the cops show up and when the female cop (who I call Bonnie) grabs my left arm to check me. Dave never did check on me. Just assumed I was dead. So Bonnie grabs my arm, which is dislocated. It's painful and snaps me back to reality with a scream...which causes Dave to scream as he assumed I was dead and even told the cop, "He's dead, he's dead...oh my god he's dead!"

The EMTs come asking, "Where is the dead guy?"

"That's me..." I am told I said.

My next bout with reality comes when the EMTs pop my shoulder back into place. If you've never had that done, it's pleasant. No really...awesome. Try it. Right now. Call a friend, have them pull your arm out and then put it back in. I'll wait.... Ok, I won't.

Now the kicker is that a friend of mine (at the time) is an EMT, and she hears the description of the accident...including the who this dead guy might be. She figures out (when I'm not home) that it's me. She begins to panic and starts calling people. The message is essentially:

BEEEEP! "Oh my god. I think he's dead. I mean...it sounds like him in the description. Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!!!"

At this point I am in my home passed out on a couch with dried blood on my face, neck, and chest. I'm too tired to even wash the blood off.

Suddenly there's pounding on the doors, my phone is ringing, and someone is trying to open my bathroom window. I had left the lights on in my stupor.

"Hello?! Is anyone in there?!"

I stumbled to the door and opened it to shocks and a few screams (again, dried blood). My friend who is the EMT launches herself on to me and freaks out.

"You're ALIVE!!! We all thought you were dead!" she screams.

"What?" I reply. "I'm fine."

Cell phones are whipped out and people start calling other people.

"He's not dead."

"He can work the show tomorrow." (That's touching.)

"How could you make us worry like that?" (Huh? I didn't know I was dead.)

That one was pretty easy and ended quickly.

Time #2:

I managed to disappear off the map from my high school for almost eight years. Other than one or two people in the first four years after high school, I pretty much managed to be off the grid.

Yet, a few years ago, a rumor surfaced in the class notes. I was dead. I wasn't the only one either. Three people were given a little obit note. Problem is...only one of them was dead.

Bachelor #1 apparently died in a car accident in New Orleans. Truth is he was in a car accident, but he didn't die. The other driver did because he didn't wear his seat belt and hit another car doing 90.

Bachelor #2 died when he challenged a few guys to a fight in the New York subway system. The guys were bigger... and armed. B2 had no chance and was stabbed to death. He was convinced he was a tough guy.

Bachelor #3 apparently died in 9/11. He was crushed by one of the towers.

I' m Bachelor #3. I ended up sending in a note to say I wasn't dead. Well, this made my previous email known, which caused people to write me and ask how I survived 9/11. I tried to explain this to them. Many of my former classmates just responded by saying (and I quote), "I don't get it. How could you be in New York and in Minnesota at the same time?"

This could be one reason why I don't really talk to many of them anymore. However I did find it interesting that many of my classmates were concerned. One, who I barely spoke to, even sought me out here in the Twin Cities. Since I saw her that one time, I have not seen or heard from her again.

Almost seven years later, and I STILL get people contacting me asking me how I survived...then they ask for money.

It was nice that many people seemed to be relieved that I was not dead.

Unfortunately, this leads to....

Time #3:

I recently received a letter from my alma mater sending condolences for my passing. As I read the letter, I couldn't help but wonder if:

A. Was it a stupid/cruel joke, or

B. Was it sent to the wrong person?

As I still donate to my college (for tax purposes), I decided I should clear this up. Again, the class notes had me dead, only this time it was much worse. I died after a long battle with liver cancer. As I used to be a heavy drinker in college, I could see many of my former classmates believing I was dead from this illness.

The first step in clearing up this mess was to call the school and tell them I wasn't dead. This, however, is not as easy as ringing up an office and saying, "Good afternoon. I'm not dead. Sorry for the mix-up." No, I got to jump through the hoops.

Alumni office, to main office, to the office of the chancellor (didn't understand that one), back to the alumni office, over to the registrar, and then finally into money central. After about ten minutes, I was ready to just say I was dead.

So I talk to Doris (I have no idea what her real name is).

"Doris," I say, "Hello. I'm not dead...but the alumni newsletter says I am. I want to make sure it is known I'm not dead as my check is coming."

"Well, we'd accept it anyway...dead or alive."

I pause for a moment. "That's nice...but I'm alive and would like to recognized as so."

Doris is quick with a snarky retort. "Why? As long as the money keeps coming we don't care if you're alive or dead. Besides, if you're dead then we contact you less."

"I don't really care about that," I quickly respond. "I just want to be recognized as alive. I have former classmates who might now be sad that I am dead...when I'm NOT."

"Do you want us to print a retraction?"

"Can you do that?" I ask.

"No," she responds as if not really paying attention to me anymore. "We could put some news about you in the next issue. That way people will see you're alive."

"Ok. How do I do that?"

"I'll send a packet. Thanks for calling, Todd."

"Actually my name...," but it doesn't matter as the phone clicks.

Ok, so the university doesn't care that I'm alive. They only want my cash. Surely my old classmates would want to know I'm alive...right? Ha ha...no.

I have a (now former) student thinking about becoming a graphic designer, and I just happen to know a really good graphic designer who was neighbor in college. I decided to send an email to Allie (not her real name) about this student and to also let her know I wasn't dead. Granted it's been almost four years since we last spoke...and we used to date...and it did not go well, but we were pretty chummy. The response is not what I am expecting.

"Yes," she writes, "Your student can write me. Would love to help her." This part I am expecting.

"Dead? That's right, I did hear you were dead. Several of us thought you died awhile ago. Didn't really have any thoughts on it. Actually a few of us didn't really care. You know how it is. Out of sight, out of mind?"

The problem here is that they "few of us" include a guy I helped out only a few weeks before I was "dead", and yet he didn't correct anyone.

And this, for some reason, saddened me. Here I was...dead for the third time in ten years...and no one I went to college with cared a fig. It makes me wonder why and how we choose the people we spend time with. I took care of the people around me in college. My house was a haven for many of them, and my services were available (How many times did I get kegs for people, solve relationship issues, or stop crazy exes at the cost of my own body?), and my schedule was always changed when needed. Yet, I "die" and on moves the world. The bard wrote:

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.." (V,v,19-28)

All of our life is but nothing but brief play, performed by an idiot who gets his 15 minutes of fame and then is heard no more....Almost like Microfame...but I digress.

They say the only way to be immortal is to be remembered by others. As long as they know who you were and what you stood for, you can never die.

And yet, what if life is really meaningless. We are so easily forgotten. Too many of my students could not tell me what famous thing happened in 1492. (I even clued them in with, "he sailed the ocean blue in 1492.")

If people and connections are our way to truly live on and survive, then we need to find a way to break the unfortunate change to human nature: We need to live out for other people, not do what we can for ourselves.

Then again, what do I know? I'm dead. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Shameless Promotion (for someone else)

I have to thank my friendly neighborhood photographer (AKA Margaret) for this. If you are unaware of his art, Eric Tan is a brilliant graphic designer with some awesome art. Go and check out his work.


As for me, I think I'm in love with his Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom poster. If it doesn't come up, click on the picture and see a bigger version in a new window.

I also cribbed (I admit it) his Syndrome poster from The Incredibles to be my new profile pic. He's just that talented.

Awesome.

Namaste.

Brilliant Silence

Arrested for saying one of the seven words you can never say on TV.

A misanthropic view of the world (particularly America).
The ultimate schadenfreude comic.

All of these things describe the amazing George Carlin.

When I was a young lad, I saw Carlin at Carnegie and though I didn't necessarily understand all of the jokes, I still found Carlin incredibly funny.

His piece on flying is classic and still holds today.

And outside of his rauncy and bawdy comedy, he also narrated episodes of the children's show Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends. This was odd as you heard a man better known for talking about "American Bullshit" telling stories about never giving up and depending on friends...and it was on PBS.

He influenced comedians like Lewis Black, Stephen Colbert, and Steven Wright.

George Carlin died of a heart attack on the 22nd. His wit and wisdom will be missed.

Lovingly Ripped-Off

A wonderful tactic in marketing is to take a fixture (such as a commercial or printed ad) and tweak it until it gives the audience a fresh perspective while drawing them in to your product.

I have here an example of this great tactic:

When the original Gears of War came out, many consumers loved the ad in which the hero of the game trudges through our now destroyed world while the remake of Tears for Fears' Mad World (done by Gary Jules) is playing. It's a classic ad for many in the video game world (and I believe that Rex was a big fan).



Now Electronic Arts has a new game called Battlefield: Bad Company. The ads for the game take known ads or games (so far Metal Gear Solid, Rainbow Six, and Gears of War) and make fun of them to show how fun, yet silly the game is. The "Bad World" ad is below.



This ad works as it shows:
1. Humor
2. Action
3. It takes an ad which most gamers know, and puts its own unique spin on it.

There are many examples of this, but this most recent one has been getting some interesting attention.

Many gamers have said that between the action and the humor in the ads, they would purchase the game. That means the marketing is working.

Namaste.