Ramblings for the Evening (10/1/2007)

Ah, the beginning of October is here. Soon the leaves will be gone from the trees...then the snow will come. Oh yes, the snow will come.

Moving on.

So, without further ado: GONE, BABY, GONE!
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Dental Hell:
Last Wednesday was killer for my mouth. I ended up laying in a chair in my dentist's office for three hours. Three hours!

That's not the bad part.

I ended up having to get a root canal, because he made a mistake.

Still not the bad part.

The office's music got stuck on the best of the Bee Gees. I listened to Andy and Barry Gibb for close to three hours.

That's Hell, ladies and gentlemen.

When I die, I will have a really nice condo in Hell. A ton of space will be available to me. Then I will leave everyday to go to a pit where I will sit in a chair and listen to the Bee Gees for all of eternity. That's Hell.

Of course this is if I go to Hell, which my wife says I won't. How nice of her.

I was at my Dentist's office because I have a dying tooth. It's called Resorption. Essentially the living tissue in this particular tooth is being sucked back into the body. It's making the tooth hollow. At first my dentist said, "We'll probably have to pull and replace with a fake tooth."

This was not a good option in my mind. The thought of a screw being pressed into my jaw and a fake tooth being put on top of it made me...unhappy.

So I was in the chair as he began to drill. After a few minutes of high whirring sounds and the smell of burning, my dentist stopped. "I think," he said, "I can actually just put a filling in....If I can just stop this bleeding."

There are a couple of issues that hit at this point.

1. Blood pouring into the back of my throat from my gums.

2. My dentist quietly cursing under his breath.

3. The fact that the Novocaine was wearing off. (This would happen twice and would require more shots.)

It turns out that the dentist drilled too far and hit the root of the tooth. This would mean I would need a root canal.

So here I was lying in the chair, listening to "Staying Alive" for the fourth time, and raising my hand because my dentist nicked my toungue with the drill and it both hurt and bled.

While I was in there, I started to contemplate a few things. If dentists want to truly make patients happy, here are some ideas for the office.

A. Do something interesting with the ceiling. This is what the patients see most of the time. Whether it's for cleanings, surgeries, or exams, the patients stare up at the ceiling the whole time, so do the following:

* Paint an intricate picture. Have it be multilayered so we can truly contemplate it's depth and meaning.

* Put interesting quotes and sayings up there. We can contemplate life.

* This is the most gauche, but place a projector going up so we can look at ads or movies or different pieces.

We can't talk, and we can't move, so give us something.

B. Have a system that allows patients to bring their own music. Again, we have to sit there. You get to concentrate on working, so you shouldn't care. Let us bring music to calm us down.

C. Don't talk to us. I like talking to you. We can share some interesting ideas, but I can't talk when my tongue is being tied down and sharp instruments are in my mouth. It's...um...hard. Don't ask me my opinions or ideas about something when I cannot answer. It makes me feel bad that I can't truly answer for you. Then again, I could write. Give me a whiteboard and a marker, and I'll talk.

This is what I contemplated as I lay there.

My jaw hurt when I went home. I was no longer numb when I left the office. In fact, because I just wanted to get it over with, I never told the dentist that the Novovaine had worn off while he was putting the filling in my mouth. It was a new pain. I can now say I've felt it.

The other issue is that I didn't need the root canal at first. He nicked it, so I had to get it...and I had to PAY FOR IT! I had to pay for his mistake. I thought it was slightly unfair.

Dentists do get a bad rap. Most people will go to a doctor, but you talk about a dentist and people wig out. Heck, just the sound of the drill can put some people in the fetal position. I don't mind the dentist. They think I'm cursed, but I don't mind them.
My mouth still hurts, however.
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Burn, Baby, Burn:
So the guy in Anoka burned a cross into his own lawn? Because he hates his neighbors? Wow, that's gutsy.
It gave me some ideas.

Maybe I should paste some yellow stars on my house and lawn and say my neighbors hate Jews.

Maybe I should TP my own house and say that they hate teachers.

Maybe I should smash the windows on my car and say they hate foreign cars.
I could go on and on.

It just amazes me the lengths that some people will go to in order to get attention or revenge. This event also saddens me. It shows how evil humans can be (sure, it also shows how stupid they can be, but that is neither nor there).

I also find it fascinating that no one is really talking about this.

This story also illustrates why people are so cynical about the world. Man cries out that he's been wronged. That he's been a victim of a hate crime...but he lied. How you can trust anyone when they keep crying wolf? It's no wonder that so many crimes and cries are not taken seriously....

And finally....
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It's All About...Us?
Have you seen these commercials for ESPN V-Cast?

They illustrate the egotistical nature of American culture today.
Each of the commercials, if you haven't seen them, deals with guys (and it's always guys) talking to a "sportscaster" about how they were able to use the phone in a public place. One guy, for example, talks about hiding behind his buddy at a wedding in order to check his fantasy scores. There's another one where the guy talks about hiding his phone at a funeral.
These commercials are supposed to be fun, but they come off as childish. They aren't the only ones.
Many commericals today deal with bandwagon propaganda. Everyone's doing it, so you should too!
Maybe it's just me.
Of course, what do I know? I'm the new pitchman for Tide. Get it out. We good? Where's my check? I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Antic Disposition

There's no easy way to put this:

Most people think I'm crazy. Not in the wonderful way, not in the bizarre way, and not in the impractical way (though that's a relief to me).

No, many people think I'm the mentally deranged, insane kind of crazy.

I don't blame them.

When I was in college, I had a Psychology professor who once told me, "If you ever think that you are nothing but completely sane...that's when you've become crazy." His words made complete sense (and in a side note, it was also apparently an old test in Psychology that if you believed you were totally sane then something was wrong.

We all have our moments that show our intricacies and our quirks.

Superstitions, for example, could be considered a form of insanity.

Can't step on a crack? What's wrong with you?

The papers have to be exactly square to the desk? Now we're getting somewhere.

You get the idea.

I confirmed this diagnosis at two points today. The first came while I was talking to a favorite student of mine. The other came during a department meeting.

The student came to visit me in my "office" while I was grading papers, and we began talking about the world (Ok, it was life, liberty, and the inane...shush!) at large. As the conversation continued, it turned to her and her life. Now I've known this student for a few years. She is not now, nor has she ever been, an open book. Much like me, she's very guarded. Yet, I can read her very easily. Unfortunately for her, she asked me what I know, and I told her my perceptions. As I went through my thoughts, I could see this look begin to build on her face. This is not a positive look. It's that moment when the brows knit together and the mouth begins to open a little. It's the moment when a person suddenly realizes that their soul, their true essence even, has been seen. I was given this look, and was asked simply, "How?"

The answer is the hard part. I read people VERY well, and it is really hard to explain. I put it this way. I can look at a person as well as listen to them and a tic list begins to form. As this person moves about their day or around me, the list continues to compile. My brain is not truly actively doing this, but it continues. As I look upon people, all I see (beyond them) is the tic list surrounding them. It makes crowded rooms difficult.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. There is a gal I went to college with living out here in Minnesota. I see her every once in a while when I'm in downtown Minneapolis (she works for Theatre de la Jeune Lune). Over the course of nine years, we've had many conversations, and I've been a part of many events in her life (not necessarily by choice). So when I see her, I know her body language. Her stance speaks to me, and the placement of her arms tells me her emotions. Beyond that, however, I see her issues and life surround her as we speak. When she talks relationships, I see all the information about the boyfriend who dumped her, the guy she cheated on, and more. It's weird, and it can really freak people out when you can remember this stuff without being prompted.

And then there are my colleagues who never see the true, calm Leab. In fact, unless I'm frantic with energy or bouncing around, they constantly ask me, "What's wrong?"

Few people have seen me as I really am . In some ways I turn into Hamlet when I'm work.

"Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
How strange or odd some’er I bear myself
(As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on)
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall note
That you know aught of me."

I am a believer that Hamlet fakes his insanity throughout the play (and causes Ophelia's true craziness), but that's neither here nor there.

When at work, I am energetic (when I can be) and slightly over-the-top (for lack of a better term). Partially I have to be (ever work with Freshmen?), but mostly it's because, like Hamlet, the crazy guy gets the ears. Sure, Mark Antony can give a rousing speech, but that crazy guy mumbling on the corner gets your fascination over the eloquent.

As for me, I admit that my antic disposition helps me greatly. Unfortunately I have stories to back up the perception of my madness. However I'm lucky that almost everyone I went to college with cannot find me.

When you're crazy, people will listen. It helps if you're loud too. My wife says I'm a foghorn in a library when I want people to listen to me. I also speak through my thoughts. An example:

If I start with Great Expectations, I can truly push the kids...but then I also set them up for failure. Yet I'm also underestimating them. That's silly, Leab, it makes sense. Does it? (Mind you this would be me talking out loud to myself and answering myself. Fun to watch, harder to comprehend.

The bottom line, however, is, as Norman Bates famously said, "We all go a little mad sometimes." We all have a bit of craziness in us. There are varying levels of course.

Some hear voices.

Some charge into Karaoke without a second thought.

Some can speak their mind (though most aren't Minnesotan. It's true, get over it!).

Some believe Abe Lincoln lives in their armpit.

And we all wear masks. The true essence of who we are scares us, so we feel it will scare others. Thus we act one way with family, another way with our spouse or partner or significant other, and even different way with friends, or colleagues, or etc. The hard part is when our masks begin to meld (like when a loved one meets a colleague).

It also doesn't hurt that most people believe that crazy and genius go hand in hand. If people think I'm brilliant, then I can accept being thought of as crazy. Only you (dear reader) know the truth. Keep it quiet, or the platypus on my shoulder will eat you. Just kidding...or am I?

Then again what do I know? Abe Lincoln, Jack Kerouac, Marie Curie, and I play Bridge on Tuesdays. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Sad State of the World...and My Mind

William Smythe is a buddy of mine. Recently he wrote a post about how common courtesy has been forgotten.

I didn't really think twice about what he wrote.

However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that he is right. Common courtesy is dying. Americans...check that...humans do not truly know what common courtesy is anymore.

About a week before school started, my wife and I took advantage of a business trip she had to take and now we are out on the East Coast. This, of course, meant traveling by plane.
Airports and air travel is insane now. Security pushes you through faster than a fast food joint, though they are just as surly. My wife was attempting to get her shoes off (and her belt...that was a new one) while holding our son. I was putting our bags (and her computer, which has to be pulled out and put in a bucket) on the belt. The TSA officer kept telling my wife, "You must go faster, Ma'am. You MUST go FASTER." If you're ever tried to do anything while holding a toddler, you know it's impossible to truly go faster.

I, meanwhile, am being talked about by the woman behind me.
"Could this guy TAKE UP anymore space?" she asked snarkily.
I let that one go. I was more concerned with my wife and son.
"I fucking hate people who just don't know how to fly," her friend says.
Let that one go too.
"Look at the woman with the kid," Snarky now says while indicating my wife. "I bet I sit near that bitch and her brat."
That's where my courtesy ends.

It doesn't take much to look like what I call a "flying idiot." As Snarky started to put her stuff behind mine I positioned my stuff at a slight angle. Then, when the conveyor belt started to take my stuff, I would have to reposition it. If you do it right, then the repostioning forces the first thing behind it to fall off the belt. In this case, her shoes and jacket plopped over the side into dust bunnies.

However, the real issue of common courtesy came at the gate. My son is now walking. At the time, however, he was still learning, so he needed to hold our hands for help. Being that we had a small child, we decided to board early for the first time ever. The three of us heard the call and walked up toward the gate with my son leading the way. Suddenly, a woman with a large stroller cut us off and knocked my son down. Then, as she wasn't paying attention, she ran over his hand. He started crying. The woman who knocked him down turned, looked at him then at my wife and I, and said, "Do something. He's upsetting my daughter."

I lost it.

"Apologize," I said.
"Excuse me?" she said.
"You ran over my son's hand and hurt him. Apologize for what you did."
"No. You should have had a better grip on him."
"You cut us off," I said.
"I was here first. Make him stop crying."
"Apologize or I will make a scene so crass and loud that people here will think you kicked him in the face."
She turned to the attendant and said, "Do something. This man is threatening me."
The attendant looked at her and said, "You did knock down his child. However, sir, you need to stop or I will remove you from this flight."
I took a deep breath when the attendant put her hand on my shoulder.
"Sir, you, your wife, and your son can board first since you're sitting away from this family."
We boarded, but it was a hollow victory. The woman felt no shame about knocking down an infant that wasn't hers.

The lack of courtesy is not just in the airport either

My wife and I took our breakfast from IHOP one morning last week. A woman paying her bill as asked if she liked everything. Instead of saying, "Thank you for asking but I didn't enjoy everything," she called over the manager and started to talk about how (and I quote), "The server is obviously retarded, the food tastes like ass, and your cleanliness is bad." The server asked what she could do to help, and the woman said, "You should quit, because you suck."
We waited a little longer and watched as a guy walked in and took a booth without permission. When the server asked him to move, the guy merely said, "Make me."

There's always the issues with cell phones. A guy in Barnes and Noble was screaming across the room tonight while on the phone.

I love going to the movie theatre, but I think I'm at the point where it's cost and the lack of courtesy from the people around me make me want to stay home.

People rarely hold doors anymore, and today's kids almost never show good manners and common courtesy. Hmm, maybe that's not fair. Some do show it, but most don't.

Then again maybe my issues with the world also stem from myself. I've been feeling like a lousy parent ever since school started back up last week. I have 200 students, so I have to grade. Unfortunately it means my grading has to come home with me. That means a few hours of work at night. My son looks to me to play and be with him, and I can't. That frustrates me.

It's hard to explain. Maybe it's just me. I don't know. I'll try to come back with a stronger, happier thought in my next post.

Namaste.

I Have Dreamed a Dream

"Some say life is hard....

That's just talk.

In fact, it's good to be alive.

It's...exciting." - Kurosawa in Dreams

In 1990, one of the greatest directors in cinematic history released a film that followed his life and polarized many critics.

Some truly loved the film. Others called it overly self indulgent and weak compared to some of his other works (Ran, Seven Samurai, The Hidden Fortress).

The film is a set of eight vignettes that follow the life of a character with no name. He is supposed to represent not only Kurosawa but all of us. Throughout the film, his name is never given, but he is essentially "I".

The first two vignettes ("Sunshine Through the Rain" and "The Peach Orchard") deal with the young version of the protagonist. It is also in these two pieces that the audience sees how much the director loves nature and the environment. The sadness of the dolls in "The Peach Orchard" is due to the loss of their trees. The dolls even blame the boy for the clearing and scold him for his part. However, just as the boy shows remorse for not listening to his mother in "Sunshine," he also is able to convince the dolls of his love of the orchard. They reward him by showing him the way things used to be. These two sections have dual meanings. The first is to show the viewer the beauty and tribulations of childhood. For every perfect moment, there is an equal moment of understanding how the loss of naivete can alter memories.

At the same time, Kurosawa is warning the viewer about nature and the environment. Minor abuses, such as clearing an orchard or disturbing the animals' natural courses, can be forgiven, but those occurences do change the course of our lives.

Time passes in life and in the film. "I" becomes an adult and the next two segments of the film become depressing and deep. This is not unlike how humans, as they become adults, no longer meditate on the simplicity of life and concentrate on the dark side.

"The Blizzard" deals with a group of men (one of which is "I") become lost in a blizzard. They are on the verge of death and want to stop. Only "I" realizes they must keep going or be lost forever. It is here that Kurosawa adds a touch of Japanese mythology. After being separated from the other men, "I" runs into a siren on the mountain. This may, in fact, be the Yuki-onna (a woman who attempts to lead men to their death while in blizzards). "I" does not succumb, however, because he knows he must live, and because he answers her call, she lets him live (the spirit is known to do this if the reason is just).

While "The Blizzard" deals with overcoming one's own death, "The Tunnel" deals with overcoming the death of others. "I" is returning home from the war (we can assume it is World War II) and after walking through a tunnel on the way to his village, he is approached by the ghost of one of his men. "I" finds it hard to explain to the man that he is in fact dead. The ghost leaves only to return with the whole platoon. "I" is left with no choice but to live with his survival guilt and send the men back to their graves.

Kurosawa is very careful to change the tone of the film for this section. The vibrant colors of the world are replaced with harsh tones of blue. It is obvious that M. Night Shyamalan borrowed his color ideas for The Sixth Sense from Kurosawa. Blue represents the spiritual world, and in most cases it is negative.

"Crows" enters the middle age portion of the life of "I". Now an art student, he enters into the work of Vincent Van Gogh (here played by Martin Scorcese, who won't win any acting awards) to talk to the painter about his work. As "I" walks through various painting by Van Gogh, he finally finds the painter only to discover what his hero's (also a hero of Kurosawa) drive was.
"I paint," Van Gogh tells him, "because the sun compels me to." Kurosawa's Van Gogh also goes on to explain that he cut off his ear, because he could not get it right in the painting. As "I" chases the artist, he starts heading through the Van Gogh's rough sketches as the painter was approaching the end of his life.

It is here that Kurosawa attempts to use one of his heroes to put forward his own views on life and art. Kurosawa feels he MUST make art. He is, however, also making a commentary about middle age. Humans will begin to feel compelled to do all the things they must before they die. Van Gogh cannot stop because of the sun. Once the sun sets, his life will end. This is what Kurosawa is telling the viewer about life here in the middle of the film. The sequence also returns the viewer to the beautiful imagery before losing it again.

The next two stories return to the grim nightmares of the director. "Mt. Fuji in Red" deals with nuclear meltdown as a power plant on Mt. Fuji goes critical. The director paints the sky red and sets the power plants behind the mountains as if the volcano, not the reactors, are ending lives of the people of Japan. This returns to the directors feelings about the arrogance mankind has about the environment.

"The Weeping Demon" is Kurosawa's attempt to scare those in charge about the dangers of Nuclear war and holocaust. "I" has survived, but he's discovered that nature has been turned upside-down (literally), dandelions are huge, and humans are dead except for those responsible. Those people have become horned demons. The more responsible a person is, the more horns he has. The multi-horned demons must also eat those with fewer horns. Along with immortality, these former humans are now doomed to forever be in this Hell on Earth. While the imagery can be quite powerful and haunting, the director sermonizes a little much. The overall idea of these two sections could also be the time after middle age before old age. The body is unable to work as well as it should (or could), and those unable to adapt may truly live the rest of their life in a difficult landscape.

Kurosawa, however, ends on a positive note. "I" happens upon a village where the people commune with nature by attaching watermills to every home. This way they are not dependent on the nuclear power plants shown in the "Mt. Fuji". By passing on modern technology, the people of the village are happier. "We have chosen to have," the man tells "I", "the health of our spirit instead of convenience." As the film closes, "I" hears joyful music and sees people celebrating. When he asks, he is told that this is a funeral. Living to old age and working hard is celebrated instead of mourned. This is a message from Kurosawa about the end of life. Humans should celebrate what each of us has accomplished in life instead of mourning what will be missed.

The cycle of life begins with the lovely colors and wonder of childhood, and mankind returns to that wonder in the end. The middle may be full of hardships, but the journey is worth it.

While it may not be Kurosawa's best work, Dreams truly gives the viewer an insight into the journey of life as well as the director's mind.

It is exciting to be alive and though the journey may be difficult, it's never boring.

Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (9/10/2007)

Let's do it.
So without further ado: MONDAY! MONDAY!
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Brilliant Satire:
As you may or may not know, I am a big fan of satire. Here is a brilliant sendup of Monty Python's "Upperclass Twit of the Year" (see the original here).
Basically, it makes fun of Hipsters (who are easily dislikable as the video shows), and does it in a way that anyone who doesn't know what a hipster is will know by the end. Awesome.
Enjoy.
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Track Him All!:
It's interesting.
I have this blog. The students and my colleagues can find me if they wish (some choose to read, others just scoff), and my family knows if I'm alive or dead through here.
And yet I have not been found by those from high school or college.
Part of this is easily explained. If you search with my full name (which I assume someone might if looking for me), you don't get this blog. In fact, other than a few links to my quote in USA Today, you don't get much (which is quite amazing considering how large the net is).
So I have some anonymity. Some....
It does worry me that I know students are watching. Not in a Big Brother sense, mind you, but there is something disconcerting.
It's almost like being a comic and not being on the stage (I saw this happen once). Then, as you're out trying to enjoy yourself, a person comes up and says, "Hey...you're that comic! Be funny right now!"
When students see your thoughts and read your writing, it adds a little pressure. You know there's an audience.
I don't worry about Tom. I should, but I don't. He keeps coming back, because he sees a kindred spirit in depression and rage (more rage here than depression, but I was told yesterday that I must be depressed...long story).
It's interesting to me as well, because a student just had to ask me today, "Mr. Leab...did you have, like, friends in high school? Or were you like totally alone?"
"I knew alot of people," I responded.
"Oh....Yeah....You just seem like everyone loves your humor or totally hates you."
"I see," I replied. "Thanks Dr. Phil."
"What?"
"Nothing," I muttered.
So here's the thing. I was pretty popular in high school. I knew a lot of people and got invited places. I was also a hub in college (a lot of people passed through my house on a daily basis).
And yet now...I really don't want my world to be that large. I could easily go on Facebook or MySpace and join friends and such, but I don't want to at all.
I like that my world is now small. It's my wife, son, and a few people. We place way too much emphasis on numbers.
"Oh, I have (X) number of readers of my blog."
"The number of friends I have could fill a bar."
"My MySpace has (X) more friends than yours."
Etc.
Why do we care? Have we as human beings become that shallow?
Maybe this isn't a new thing. Throughout known history the idea of status has been important.
"I own a Mercedes."
"I have a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes."
Hell, most people will lie like dogs when they return to their reunions. I went to my five year reunion (as you may recall) and listened to people tell stories about who they worked with, what they did, and what they own.
Am I supposed to be impressed that you live in New York and own a Jaguar? That means you:
A. Spent $50, 000 for a car that's...well...not as good as it used to be, and
B. You pay roughly six to twenty thousand dollars for parking alone.
Wow...what a waste of money. Meanwhile, I own a home...you know...where the parking is free.
It just saddens me that we no longer truly value intelligence in people.
Of course what do I know? If I was so smart, why aren't I rich? I could be wrong.

Ramblings for the Evening (9/9/2007)

First weekend while back at work. Too short.
Oh well.
Without further ado: DENY!
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The 50 Cent Irony:
The MTV Video Music Awards are in Las Vegas this year, and 50 Cent was performing outside in a pool.
So get this: He almost gets electrocuted. Why? Because he set himself up, that's why.
He has this stage on the water. Already we have a mixture of electricity and water. Brilliant.
Now, he tosses money in the air (thus "Making it Rain") and at the fans. The people watching charge the stage, and it begins to dip toward the water.
"You're going to get electrocuted," the rapper yelled, but when it comes to free money, is anyone really going to listen?
So, he pulled an Axl Rose and walked off for the night.
He threw the cash, so he should know what's going to happen.
Still, his night was better than Britney Spears, who apparently looks and sounds terrible. Awesome.
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Applelicious:
Steve Jobs is a genius. So anyone who bought an iPhone and complained is getting $100 in store credit. That means that the people who spent the extra cash are not getting that money back but are getting money to spend at the store. It's brilliant. These people think they're getting something, but really they're just being setup to give the money (along with some extra cash) back to Apple.
Bravo, Steve Jobs, this is the reason why Apple is now so successful. When the public figures it out, will you become part of pop culture and be abandoned? After all, the thing that made the company truly popular was being part of counter culture.
and finally...
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Hatred Happens:
Several of my students came to see me on Friday. As one of my colleagues puts it, "They're your cult."
It's true. I have a cult. Not the point.
These kids come to see me for various reasons. A few actually clean my room for me after school (which is nice as it gives me time to actually breathe). Some come for advice or whatever.
So as I sat there waiting for my wife to come pick me up (Her car's battery died, so she had to get it changed, and with one car, she had to drop me off and pick me up), and the kids start talking to me.
One kid says, "You know that there are a lot of kids who hate you? Doesn't that bother you?"
And I thought about it. It didn't bother me, but why not?
Why didn't I feel angry or upset over that fact that some kids I taught couldn't stand me? The answer was simple: Hatred happens. Everyone is capable of hate.
But what is hate? Also simple. Hate is an intense emotion. To truly hate a person, you either had to have an expectation of liking or truly like a person. Then, when the expectation is destroyed, or the person does something that truly betrays your trust in them, you begin to hate.
It happens. Everyone hates a person. At least one. You can say you don't, but that's a lie, and you know it!
I know who I hate. There are two people in the world. One destroyed my heart, while the other almost killed me. Both, however, betrayed my trust.
You know the old saying. "You can't please all of the people all of the time."
I know I can't. So if you're one of those students who doesn't like and is reading this. Well...first of all, what are you doing?
Secondly, I'm sorry you dislike me, but that's your choice. I can't change who I am.
Then again what do I know? I don't have anymore stalkers. I could be wrong.

One Day Down...

nine months to go.


I know Voix feels like her mojo is coming back. I don't feel it yet. I feel more like the me I really am is being stuck back in his cage and ole' Teacher Guy Leab has been given control again.

This is not to say that I didn't miss it. I did, but if everyday is like today, with the repitition of my own voice forever and ever, it's going to suck harder than a Dyson.

At the same time, I'm starting to feel like the villains in a cartoon. Ultimate power, but with the same damn result everytime: losing.


Five times today, I gave the same speech to every class.


Five times the kids nodded their heads and read through the syllabi and such.


Five times kids left the homework or the syllabus or whatever I told them to take with them.


Of course I had the kids who challenged authority. Of course I had the kids who had heard stories about me from siblings or other kids.


"Did you really throw a cell phone out a window?"


"Did you really get up on a desk during Romeo and Juliet?"


Basically, there were a lot of "Did You" questions.


Why so many questions? Because I have five classes of freshies. 200 freshmen. Yup.


This is also why I feel like Aku. I have the power to give the students so much, and many of them just want to use Samurai Jack to hold on to that ignorance.


At least I have my own room, right?


Of course what do I know? I'm a glorified mule. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

The Top of the Coaster

There is that moment, shortly before the roller coaster goes over the peak and shoots down the first drop, where your brain hits the infinite capacity to fathom everything about life, and yet, at the same time, it concentrates on what is to happen in the next few seconds.

That's how I feel right about now.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the school year. The students will climb on their buses, the teachers will double check their lesson plans, and I will walk into the world's hottest building and begin schooling the next generation of kids.

Sure last week was rough. We lost two teachers during the prep week. That hurts, but teachers are a tough breed (sorry, Mr. Tinsley, but we are), so we bounce back.

Still, I have that trepidation. However, unlike the last two years, my fear is not about my job. Honestly, I'm not afraid of them firing me like I have been for the last two years. This is not to say that they may end up firing me.

No, my fear is actually about me. I'm slightly worried that I don't have the strength to get through the year. My son is one, walking and talking, and will soon be knee-deep in the terrible toddler times. My wife is dealing with her own issues at work (Go layoffs!), and then there is the fact that all of my classes are with freshmen. No adult conversations for me.

So here I sit. I'm on the peak of the first drop on the roller coaster. I'm nervous, and yet I'm still excited.

Don't get me wrong, I am worried that I won't get tenure, but that's not the chief concern anymore. I'm not even sure that at this time next year I'll still be living in Minnesota. No, I just hope I can give my son the love he needs, be the rock my wife needs, and still give the energy needed to be the teacher I am (I can't apply good or bad labels to my teaching as it varies from kid to kid).

Just remember, boys and girls: some of us could use some help. Some of us have already spent close to $1,000 of our own money and school hasn't even started yet. Be nice to your teachers.

And if you have a kid in my class, understand that I do not reward stupidity.

Of course what do I know? My teachers used to hug my mom with sympathy. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Laugh At The One You're With

One of my readers (ok only reader) Mr. Smythe has a story about his lovely wife going on a rough ride.
His story made me think about my own bike story and my wife's reaction.
You see, Tommy loves his wife, and so his reaction was one of shock and fear. However, my wife, though she loves me, instead chooses to laugh when I experience pain.
Maybe it's because she thinks I'm a clown (shut up, Joe Pesci...your career is over).
Back in 2001, my wife and I went to St. Lucia for our honeymoon. Beyond the fact that everyone thought we were nuts for flying (post 9/11 and all), most said, "St. Lucia? Where the hell is that?" One of the activities we could do at the resort we stayed at was called, "Jungle Biking."
The name is exactly what it sounds like: you bike through a rainforest. Very cool, but it has its issues. Namely, those of us who are used to city or street biking are not very good at biking off road. My lovely wife, who grew up in the countryside of Missouri, was used to biking through the forest, so she and the guide were shooting way ahead of me. I could not remember the last time I was on a bike that had two independent brake systems (front and back), so I was struggling.
At one point the trail curved down and around a large rock and culminated with a cross over a small bridge with no rails on either side.
The guide said, "This is easy. Just use your rear brakes to get around the curve and make sure you drop enough speed to stay on the bridge."
My wife had no issues. I was not as lucky.
I shot down the hill and hit the rear brake, but I did it late, so I ended up on the outside edge of the bridge. My rear wheel shot out from behind, and it was then that I realized: the bike was going off the bridge. I kicked down with the pedal and launched myself up in the air. I had no choice. The bike literally went over me...with me still in the seat.
It was a fantastic crash. As my wife would later describe it, they (she and the guide) looked back to see where I was, and they saw a blur of bike and man shoot end over end from one edge of the jungle to the other. I rolled three times and finally stopped when I hit a palm tree.
In the distance, I heard...laughter. My wife was laughing at me. She had no idea if I was hurt or even dead, but her defense mechanism is to laugh at a situation where someone she cares about my have been hurt. The guide turned and stared at her. I know because from my vantage point of the ground I could still see them. His face betrayed his feelings: this woman is nuts to laugh at this.
He jumped off his bike and ran back to check on me.
Miraculously, I was fine. My pride was hurt, I had a bruise forming on my arm (which had hit the tree), and my helmet was full of jungle, but I was ok. Even the bike was ok. It was just scratched up.
When we finished and returned to the shack where the bikes were held, there was a doctor who wanted to check me.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
"Yup." I replied.
"You're damn lucky," he said, "You should thank your angel for protecting you."
"Ok then," I said.
Years later, I can still hear my wife laughing. When my son gets hurt (he's learning to perfect his walking, which means he's been falling on hard things a little bit), she is concerned. No laughter. I fell down the steps the other night, and she was rolling on the floor.
I don't know if it's because she is sure I'm ok, or if because she doesn't know how to react, but it can be disconcerting to hear that laughter.
I'm glad that Tom's wife is ok, and I hope that she avoids all gravel at all costs.
Then again what do I know? I don't always laugh when someone gets hit in the groin. I could be wrong.

We Hold These Truths....

This is for a former student of mine. WG became an RA this year (and I'm proud of her, I might add). So here is some advice (a la Sunscreen) and my own life.

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Advice on Life:
(This advice can apply to everyone, in most situations.)

Everybody lies. Some bigger than others, but everybody lies.

That being said, honesty is the best policy, but deliver the truth gently, not with a jackhammer.

Love and lust are different. One is emotion, while the other is a physical desire. You are not in love if all you want is physical.

Gut feelings are usually correct. Follow your instincts.

Life isn't always fair. Get over it. If the rock rolls down the hill when you push it, Sisyphus, design a better system.

Don't compare yourself to others. That always leads to disappointment.

The old adage is true: Measure twice, cut once. Now apply it to opinions: Think twice, speak once. Think about what the person said, think about what you really want to say, then speak.

You cannot change people. You can change opinions, and you can maybe change outlooks, but you cannot change a person's core.

Sleep. Everything looks and feels better after you sleep.

Friendships are like blossoms of trees or flowers. Some stay through sunshine and rain, while others fall away. Don't weep for the lost blossoms, but treasure the ones still there.

Having a few regrets isn't something to be ashamed of. Regrets, painful as they can be, are the best teaching tools for life experience.


Own up to your mistakes and apologize. Never shirk responsibility.

You don't have to grow up, but you must get older. However, not everyone wants to be around the guy or girl who's 40 and acts 20.

You don't have to know what your exact future is. My mother is 67, and she still doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up.

Don't worry about tomorrow. Realize that worrying about tomorrow is as effective as trying to stop a car with a diaper.

There is only one person in the world you can really trust: yourself.

Think long and hard before you decide on having a child. However, if you do welcome one into your life, learn to parent well and love no matter what. There's a reason the term "my favorite mistake" was created.


Almost all cultures have a form of the golden rule. That should be a hint.


Realize that life will always get better. There's nothing sadder than the people who believe that high school or college was the best time of their lives. That means they have stopped trying to experience life.

Duct tape is great, but education and experience are better at fixing things. Make sure you have all three.

Fashions will change. Ideas will go in and out of style. People will always say that life was better when they were kids. Just nod and know you will do this too.

Always use the bathroom before you leave to go anywhere. Inevitably it's when you think you can make it that you don't.


Sleep in late occasionally, but never miss an appointment because of it.


Visit your home at least once a year. If you forget where you came from, you lose the things that made you who you are. Your past is large part of your future.

Go to a park and pick up a fallen leaf sometime during the Fall. It is a reminder of how insignificant we can be.

When consoling someone, it is ok to say "I'm sorry," but make sure that you follow up by not allowing that person to mope or quit.


Work isn't always the answer. Neither is sex, money, or winning.


Make a list of 100 things to do before you die. If you achieve one, you've succeeded.


Everyone, no matter what they say, wants to feel needed and loved. If you can make a person feel that way, they will march through Hell with you.


Four words: I love you too. Always respond. Never answer, "I know," or "Thank you." If you don't love that person, don't lie.

Read the cooking instructions only once. After that, make it your own dish. Personalize it. Cooking is a great deal like love. If you follow what you're told instead of what you feel, the dish (and the relationship) will end.

Accept the damn compliment. Say, "Thanks," and then shut up. You may not see it like the person complimenting you, but he or she believes it, so be nice.


People can be horrible at times. If we didn't act badly, we wouldn't know kindness. Instead of attacking back, contemplate why they act that way.

Don't be hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. If you didn't, how would you learn?

Travel or live somewhere outside your comfort zone. You just might find a new home.

Stay in touch with your family. Respect your parents. They've been through more than you can imagine and have a wealth of knowledge. If you have siblings, stay in touch with them. They are probably your go to person or people when you're in trouble. Tell your parents, siblings, and loved ones that you love them. They could be gone at any moment.

If you end up going to Disneyland, do not engage in fisticuffs with the Disney characters. Trust me.

You can disagree with other views, cultures, or opinions, but respect them. Never tell people that their thoughts are worthless. What makes your feelings better than theirs?


Sex is wonderful, but people can get tired. Make sure you can have a conversation or you may not be able to practice your, "best skill," as you may call it.


Not everyone is going to like or respect you. So what? Understand why those people feel that way and move along. Don't antagonize. In the end, as long as you respect yourself, life will be fine.

Get a massage. Your back is important, and you should take care of it.

Help those who need it, but be wary of those who would take advantage of it.

The arts are important. Mankind has put alot of its best work into visual, oral, and aural arts. Listen to music, see a film and a play, and attend a museum. You should also practice some yourself.


Good manners, good cooking, and good conversation skills will take your very far in life. Remember that.


Keep your different masks, but make sure the real you makes appearances now and then. Bare your soul at least once without frightening the world.

Be awed by the universe, be thankful for the time you've been given, and be present in the now instead of stuck in the past or imagining the future.

And always remember: the situation is hopeless, but not serious. Understand that, and you will love life.

Namaste.

You're Fat!

Oh Minnesota, what will be do?

It seems all that state fair cuisine is going right to our hips...and ass...and stomach.

Studies show that Minnesota is the leading state when it comes to exercise. 85% of the state is out there getting the blood flowing (and not in the shooty, stabby way). This is great, and something about which to feel good (you can start clapping now).

Unfortunately (uh oh) the state ranked a paltry 28 out of 50 when it comes to the percentage of adults who are obese (and now your clapping becomes awkward silence).


Yup, fat. Last year analysts were concerned about Minnesotans gaining weight too quickly (132 percent in 16 years), but do Minnesotans listen? Hell no! To truly be passive aggressive, one must eat away (or drink away) the pain.

A buddy of mine announced today that he started losing weight when he stopped drinking. "All the vegetables and fruit," he said, "mean nothing when you down three beers a day."

So remember Minnesota. Exercise is only part of it...diet is also important.

Then again, what do I know? I'm a New Yorker. We die young...ish. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Simpsonized

I've been turned into a member of Springfield.

It's actually really close.

I'm not sure I'd wear a black suit to work, but I still like it.

Enjoy.

iPhone Hacker

So a kid in New Jersey figured out how to crack the iPhone.
Even better...he details it here
Go and learn how to free your iPhone from the shackles of Cingular/AT&T.

Oh, and here's it's eBay auction if you want it. Do you have 1 billion dollars?

Sick Now?

Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect the very lifeblood of our enterprise.

-- King Henry the Fourth, Part I (Hotspur at IV, i).

Oh you wacky insurance companies. You desperately want our money and tell us that we need you in order to stay well...and then you screw us.

The quote by Shakespeare makes sense if you plug in insurance company for enterprise.

There's something so backward about the fact that we are punished if we get sick, and we are punished if we don't get sick. It's insane.

Let me make this clear: I have not seen Sicko, so this rant has nothing to do with what Michael Moore went through in this film. (Side note: Canada has been running articles about how, though they are flattered, the system isn't as good as he says it is.)

No, this is a personal rant.

Though I am a teacher, I am required to take the health insurance my union bargained for and won. I cannot deny it.

My plan sucks. It's not the worst, but there are many issues to it.

My wife, who works for a corporation that makes medical devices, has fantastic insurance. Basically, if she wanted to, she could get a body scan every month and be covered. That's amazing. With my insurance sucking and my wife's so great, we put my son on her insurance. Every time we go to the pediatrician, it costs us $20 a visit. That's not bad. His recent surgery was completely covered by her insurance. Again, to me, that's amazing.

So, why am I angry? Because my insurance left me out to dry. At the beginning of the summer, I got sick. I decided to go to Urgent Care for help (it was in the same building as my son's pediatrician, and I had almost fainted during his appointment). The doctor there had no clue what was wrong with me, so he and the nurse ran a bunch of tests. It could have been Mono, or it could have been Strep. They weren't sure, so they ran the tests. It turned out it was some sort of virus which could be cured by Amoxocillan.

Flash forward one month: I get a bill from my insurance company, and they covered nothing. NOTHING! I had to pay for the visit out of pocket. Why? They felt the tests were unnecessary. I appealed. If not for the tests, how would I know what drug to take? The company disagreed. The doctors, without giving me tests, could have just given me Amoxocillan and made me better. The tests were padding for which the company would not pay.

I have never been turned away from a hospital with my insurance, so I am lucky in that sense, but before this, I have never had to pay anything but a co-pay.

Even my dental plan is a joke. I went for my check-up recently and had to get new x-rays. The dentist discovered that I have what he calls, "a dying tooth." There is nothing on the outside that looks bad, but the tooth seems to be dying on the inside. He has no idea why. He also isn't sure that it can be saved. Basically, I'll either get a root canal to "stem the tide of its death," or I'll need a fake tooth.

On the bright side I'm going to be part of the doctor's final (he's retiring, which keeps my streak of removing dentists alice) writing. He's going to write about me and the tooth as it is, "unique and fascinating." Woo-hoo.

We have gotten to a point where we cannot get sick anymore as we cannot afford it. That's the truth. Lawyers and insurance companies will be the downfall of American society. Mark these words.

Then again what do I know? I have a dying tooth and a cold, so my insurance company says I am a liability. I could be wrong.

Child's Play

My son had surgery on Monday. After getting his seventh ear infection since he was born, there was no choice left: Little Leab would be getting tubes.

This made me nervous to no end.

If you are unfamiliar with the procedure, it goes like this: doctors make a small incision inside the ear and then push small tubes in so ear can drain easier.

Now, I understand the need for him to have it as it will make him feel better, but I was nervous. This was the parent in me.

What if the doctor, who told us over and over again that this was nothing more than a "routine" surgery, screwed up. How can a surgery be routine? What does that say about our bodies and our mindsets that having a foreign object placed into our body is considered routine?

How would my son react to the anesthetic? What if he was allergic?

Worst of all, however, was the nagging feeling of possible death. Of course, it was just a quick cut in the ear, but what if the allergic reaction was severe?

The dark in my bedroom allowed these demons to enter into my brain and rob me of my sleep.

If you've never taken someone for surgery, it works something like this:
You are required to get that person (be it child or adult) to the place the surgery will take place (usually a hospital) an hour before the actual procedure. Once the person is checked in, they will go to a room where they will change into surgical clothes (be in hospital pajamas or gown). Once changed, the waiting begins.

My son was no different. Instead of an hour, his surgery (scheduled for 12:45) took place at 1:35, we waited longer. He played and walked around and tried to befriend the other kids who were waiting for their surgeries. Here again you could see that the kids were just happy to be able to play, but the parents were all nervous, or tired, or just plain scared. Once woman brought her ten year old daughter for her ninth surgery since she was born. The mother said she cried every time her daughter fell asleep.

After talking with doctors about what will happen, the surgery will occur. In the case of very small children, like my son, the parents will actually hold the child (if possible) to get them to sleep. It is here that I saw an image that is burned into my soul.

My wife held my son on her lap, and the anesthesiologist placed the mask on my son's mouth. If you've never had anesthesia, it works by numbing the body first and then slowing you down until you sleep (thus why you have a heart and oxygen monitor). My son did not cry as he was used to his nebulizer, but you could see his eyes trying to figure out what the hell was going on as the gas rushed into his lungs. First, his whole body went limp, then his eyes slowly shut. He lay there unable to move and totally unconscious.

I truly know now what it would like if my son died. His body totally lifeless (in this case he chested barely moved).

My wife placed his limp body on a gurney, and we were told to say goodbye.

Much like when my father had his bypass surgery, I could not get these morbid thoughts out of my head. I did not hum the song about the worms this time. Instead I kept hearing my father in my head saying, "It is truly a horrible feeling to have a bury a child. Your grandmother had to bury two of them, and it destroyed her."

I had images of the funeral, of the flower arrangements even. It was horrible.

I know I overreacted. He was in surgery for only ten minutes, while his mother and I waited in room that looked like Hugh Hefner's living room. Still, I had been grappling with this idea of surgery since it was decided upon. I wanted to keep my son from this, but I failed. It was out of control, but I still felt guilt from having to put him through this.

As we waited in this room, there was a monitor above the TV that showed you where the patient was (going in, during surgery, coming out, etc.) It was like watching a sporting event in some ways. Very odd. As soon as the surgery was over, the doctor came in and said, "It was child's play. I've done so many of these, I could have operated in my sleep."

So, we've arrived, checked in, waited, had anesthesia, and waited again. Now comes the hardest part of the whole thing: coming out of it.

My son has a temper. It's not surprising as his father and his grandfather both have tempers. I have been fortunate to find ways to calm my temper, but there are times when it builds and I explode. I've never hit someone in anger (or at least not first...and my siblings don't count....). As my wife and I made our way to the room Little Leab was in, we could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs. He was mad.

This is where his mother and I disagree. She thinks his screaming had to do with coming out of the anesthesia and not having control of his body. I think he was pissed that he woke up somewhere without his parents around and had some woman he didn't know trying to get him to drink and telling him to be quiet.

After ten minutes of yelling at us about the situation, the nurse came to us and said, "You know, sometimes people, children especially, recover better in familiar surroundings. Perhaps your son would do better at home. Of course, I'm not trying to rush you out, but he seems like he doesn't like it here." Don't be fooled. This is code. What she was really saying was, "Your kid won't stop screaming, and he's freaking out the other patients that are trying to rest. Get him out of here or we'll kill him."

We left, and the second we hit the air outside the hospital, my son started to calm down. My wife attributed it to him finally getting the anesthesia out of his system. I think it's because he was out of the hospital. This is, after all, the grandson of the man who tried to be the first triple bypass outpatient.

Three days on, my son seems to be happy. He hates the drops that have to be put in his ears (4 drops, twice a day, for 10 days), but he seems to be happier than before the surgery. His balance is much better as well.

Maybe I'm just a worry wart. I don't know. I just know that the image of my son totally limp in my wife's arms will probably haunt my nightmares for a while.

Of course, what do I know? I'm an insomniac who doesn't really dream anymore. I could be wrong.

Definition of Ironic (Sad Edition) 8/17/2007

Icky Woods (the great Cincinnatti Bengals Running Back) runs a camp for at risk kids. They were playing football recently at this camp in what was being called "The Peace Bowl."
Unfortunately, the game had to be stopped as a 19 year old kid was killed near the field. The point of this camp was to help these kids get away from the violence through a violent sport (football).
Once again, real world violence encroaches on our ways to avoid and destroy it.

Ramblings for the Evening: Sports Edition (8/17/2007)

A Ramblings that's themed? You should be so lucky.

Pundits everywhere are calling this, "the darkest year of sports...ever. Let's see if they are right.

So, without further Adu (Soccer joke): BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!

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O.J. and "The Assassins":

Now, I'm not going to sit here and defend O.J. Simpson, but let me see if I remember this correctly: Wasn't O.J. found innocent?

I just don't get it. How can a person who is found innocent of murder be liable for those deaths?

O.J is currently paying a little over thirty-three million dollars to the families of the victims. Fine, I have no problem with that. However, what I do have a problem with is the new attack on him. Again, I am not a big fan, but O.J. is part of a new video game called All Pro Football 2K8. In this game, he can be a running back on a team called, "The New York Assassins", and the teams mascot is...wielding a knife. How shocking!

Come on, folks. It's not like O.J. went to the makers and said, "Wow, I love it." He's part of the retired NFLPA, so he was just part of the license that was bought. The fact that the family wants MORE money from this tells me that it has less to do with the loss of their loved ones and more to do with wanting more money.

Look, Todd Bertuzzi broke Steve Moore's neck on the ice and is still in hockey video games. Michael Vick (more on him later) is still in Madden football games, and the Falcons (his team) is a popular pick among players. Their money wasn't taken from them.

I can't believe people want the game pulled from store shelves because of this. All because you can put him on a team (though he doesn't start there) with this mascot.

What's next? People in New Orleans sue The University of Miami or the hockey team in Carolina for using the name "Hurricanes"? Can Native Americans sue the Dallas Cowboys for emotional damage?

Yes, I have heard that O.J. is not a nice guy and will do almost anything for a buck (see his upcoming book), but this is ridiculous. There are sports stories that mean more.

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Mr. Vick Goes to Prison...Maybe:

Michael Vick. Everyone knows the story by now. He was indicted on charges from dog fighting. Let's make some things clear here:

For the public, the dog aspect is the most important. The men who decided to give information on him ("Snitch Bitches" as I heard them called today) said that he did in fact kill a few dogs either by hanging or drowning. That's what everyone has latched on to and why they are so angry.

Now I feel that hurting dogs is a terrible thing, but the fact that this is more important than dying humans is ridiculous to me. Not the point, however, let's move on....

The government is pushing for the gambling charges more than the charges related to cruelty to animals. Why? Because gambling is considered worse (sorry PETA, but the government is angrier when money is taken away).

What I find depressing, however, is how the case has been turned into a racial war. African-Americans have a point: we are supposed to be innocent until proven guilty, but most of us believe the other way. Yes, the two men (one with the ironic name of "Peace") copped pleas and said he's guilty, so that will hurt Vick, but as I mentioned before these men are now being looked down upon for the sole reason that they squawked to the government.

There was an article in ESPN the Magazine that I passed on to Willy Smythe (see link on right) about the whole Vick case. William is a little more zealous than I am when it comes to the case. He read the article and was quite pissed. I read the article and was saddened. At one point the author asks why clubs are unfair and make African-Americans pay more at the clubs. I can easily answer this: Insurance. It's been that way in New York for years. It's extremely rare that a bunch of white or Hispanic or Asian folks shoot up a club. In Minneapolis, it was African-American. The club shooting in Baltimore...was African-American. I'm sorry if I sound like I'm racist, because that's not the point. Yes, it's horrible that a club would charge black folk more money, but it's about protecting an investment. If violence breaks out and a club is shut down, that means no money flows in and the club will close permanently.

Yes, Atlanta has a horrible past with racism, civil rights, and more, but a football player under investigation is not the same thing as Martin Luther King getting shot. I may be a white guy, but I am offended by the comparison. Michael Vick is an athlete. King was a visionary. Vick, according to his friends or co-defendants, committed a crime. King worked to create equality. They are nowhere near the same

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Barry Breaks Big Record...:

And yet I don't care.

I stayed up late to watch Barry Bonds break the home run record. As he swung the bat and the ball flew to center field, I watched the crowd explode in joy as they knew he had broken the record.

I, however, felt nothing. I felt no joy, and I felt no anger. That saddens me.

The home run record is considered the greatest record in all of sports. It was supposed to be the one that almost no one could touch. When Henry "Hank" Aaron was getting close to breaking Babe Ruth's record, he was sent death threats. Bonds didn't have that kind of pain to deal with this time. He only had media scrutiny as to whether or not he cheated. That's not as bad.

I should have been excited about the crack of the bat for that home run, but I wasn't. I am tired of Bonds. I'm sick of reading or hearing about his possible cheating. I'm sick of hearing about a possible asterisk in the record books.

This is my honest feeling about it: If Bonds took steroids before they were illegal, then he did nothing wrong. Sure, he got ahead of the game, but it was legal. Pro Wrestling says that Steroids are bad. The NFL Says this as well. MLB did not say this until recently. That means Bonds was fine to do so.

The only downside is that I just don't care that he broke the record. I feel nothing.

And finally:

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Family First?:

I love my parents. They did a great deal for me growing up. They taught me important lessons, they showed me how different aspects of life work, and they exposed me to life's ups and downs. When I graduated from college, my parents told me they were proud of me...then we all went to work. At no point in my life (so far) have my parents expected me to repay the favor and start taking care of them. They have not asked me to pay their bills, they have not asked me to buy them a house, and they have not told me that I owe them. My wife's parents have not said this either.

So why is it that so many college athletes are expected to go pro and immediately take care of their parents? Let me give you an example:

Greg Oden of the Portland Trailblazers. The scouts didn't talk to him, they talked to his mother. When he was drafted, they asked him the typical question, "What will you do after you sign your 1st contract?"

His answer? "I'm going to buy my mother a house, and I'm going to take care of her."

This sounds sweet, and it would be...if his mother hadn't said the same thing when interviewed earlier.

Another player, a college football star, gave away the answer about whether or not he was going pro. Actually, his mother did. She felt that he had to go pro for the good of the family.

What is wrong with these parents? Sure, you sacrificed for your kid. Good for you. That doesn't mean that you force your kid out of college before he or she is ready because you want to stop working. These kids need something else just in case professional sports is not really in their future. By forcing them out, you do them a disservice.

Let them make the decision. Don't run their lives.

If my son becomes a world class athlete, I will not force him out of college so I can stop working. That's not fair to him. That just adds pressure that's unneeded. Until I die, I plan on helping my son out, and I never expect him to turn around and help me out.

So parents...leave them kids alone.

Of course what do I know? I'm sick of hearing the Red Sox Nation bitch about the Yankees...when they spend almost as much money. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

It's About Time!

Study: Multiple Stab Wounds May Be Harmful To Monkeys

I love satire...oh so much.

Grab my Pampers and Catch my Ride

I decided that I should try to throw in a positive (or at least funny) piece now and again.
So....
Running away from home ain't what it used to be.

My sister and my niece recently moved to the beautiful city of Toronto, known for its clean streets, rabid hockey fans (though the Leafs suck), William Shatner (Yeah, I know that Shatner isn't from Toronto...but look at cool he is...KHAN!!!!), and the University of Toronto. (Go True Blue!!) to live with husband/father (his name is Michael, he reads this blog [and is turning red right about...now], and he looks like Mark Messier. If you don't know who Messier is...go find out...I'll wait).

Toronto, on a side note, is a beautiful city that is very much on the rise again. Canada's money is slowly, but surely becoming even in value with the American dollar. As such Canadians are coming to Buffalo to shop. I'll take the money. Back to the point....

My niece is not used to being away from her "Grammy" (what my mother is called) or her "Apu" (my father's nickname because MJ (my name for her) can't say Opi, which is the German familiar form for Grandfather. As such my father is now Apu. It's a thing in my family...moving on). Not happy at all, she decided that, though she loves her mom and dad, she wanted to go back home to the USA and her "white house" (the house she used to live only a few months ago). Now you have to understand: My parents do a great deal of traveling now, and to cut back on expenses, they hire a guy named "Harvey" to drive them to and from the airport.

This is Harvey's business now. He's a retired sailor (from the Navy, not competition) and takes the denizens of the small towns of CT to and from locations of their choosing. All at a small price. Until recently, Harvey made his dough by driving the one and only Arthur Miller (the famous playwright...sigh...here) as well as Miller's daughter and her husband (actor Daniel Day Lewis...yes...Google is your friend). All in all having Harvey drive you is cheaper than parking at the airport. MJ and her Mommala used to have Harvey take them as well, be it to the airport or to New York (beats having to do the driving yourself).

So, with MJ unhappy with her new lifestyle up in the C.A. (because there is no cool way to say Ontario...just ask Don Cherry (Here's a link for you, lazy bum) about it), she marched into her room, packed up an overnight bag, returned to the living room, and announced to her parents that she was leaving and would, "be outside waiting for Harvey to pick her up." That's right, she'd wait for her ride.

Times have changed. When I was a kid, running away meant actually packing a bag and a snack, grabbing some wheels (bike or skates) and actually going out for a few hours...only to get hungry and want to come home.

My oldest sister...well, she hid in a closet and freaked the bejesus out of my parents.

My mother was allowed and sort of encouraged to leave home by her parents, but she wasn't allowed to cross the street, so she had to bike around the block over and over and over again. Eventually she got tired and bored and went home, because she figured a roof was better than circling for another hour.

Isn't it a rite of passage in some ways? Hasn't every kid at some point been fed up with the rules and said, "Screw it...I'm leaving," then left the house? Of course the modern generation really has nothing to rebel against because most parents are desperate to be friends with their kids. If you're getting every little thing you want, why leave?

And why was it that so many people wanted to run away to the circus? I wanted to run and live at Madison Square Garden. I figured the food would be good, and I could watch free sporting events. Yet it was always portrayed as the kid running away to join the circus...and then the parents would die from grief. Is that really the goal of running away? To make the parents die? Then who do you prove your point to in the end? Look Grandma...I made Mom die from grief. I win!

It's changed. My niece may have been waiting for her ride, but a nine year old in Alabama decided that he would just take mom and dad's wheels. He hopped in the truck, turned it on (after liberating dad's keys, of course), and started driving to a better life. He didn't expect to be pulled over by the cops, but they said he was polite...so mom and dad should take it easy on him.

Or there's the girl who bought a plane ticket on Orbitz using daddy's credit card because she wanted to see grandma, and mom and dad said she couldn't for a few months. She almost made it too...until the gate agents wondered why she was flying alone and asked. The kicker? Daddy's credit card was not reimbursed. Ouch. Little Suzie (or whatever he name is) will be working that one off for a while.

Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I understand that some kids run away from really tough situations. What I mean here is not the kid who is being beaten by dad who has just put a bar of soap in a sock and wants to beat the kid like a drum. There's about a million of those kids out there, and they shouldn't be, and if that dad comes around me, I'd wail on him...but that's just me. No, I'm talking about the kid who wants chocolate, but he or she doesn't get it, so it's time to bolt.

It's a different culture now. Kids feel they should have more privileges, and if they don't get them, they'll go where they can get them. MJ is only 3, and she already has tried to run away. I think I was 7. My sister was also 7 or maybe 8. I can only hope that my sister and my brother-in-law are ready for this. MJ is super smart, good at manipulating, and cute...and she's only 3. When she's 13, the male population is going to be destroyed...but that's another post entirely.

And then there's my son. My lovely wife and I do our best with Little Leab (the clear favorite term for him as so many people tell me), but eventually he'll try it once. I can only hope he isn't as stubborn as I was and wait out in the rain in the middle of a swamp because you're sister (the middle one) told you that your siblings were getting candy and you weren't because your were adopted and no one liked you. Then, when you went to talk to your mom about it, she said she couldn't talk to you because she was busy. So you believed your sister, packed a bag, and left...only to lose a shoe in the nasty swamp water. You get the idea.

I guess I'll cross that bridge when it gets here. Ah parenthood.

Don't worry MJ. Harvey will be there in like...fifteen years to take you to university.

But then again, what do I know? I never made it as far as the circus. I could be wrong.