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.

Ramblings for the Afternoon (6/22/08)

I haven't done a rambling in a while, so with the sun and the rain here today (and my gardening on and off hold), here you go.

So, without further ado: PARENTHOOD!
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The Beauty of Words:
I have to thank "Michele" for this:



This picture comes from "Wordle" and is of one of the poems that I love to teach: Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken.


I recommend, dear reader, that you take a text that you love (including one of your own blog posts if you wish) and see what it looks like.

It's an interesting idea, and it could also become a useful tool. Take a philosophical text, and use Wordle to find the strongest ideas. Those are usually the words repeated the most.

Could this be a teaching tool? Hmmm.

--------------------------------------------------
#2:
Little Leab has become Toddler Leab (though he's still Little Leab). Friday he turned two. It's odd watching him and thinking about how much he's changed since he was born. Instead of a mush-covered conehead, I now have a blonde whirling-dervish.

On the day my son was born, the hospital decided that my wife would be the room for teaching. That's right: She got the newbies. This meant that eight people were in the room when my son was born (he was the ninth). I didn't get to cut his cord, but I'm not bitter. I got something better instead.

And two years of being a father have taught me patience. Infinite patience. Yet, I wouldn't ask for anything else.

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Vague Understanding of Choice:
It's election time again, which means annoying commercials, yahoos screaming at you in the street, and (my personal favorite) dinner or late-night phone call surveys. For three days in a row, I have been called to answer questions about presidential and senatorial candidates. I usually don't answer, but with family members outside the country right now, I pick up the phone when it says "Unknown" as it may be one of them. I'm also not rude enough to hang up.

What has struck me about these surveys were how vague the questions were worded and how your choices were not varied (though this also tips you off as to who is sponsoring the call).

Examples: The first call was about Al Franken and Norm Coleman. The vague questions begin here:

"What is," the tele-marketer starts, "more likely to make you vote for Norm Coleman: If he cuts taxes or raises taxes?"

"Whose taxes?" I ask. "Raise the middle or cut the middle? Raise the rich or cut the rich? Can you be more specific?"

"No," I am told. "Just answer the questions.

Beyond this, the questions begin to get slightly pointed. "If I told you that Al Franken enjoys ripping the heads off of puppies and sucking the blood while shooting your grandma, would you be more or less likely to vote for him?"

Maybe not that pointed, but you get the idea.

The other issue is the choice of answers. "Who are you more likely to vote for in the upcoming election," Gene asks me. "Barack Obama or John McCain?"

"I don't know," I reply. "Is there an undecided?"

"There is, but then you have to tell us who you are at least leaning toward."

"No one. I'm really undecided right now until I hear them discuss the issues that matter to me."

"Ummmm," Gene says, "That isn't going to work. You have no inkling right now? I need a name or a leaning."

I don't understand why he couldn't just put that I was undecided. Perhaps that means problems for the candidates and their spin crew who don't want to hear, "there's people who have NO idea who to vote for." That won't help them win.

Of course what do I know? I asked about the Communist candidates. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

Marketing and Incentives: or Why Am I Broke?

Marketing.

For many companies, marketing is the life blood. If you can't get the people to see and want your product, then you won't make money.

Some marketing is upfront. Look at Pontiac (the car maker). They have attached their name to television shows (such as Survivor) and viewers can vote weekly for the "Pontiac Game-Changing Performance" of a college football game. Whenever a game-changing performance happens, the announcers say, "That could be the Pontiac game-changing performance of the game, Dick/Ted/name here."

Another example of upfront marketing are things like product placement in films. Look at the car that the actor or actress drives in a film. I remember how funny it was that so many action heroes had cars that wouldn't get a scratch (I'm looking at a few of your films, Mr. Bond), but the bad guy's cars (usually no name cars...or missing emblems) got destroyed. Bond, for example, had one film where Q talked about how great his BMW is. This was probably added to the script later.

Sporting events also carry marketing. The entire arena has product placement all around it.

However, some marketing is done on a more subliminal level. Will Smith is the bad ass cop...who happens to drink Mountain Dew.

Other examples are ads or events that the company don't necessarily plan. Nintendo released Wii Fit, and it immediately sold out, but the peripheral to the Nintendo Wii keeps getting press. This is due to a video on You Tube (I won't post the link, you can find it yourself) where a man filmed his girlfriend using the system while she was in her underwear. Not to be outdone, Playboy took this further and had gals do this in lingerie...and in the nude. Geeky (and lonely) gamers everywhere rejoiced, but it also made Wii Fit get repeated over and over again (and it only takes a few times to make it stick in your mind).

Nintendo also got this with CNN's Anderson Cooper. Notice how many times "Wii" is said as well as how they show the two anchors using Wii Fit.

I bring this up because we are entering that fabulous season where every commercial from now until mid-November will be marketing a person. Yes, it's voting season. Already we have a McCain ad running where he talks about being a prisoner of war. They are marketing his experience. To paraphrase an old Hebrew song, "Spin, Spin, Spin...here comes the political spin. Let's all buckle in tight, because the spin starts tonight."

The darker side of business, however, is in sales. My wife's father is a salesman...but that's for another time. Many salespeople are given incentives and commission. This makes them work hard for their money. However, they are also a breed of person unto themselves. An example of this came when my wife and I were on a business trip in Vail.

In 2005, the company my wife worked for (we'll call it a large medical device company in Minnesota) sent her to Vail to meet with its sales staff. Her job was to explain the medical and engineering aspects of the product so the salespeople could answer questions for the doctors. Sounds simple, right?

There's a great line from The Producers (the original 1968 version), where Max says, "Actors are people? You ever eat with one?"

Change actors to salespeople and there you go.

There are certain things you can count on when it comes to sales:

1. Ego, ego, ego. There will be a great deal of it thrown around.

2. Boys' club. Yes, there are saleswomen, but for the most part, it's men.

3. Get out the urinal... because it will be a pissing contest. And...

4. Lord of the Flies. If you aren't part of the tribe, you will be killed or banished.

This was all seen in a two hour period by my very own eyes. While my wife explained to me that she was treated badly all day (never called by name, just, "Honey, Sweetie, Baby, Etc; left out of conversations or just plain made fun of), I replied, "It couldn't be THAT bad."

I was wrong.

As we had dinner with them, they ignored my wife. She is a fascinating and intelligent woman, but they didn't care.

Again, refer to the rules.

1. When my wife, a football fan, called one guy on his bullshit story about being front row at the stadium in her hometown, he attempted to attack her for showing him up. Most of the conversations were ego-stroking. "Really, you shot a 90? That's amazing. You're so great...,"blah,blah blah.

I will admit that I am slightly overprotective of my wife, so I started taking aim at these guys. Salespeople are truly about the ego, so if you poke at them, you can, like a balloon, deflate them.

2. There was one saleswoman. She was from Dallas, but she acted like the men. She sat like a guy, and she discussed (and I wish I was kidding) the difference between real and fake breasts in strip clubs. She takes her clients there to seal the deal...even gets a lap dance to help the guys. Wow....

So it was mostly men, and they talked to me. Not my wife, the fellow employee...me. Of course I totally screwed with them and told them I was the new rep out of Houston.

You see, if you know how to read people, you can manipulate them. It can be fun. My wife enjoyed it as I made them feel horrible by talking about how I was in my second year and had made a quarter of a million dollar sale (using the engineering jargon helped). This also helped with #1.

3. This led to me and another guy at my table (Dan, from California) putting down the proverbial glass and seeing who could piss into it from further away.

"I saw Mark Messier play live," Dan says.

"Oh yeah," I retort," I was at game seven in 1994 when he hoisted the cup for the Rangers. Even got to meet him at an after party.... Great guy."

Dan deflates a little, then says, "Speaking of parties, do you know who I met the other day? Charlize Theron. Ever meet her?" (This is a sign of desperation. If you're asking the other pisser if he or she knows the person, then you are desperate.)

Other guys had conversations about who hit a golf ball father ("By a whole three inches," one guy says. "Isn't that your penis size," I say sort of jokingly to Dan.)

4. My wife is shunted into a corner table because she's the engineer. Not knowing any of these people and making up a fictious life (I live in the Woods section of Houston, have three dogs which are all Airdales...thanks mom..., and once played golf with Bill Murray on accident.) suddenly has us move from the corner to the right center table near the VP of Sales. How sad. Oh, and the VP? Loved me. He was sad when I told him I "forgot" my cards in my room. My wife was mortified.

The Sales and Marketing part of my wife's (then) company drove her batty. Her job, at the time, was to save the company money. Which led to her final disgust of that weekend:

My wife saved her company a little over three quarters of a million dollars in one section. The marketing and sales team spent a little under $700,000 on schwag (or swag), a remake of a movie where they inserted salespeople, and "benefits" (one guy from Boston admitted that the company paid for his call girl). The first thing they did was take a film (in this case, several differnt Under Armor commercials), and inserted members of the sales team into it. They had to get the rights to use the commercials (they paid for it), and then go around and film the different sales people acting like the guys in the commercials and edit it.

They were also given bags (leather...very nice) with more items inside. Personalized iPods, large gift certificates to places like Best Buy, and more. One guy even got a certificate for a trip to Cabo. That's a ton of money spent.

So what's the point of all this? Well, the point is that with all of the stuff done with marketing and sales for this company, it was not surprising that they lost money.

I don't get incentives to do my job. Sure, I always joke that I want the kids to do really well so they can come back and help me retire early, but it's just a joke. For salespeople, incentives and commission are a way of life, but sometimes companies go too far, and it leads to destruction instead of salvation.

Of course what do I know? I get a mug and a handshake for my work. I could be wrong.

Namaste.

A Well-Known Truth

Quick, read this article.
Done?
Ok, the retort to the story is quite easy: Fucking duh, people.

The NBA needs money. Look at the ridiculous contracts that are out there:
Kevin Garnett: $22,000,000...this season.
Kobe Bryant: $20,000,000...this season.
Steve Nash: $11,375,000...this season.
The top 50 guys all make AT LEAST ten million each.

As for teams, well the Dallas Mavericks, according to Hoops Hype (I'm told it is a reputable source), have a team salary of 105 million dollars. That's twelve guys for 8.75 million each (though one player, Jason Kidd, makes almost twenty million).

It's no wonder that Donaghy may have received orders. It makes perfect sense.

The ref keeps star players and tosses the "role players" (who have the role of being tossed). Because the stars are playing, the people are watching at home and in the stands, which means that more concessions (such as, oh...I don't know...beer) are being bought.

This generates revenue, which is needed to keep the league going. If the stars are out, no one watches, which means TV ads aren't sold, concessions aren't bought, and "gear" is not purchased (we'll get to that in a minute).

However, this is nothing new. For years, people talked about how Michael Jordan got favored by the refs. In 1995, for example, Jordan held Hersey Hawkins (a player for the then Charlotte Hornets). This was to stop Hawkins from making a winning layup that would have sent the playoff series back to Charlotte. Jordan ADMITTED that he held Hawkins. He put his hands in the air to signal to refs and announcers that he should be charged with the foul, but nothing happened. Why? Because he was the biggest star in the league at the time. Hawkins even had a funny take on it: "It's Michael Jordan, and I'm Hersey Hawkins." (By the way...Just in case you don't know who Hawkins is.)

It was good for business to have Jordan play more. People would be more likely to watch Jordan, because he could fly. My mother, for example, called him handsome and enjoyed watching his acrobatics. I used to go to Knick games with my sister, and the Knicks/Bulls matchups were always standing room only. No other team did that (and the Knicks, good as they were, still sucked then too).

Now, the way to tell who the calls will be for can be seen in sales. Kobe Bryant is the number one selling jersey in the world. People call him the next Jordan. He makes people get in the stands and watch the game. This means...he will not be called for fouls. Last year, for example, he had a flagrant foul, but he didn't sit out for it. The league ruled that it wasn't intentional. Just like Jordan, they had to keep him going.

As the NBA Finals go on this year, the league is hoping for a long series. Boston and Los Angeles are very popular, so it makes sense.

Don't think for a minute this is solely in the NBA. We just know that one dirty referee is stepping up and saying that executives are calling the shots. Look at each of the other major sports.

NFL: Top jersey sales:

1. Tony Romo, Dallas Cowboys
2. Tom Brady, New England Patriots
3. Brett Favre, Green Bay Packers
4. Peyton Manning, Indianapolis Colts
5. LaDainian Tomlinson, San Diego Chargers

All of them were in the playoffs. Both Romo and Brady constantly had calls help them. Didn't make it to the end zone? Um...there was pass interference. One NFL exec last year said the Super Bowl would be the best if Peyton Manning and Tom Brady could both play in it. If not that...then Romo and Brady would be best. The Giants and Patriots was called, "Unsexy."

The point is that the main stars are constantly helped in some way...even though it is a team sport. Detroit has no one, and you don't see the refs favoring them. I'm just saying....

NHL: Top Sales of Jerseys

1. Sidney Crosby, Pittsburgh Penguins. No surprise here as he is the next Gretzky (a man who always got the call), but it is interesting that he, at the tender age of 20, is now protected by the refs.

2. Alex Ovechkin, Washington Capitals. Same thing as Crosby, though Ovechkin was called for checking Crosby once.

You get the idea. Pittsburgh made it to the finals this year, where they lost to one of the top selling teams of all time: The Detroit Red Wings.

This has always been true in hockey. You couldn't check Gretzky. In the nineties, you couldn't check Peter Forsberg, Mario Lemieux, Jaromir Jagr, or Martin Brodeur (a goalie who interfered with players, but got away with it).

MLB:

The New York Yankees were the perennial, but Boston has surpassed them in some ways. In the United States, it's cool to like and own Boston gear and HATE the Yankees, but if you go outside the U.S., the Yankees are numero uno. In Japan, it's by a landslide. Heck, even vendors in Paris carry New York Yankee caps. What does this tell you? Well, the top teams (Boston, New York) are always in the playoffs. On those teams are some of the top players in the game. If the strike zone happens to shrink while they are batting...it's called a personal zone for the ump...but what if it isn't? What if the ump is told to help certain players. Ken Griffey Jr just hit his 600th home run. It sure was nice that it was done when everyone could see it and watch and cheer.

So if you're a PR or Marketing person, how do you fix this? Months ago, the commissioner of basketball, David Stern, made loud, angry speeches denouncing Donaghy and said the league was clean. Um, oops? Does he lose some credit now?

How does one spin this?

"Um, yes, it may have happened, but it's how new stars are made. You see, if a player can overcome the calls, then he deserves to be considered elite. So, he'll start getting those calls, and you'll cheer as he attempts to overcome. David and Goliath, folks. David and Goliath."

The bottom line is that if you are at all surprised by the idea that people get preferential treatment, then you don't live in the real world. Outside of sports, some people get a boss' attention, some students get a little bump from a teacher, and some people have different rules to follow.

This is the way life is, so find a way to get those calls, ladies and gentlemen.

Of course what do I know? I've been ignoring refs all my life (not unlike Bill Laimbeer). I could be wrong.

Namaste.

A Glorious Return

The school year has ended.
Many students have said their goodbyes (as have some teachers), and I return to a life not unlike the monks in the Arizona desert (minus the publishing of bibles).
Ironic Teachings has returned from his self-exposed exile with OH so much to say.

It's good to be home.

Stepping Out of the Light

This is it. Break time.
For the next six months, this blog will be dark. I have a new blog, and those who have written me will soon get a link to this new vision of mine.

I should apologize for not posting before this, but I've been busy with finals this week.

So what do I say before I step out of the light? I thought about talking about my Turkey Day, but that seemed to selfish.

I had a post talking about the unfortunate nature of the modern teenager, but I don't want to get fired (and Big Brother is watching).

So what do I end with?

Well, I just want to thank you, dear reader, for being a part of this journey for the last two years. Though my stories may seem incredibly odd, or even maybe narcissistic, my hope is that my trials, tribulations, and experiences have helped you to learn something.

The world is an odd place. The more you experience people, the easier it becomes to read them. Go out and meet people. Talk to people. Don't be afraid.

Frank Herbert said, "Fear is the mind killer." It's true. People have so many fears, and it cripples them.

Don't be afraid. Don't let the possibility of looking foolish stop you.

I wish you peace, happiness, and love. If you really need some Ironic, please look over my posts from the last two years.

Namaste, and I'll see you in a while.

Leab

Thankful

What I'm thankful for:

I'm thankful for a wonderful, understanding wife, and though we may not always agree, she is one of the reasons I'm still alive.

I'm thankful for my son, who reminds me that I must continue to make the world a better place...at least for his sake.

I'm thankful for my sisters and parents. They are the reminders of what I came from, and regardless of good or bad, I know that we need each other and will be there for one another at any time.

I'm thankful for my job. Sure, it has its negatives at times, but I enjoy (for the most part) the kids and adults I work with on a daily basis.

I'm thankful for my health (for better or worse). I don't need a wheelchair, I don't need someone to wipe my butt, and I can still eat corn. That, to me, means I'm ok.

I wish you a blissful Thanksgiving.

Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (11/17/07)

I find it fascinating that as I prepare to return to anonymity, more people want to get to know me and want to read the blog. It's Murphy's Law: you tell people they can't have it or won't get it anymore, and they desperately need it. Keep it there, and no one cares.
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: REXIE
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Around the Interweb:
When I get Insomnia, which is frequent, I start searching around the web for interesting facts, tidbits, and sites to read.

I don't use Twitter. There are a few people I know (including some readers) who Twitter constantly.
However, I can see the value in it.
That's why I present an interesting link to the Writers' Strike.
You can get an interesting look at how things are going from this link.
Otherwise, you can find some resources for the strike here.

Let's say, however, that the whole shutdown is not your thing. Maybe coffee is your thing. In the modern society, people have begun to stop going to coffee shops and make just single servings of coffee (The Leab Lair currently has a Keurig). If you want more information about the machines and coffees available, then I recommend singleservecoffee.com. The site gives you reviews, recipes, and everything else you might need.

Finally, I recommend DVD Verdict. This site has reviews from viewers like me about DVD releases. The best part, however, is they tell you whether or not you should buy the DVD. For example, as the holiday season approaches, movie studios are putting out shiny new versions of already released films. The reviewers will tell you honestly if the upgrade is worth it.
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Do You Hear that Cliquing Sound?:
I am a very reasonable person, but I find it fascinating that Cyberspace is almost exactly like real life: people get into cliques and have a really hard time getting out of them.
Look at MNSpeak, for example. If you're part of the clique, then more links appear to things that you write. If you aren't, then you're nothing more than a lurker or a troll. I've been a part of the site ever since Rex put me on a link, but if I comment or try to post, the piece is either ignored (including a wonderful comment of "Who the hell is this guy") or it turns into a stupid troll fest where the end point is nowhere near what was mentioned.

It's sad but true that life is really like high school. You will fall in with like people, you will have a group that you shun or shuns you, and people are afraid of ideas that challenge their beliefs.

I find it fascinating that many of the MNSpeakers take shots at Hipsters...and then act just like them. It's the kids who get bullied and then when they have power...bully other people.
Look, I like the site alot, but if the point is to not only get information across to the public, but also bring Minnesotans together, it's failing. The originals are starting to abandon the site.

And as I finish this piece, I would bet someone from the site will read it and bitch. Maybe I'm wrong, but it had a different feel only a year ago.

And finally....
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It Burns:
Warning: the following story is not for the faint of heart or those afraid of the dentist. If you are either of those, skip this piece all together.

You've been warned.

I had to return to the dentist to have the tooth from the last time I was there checked on by the doctor. It pretty much hasn't stopped bleeding since the root canal, but that's not the point right now. It needed to be checked and a filling needed to be put in on my rear-most tooth.

As a surprise, everything was going well, though it looks like I will need to schedule a second surgery for July (along with another surgery for myself that I'm not going into right now).

So the dentist finishes the tooth and all looks well. Now the hygienist steps in and begins that final process of making sure the bite is even. If it isn't, she has to grind the tooth down. This is what was happening as the problem occurred.

The dental light was tipped too far forward, so the heat was not able to escape and went right at the bulb. As the bulb gets hotter and hotter, the heat inside needs to be released. If the air can't go up and out, it cooks the bulb until it literally breaks.

Or in my case, it explodes. This is what happened as I lay there.

I warned the woman that something was wrong, I could see smoke wisping out. I pointed, but it was too late. The bulb exploded and glass showered down over me and the hygienist...and it burned.

Worse still, the hygienist had to cover herself, which means she jerked and the grinder/drill went into my cheek.

So, my head is burning where the glass landed, and my cheek has been twisted by whatever tool dug into the flesh. The other hygieniest, who happened to be passing by in the hallway, freaked out and ran to get a wet towel. I almost think that she (and the rest of the office) were afraid that I was badly burned and would sue.

Honestly, I felt worse for gal working on my mouth. While I just had hot glass on my head and arms, she got some down the back of her neck. Not so easy to shake off. I hope she's ok.

It just goes to show you:

1. I'm not supposed to be at the dentist. Bad things keep happening to me there, and

2. Sometimes when a client not in the know tells you something is wrong, be prepared.

Of course, what do I know? I don't listen when a student says, "I'm too dumb to get this." I could be wrong.

Thirteen days.

Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (11/13/2007)

The countdown continues. Roughly seventeen days until this blog goes dark...kind of like Broadway, but that's another story.
Let's get to it....
So without further ado: BOOGIE!
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The Cost of Politics:
By now everyone knows the story about Stephen Colbert and his attempt to run for President in only South Carolina.
What I find fascinating is the immense difference in the filing fee.

Democratic filing fee: $2,500
Republican filing fee: $35,000

The almost $33,000 difference illustrates the problem with modern politics: he (or she) with the most money will almost always win.

Now maybe this will be wrong, but so far I believe the last few elections have worked this way. Examples of cash can be seen here.

So, if the race is truly about money, here's my idea: do away with the whole election process. The electoral college is unbalanced, the whole "absentee" and "electronic" ballet issue means it's easy to cheat, and most people don't like to wait in line in order to decide. With the writers on strike (more on that later), I propose a 13 episode reality series along the lines of Project Runway (which my wife is anxiously awaiting with bated breath...me not so much). This can go one of two ways (and this is all copyrighted, so no stealing...Hollywood...I'm watching).

1. We get 12 candidates: 5 GOP, 5 Democrat, and 2 Independent (numbers work this out right). Each candidate has exactly thirteen weeks to raise as much money as possible through a series of challenges. The first challenge could be actually walking the street and trying to get money from the people. Businesses, however, cannot dump huge chunks on these people (sorry Oil, Special Interests, and such). Each week, a candidate is released after he or she fails to raise enough money (lowest goes..and so on). In the end, there will be two candidates, and here is where America gets to decide. This can be done in one of two ways as well.

A. Each person gets one phone call. Whoever has the most calls, wins. No phone banking, no repeat dialing. Or...

B. Everyone in America gets to donate $1 to the candidate of choice. Whoever has the most money, wins.

Now if this ideas doesn't sound pleasant, let's try...

2. A la Project Runway, we have a panel of ex-presidents, presidential candidates, and respected journalists (such as Bill Clinton, George Bush, Ross Perot [the sassy voice on the panel], and Walter Cronkite). We then follow our candidates through a series of challenges and debates. One could be talking to a room full of people registered for the other party, for example. In the end, three candidates are left (here it's preferably a GOP, a Democrat, and an Independent, but you never know), and they face off in debates, and a big challenge: convincing their worst enemy or political foe (for Democrats, Bill O'Reilly and Ann Coulter; for Republicans, Al Franken and Bill Maher) that the candidate is the right man or woman for the job. The panel then picks the winner, and we have the next President of the United States.

It would work. If only we could work in Tim Gunn....

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Seven/Ten Split...or Strike:

Both ends of the spectrum are on strike. In Hollywood, the writers have walked out. At the same time the stagehands walked off the job. Again, this seems to be happening at the right time for certain shows and horribly wrong time for others. Let's start in L.A.

The writers walk, taking some actors with them, and now many of the networks are spinning up cheap replacements in the form of reality shows. What's interesting is that many of the networks seem to want to use these reality shows. It's pretty easy to see why:

Advertisers have already bought the ad time, so the networks have the money. With the shows on hiatus, the networks have cheaper replacements that cost little to make and have high revenue. No wonder Newscorp keeps vetoing any contract talks. They want the money.

Just look at some of these shows:

Celebrity Apprentice: "Stars" compete for Donald Trump's thumbs up.

Amnesia: Dennis Miller (why?) asks contestants to recall moments in their lives.

Farmer Wants a Wife: (My favorite) A farmer gets to choose a city gal to be his betrothed.

American Gladiators: It's back...with Hulk Hogan. Woot?

Do You Trust Me?: Ironically enough, the host is Tucker Carlson...oh and the show is about contestants having confidence in each other.

It just keeps going. Personally I love this strike, because it means that bad movies will be on hold, TV shows can take a moment to think about the scripts instead of rushing them, and maybe now...people will read more...or maybe go to the theatre...WAIT A SECOND.

On the opposite coast, the stagehands walked out of most shows. There are only eight still going:

1. “Cymbeline”

2. “Mary Poppins”

3. “Mauritius”

4. “Pygmalion”

5. “The Ritz”

6. “Young Frankenstein”

7. “Xanadu”

8. “The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.”

What a boon for these shows that they have a separate union contracts and can continue. As for the rest...well...many people have been getting refunds, and after a few days, Broadway is asking for financial help.

Now as a techy, I see why they're striking. They want better pay and new work rules that keeps them safe. Isn't that what everyone wants? Good pay and a safe place to work. How could that be wrong?

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Two (Sadly) Down:

Two people that I admire died recently.

The first, though it may sound funny, is Robert Goulet.

The second is Norman Mailer.

Goulet was one of those guys who really had no problem making fun of himself, and he was a genuinely nice guy. For the modern generation he'll probably be remembered as nothing more than the guy in those Emerald Nuts commercials, but he had quite a voice.

Mailer is different. He may not have been the nicest person in the world, but he wrote one of, if not the best, World War II stories: The Naxed and the Dead.

If you haven't read the book, do it now. Stop reading this, and go pick up the book.

Mailer, in the fiftieth anniversary of the book, mused on Tolstoy and explained his reasoning behind creating characters that struggle to retain dignity in the face of war:

"Compassion is of value and enriches our life only when compassion is severe, which is to say when we can perceive everything that is good and bad about a character but are still able to feel that the sum of us as human beings is probably a little more good than awful. In any case, good or bad, it reminds us that life is like a gladiators' arena for the soul and so we can feel strengthened by those who endure, and feel awe and pity for those who do not."

How can I possibly follow that up?

Seventeen days.

Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (11/4/2007)

Interesting things are afoot.

I find it truly fascinating that now that I am going to be taking a break (again, Michael Jordan 1993-1995) I have well wishers and readers again. How utterly Ironic.

So...without further ado: GET IT ON!

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Heartbreak Hotel:
Over the course of this week, several of my students have been dealing with breaking up, leaving relationships, dumping, and being dumped. Maybe it's the pressure of Halloween, or maybe it's the change in weather, but love has been in and out of the air of the school.

At one point I watched as one of my students wrestled with the emotion that comes from having to tell someone, "I don't like you in that way."

What was fascinating was that she was taking harder than he was. Indeed, I thought she was going to either cry or vomit...or possibly both. I wasn't sure which it would be.

Rare is it that you see the dumper taking it harder than the dumpee.

It's also strange to watch relationships in high school. When two 15-year-old kids proclaim their undying love for each other, you have to wonder if they truly understand what they are saying.

How many high school romances that are for "all time" end the second graduation is over?I had one couple who said, "I love you" to each other everyday for a week, and then the next week, they had broken up and had to be separated. Still, those couples are fun to make be Romeo and Juliet.

Sometimes, however, you get to see some really fun couples. And by really fun, I mean couples that make you go, "How is she with him," or, "How can they be a couple," or, "Eww...that's just wrong...isn't it?"

Those couples are more the norm when dealing with a high school. One of my colleagues, for example, had a junior boy and freshman girl couple in one of his classes. They would decide, at random times, to make out during the class. It was so bad at one point that the teacher was considering buying a water pistol and treating the kids as if they were bad kittens. Sometimes that works.

And yet love is a crazy, complicated thing. I have discovered some things over the course of time. I've been the dumper, and I've been the dumpee. The last time I was dumped (a story you may or may not recall), I took it hard. That was the second time I had been dumped, too. The first time really wasn't bad. In fact, I was kind of glad she did dump me.

As for dumping someone, it can be harsh, but I would argue it's easier to break a heart than to have a heart broken (but what do I know? Go ask Alexis).

In all honesty, here's what to think about when dumping somone or being dumped. I could also talk about what to do when someone you care about dies, but that's for another time.

1. Break ups are hard. Don't forget that. This is not supposed to be easy, roll-off-your-back stuff.

2. It takes time. If you've been in a relationship that's lasted over the course of some time, you don't get dumped or dump someone and feel great the next day. It takes time to deal. Don't be Superman or Wonder Woman. Just relax and take the time to heal.

3. Hang on to your friends and use them. They know you well. Hopefully you were smart and didn't alienate them when you started this relationship. And don't try to poach friends. If your Ex had them as friends first, don't try to make them stick with you. It's not fair to them, and it doesn't really make you look good. Still, hold on to your friends and go to them for what you need to hear.

4. Don't go to deep into reasons. Some people have the ability to read too deeply or to over analyze situations. Usually this leads to the "If Only's" which is when you start saying things like, "IF ONLY I had bought her that movie she wanted," or, "IF ONLY I'd done (Fill in the Blank) with him." This isn't helpful and ignores reality.

5. (If you dump) Be Honest. If it's them, be honest. Don't pull punches, but don't be overly critical or harsh. Just like everything else, keep it simple and honest.

6. Take the proper amount of time. You CAN feel bad, but after some time passes, it is time to get on with your life. Mourning too long is not healthy. This leads to the final tip:

7. Take care of yourself. Look, you can feel bad, and you can have some alcohol, or ice cream, or whatever terrible thing makes you feel better, but do it in moderation, and don't do anything that will cause you to be in serious trouble (law or health wise). You need to do something that will make you like yourself (and gluttony or alcoholism won't do that).

Think about this the next time this happens.

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Me and the News Guys:

They say that you attract a certain type of person, and this seems to be true when it comes to friends as well.

I was lucky to get Superstar Jason DeRusha as a regular reader of the blog before he became Superstar J.R. Great guy.

Recently, my son's daycare had a Halloween party. My wife and I attended, because we thought it would be fun.

So I'm sitting at the table while my son chows on some "Dirt Desert" (which I didn't want him eating, but he should try sugar...I guess), and the guy sitting next to me has his daughter (I assumed) with him. She is wearing a Supergirl outfit. I think that's cool, so I made a comment. "Her costume is awesome."

"Thanks," Father and daughter reply.

The guy and I start talking about comic books (among other things), and we discover that we have similar senses of humor (much to my wife's chagrin).

Later, as we're leaving, he and I start talking again and he asks me, "So, what comic books do you read?"

"Well," I reply, "I love Green Lantern."

He pauses, while holding his daughter's hand, and says, "I think I have a man crush right now."

My wife laughs.

"We should exchange numbers at some point," he comtinues.

"That'd be great," I reply.

"Great. Get my number from Lisa (the director)."

The next day my wife calls me as I'm on the way home from work.

"I talked to Lisa," she tells me. "Do you know who the guy you were talking to is?"

"No."

"He's Keith Marler," she says.

"Who?"

"He's the morning Meterologist for channel 9."

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I get the news people. They just seem to like me.

First DeRusha and Shelby, now Marler and Passolt. Heck, I've even had dealings with Tim Sherno...but that's another story.

Of course what do I know? I'm a demographic. Maybe that's what they see. I could be wrong.

Namaste.