Returning to Reality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now let me make a few things clear:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the Favre Jets

I feel vindicated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So let's cover this again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

Olympic Fever...No One is Catching It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First and foremost: we no longer trust our athletes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swimming

Diving

Fencing

Archery

Gymnastics (Go little Kerri Strug!)

Judo and Wrestling

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

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

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

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

Softball. See baseball.

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

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

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

Sailing. I don't know where to begin.

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

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

Yes, we want Track and Field.

Yes, we want Diving and Swimming.

Yes, we want the Weight Lifting

Just cut out the boring and unnecessary events.

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

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

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

Ramblings for the Evening (7/23/08)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

Watchmen

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

Enjoy the preview.

Here.

Or...

"Official Trailer"

Pulling Back the Curtain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope. You lose."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take a magic trick: (ILLUSIONS, Michael!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

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

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

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

So how does this happen three times?

Time #1:

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

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

I asked him, "Are you ok?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?! Is anyone in there?!"

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

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

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

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

"He's not dead."

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

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

That one was pretty easy and ended quickly.

Time #2:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, this leads to....

Time #3:

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

A. Was it a stupid/cruel joke, or

B. Was it sent to the wrong person?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want us to print a retraction?"

"Can you do that?" I ask.

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

"Ok. How do I do that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

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

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

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

Shameless Promotion (for someone else)

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


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

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

Awesome.

Namaste.

Brilliant Silence

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

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

All of these things describe the amazing George Carlin.

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

His piece on flying is classic and still holds today.

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

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

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

Lovingly Ripped-Off

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

I have here an example of this great tactic:

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



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



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

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

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

Namaste.

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!
------------------------------------------------------
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.

------------------------------------------------
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