The other day I was driving behind a small Honda Civic. I know, I know, where's the story going, Dave?
On the rear window the owner had one of those family stickers, you know the type, a mother, a father and a couple of kids holding hands. I wasn't really sure what type of family owned a Honda Civic, but I moved on to the next bumper sticker.
In white capital letters on a black background it read, "DON'T BE A DICK."
An interesting message for a family vehicle.
But I wonder, is this a preemptive "DON'T BE A DICK."? Is he telling me, "Dude, do not tailgate me, that's rude. I have a family." Because, I wasn't tailgating him. I was hanging back. Because I'm a good driver and I care about driver safety.
Was he maybe saying that I should treat my family and friends right? That I shouldn't hit my girlfriend? I just don't know what to believe.
I did, however, find it incredibly ironic that he (I'm just going to assume it was a dude at this point.) had one of those widened mufflers. The type that does very little actual muffling. To the point where you wonder, why did he pay for a muffler at all?
I'm pretty sure there isn't a single person whose driven behind a car with a muffler like that and hasn't thought, "Damn, this guy sure is a dick."
Friday, June 22, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
A Revised Letter for my hopes of Eventual Graduate School Acceptance
Dear Head of the Journalism Department,
My name is David Start and I want to be a humorist. Seeing as you offer no courses and or degrees in this subject, I would very much like to get into your school's prestigious Journalism program so I can sit next to a more academically ambitious student and give his or her project a running commentary and wrap up any and all assignments with in-depth, witty, yet practical analysis, while also doggedly trying to make all of my prospective Professors chuckle and or kick me out of his or her class due to my charmingly amusing antics.
Please accept me into your school. I promise I will only waste twenty to twenty-two hours of every day on frivolous ideas and awkwardly timed jokes. (I won't even post all of these on the internet, because that is perilously close to actually doing work, and I'll have none of that, thank you.)
If you don't accept me, could you please send this letter, my resume and my transcripts over to the Head of the Political Science department? If I can't learn to get paid for writing down my humorous take on the World, I'd really love to get paid sit around and talk shit about politicians all day. (That's called a Political Correspondent or Analyst, I believe, the Daily Show told me so.)
Thank you for your time,
Sincerely,
With love in my heart and laughter on my tongue,
Under the warmth of the sun and from the meticulously fanned light of your intellectual flame,
From Russia with Love,
David Start
P.S. Enclosed in this letter are a whoopee cushion and a webcam. You know what to do.
P.P.S. If you are possibly a Dean and or Head of Department, even a Professor of a school I may or may not attend, I absolutely do not feel this way about obtaining a higher education.
P.P.P.S. Unless you feel that way, then I totally do.
My name is David Start and I want to be a humorist. Seeing as you offer no courses and or degrees in this subject, I would very much like to get into your school's prestigious Journalism program so I can sit next to a more academically ambitious student and give his or her project a running commentary and wrap up any and all assignments with in-depth, witty, yet practical analysis, while also doggedly trying to make all of my prospective Professors chuckle and or kick me out of his or her class due to my charmingly amusing antics.
Please accept me into your school. I promise I will only waste twenty to twenty-two hours of every day on frivolous ideas and awkwardly timed jokes. (I won't even post all of these on the internet, because that is perilously close to actually doing work, and I'll have none of that, thank you.)
If you don't accept me, could you please send this letter, my resume and my transcripts over to the Head of the Political Science department? If I can't learn to get paid for writing down my humorous take on the World, I'd really love to get paid sit around and talk shit about politicians all day. (That's called a Political Correspondent or Analyst, I believe, the Daily Show told me so.)
Thank you for your time,
Sincerely,
With love in my heart and laughter on my tongue,
Under the warmth of the sun and from the meticulously fanned light of your intellectual flame,
From Russia with Love,
David Start
P.S. Enclosed in this letter are a whoopee cushion and a webcam. You know what to do.
P.P.S. If you are possibly a Dean and or Head of Department, even a Professor of a school I may or may not attend, I absolutely do not feel this way about obtaining a higher education.
P.P.P.S. Unless you feel that way, then I totally do.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
A Letter to Hot Waitresses
Dear Hot Waitresses, (Also, in this case, the one who served my table Friday at Outback.)
I'd like to lead this letter with a notation of how incredibly hot you all are. You're incredibly hot--beautiful even, if it makes you all feel less...thirteen.
Notation over.
Beyond that (incredibly important) point, I very much enjoyed your (in this case) quick and smiling service, and I'm inclined to visit your establishment again in the future--not only because I enjoy [Outback's] cuisine, but because you made my experience better and I kind of want to ask you out.
Which leads me to this letter, and why it exists. Hot waitresses, or if you want to go PC, incredibly beautiful female servers, seem to be a staple in the food industry. I understand the logic. People (all people, don't lie to me) like attractive people. Our biology essentially forces us to trust beauty. Ugly people are bad and they'll rifle through your purse if you get up to go to the restroom and leave it behind. I know it's horrible, but even ugly people like attractive people more...you don't fight your nature. (At least not with any expectation of winning.) Thus, (to the point) we (the people who dine at your establishments) are more inclined to tip an attractive server. We like you right away! An ugly waitress with a golden personality really doesn't have the time to win me over in the thirty minutes I'll be eating. Her tip may suffer.
Now, following the logic that many waitresses are beautiful leads you smack into the second conundrum:
Men are weak. At least in your presence, hot waitresses. We can't really help ourselves. You're everything we were born to love. You're beautiful. You smile a lot (so you must be happy!)You bring us food and in some cases pick up our trash when we finish. You keep our drinks full and laugh at our jokes. You are in a room full of televisions playing sports and you don't roll your eyes or complain about how we don't care about you anymore. You are the perfect woman.
So here's the question, all waitresses in general and also Outback waitress in particular, how does a guy know when there's something actually there? You, the employee aren't going to hit on the customer. That could lose you your job. And would come across as desperate.
The customer, of course will hit on you, and you'll respond lightly, with neither an affirmation or denial of his affection, because it could lose you money. But, then, I could see how from your perspective, I (male customers) am just flirting with you because that's what men do. We flirt with hot waitresses. It's safe to assume that you know how beautiful you are. You're serving tables, and making pretty good money doing it. You're not a child.
So then, the only option to those of us without cosmic charisma and killer good looks:
Go to the restaurant every weekend. Constantly connive to get the same server. And over a period of weeks and months, befriend her and win her over.
Of course in that time she could have met a guy at a bar one night and wha-la, boyfriended.
How do you win, in this situation, hot waitresses?
It certainly isn't the classic "number on the napkin." (Or dollar bill.)
I'm not a regular at very many bars anymore. But when I was, the waitresses loved to bring over the various notes they got from men throughout the night. Now, we all know I'm not above judging people. (That would be silly, I have a comedy blog.) These guys weren't always bad looking slobs. Some of them were well put together guys that if they asked me I'd give them some practiced line like, "I'm not gay, but if you're buying..." (Practiced because gay guys love me, obviously.)
Is it just something about the restaurant industry that kills your warm and fuzzy parts, hot waitresses? If I asked you out after talking to you at a coffee shop would you go out with me? Or kindly decline and quickly walk away so you could call...sorry--forgot the age--tweet all your friends about the "absolute idiot who just asked me out at Starbucks. He was kinda' cute though..." (I added that last part to feel better about this entire pretend situation.)
Well, I'm sorry, hot waitresses, that I have a hard time asking you out at work. Many of you are heartbreakingly beautiful and I know heartbreakingly isn't a word but, shouldn't it be?
Maybe, in the future, I'll find a way around the conundrum, like, right before you bring the check, asking "Hey, how do you feel about going out?"
I've heard that sometimes works.
Sincerely,
Dave
I'd like to lead this letter with a notation of how incredibly hot you all are. You're incredibly hot--beautiful even, if it makes you all feel less...thirteen.
Notation over.
Beyond that (incredibly important) point, I very much enjoyed your (in this case) quick and smiling service, and I'm inclined to visit your establishment again in the future--not only because I enjoy [Outback's] cuisine, but because you made my experience better and I kind of want to ask you out.
Which leads me to this letter, and why it exists. Hot waitresses, or if you want to go PC, incredibly beautiful female servers, seem to be a staple in the food industry. I understand the logic. People (all people, don't lie to me) like attractive people. Our biology essentially forces us to trust beauty. Ugly people are bad and they'll rifle through your purse if you get up to go to the restroom and leave it behind. I know it's horrible, but even ugly people like attractive people more...you don't fight your nature. (At least not with any expectation of winning.) Thus, (to the point) we (the people who dine at your establishments) are more inclined to tip an attractive server. We like you right away! An ugly waitress with a golden personality really doesn't have the time to win me over in the thirty minutes I'll be eating. Her tip may suffer.
Now, following the logic that many waitresses are beautiful leads you smack into the second conundrum:
Men are weak. At least in your presence, hot waitresses. We can't really help ourselves. You're everything we were born to love. You're beautiful. You smile a lot (so you must be happy!)You bring us food and in some cases pick up our trash when we finish. You keep our drinks full and laugh at our jokes. You are in a room full of televisions playing sports and you don't roll your eyes or complain about how we don't care about you anymore. You are the perfect woman.
So here's the question, all waitresses in general and also Outback waitress in particular, how does a guy know when there's something actually there? You, the employee aren't going to hit on the customer. That could lose you your job. And would come across as desperate.
The customer, of course will hit on you, and you'll respond lightly, with neither an affirmation or denial of his affection, because it could lose you money. But, then, I could see how from your perspective, I (male customers) am just flirting with you because that's what men do. We flirt with hot waitresses. It's safe to assume that you know how beautiful you are. You're serving tables, and making pretty good money doing it. You're not a child.
So then, the only option to those of us without cosmic charisma and killer good looks:
Go to the restaurant every weekend. Constantly connive to get the same server. And over a period of weeks and months, befriend her and win her over.
Of course in that time she could have met a guy at a bar one night and wha-la, boyfriended.
How do you win, in this situation, hot waitresses?
It certainly isn't the classic "number on the napkin." (Or dollar bill.)
I'm not a regular at very many bars anymore. But when I was, the waitresses loved to bring over the various notes they got from men throughout the night. Now, we all know I'm not above judging people. (That would be silly, I have a comedy blog.) These guys weren't always bad looking slobs. Some of them were well put together guys that if they asked me I'd give them some practiced line like, "I'm not gay, but if you're buying..." (Practiced because gay guys love me, obviously.)
Is it just something about the restaurant industry that kills your warm and fuzzy parts, hot waitresses? If I asked you out after talking to you at a coffee shop would you go out with me? Or kindly decline and quickly walk away so you could call...sorry--forgot the age--tweet all your friends about the "absolute idiot who just asked me out at Starbucks. He was kinda' cute though..." (I added that last part to feel better about this entire pretend situation.)
Well, I'm sorry, hot waitresses, that I have a hard time asking you out at work. Many of you are heartbreakingly beautiful and I know heartbreakingly isn't a word but, shouldn't it be?
Maybe, in the future, I'll find a way around the conundrum, like, right before you bring the check, asking "Hey, how do you feel about going out?"
I've heard that sometimes works.
Sincerely,
Dave
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Forcing Her Hand...In Marriage
There are a veritable slew of these things going around on Youtube now. It's not just this guy, but also one in Seattle, one in Washington, one in a mall...the list goes on.
'
I'm completely torn on the issue.
I'm a Hopeless Romantic so I really do hope, with all my bleeding heart, that this couple (these couples) do, in fact, get married. And then remain married for a hundred years. If not a thousand.
However, (of course there's a 'however') this is essentially forcing her to say yes. What type of person wants to be hated so much, to put so many people in such a weird place, as to say "no" in front of a thousand people? It's like asking her to marry you at a professional sporting event. She's going to say yes. There's like a one in one hundred chance she says no, or runs away, or whatever it is. More likely, she'll say yes, even if she doesn't mean it, and then in the car on the way home say something like "Yeah, sorry about earlier but...this isn't working out."
But, is that her fault? What kind of person puts her in that kind of position?
A smart, possibly conniving man who believes he can hold the situation together until there's a ring on that finger.
Oh, and also, thanks for one-upping every guy ever. It's pretty much Flashmob or Die now, and you know what? That sucks.
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Bad Sheriff
So, 5-Hour-Energy has gone and created the creepy "Energy Sheriff." Apparently being tired is now a crime. We can only assume that littering...isn't.
He's not really very good at his job.
He's not really very good at his job.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The Rise of the EPO
What is the deal with Engagement Photo Ops? When did this become a thing? Was it a thing before Facebook became a thing?
There are probably millions of these photos out there, lost to the World, neatly filed but decoratively arranged in albums with the couple's names engraved on the cover.
Of course, they are almost certainly covered with dust and sitting in Grandma's closet in a picnic basket that hasn't been used since picnic baskets were also things. Because no one looks at an EPO collection more than one time.
It was nice, the first time I saw one. (Of course, it actually was my Grandparents album, and it was a Wedding Album with some pre-Wedding photos.)
And then, it was still relatively nice when I was in my early twenties and my friends and old high school classmates getting married was still a relatively new phenomenon. That was back when people thought Facebook was a really great way to meet girls and rekindle lost friendships rather than a convenient way to share photos with the family or lose a job with style.
And sure, even then, sans Facebook, it was nice to see that, wow, Grandma and Grandpa were kids once. Damn, they got married young. It was even interesting seeing me standing next to my Mother and Father, looking like a boss with a stupid grin on my face.
Nowadays, everyone has a cousin or girl-friend that's a photographer. Five out of every four people have gone to Best Buy and looked through their camera section thinking, "Damn, if I could only afford this one I would take the absolute shit out of some photos."
Because, of course I would be great at it.
The thing that gets me, and this may seem horrible, Future Wife, but, I really can't think of anything I'd like to do less, in regards to getting married, than pose for an EPO. Wedding Photos? Sure. We're having a good time. We're dancing. Our friends and family are here. Let's take those photos. Someone get over here and take the absolute shit out of some photos.
But the idea of finding a photographer, (Not hard, got forty or so on my Facebook, I'll just post a status like "Hey need a photographer for something." And before I hit "enter" I'll have three personal messages and a price quote.) finding a location, and then smiling at my fiancee for however long an EPO takes to get done sounds suspiciously like torture.
I can just hear the not quite Hipster not quite Preppy photographer talking now:
Smile at her lovingly.
Now smile at her lovingly but tilt your head to the left.
Now lean against this tree, touch her stomach, and smile at her lovingly.
Too lovingly.
Whoa. Not lovingly enough? Dude, are you cheating on her?
Let the love reach your eyes.
Now stand in front of the sun. Lean on the tree. Climb the tree.
SMILE LOVINGLY AT HER FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!
Eventually, because I'm me, I'll get frustrated. Then I'll get smarmy. Then Future Wife will get mad, and then I'll get mad. But she'll smile, because she loves me (but she's beginning to question it) and say to me, in her most supplicatory voice, "Do it for me, baby."
And then she'll smile lovingly.
And of course I'll do the damn EPO, and the entire time I'll be thinking, if I am ever actually tortured, I'm sure it will be to the tune of "Do it for me, baby."
So now, it's a Tuesday evening and (the Collective) we see that Sally is getting married. Yey, Sally! Congratulations!
10 seconds or so after her status changes to "Engaged" (because that's the most important part of being engaged,) an EPO surfaces. As a member of Sally's 500 friend strong Facebook circle, we feel that we are wanted, if not required, to take a look. So we glance, we click through the photos leisurely, or if the album seems to go on into Eternity, then rapidly. Then we move on with our day.
Sometime later, let's say less than two years after our run in with Sally's EPO, we run into her at a bar. Or a coffee shop, grocery store, whatever floats your fantasy boat. And the following conversation inevitably happens:
"So how have you been, David?"
"Oh, I'm doing just fine, thanks. The job isn't what it used to be and the girlfriend thinks I need a haircut, so I'm picking up this bag of M&M's to make myself feel less morose about the whole situation."
"Wow."
"Yeah. So how are you?"
"Well, my husband and I went to the Ke--"
"Oh! You got married! When?"
*Sally is a fictitious character used to make this blog more relevant and connect to you, the reader.
*David is my name because I'm the writer and I get to to put my name in prestigious places. Like the Internet.
There are probably millions of these photos out there, lost to the World, neatly filed but decoratively arranged in albums with the couple's names engraved on the cover.
Of course, they are almost certainly covered with dust and sitting in Grandma's closet in a picnic basket that hasn't been used since picnic baskets were also things. Because no one looks at an EPO collection more than one time.
It was nice, the first time I saw one. (Of course, it actually was my Grandparents album, and it was a Wedding Album with some pre-Wedding photos.)
And then, it was still relatively nice when I was in my early twenties and my friends and old high school classmates getting married was still a relatively new phenomenon. That was back when people thought Facebook was a really great way to meet girls and rekindle lost friendships rather than a convenient way to share photos with the family or lose a job with style.
And sure, even then, sans Facebook, it was nice to see that, wow, Grandma and Grandpa were kids once. Damn, they got married young. It was even interesting seeing me standing next to my Mother and Father, looking like a boss with a stupid grin on my face.
Nowadays, everyone has a cousin or girl-friend that's a photographer. Five out of every four people have gone to Best Buy and looked through their camera section thinking, "Damn, if I could only afford this one I would take the absolute shit out of some photos."
Because, of course I would be great at it.
The thing that gets me, and this may seem horrible, Future Wife, but, I really can't think of anything I'd like to do less, in regards to getting married, than pose for an EPO. Wedding Photos? Sure. We're having a good time. We're dancing. Our friends and family are here. Let's take those photos. Someone get over here and take the absolute shit out of some photos.
But the idea of finding a photographer, (Not hard, got forty or so on my Facebook, I'll just post a status like "Hey need a photographer for something." And before I hit "enter" I'll have three personal messages and a price quote.) finding a location, and then smiling at my fiancee for however long an EPO takes to get done sounds suspiciously like torture.
I can just hear the not quite Hipster not quite Preppy photographer talking now:
Smile at her lovingly.
Now smile at her lovingly but tilt your head to the left.
Now lean against this tree, touch her stomach, and smile at her lovingly.
Too lovingly.
Whoa. Not lovingly enough? Dude, are you cheating on her?
Let the love reach your eyes.
Now stand in front of the sun. Lean on the tree. Climb the tree.
SMILE LOVINGLY AT HER FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!
Eventually, because I'm me, I'll get frustrated. Then I'll get smarmy. Then Future Wife will get mad, and then I'll get mad. But she'll smile, because she loves me (but she's beginning to question it) and say to me, in her most supplicatory voice, "Do it for me, baby."
And then she'll smile lovingly.
And of course I'll do the damn EPO, and the entire time I'll be thinking, if I am ever actually tortured, I'm sure it will be to the tune of "Do it for me, baby."
So now, it's a Tuesday evening and (the Collective) we see that Sally is getting married. Yey, Sally! Congratulations!
10 seconds or so after her status changes to "Engaged" (because that's the most important part of being engaged,) an EPO surfaces. As a member of Sally's 500 friend strong Facebook circle, we feel that we are wanted, if not required, to take a look. So we glance, we click through the photos leisurely, or if the album seems to go on into Eternity, then rapidly. Then we move on with our day.
Sometime later, let's say less than two years after our run in with Sally's EPO, we run into her at a bar. Or a coffee shop, grocery store, whatever floats your fantasy boat. And the following conversation inevitably happens:
"So how have you been, David?"
"Oh, I'm doing just fine, thanks. The job isn't what it used to be and the girlfriend thinks I need a haircut, so I'm picking up this bag of M&M's to make myself feel less morose about the whole situation."
"Wow."
"Yeah. So how are you?"
"Well, my husband and I went to the Ke--"
"Oh! You got married! When?"
*Sally is a fictitious character used to make this blog more relevant and connect to you, the reader.
*David is my name because I'm the writer and I get to to put my name in prestigious places. Like the Internet.
Friday, June 8, 2012
5 Reasons You Shouldn't Care About Lil' Wayne's Thunder Arena Ticket Shenanigans
If you follow sports, there's a good chance you're following the NBA playoffs. The Spurs were the talk of the Nation with their twenty game win streak that ended in a stunning 4-2 (four in a row for the Thunder) route by the Durant and Company.
It was an amazing series to watch and there are plenty of newsworthy tidbits that popped up from the surprising series. Questions that will fuel sports analyst's debates until the 2012-2013 season. (Will Tim Duncan finally retire? Can the Spurs still hang? What will Charles Barkley do next?)
But, interestingly enough, the biggest, most talked about story (at least on Twitter) to come out of the Thunder/Spurs series had nothing to do with basketball.
It had to do with Lil' Wayne.
Of course it did.
Reportedly, (So reportedly, in fact, that I felt the need to restate the word in italics.) Lil' Wayne was denied entrance to the Chesapeake Energy Arena for game 3 of the Western Conference Finals.
Lil' Wayne tweeted his displeasure (Oh, Twitter, the things you inspire us to say.) "Was going to go to the Thunder game tonight but was denied by the team to be in their arena. Wow. Smh. Go Spurs!"
Now. If Lil' Wayne was actually denied to be in the Arena for any reason other than "didn't have a ticket," or "was carrying a weapon," I would sound the Call to Arms. Long live the People's rights! Especially when they rap reasonably well and not all of their lyrics suck! Yeah!
But when the reason actually is, "Doesn't have ticket," I kind of lose some steam.
So here are my 5 Reasons You Shouldn't Care About Lil' Wayne's Thunder Arena Ticket Shenanigans:
1: The Thunder have sold out every single home playoff game this season. Every single one. In fact, they are already sold out of season tickets for the 2012-2013 season. Whether or not you're rich, famous and good looking doesn't really come into the debate. If you don't have a ticket, and all these other people do, and there aren't any seats left, you're not getting in. This is called Capitalism. Or even deductive reasoning.
2: Lil' Wayne wanted a front row seat. Court side. Sigh. I can possibly see Thunder Management pulling strings and getting him in a box. I can see them asking a "normal" fan to give up their seat for some kind of reimbursement.
But the people who sit front row during Conference Finals? They put large amounts of money down. Some of those people probably make more money than Lil' Wayne. Taking their seats could actually mean a lawsuit. That they themselves may be able to pursue. Because they could be lawyers. Comedy logic, Weezy, it could be true.
3: Is he even a Thunder Fan? I thought he liked sizzurp and cash money. Doesn't that mean he should be a Heat fan? I jest, I jest. He should be an early 2000's Trail Blazers fan.
4: He made it a race thing. ["That's not the point, though," he told The Associated Press in an interview Friday night. "It's the players stepping up but of course the players aren't white. I don't want to be sitting there on behalf of you and I'm sitting next to a (person) that's like, 'I don't want this (guy) sitting next to me.' (Forget) you ... I'm in Forbes," he said, laughing.]
How? How do you even make the tickets being sold out a race thing?
In other news, Lil' Wayne goes to grocery store, but they're sold out of cookie dough ice cream, because they're freaking racists.
5: Just to bundle this in with the race thing (italics aren't italicsy enough for that) he (in the above quote) blames the fans for not wanting him there. What? What type of indirect logic is this. I'm going to follow it through for you in a few easy steps. (I didn't say they'd be logical, but they aren't my steps.)
FIRST: The Thunder make it to the Western Conference Finals.
SO NOW: It's Game 3 (their first home game.)
THEREFORE: People, i.e. fans, want to go see the game live.
DUE TO THIS: They buy tickets to go watch the game at the arena.
BASED ON HOW MANY SEATS ARE PHYSICALLY IN THE ARENA: The tickets sell out.
"KEVIN DURANT IS A G": Lil' Wayne decides he wants to see the game, too.
SEE "TICKETS ARE SOLD OUT": He can't purchase a ticket. Or even, there are no tickets, for to buy.
IPSO FACTO: The fans hate Lil' Wayne.
It was an amazing series to watch and there are plenty of newsworthy tidbits that popped up from the surprising series. Questions that will fuel sports analyst's debates until the 2012-2013 season. (Will Tim Duncan finally retire? Can the Spurs still hang? What will Charles Barkley do next?)
But, interestingly enough, the biggest, most talked about story (at least on Twitter) to come out of the Thunder/Spurs series had nothing to do with basketball.
It had to do with Lil' Wayne.
Of course it did.
Reportedly, (So reportedly, in fact, that I felt the need to restate the word in italics.) Lil' Wayne was denied entrance to the Chesapeake Energy Arena for game 3 of the Western Conference Finals.
Lil' Wayne tweeted his displeasure (Oh, Twitter, the things you inspire us to say.) "Was going to go to the Thunder game tonight but was denied by the team to be in their arena. Wow. Smh. Go Spurs!"
Now. If Lil' Wayne was actually denied to be in the Arena for any reason other than "didn't have a ticket," or "was carrying a weapon," I would sound the Call to Arms. Long live the People's rights! Especially when they rap reasonably well and not all of their lyrics suck! Yeah!
But when the reason actually is, "Doesn't have ticket," I kind of lose some steam.
So here are my 5 Reasons You Shouldn't Care About Lil' Wayne's Thunder Arena Ticket Shenanigans:
1: The Thunder have sold out every single home playoff game this season. Every single one. In fact, they are already sold out of season tickets for the 2012-2013 season. Whether or not you're rich, famous and good looking doesn't really come into the debate. If you don't have a ticket, and all these other people do, and there aren't any seats left, you're not getting in. This is called Capitalism. Or even deductive reasoning.
2: Lil' Wayne wanted a front row seat. Court side. Sigh. I can possibly see Thunder Management pulling strings and getting him in a box. I can see them asking a "normal" fan to give up their seat for some kind of reimbursement.
But the people who sit front row during Conference Finals? They put large amounts of money down. Some of those people probably make more money than Lil' Wayne. Taking their seats could actually mean a lawsuit. That they themselves may be able to pursue. Because they could be lawyers. Comedy logic, Weezy, it could be true.
3: Is he even a Thunder Fan? I thought he liked sizzurp and cash money. Doesn't that mean he should be a Heat fan? I jest, I jest. He should be an early 2000's Trail Blazers fan.
4: He made it a race thing. ["That's not the point, though," he told The Associated Press in an interview Friday night. "It's the players stepping up but of course the players aren't white. I don't want to be sitting there on behalf of you and I'm sitting next to a (person) that's like, 'I don't want this (guy) sitting next to me.' (Forget) you ... I'm in Forbes," he said, laughing.]
How? How do you even make the tickets being sold out a race thing?
In other news, Lil' Wayne goes to grocery store, but they're sold out of cookie dough ice cream, because they're freaking racists.
5: Just to bundle this in with the race thing (italics aren't italicsy enough for that) he (in the above quote) blames the fans for not wanting him there. What? What type of indirect logic is this. I'm going to follow it through for you in a few easy steps. (I didn't say they'd be logical, but they aren't my steps.)
FIRST: The Thunder make it to the Western Conference Finals.
SO NOW: It's Game 3 (their first home game.)
THEREFORE: People, i.e. fans, want to go see the game live.
DUE TO THIS: They buy tickets to go watch the game at the arena.
BASED ON HOW MANY SEATS ARE PHYSICALLY IN THE ARENA: The tickets sell out.
"KEVIN DURANT IS A G": Lil' Wayne decides he wants to see the game, too.
SEE "TICKETS ARE SOLD OUT": He can't purchase a ticket. Or even, there are no tickets, for to buy.
IPSO FACTO: The fans hate Lil' Wayne.
"Was going to go to the
Thunder game tonight but was denied by the team to be in their arena.
Wow. Smh. Go Spurs!" Wayne tweeted.
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
"Was going to go to the Thunder game tonight but was denied by the team to be in their arena. Wow. Smh. Go Spurs!"
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
"Was going to go to the Thunder game tonight but was denied by the team to be in their arena. Wow. Smh. Go Spurs!"
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
Read more at: http://www.nesn.com/2012/06/rapper-lil-wayne-mad-at-thunder-for-denying-him-from-entering-arena-without-ticket.html
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
General Rules to Test Proctoring
Things not to do while working as a proctor:
1) Reading
2) Browsing through a cell phone, book, iPad, or anything fun.
3) Close your eyes.
4) Sit down for extended periods of time (this may lead to closing your eyes, after all.)
5) Playing baseball. Or WordWithFriends, or Scramble...or Solitaire. You cannot play Solitaire. You will lose your job.
Essentially. If you want to keep a job as a proctor I only have two pieces of advice for you:
1) Be content in your own brain. Remember fun things. Think fun thoughts. If you cannot do this, do not Proctor more than once a week. It will, and I'm not kidding here, it will feel like torture.
2) Have a photographic memory and look at every page of multiple books. What your bosses don't know can't hurt them.
Going along with this little message, I spent the morning proctoring an End of Course assessment test, I won't go into detail, mainly because it's illegal, but I was sufficiently bored. Occasionally I walk around the room to make sure I can't spot any cell phones or iPods or anything like talking or cheating that can invalidate a student's test.
Occasionally I'll see a question on a monitor and see if I know the answer. It's not something I do on purpose, it just happens as I walk around. I never talk about the questions I see, even with other proctors, what would be the point? But it is funny to see how the kids look at me:
Their eyes gets shifty, they hunch up over their papers as if that's where the answers even were. Then they block their monitors with their shoulder, just a little bit. Like I'm going to steal their work and ace this test off of what they are doing.
I just want to say to these kids: Dude, I wish I was taking the damn test. Instead, I'm watching you take the test.
This is where I would like to say something like, "My mornings are interesting." And sign off, when all I can really say about my mornings is that they're drawn out and I sigh a lot.
1) Reading
2) Browsing through a cell phone, book, iPad, or anything fun.
3) Close your eyes.
4) Sit down for extended periods of time (this may lead to closing your eyes, after all.)
5) Playing baseball. Or WordWithFriends, or Scramble...or Solitaire. You cannot play Solitaire. You will lose your job.
Essentially. If you want to keep a job as a proctor I only have two pieces of advice for you:
1) Be content in your own brain. Remember fun things. Think fun thoughts. If you cannot do this, do not Proctor more than once a week. It will, and I'm not kidding here, it will feel like torture.
2) Have a photographic memory and look at every page of multiple books. What your bosses don't know can't hurt them.
Going along with this little message, I spent the morning proctoring an End of Course assessment test, I won't go into detail, mainly because it's illegal, but I was sufficiently bored. Occasionally I walk around the room to make sure I can't spot any cell phones or iPods or anything like talking or cheating that can invalidate a student's test.
Occasionally I'll see a question on a monitor and see if I know the answer. It's not something I do on purpose, it just happens as I walk around. I never talk about the questions I see, even with other proctors, what would be the point? But it is funny to see how the kids look at me:
Their eyes gets shifty, they hunch up over their papers as if that's where the answers even were. Then they block their monitors with their shoulder, just a little bit. Like I'm going to steal their work and ace this test off of what they are doing.
I just want to say to these kids: Dude, I wish I was taking the damn test. Instead, I'm watching you take the test.
This is where I would like to say something like, "My mornings are interesting." And sign off, when all I can really say about my mornings is that they're drawn out and I sigh a lot.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
A Conversation About Jobs
There is a morbidity that comes with taking a new job. It's not something we often think about because, hey, we just got offered a job, and we love money. But the cold, heartless reality of the majority of job offerings is that they come come as a direct result of someone else no longer having said job.
Say what you will, maybe he got promoted! Maybe she left for a better job somewhere else!
But, someone, somewhere got fired and now you have this job. Or maybe they died.
And more importantly, imaginary person who said "maybe she left for a better job somewhere else!" Do you really want to take the job that someone left for a better job? I want the better job in the first place.
In accordance with this subject I was having lunch with my colleagues (I say, pretending that I'm not an assistant who sits around and waits to see if anyone needs help all day--if I'm not proctoring, of course.)
As is the case with most lunches, we ate food. With our food came conversation, and the slight discomfort one gets when they know that they don't quite yet have gas, but it is most assuredly on the way...
So we had a conversation. It was a pretty good conversation. We talked about girls, until actual girls showed up, and then we talked about sports and students and why Chik-fil-A pissed us off or what we loved about it. (Sundays. Chicken.) The discussion finally turned to various projects and assignments we (sigh) had been giving our (siiiiigh) students. I told them some of my ideas on how to handle things and looked around to see if this would, indeed, be a good way to handle said things.
Everyone seemed impressed, as if they were all simultaneously (generously) thinking, "Hey, this guy might not be an idiot!" (But he probably is, so keep watching him.)
One of the teachers spoke up and said, "Why don't you talk to the Principal about taking his job." Emphasizing the "him" by jabbing her fork in another teacher's direction.
I immediately felt uncomfortable. Fears of gas and eating a little too much aside. That just seemed like a hurtful comment.
He (the teacher in question) looked slightly put out by this entire conversation.
She (the fork pointer) said, "He won't be with us next year, you could just take over for him!"
He (feeling forced by my look of curiosity and her fierce waving of cutlery) went on to tell me about his future Mission and how he'll be raising money to plant a new Church in Vancouver and see if it grows. He used this terminology exactly and I was only slightly bothered by the cascade of questions that rushed into my head.
You can plant a church? Do you add water or does the plumbing help? Do money trees actually exist? Is my mother, in fact, made of money? Will I ever know the meaning of GCB? (And no, I will not google it.)
It turned out he hadn't been put out by her lack of empathy towards his leaving, in fact, he was rather sure I would make a great replacement and the team of people he worked with already know and like me. How perfect.
No he was upset because he would have to find a summer job, and Canadian women and waving cutlery aside, that downright sucks.
Say what you will, maybe he got promoted! Maybe she left for a better job somewhere else!
But, someone, somewhere got fired and now you have this job. Or maybe they died.
And more importantly, imaginary person who said "maybe she left for a better job somewhere else!" Do you really want to take the job that someone left for a better job? I want the better job in the first place.
In accordance with this subject I was having lunch with my colleagues (I say, pretending that I'm not an assistant who sits around and waits to see if anyone needs help all day--if I'm not proctoring, of course.)
As is the case with most lunches, we ate food. With our food came conversation, and the slight discomfort one gets when they know that they don't quite yet have gas, but it is most assuredly on the way...
So we had a conversation. It was a pretty good conversation. We talked about girls, until actual girls showed up, and then we talked about sports and students and why Chik-fil-A pissed us off or what we loved about it. (Sundays. Chicken.) The discussion finally turned to various projects and assignments we (sigh) had been giving our (siiiiigh) students. I told them some of my ideas on how to handle things and looked around to see if this would, indeed, be a good way to handle said things.
Everyone seemed impressed, as if they were all simultaneously (generously) thinking, "Hey, this guy might not be an idiot!" (But he probably is, so keep watching him.)
One of the teachers spoke up and said, "Why don't you talk to the Principal about taking his job." Emphasizing the "him" by jabbing her fork in another teacher's direction.
I immediately felt uncomfortable. Fears of gas and eating a little too much aside. That just seemed like a hurtful comment.
He (the teacher in question) looked slightly put out by this entire conversation.
She (the fork pointer) said, "He won't be with us next year, you could just take over for him!"
He (feeling forced by my look of curiosity and her fierce waving of cutlery) went on to tell me about his future Mission and how he'll be raising money to plant a new Church in Vancouver and see if it grows. He used this terminology exactly and I was only slightly bothered by the cascade of questions that rushed into my head.
You can plant a church? Do you add water or does the plumbing help? Do money trees actually exist? Is my mother, in fact, made of money? Will I ever know the meaning of GCB? (And no, I will not google it.)
It turned out he hadn't been put out by her lack of empathy towards his leaving, in fact, he was rather sure I would make a great replacement and the team of people he worked with already know and like me. How perfect.
No he was upset because he would have to find a summer job, and Canadian women and waving cutlery aside, that downright sucks.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
ESPN First Take takes on the Wrong Debate
There is a running debate on ESPN First Take-- 
Home of Skip Bayless and Skip Bayless' well documented eyes. They are in fact, right there.
--that there aren't enough African American head coaches in the NCAA Division 1 programs. They discussed how you could possibly change this travesty.
This debate is stupid. It is wrong. In so many ways. But mainly, they're simply asking the wrong question. (They being ESPN First Take.)
I have multiple problems but let's start with the beginning. This is a census. This is another, more Wikipedia(d) form. It states that around 12.6% of the total American population is African American. The stat they were throwing around on ESPN was that there were about 19 Head Coaches out of 120 something that were black, even assuming that it was 130 total D1 Head Coaches, we still are seeing a 2% higher ratio in total black coaches vs. total black people. That seems like a step in the right direction.
My second issue with this is that the entire conversation is racist. What do these men want? Do they want the Universities, and NFL teams for that matter, to hire black coaches because they're black? Is that why a black coach wants to get hired? Sure. Anyone wants the D1 Head Coaching contract (slash paycheck) but for that reason? Of course not. Coaches want to get hired because people believe they can win.
This kind of conversation is what sets us (the American People) back. The fact that this is even an issue is the problem. The best person for the job should get hired period. And in a job that is all about money I tend to believe this is the case. Most companies (and that's what University Athletic Programs are) won't hire (or choose not to hire) someone because of his or her race, they'll hire them because they can do the damn job. In this case coaching.
Now, I understand that the big successful programs have had predominantly black players for the past twenty or so years, but we seem to be forgetting a couple of factors that I find to be pretty important:
1) Coaches can coach a lot longer than players can play. It's not like head coaching jobs open up every day, and most of the time schools want to hire proven coaches. It's not a young mans game, period. Black or white young men.
2) Just because there are a lot of black players doesn't mean there are a lot of black coaches. And with a population that is mostly white (Talking America here) it's simply statistically more likely that there are more white coaches than black applying for head coaching jobs. (And most of them get ignored for the Urban Meyer's of the World. Dude won a Championship or two, dude is getting hired.)
This is the face I use when I'm plotting my retirement. And subsequent un-retirement and hiring at Ohio State. Booyah.
Here's the argument ESPN First Take should have had:
Is it harder for prospective black//African American coaches to get hired as Division 1 Head Coaches than it is for white coaches?
Because if it is? If it's found that that's true, then that is a problem. That needs to be fixed and addressed. Racial equality is not about getting more black, Asian or purple coaches hired. It's about making sure that race and racial perceptions play no role whatsoever in the hiring process.
The goal should be (should always have been) that the person who is best for the job gets hired. Period.
The way this debate was handled was backwards and accusatory. It will cause more problems then it will solve. Way to start some High School drama, First Take.
But I guess that's just good television.
--that there aren't enough African American head coaches in the NCAA Division 1 programs. They discussed how you could possibly change this travesty.
This debate is stupid. It is wrong. In so many ways. But mainly, they're simply asking the wrong question. (They being ESPN First Take.)
I have multiple problems but let's start with the beginning. This is a census. This is another, more Wikipedia(d) form. It states that around 12.6% of the total American population is African American. The stat they were throwing around on ESPN was that there were about 19 Head Coaches out of 120 something that were black, even assuming that it was 130 total D1 Head Coaches, we still are seeing a 2% higher ratio in total black coaches vs. total black people. That seems like a step in the right direction.
My second issue with this is that the entire conversation is racist. What do these men want? Do they want the Universities, and NFL teams for that matter, to hire black coaches because they're black? Is that why a black coach wants to get hired? Sure. Anyone wants the D1 Head Coaching contract (slash paycheck) but for that reason? Of course not. Coaches want to get hired because people believe they can win.
This kind of conversation is what sets us (the American People) back. The fact that this is even an issue is the problem. The best person for the job should get hired period. And in a job that is all about money I tend to believe this is the case. Most companies (and that's what University Athletic Programs are) won't hire (or choose not to hire) someone because of his or her race, they'll hire them because they can do the damn job. In this case coaching.
Now, I understand that the big successful programs have had predominantly black players for the past twenty or so years, but we seem to be forgetting a couple of factors that I find to be pretty important:
1) Coaches can coach a lot longer than players can play. It's not like head coaching jobs open up every day, and most of the time schools want to hire proven coaches. It's not a young mans game, period. Black or white young men.
2) Just because there are a lot of black players doesn't mean there are a lot of black coaches. And with a population that is mostly white (Talking America here) it's simply statistically more likely that there are more white coaches than black applying for head coaching jobs. (And most of them get ignored for the Urban Meyer's of the World. Dude won a Championship or two, dude is getting hired.)
Here's the argument ESPN First Take should have had:
Is it harder for prospective black//African American coaches to get hired as Division 1 Head Coaches than it is for white coaches?
Because if it is? If it's found that that's true, then that is a problem. That needs to be fixed and addressed. Racial equality is not about getting more black, Asian or purple coaches hired. It's about making sure that race and racial perceptions play no role whatsoever in the hiring process.
The goal should be (should always have been) that the person who is best for the job gets hired. Period.
The way this debate was handled was backwards and accusatory. It will cause more problems then it will solve. Way to start some High School drama, First Take.
But I guess that's just good television.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Boring Jobs -- Does the Title go to "Test Proctor?"
I've been thinking a lot about jobs lately. I work as a tutor and test coach at a High School. It's a pretty enjoyable job--and a rewarding one. I get a chance to coach football as well, and I get a real opportunity to make a difference.
But then they make me proctor.
Being a test proctor is a lot like watching paint dry in a room full of televisions that only show baseball (and golf on Sundays.)
To proctor a test in Florida you have to have a certificate to be a teacher. So they can hold the certificate over your head if you do anything wrong.
"Oh, you thought that you would be able to look at your cell phone, crack open a book, or skim through a magazine after you do a walk through? Think again."
In a standard test, that is to say, one that lasts about an hour, it's no problem. You walk around, maybe offer some vague words of encouragement and make sure no one is cheating or taking pictures of their screens so they can sell test questions.
But in the retakes the kids get the entire day to take the test. From 7 am until 2:20 pm I am walking around in a room with maybe 10 kids in it. And I'm not allowed to do anything.
In honor of this torture, my sullen fate during the time that is owned by FCAT, I've begun a list of jobs I consider worse, more boring, or slower than this.
Feel free to add your own to my list.
1) Retail sales employee at a major company on a slow day. You're still expected to "work." So you basically walk around dusting and talking to your "friends." You get yelled at by your managers who are doing the exact same thing, but don't want to get in trouble with their bosses. Also at the average retail establishment you have more bosses that Cal Ripken Jr. has career hits.
2) Video Game Tester. I know it sounds fun, but (apparently) you mainly just end up playing the same level over and over again and looking for "bugs" in said level. Name a game you love. Now go into that game and play the same level over and over again for one hour. See if you still love that game. Even if that level is perfect, it's perfection will eventually get to you. Driving you mad.
3) Front counter at a slow hotel, or overnight shift. Yeah, you're the face of the hotel. You have to stand there and look pretty, or at least professional. Until the invention of the smart phone this was job probably seemed a little bit like the Chinese Water Torture of the Hospitality Industry. (Imagine if you didn't like reading.)
4) In that same vein of thinking, overnight shifts at grocery stores. After the third month you've done all your homework, written an unsuccessful novel and you know every damn thing about every damn celebrity. You haven't seen the sun in the past six weeks and your girlfriend left you and didn't bother to tell you. In the eyes of the World, you no longer exist.
5) Traffic cop (on an empty road.) Think about it. Traffic cop is the punishment that is handed down to the rebel cop by his stern, yet caring, Captain in every cop movie before rebel cop gets a break in his case and solves it off duty. Somehow making everything better rather than getting him fired and sued.
6) Substitute teacher once you've finished the reading material you've brought. This is why most subs bring movies along, God forbid the teacher actually has the class working when s/he is away.
7) Tech support. It's not that it's boring. In fact, I'm sure there's always something to do. But how many times can you run someone through a list of possible problems to find out that the machine isn't plugged in or that they were using the CD player as a cup holder or that the computer's built in fan wasn't keeping the room cool enough before you go just a little bit insane?
I'll come back to this later. Maybe throw a cartoon in. Just some thoughts.
But then they make me proctor.
Being a test proctor is a lot like watching paint dry in a room full of televisions that only show baseball (and golf on Sundays.)
To proctor a test in Florida you have to have a certificate to be a teacher. So they can hold the certificate over your head if you do anything wrong.
"Oh, you thought that you would be able to look at your cell phone, crack open a book, or skim through a magazine after you do a walk through? Think again."
In a standard test, that is to say, one that lasts about an hour, it's no problem. You walk around, maybe offer some vague words of encouragement and make sure no one is cheating or taking pictures of their screens so they can sell test questions.
But in the retakes the kids get the entire day to take the test. From 7 am until 2:20 pm I am walking around in a room with maybe 10 kids in it. And I'm not allowed to do anything.
In honor of this torture, my sullen fate during the time that is owned by FCAT, I've begun a list of jobs I consider worse, more boring, or slower than this.
Feel free to add your own to my list.
1) Retail sales employee at a major company on a slow day. You're still expected to "work." So you basically walk around dusting and talking to your "friends." You get yelled at by your managers who are doing the exact same thing, but don't want to get in trouble with their bosses. Also at the average retail establishment you have more bosses that Cal Ripken Jr. has career hits.
2) Video Game Tester. I know it sounds fun, but (apparently) you mainly just end up playing the same level over and over again and looking for "bugs" in said level. Name a game you love. Now go into that game and play the same level over and over again for one hour. See if you still love that game. Even if that level is perfect, it's perfection will eventually get to you. Driving you mad.
3) Front counter at a slow hotel, or overnight shift. Yeah, you're the face of the hotel. You have to stand there and look pretty, or at least professional. Until the invention of the smart phone this was job probably seemed a little bit like the Chinese Water Torture of the Hospitality Industry. (Imagine if you didn't like reading.)
4) In that same vein of thinking, overnight shifts at grocery stores. After the third month you've done all your homework, written an unsuccessful novel and you know every damn thing about every damn celebrity. You haven't seen the sun in the past six weeks and your girlfriend left you and didn't bother to tell you. In the eyes of the World, you no longer exist.
5) Traffic cop (on an empty road.) Think about it. Traffic cop is the punishment that is handed down to the rebel cop by his stern, yet caring, Captain in every cop movie before rebel cop gets a break in his case and solves it off duty. Somehow making everything better rather than getting him fired and sued.
6) Substitute teacher once you've finished the reading material you've brought. This is why most subs bring movies along, God forbid the teacher actually has the class working when s/he is away.
7) Tech support. It's not that it's boring. In fact, I'm sure there's always something to do. But how many times can you run someone through a list of possible problems to find out that the machine isn't plugged in or that they were using the CD player as a cup holder or that the computer's built in fan wasn't keeping the room cool enough before you go just a little bit insane?
I'll come back to this later. Maybe throw a cartoon in. Just some thoughts.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Former Stars to Help Fix Major League Baseball
As some of you who follow sports may know, Magic Johnson (and Friends!) recently bought into become a partial owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Many people in sports think that this is the most important thing that baseball can do to make itself more accessible to it's slowly declining fan base. This "celebrity" or "super star" involvement has most certainly proven itself to work for teams like the Pacers (NBA) and Penguins (NHL), but it is not a "sure thing." Otis Smith of Magic fame (infamy) was an NBA player as well. And I hope I'm not alone in saying that I ha--that he should no longer be a part of the Magic Organization.
So while, indeed, Magic Johnson's (he's already a minority stockholder in the Lakers, and the fans love it) move is definitely a stroke of genius by and for the Dodgers (on par with the Rangers hiring Nolan Ryan as their Fearless Leader and the failure of the Jaguars to acquire Tebow,) it's not going to fix the core problem that the MLB is having in regards to business...
Baseball is freaking boring.
It's nearly impossible to watch an entire game of baseball without wondering why you aren't doing something else. Didn't I need to mow the lawn or something?
I'll even take you a step further, why watch an entire game of baseball (even if it is the Braves, I know you really really love the Braves) when you can turn on Sports Center in the morning and see every important play that happened in the entire game. Sure you run the risk of hearing something along the lines of "This is the 15th game in a row the Clippers have won at home on a Tuesday when Magic Johnson ate a hot dog with his left hand in Boston." But thems are just the breaks.
Assistant: Pssst. Dude. The boss wants you to tell them about the amount of sodas consumed this year in relation to last year in Los Angeles as a factor in how the Orlando Magic are playing this season as compared to last.
Stuart Scott: Well, I just don't see how that's relevant at all. In any way.
Assistant: Relevant? Dude, this is SportsCenter.
Moving on. I read an interesting article last year (it was actually written in 2000) about how much baseball is actually played during a Major League Baseball game.
It was not pretty. The most important quote I found in the article (although there are so many interesting tidbits) was this:
"Time the baseball was actually in play, including pitches, batted balls, foul balls, pickoff attempts, relays, throws to bases and anything else even Bob Costas might consider actual sporting activity (and I was being generous with the stopwatch): 12 minutes, 22 seconds."
This is baseball's core problem. It's not fun to watch. Is it fun to play? Of course. Why else would we make it easier and change the rules so you could drink alcohol while you play?
The future of sports. Only bowling could possibly be better.
But I'm not the one who has to worry about how baseball can save itself. I don't need to figure out how management needs to change, ownership needs to change or even what rules they need to change.
All I need to do is change the channel.
So while, indeed, Magic Johnson's (he's already a minority stockholder in the Lakers, and the fans love it) move is definitely a stroke of genius by and for the Dodgers (on par with the Rangers hiring Nolan Ryan as their Fearless Leader and the failure of the Jaguars to acquire Tebow,) it's not going to fix the core problem that the MLB is having in regards to business...
It's nearly impossible to watch an entire game of baseball without wondering why you aren't doing something else. Didn't I need to mow the lawn or something?
I'll even take you a step further, why watch an entire game of baseball (even if it is the Braves, I know you really really love the Braves) when you can turn on Sports Center in the morning and see every important play that happened in the entire game. Sure you run the risk of hearing something along the lines of "This is the 15th game in a row the Clippers have won at home on a Tuesday when Magic Johnson ate a hot dog with his left hand in Boston." But thems are just the breaks.
Assistant: Pssst. Dude. The boss wants you to tell them about the amount of sodas consumed this year in relation to last year in Los Angeles as a factor in how the Orlando Magic are playing this season as compared to last.
Stuart Scott: Well, I just don't see how that's relevant at all. In any way.
Assistant: Relevant? Dude, this is SportsCenter.
Moving on. I read an interesting article last year (it was actually written in 2000) about how much baseball is actually played during a Major League Baseball game.
It was not pretty. The most important quote I found in the article (although there are so many interesting tidbits) was this:
"Time the baseball was actually in play, including pitches, batted balls, foul balls, pickoff attempts, relays, throws to bases and anything else even Bob Costas might consider actual sporting activity (and I was being generous with the stopwatch): 12 minutes, 22 seconds."
This is baseball's core problem. It's not fun to watch. Is it fun to play? Of course. Why else would we make it easier and change the rules so you could drink alcohol while you play?
But I'm not the one who has to worry about how baseball can save itself. I don't need to figure out how management needs to change, ownership needs to change or even what rules they need to change.
All I need to do is change the channel.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Twitterverse is Buzzing about Something, Let's Write an Article About It!
Twitter, or as I like to think of it, New Media's bastard child with illiteracy, is getting out of hand. I use Twitter. I'm sure you can see that, it's over on the side thing (oh my God, follow me! Follow me!) but I use it specifically to call attention to my blog and my generally awesome sense of humor. Not because I feel like I can say anything meaningful or World changing in 140 characters or less.
However, the reality of Twitter (aside from its aforementioned existence) is that it is incredibly useful to those of us who are in the entertainment and media industries. (I say in, in my case I really mean, fitfully running around a locked house looking for an open window or a hidden key.) The majority of Twitter accounts are held by high school kids who use them as quick facebook status updates and random people trying to get that mystical Justin Bieber retweet. (If he retweets anything you say, you gain a level in real life.)
Twitter has launched quite a few careers and even spawned multiple books and TV shows, I give you "Shit my Dad says." You may remember it as the one funny preview with William Shatner a few years back on CBS. The book is actually fantastic as the majority of it's entries are longer than 140 characters and it actually tells meaningful stories from Jim Halpern's life. (So I guess he tells them.)
Look for this:
Not for this:
So why am I on this random Twitter spiel? Well, I find a lot of my funny news via twitter links and the like (I follow a lot of people that are funnier than me, and a few that just have more followers.) However, I get the majority of my news from credible news sites, i.e. Yahoo! News, MSN news, and so on and so on. (I used to do NPR, but then my iPhone software updated, and I never re-downloaded the app. Odd time for that revelation to hit? Or meaningful? I'm going with meaningful.)
So the two news stories that struck out to me today were not truly news stories. They were bullshit hidden in a news story-like article on MSN. The first was about Tebow's trade to the Jets...and what it was doing to Twitter. I'm not altogether unhappy with the move (for Tebow), but going to Twitter and and quoting three Tweets is not a news article. Reputable media outlets should not begin quoting something that inspires poor (I mean non-existent) grammar and odd little abbreviations that rarely make sense.
The second was either a complete space filler or a shameless plug for this writer's personal Twitter project (it only has [currently] 363 followers, one of whom is me) GoddamnDora. That's right. Naughty Dora the Explorer, something that I feel has taken far too long to come into existence. And while I agree with the sentiments of a cursing Dora, or a Depressed Darth Vader, I just can't get behind actual news reporting on Twitter trends. That's ridiculous.
It's like the media is turning into one big Entertainment Weekly website.
It's freakin' depressing. And I'm not featured, which is also lame.
However, the reality of Twitter (aside from its aforementioned existence) is that it is incredibly useful to those of us who are in the entertainment and media industries. (I say in, in my case I really mean, fitfully running around a locked house looking for an open window or a hidden key.) The majority of Twitter accounts are held by high school kids who use them as quick facebook status updates and random people trying to get that mystical Justin Bieber retweet. (If he retweets anything you say, you gain a level in real life.)
Twitter has launched quite a few careers and even spawned multiple books and TV shows, I give you "Shit my Dad says." You may remember it as the one funny preview with William Shatner a few years back on CBS. The book is actually fantastic as the majority of it's entries are longer than 140 characters and it actually tells meaningful stories from Jim Halpern's life. (So I guess he tells them.)
Look for this:
Not for this:
So why am I on this random Twitter spiel? Well, I find a lot of my funny news via twitter links and the like (I follow a lot of people that are funnier than me, and a few that just have more followers.) However, I get the majority of my news from credible news sites, i.e. Yahoo! News, MSN news, and so on and so on. (I used to do NPR, but then my iPhone software updated, and I never re-downloaded the app. Odd time for that revelation to hit? Or meaningful? I'm going with meaningful.)
So the two news stories that struck out to me today were not truly news stories. They were bullshit hidden in a news story-like article on MSN. The first was about Tebow's trade to the Jets...and what it was doing to Twitter. I'm not altogether unhappy with the move (for Tebow), but going to Twitter and and quoting three Tweets is not a news article. Reputable media outlets should not begin quoting something that inspires poor (I mean non-existent) grammar and odd little abbreviations that rarely make sense.
The second was either a complete space filler or a shameless plug for this writer's personal Twitter project (it only has [currently] 363 followers, one of whom is me) GoddamnDora. That's right. Naughty Dora the Explorer, something that I feel has taken far too long to come into existence. And while I agree with the sentiments of a cursing Dora, or a Depressed Darth Vader, I just can't get behind actual news reporting on Twitter trends. That's ridiculous.
It's like the media is turning into one big Entertainment Weekly website.
It's freakin' depressing. And I'm not featured, which is also lame.
Bookworms to Arms! Literary Criticism Gets Physical
People are finally starting to take literary pursuits seriously. It's been so easy for everyone to just judge literary criticism by its multi-colored cover.
And occasionally by it's less threatening cover as well.
But finally, after years of quiet debate in near empty classrooms populated only by angsty (Screw you, spellcheck, angsty is a word, and a correct one at that.) hipsters and creative writing majors struggling through a sleep deprived professor's sleep inducing course, literary criticism has gotten physical.
Hell yes, fellow Bookworms! That is real! The shit be on now, yo! Now we rollin'. And any other such phrases that inspire a "to arms" response! Yeah!
Here's a picture of puppies, getting ready to throw down. Cry havoc, again, and all that.
(Yes it's the same picture as before, and yes I love it that much.)
What's that article actually say for all you non link-clickers out there? Basically some nerds got into a fight over in Ann Arbor. Boom. Over what? Books. The argument was said to be over Tolkien and (or vs, it all depends on perspective, I suppose) C.S. Lewis. (Oddly enough, both were decidedly Christian thinkers and members of the Inklings, a very non-violent group.)
Apparently somewhere during a "conversation about books and authors" (quoted from this website) "The 34-year-old man was then approached by another party guest, who started speaking to him in a condescending manner." (The "34-year-old man" was the one who was attacked, by the by.)
Really? Imagine that. Someone who reads (Let's just assume he's also an aspiring writer himself.) and discusses books got condescending. Who da' thunk, a literary enthusiast thinking he was better than someone else, even a fellow wordage connoisseur. For shame.
And humor.
But finally, after years of quiet debate in near empty classrooms populated only by angsty (Screw you, spellcheck, angsty is a word, and a correct one at that.) hipsters and creative writing majors struggling through a sleep deprived professor's sleep inducing course, literary criticism has gotten physical.
Hell yes, fellow Bookworms! That is real! The shit be on now, yo! Now we rollin'. And any other such phrases that inspire a "to arms" response! Yeah!
Here's a picture of puppies, getting ready to throw down. Cry havoc, again, and all that.
What's that article actually say for all you non link-clickers out there? Basically some nerds got into a fight over in Ann Arbor. Boom. Over what? Books. The argument was said to be over Tolkien and (or vs, it all depends on perspective, I suppose) C.S. Lewis. (Oddly enough, both were decidedly Christian thinkers and members of the Inklings, a very non-violent group.)
Apparently somewhere during a "conversation about books and authors" (quoted from this website) "The 34-year-old man was then approached by another party guest, who started speaking to him in a condescending manner." (The "34-year-old man" was the one who was attacked, by the by.)
Really? Imagine that. Someone who reads (Let's just assume he's also an aspiring writer himself.) and discusses books got condescending. Who da' thunk, a literary enthusiast thinking he was better than someone else, even a fellow wordage connoisseur. For shame.
And humor.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The Ides of March (And Substituting)
Last week I substituted for an English teacher whose class was doing Shakespeare's Julius Ceasar.
For $9.95 you can get this "Julius Ceasar" wig and also look like the great Ceasar himself, re-imagined as a lesbian.
I was so excited! This was my first chance to really get into the stuff I love about teaching English. Writing, reading, plays! Yes! The kids were going to love this!
They didn't.
Not even a little bit.
I had to pick students to read in each class. One student volunteered that she was by far the best reader in the class. Everyone else agreed. I made her Brutus, chose a Cassius and a Marcus Antony (We were in Act II) and I narrated.
Brutus, as you may have guessed, has quite a few large verses in this section of the play. And while I wouldn't say the student lied to me. I would say that she is not the best reader of a play. It was Shakespeare as read by Ben Stein.
Yeah, you thought you were getting a picture of Ben Stein or maybe an irritated eye? Balls to that.
It was horrible. And to think, this was my little social activist in the class, she was all about saving Uganda and finding Kony and blanket days, and she couldn't muster up any emotion when it came to the death of a friend, hero and tyrant.
About twenty minutes into our (incredibly boring) reading, I asked the class what had happened so far in this scene.
They all just looked back at me blankly. Finally one of them said "Marc Antony is trying to get Ceasar's body for a funeral thing."
I was impressed. I was about to ask her why that was important. Before I could open my mouth another student interrupted, "Wait. Ceasar's dead?"
Were I a dragon, this is the face I would make.
"Yes, sir. He died on the second page of the reading."
"But no one mentioned that!"
"I'm pretty sure I did."
"When?"
"When I read the line, 'they all stab Ceasar.'"
"Oh."
So I asked again. "Alright, Class. What is happening right now?"
Blank looks. It was time for a break down.
"OK. So Ceasar was kind of being a jerk. He had taken over Rome, right? He was this tyrant, he had taken the title 'Dictator for Life, yo.' He was the Ancestor of the first OG (Original Gangster for all my non-80's kids.) So Brutus, who really really loved Roman society, Rome and the Roman Republic, was convinced into a plot to murder him. This could be argued to be a great crime, but more than that it, was one of the World's greatest betrayals, as Ceasar had given Brutus nothing but chances, leniency and friendship over the years. (That link is about Brutus, he stirred up some anti-Ceasar shit before.) After they kill him, they need to immediately explain it to the Roman people, and their rivals, like Marc Antony."
"So, Marc Antony was Ceasar's friend? Why did he come back and grovel then? Shake hands?"
"Grovel, good word. And I would say, because he didn't want to die. If your friend, your best friend, was murdered and the ten dudes with knives asked you, 'hey, you cool with this?' Would you say 'no' or 'yeah, guys, totally.'?"
"Marc Antony was smart. He was humble to their faces but when they left, it was all 'Cry Havoc' and dogs and stuff. It was about to be on. As they said in the lingo of my youth."
And I was all "HAVOOOOOOOOOOC!" and then I let them loose.
"Then he gives this really great speech about friends and Romans right?"
"Well, he opens up a speech that way."
"What's the speech about?" Asked one of the students.
"Dude. You read the Marc Antony part out loud."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
Roman statue facepalm.
I was so excited! This was my first chance to really get into the stuff I love about teaching English. Writing, reading, plays! Yes! The kids were going to love this!
They didn't.
Not even a little bit.
I had to pick students to read in each class. One student volunteered that she was by far the best reader in the class. Everyone else agreed. I made her Brutus, chose a Cassius and a Marcus Antony (We were in Act II) and I narrated.
Brutus, as you may have guessed, has quite a few large verses in this section of the play. And while I wouldn't say the student lied to me. I would say that she is not the best reader of a play. It was Shakespeare as read by Ben Stein.
It was horrible. And to think, this was my little social activist in the class, she was all about saving Uganda and finding Kony and blanket days, and she couldn't muster up any emotion when it came to the death of a friend, hero and tyrant.
About twenty minutes into our (incredibly boring) reading, I asked the class what had happened so far in this scene.
They all just looked back at me blankly. Finally one of them said "Marc Antony is trying to get Ceasar's body for a funeral thing."
I was impressed. I was about to ask her why that was important. Before I could open my mouth another student interrupted, "Wait. Ceasar's dead?"
"Yes, sir. He died on the second page of the reading."
"But no one mentioned that!"
"I'm pretty sure I did."
"When?"
"When I read the line, 'they all stab Ceasar.'"
"Oh."
So I asked again. "Alright, Class. What is happening right now?"
Blank looks. It was time for a break down.
"OK. So Ceasar was kind of being a jerk. He had taken over Rome, right? He was this tyrant, he had taken the title 'Dictator for Life, yo.' He was the Ancestor of the first OG (Original Gangster for all my non-80's kids.) So Brutus, who really really loved Roman society, Rome and the Roman Republic, was convinced into a plot to murder him. This could be argued to be a great crime, but more than that it, was one of the World's greatest betrayals, as Ceasar had given Brutus nothing but chances, leniency and friendship over the years. (That link is about Brutus, he stirred up some anti-Ceasar shit before.) After they kill him, they need to immediately explain it to the Roman people, and their rivals, like Marc Antony."
"So, Marc Antony was Ceasar's friend? Why did he come back and grovel then? Shake hands?"
"Grovel, good word. And I would say, because he didn't want to die. If your friend, your best friend, was murdered and the ten dudes with knives asked you, 'hey, you cool with this?' Would you say 'no' or 'yeah, guys, totally.'?"
"Marc Antony was smart. He was humble to their faces but when they left, it was all 'Cry Havoc' and dogs and stuff. It was about to be on. As they said in the lingo of my youth."
"Then he gives this really great speech about friends and Romans right?"
"Well, he opens up a speech that way."
"What's the speech about?" Asked one of the students.
"Dude. You read the Marc Antony part out loud."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Hand Sanitizer and a Mother's Worst Fear
I was at Disney recently, and not exactly by my own choice, but the story there gets hazy and is full of cartoons and roller coasters and there's no real reason to go into further detail. We'll begin and end the Disney segment with this: I was at Disney recently, and not exactly by my own choice.
A reality of theme parks and public places in general is their near uniform lack of cleanliness (on the germ level.) You can pay people to walk around picking up trash and wiping down glass...
Smiles? Here, sir. Anti-bacterial spray? He didn't show up for work, sir. Damnit, forget him boys, we'll do this with brooms and trash scoops alone. Once more into the breach, gentlemen.
...but in the end, every park goer, mall goer, boardwalk walker and roller coaster enthusiast, is touching every park surface, every bathroom faucet and every single one of those roller coaster line railings. Just running their hands all the way along them. All the way along.
I give you for evidence, my dear ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, Exhibit 1.
So it should be no surprise to a country full of scared mothers that those very same women who help perpetuate those germs, are terribly afraid of them, in a deep and lasting way. Germs scare mothers on more than one level.
a) They're gross. You touched this, and you probably went to the bathroom this week. And you probably didn't wash. (And mothers have this talent for saying words like "probably" so they sound more like "definitely." And they're so good at it that you actually begin to feel guilty.)
b) Germs can get their kids sick. And there's nothing a mother hates more in the entire World than anything that harms her baby. Unless of course it's the fact that she had kids in the first place, a lot of mother's seem to hate that. Under their breath, to other parents, when their kids aren't looking, or are so young to not hear (or rather, understand) the insult.
c) When kids get sick it's really inconvenient. Work has to be called in. Schoolwork has to be sent home. Lots of driving. Lots of appointments at lots of doctors. Waiting in waiting rooms, waiting in line at the grocery store for soup, waiting in line at the pharmacy, watching the same cartoon movie four times in as many hours, and when the child is finally asleep, not being able to think of anything other than that damn cartoon the rest of the evening.
At the end of my Disney day, I was sitting with my friend on a bench, waiting for our bus to come take us back to the car. We were settled in right next to a couple and their young daughter. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the mother and father were watching their child run around with open surprise. I could see the question floating through their heads, "What did she take to get this kind of energy and where can I get some?"
The daughter kept running over to a bench, touching it, hitting it, and sprinting back to her mother. And like clockwork, her mother would demand of her daughter, "Show me your hands." With a sullen obedience the girl would put out her hands, allowing her mother to put anti-bacterial on, before she sprinted off to explore our little corner of Disney.
After about five minutes of this the mother just had her hand sanitizer at the ready, and the daughter would sprint over with her hands out. Time savers, all.
Finally, the young girl runs over to me. She says something along the lines of "Diiiiiisneeeey" before running over to the trash can. This was the last object in our space that she hadn't explored. She hadn't touched.
But the carrot was on the string. The apple had been seen. Temptation is a cruel bitch.
Her mother looked on with a kind of distant horror, I would describe it as a pure understanding of the fact that nothing good could come of this. Her daughter continued to look at the trash, so she said, "Come here, honey. Why don't you play with your toys!"
Without even a look at her mother the little girl grabbed both sides of the trash receptacles opening, and shoved her entire head inside.
The mother's head mimicked the girl's motion, but instead of into a trash can, into her lap.
Dear God, why do I bother?
Finally the father got up, fighting a smile, and pulled his daughter's head out and hands off of the trash can.
A reality of theme parks and public places in general is their near uniform lack of cleanliness (on the germ level.) You can pay people to walk around picking up trash and wiping down glass...
...but in the end, every park goer, mall goer, boardwalk walker and roller coaster enthusiast, is touching every park surface, every bathroom faucet and every single one of those roller coaster line railings. Just running their hands all the way along them. All the way along.
So it should be no surprise to a country full of scared mothers that those very same women who help perpetuate those germs, are terribly afraid of them, in a deep and lasting way. Germs scare mothers on more than one level.
a) They're gross. You touched this, and you probably went to the bathroom this week. And you probably didn't wash. (And mothers have this talent for saying words like "probably" so they sound more like "definitely." And they're so good at it that you actually begin to feel guilty.)
b) Germs can get their kids sick. And there's nothing a mother hates more in the entire World than anything that harms her baby. Unless of course it's the fact that she had kids in the first place, a lot of mother's seem to hate that. Under their breath, to other parents, when their kids aren't looking, or are so young to not hear (or rather, understand) the insult.
c) When kids get sick it's really inconvenient. Work has to be called in. Schoolwork has to be sent home. Lots of driving. Lots of appointments at lots of doctors. Waiting in waiting rooms, waiting in line at the grocery store for soup, waiting in line at the pharmacy, watching the same cartoon movie four times in as many hours, and when the child is finally asleep, not being able to think of anything other than that damn cartoon the rest of the evening.
At the end of my Disney day, I was sitting with my friend on a bench, waiting for our bus to come take us back to the car. We were settled in right next to a couple and their young daughter. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the mother and father were watching their child run around with open surprise. I could see the question floating through their heads, "What did she take to get this kind of energy and where can I get some?"
The daughter kept running over to a bench, touching it, hitting it, and sprinting back to her mother. And like clockwork, her mother would demand of her daughter, "Show me your hands." With a sullen obedience the girl would put out her hands, allowing her mother to put anti-bacterial on, before she sprinted off to explore our little corner of Disney.
After about five minutes of this the mother just had her hand sanitizer at the ready, and the daughter would sprint over with her hands out. Time savers, all.
Finally, the young girl runs over to me. She says something along the lines of "Diiiiiisneeeey" before running over to the trash can. This was the last object in our space that she hadn't explored. She hadn't touched.
Her mother looked on with a kind of distant horror, I would describe it as a pure understanding of the fact that nothing good could come of this. Her daughter continued to look at the trash, so she said, "Come here, honey. Why don't you play with your toys!"
Without even a look at her mother the little girl grabbed both sides of the trash receptacles opening, and shoved her entire head inside.
The mother's head mimicked the girl's motion, but instead of into a trash can, into her lap.
Finally the father got up, fighting a smile, and pulled his daughter's head out and hands off of the trash can.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Presidential Bling
For some reason people are surprised by the wealth of our new Presidential candidates. Mitt Romney will be, if elected, the second wealthiest President in history.
This is not new. George Washington was worth over 500 million dollars and other presidents, like Frisky Jack himself (I don't know if anyone has ever called JFK "Frisky Jack" before, but...they really should) were worth closer to a billion.
Wealth is a consummate part of our political system. It's simply unavoidable. A poor man could possibly be your High School's Prom King, he knows everyone and therefore personality, looks and who he's dating could influence nearly everyone at the school. At the national level, with over 250 million potential voters needing to be reached and influenced, a poor man would fail, unless of course he was backed by a rich men.
Very rarely do rich men actually use their own money to campaign, but other rich people are simply more likely to invest in someone who has proven they know how to run a business (or marketing campaign) which is really what pre-election hysteria actually comes down to.
There is also the matter of psychology. Americans don't truly want an everyman. Very few of us want the responsibilities of a King, which is what we relate the President to actually being. However this is not the case, and this is where Voter Responsibility comes into question.
We are not electing a ruler. We are electing a leader. This is a man who has a say in National Politics as opposed to the say. He (and one day she) is not better than us, nor were they born with some ingrained ability or right to rule. They are simply people, who being raised with, by or as a part of the Wealthy have this sense of "Right." They believe that we, the People, do not know how to rule ourselves, and so it is their Duty to govern us.
Sadly, this is becoming more and more true. Ask your average college kid about politics. He'll (again, ladies too) tell you he either doesn't care, or he'll get into an ideological debate with you about abortion or the Death Penalty.
Most Americans simply don't have the background knowledge to actually get involved in politics. They don't understand the National (certainly not the Global) Financial Climate. They don't care.
Most Americans don't know what lowering or raising taxes does outside of what it says on their pay-stubs. Most Americans dislike or distrust Police Officers and don't pull over for Ambulances until they're being robbed or have been injured.
A higher standard of living eventually becomes an easier standard of living. And with ease comes laziness, and laziness will eventually lead to ignorance, of the blissful nature.
We are treading a dangerous path and treating it like the sidewalk to school holding our mother's hand.
But cycles happen. Trends rise and fall. Every trough has it's upside, hopefully we're nearing an apex point and we'll all be able to breath easy and love life.
Here's to hoping.
This is not new. George Washington was worth over 500 million dollars and other presidents, like Frisky Jack himself (I don't know if anyone has ever called JFK "Frisky Jack" before, but...they really should) were worth closer to a billion.
Wealth is a consummate part of our political system. It's simply unavoidable. A poor man could possibly be your High School's Prom King, he knows everyone and therefore personality, looks and who he's dating could influence nearly everyone at the school. At the national level, with over 250 million potential voters needing to be reached and influenced, a poor man would fail, unless of course he was backed by a rich men.
Very rarely do rich men actually use their own money to campaign, but other rich people are simply more likely to invest in someone who has proven they know how to run a business (or marketing campaign) which is really what pre-election hysteria actually comes down to.
There is also the matter of psychology. Americans don't truly want an everyman. Very few of us want the responsibilities of a King, which is what we relate the President to actually being. However this is not the case, and this is where Voter Responsibility comes into question.
We are not electing a ruler. We are electing a leader. This is a man who has a say in National Politics as opposed to the say. He (and one day she) is not better than us, nor were they born with some ingrained ability or right to rule. They are simply people, who being raised with, by or as a part of the Wealthy have this sense of "Right." They believe that we, the People, do not know how to rule ourselves, and so it is their Duty to govern us.
Sadly, this is becoming more and more true. Ask your average college kid about politics. He'll (again, ladies too) tell you he either doesn't care, or he'll get into an ideological debate with you about abortion or the Death Penalty.
Most Americans simply don't have the background knowledge to actually get involved in politics. They don't understand the National (certainly not the Global) Financial Climate. They don't care.
Most Americans don't know what lowering or raising taxes does outside of what it says on their pay-stubs. Most Americans dislike or distrust Police Officers and don't pull over for Ambulances until they're being robbed or have been injured.
A higher standard of living eventually becomes an easier standard of living. And with ease comes laziness, and laziness will eventually lead to ignorance, of the blissful nature.
We are treading a dangerous path and treating it like the sidewalk to school holding our mother's hand.
But cycles happen. Trends rise and fall. Every trough has it's upside, hopefully we're nearing an apex point and we'll all be able to breath easy and love life.
Here's to hoping.
Friday, February 3, 2012
She Has to Buy a Ticket
I'm walking out of the doors at work today next to a small group of guys talking about "the one that got away."
I heard the phrase "Great White Buffalo" being tossed around. Two of the friends were getting on the other one for his inaction in relation to a girl that had recently moved away.
Apparently she had been "the one." This kid had to be around nineteen. If only he knew.
But his response to the jests of his peers?
"Dudes, she can't just magically fly to Daytona."
He's right. Today we use airplanes. Much more comfortable than broomsticks and you get the added inconvenience of airport security.
Suck it, bros. She can't magically get here.
She has to buy a ticket.
I heard the phrase "Great White Buffalo" being tossed around. Two of the friends were getting on the other one for his inaction in relation to a girl that had recently moved away.
Apparently she had been "the one." This kid had to be around nineteen. If only he knew.
But his response to the jests of his peers?
"Dudes, she can't just magically fly to Daytona."
He's right. Today we use airplanes. Much more comfortable than broomsticks and you get the added inconvenience of airport security.
Suck it, bros. She can't magically get here.
She has to buy a ticket.
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