So, it was probably inevitable that I would write about my latest adventure. On Friday, I had laser vision correction.
As I sit here watching television with complete clarity, it's still hard for me to believe that I am not wearing glasses or contacts. The vision in my eyes truly was corrected. Certainly having one's vision corrected is at once miraculous, but at the same time routine these days.
But, as easy as it has become to have our vision corrected, sometimes, the way we each look at the world is so unique, that we are unable to change the way we see it, even if the way we see it is potentially harmful to ourselves or others. Other times, we have great fortune, and people show us a new way of both looking at, and seeing things.
I turn forty in six days. For the last two months, my husband of nearly sixteen years, plotted and schemed secretly with family and friends to surprise me with a weekend away. I was waylaid by the gesture. Everyone I work with was involved in the secret. My sister was an active plotter. Several friends assisted Jeph in his scheming. Even my grandma was involved in keeping the secret--though the other conspirators would agree, she nearly blew it.
I think a lot of my friends. I care about their struggles and triumphs and always want to do anything I can for any one of them. I know they care about me too, but I never saw them as people who would work so hard to ensure that such a special surprise would come off without a single hitch. I couldn't see that they cared so much. My vision of them has been corrected.
As this master plan came together, my grandmother, who nearly blew the whole thing, revealed to me that she had recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure and was on the road to having a long list of additional testing done. I happen to have a fairly young grandmother who has never been seriously ill. As she struggled not to blow Jeph's surprise, she only managed to make me concerned about her health. For the first time in my life, I saw that she won't be around forever.
Sadly, there are people in my family who were born taking advantage of my grandmother's generosity and love--people who will barely lift a finger to help her with anything and who live in her house rent free and contributing nothing. In my eyes, they are the most unforgivable kind of parasites; in hers they are grandchildren.
I started to consider what might happen if something did happen to her, and I didn't like that vision. I think it's always hard to love someone, especially a family member who has worked so hard throughout their life, be taken advantage of. It's hard to see those people rant, rave and be unpleasant, or even to be just plain antisocial. It's hard to understand how the people we love don't see these people in the same way we do, and the difference in vision can frequently drive wedges between us and those we worry about.
As much as we often see others in different ways, we probably even more frequently see ourselves differently than others do.
In the same way I couldn't see that my friends cared enough about me to help pull off a fabulous surprise, I didn't see myself as someone worthy of that kind of gift. A friend I care very dearly for recently shocked me when she shared that when discussing her child's future if something happened to her and her husband, Jeph and I came up as possible guardians. I could never have imagined that in looking at me, she would see someone worthy of that kind of responsibility. I've always thought of myself as one of her friends, but kind of on her periphery.
I write this blog about once a week, but I only occasionally get any feedback. Sometimes that bothers me. It's because I can't believe it's any good, or that anyone has even seen it if nobody says anything. Sometimes I think it's a lot like the radio signals we send to outer space trying to make contact with whomever else might be out there. Who even knows if I make contact? But as much as I often think that, sometimes someone will express being so moved by something I've written that it makes up for all the times I hear nothing. So I continue, whether I receive any feedback or not.
Sometimes we realize that something we deal with everyday takes on new meaning when we are going through an event ourselves. As this holiday weekend rolls on, one of my friends is grieving the loss of one of her beloved dogs. She's a fairly pragmatic person who works in an emergency veterinary hospital. She sees a lot of hopeless cases. It's not unusual for her to be forced to accept loss multiple times a shift. There isn't time to dwell. It's hard to remember the pain when you have to move so quickly, and gallows humor often ensues. There often is talk of a patient who is trying to "go to the light" and this kind of thing. Nobody means anything hurtful by it, it's just what you do to get through. When you're the one saying goodbye to your furry child, there is a moment of clarity. In those moments, you see what it feels like to be that hopeless case's parent, and it is only natural to come unglued when someone is trying to "get through" as you are losing a best friend. I see the strength in this person every time I am around her. I love her and wish there was never a time I would have to see her dealing with such a loss.
Christmas means different things to different people. For true believers, it's a time to celebrate the birth of their lord and savior. For others, it's different.
I recently was listening to an interview with a soldier who got to return from Iraq this holiday season. He was asked what Christmas was like for him last year. He and his friends had a small tree that they decorated, but they were working. There was nothing special going on that day for him. He saw Christmas as just another day.
One of my friends is working this entire weekend and struggling with health issues and some personal challenges. She isn't able to spend any time with family or friends, and the load she's been carrying around is weighing her down during a time that for most of us is joyful. For her, she sees this weekend as a reminder of things she wishes were different.
I'm not one of those true believers. As I talked with a friend yesterday about what Christmas means to me, I was comforted not to be the only non-believer. We both "celebrate," but we long to celebrate something different. Gatherings of people we truly care about, and the opportunity to do nice things for them is what Christmas means for us. We see the joyous spirit of the season and want to amplify that, even though the religious spirit of the holiday means little to us.
We won't all ever see things with the same eyes. Some security systems are set up to use retinal scans in order to achieve access. Our eyes are like our fingerprints. My guess is that like our eyes and our fingerprints, we also have our very own visions. Sometimes, we learn that the way we saw something in the past was wrong. Sometimes, we learn that we can see things others can't. Sometimes, no matter how much help we have from other people, we can never see things the way they truly are.
Of the times of the year I could have had the vision in my eyes corrected, perhaps this time of year only gives me shades of drab brown and gray to look at when I go to the window. I know when the spring comes, I will be rewarded with shades of green and flowers every color of the rainbow. I don't feel cheated by the drabness of the season though. For me, having some of my other vision issues corrected has been just as bright as that green flickering light I focused on Friday.
As this holiday weekend and this year draw to a close, I hope we all get to see the world we are hoping for, and I hope we have the vision to achieve it.
When I Look at the World--U2
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
December 19, 2011--Not so sure promoting nerd love is the right message.
So, I found myself wandering around, somewhat aimlessly, at Target today. I was killing time while I had some prescriptions filled. I picked up a few things, including cheese, which I now seem to have been obsessively craving for days. I ran across something in the girls' clothing department that kind of bothered me.
Hanging on a rack was a cute little blouse with eye-glasses over a heart and a slogan that read "I love nerds." On the one hand, it's a sweet sentiment on the other hand, what?!
Now, I have been a nerd pretty much all my life. Nerd has several definitions and means different things to different people. For me, it meant that I learned to read and write fairly quickly and I adored school with the exception of math. As previously stated, I was never into any sports. By the time I hit eighth grade, I was wearing glasses just to be able to see the blackboard. I read Agatha Christie novels, "Dragonlance" novels and was endlessly trying to check out the book "Mein Kampf" because I was a total World War II freak. (I still don't know why it was always checked out in our high school library.)
Needless to say, I didn't exactly run with the popular crowd. My personal twist was to start wearing primarily black and white by the time I was a junior in high school, and given a very controlling and sheltered home life, I didn't date or go out with friends much. At one point, an ex-boyfriend actually referred to me as 'one of those easy, greasy peace people.' I'm not completely sure what he meant by that, but I am pretty sure it was nothing nice. He read "Dragonlance" novels too, but I think he forgot that when he tried out for the wrestling team and got a letter man's jacket.
As early as I started to love school, I realized that I wasn't a popular kid. In second grade there was a girl I greatly admired and esteemed--sadly, she was a complete snob. She had one of those really cool 'satin' jackets of the time that was color blocked and had a roller skate applique on it. She wore a pink, floor length formal dress for our group picture day. And she had these really awesome tall boots with a pocket on the outsides. It's probably her fault that I endlessly covet tall boots that will fit over my calves. Damn her!
Sometimes, she acted like I was one of her friends. Other times, I was not nearly cool enough to be in her circle. I remember one day she asked me how I felt and for whatever reason, I answered that I wasn't feeling too hot. She responded "That's because you're not." I was 'lucky' enough to be invited to her birthday bunkin' party that year. I didn't have a really cool sleeping bag or anything like that, just a pillow and blanket. I felt really awkward there with all of her awesome friends, and her fancy party. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't know where it was in their giant maze of a house, so I peed my pants overnight. Without revealing my shameful secret, I said I wanted to go home and luckily, my step-dad came to get me and didn't so much chastise me for my soiled bedding.
That little top in the little girls' section probably would have fit someone in my second grade class. This many years later, even though life has probably "equalized" us in most respects, the sting of her snobbery and harsh words was fresh when I saw that little shirt. I'm pretty sure I never saw anything like that in any children's section when I was six or seven. That girl in my class didn't need help learning how to differentiate who was 'cool' and who was 'not.' Imagine how much more sophisticated her insults might have been if she'd had that kind of retail assistance.
Jeph and I are considering having a child of our own. I'm pretty sure he would agree that he was a member of the "cult of nerd" growing up. We savor the fact that our nerdiness and lack of popularity put us in a different social category--'most likely to succeed.' And to this day, I read goofy fantasy novels; become obsessed with weird, geeky styles; and fail to listen to the cool music. I'm okay with that. I think I'm a little more well-liked than I was as a kid. The circle of people I find myself in seems to be one that works to know who I am, instead of stopping at my quirkiness. But I worry. What if our child is a nerd? What if there's a girl or boy in second grade that treats our little Apoc the way that girl treated me?
In second grade, I didn't know I was a 'nerd,' I only knew that it hurt when people didn't include me, teased me, and made me feel unworthy of their friendship. I wasn't smart enough to understand that actually, they weren't worthy of mine.
Being a nerd is just one kind of 'person' you can be in school, or life in general. It seems to me, having such a classification called out on a piece of clothing for children sends the wrong message. Yeah, I know, it said "I love Nerds," but for a child that age, wouldn't it be better for it to say "I love my friends?"
It's just a thought.
Defying Gravity--Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth
Hanging on a rack was a cute little blouse with eye-glasses over a heart and a slogan that read "I love nerds." On the one hand, it's a sweet sentiment on the other hand, what?!
Now, I have been a nerd pretty much all my life. Nerd has several definitions and means different things to different people. For me, it meant that I learned to read and write fairly quickly and I adored school with the exception of math. As previously stated, I was never into any sports. By the time I hit eighth grade, I was wearing glasses just to be able to see the blackboard. I read Agatha Christie novels, "Dragonlance" novels and was endlessly trying to check out the book "Mein Kampf" because I was a total World War II freak. (I still don't know why it was always checked out in our high school library.)
Needless to say, I didn't exactly run with the popular crowd. My personal twist was to start wearing primarily black and white by the time I was a junior in high school, and given a very controlling and sheltered home life, I didn't date or go out with friends much. At one point, an ex-boyfriend actually referred to me as 'one of those easy, greasy peace people.' I'm not completely sure what he meant by that, but I am pretty sure it was nothing nice. He read "Dragonlance" novels too, but I think he forgot that when he tried out for the wrestling team and got a letter man's jacket.
As early as I started to love school, I realized that I wasn't a popular kid. In second grade there was a girl I greatly admired and esteemed--sadly, she was a complete snob. She had one of those really cool 'satin' jackets of the time that was color blocked and had a roller skate applique on it. She wore a pink, floor length formal dress for our group picture day. And she had these really awesome tall boots with a pocket on the outsides. It's probably her fault that I endlessly covet tall boots that will fit over my calves. Damn her!
Sometimes, she acted like I was one of her friends. Other times, I was not nearly cool enough to be in her circle. I remember one day she asked me how I felt and for whatever reason, I answered that I wasn't feeling too hot. She responded "That's because you're not." I was 'lucky' enough to be invited to her birthday bunkin' party that year. I didn't have a really cool sleeping bag or anything like that, just a pillow and blanket. I felt really awkward there with all of her awesome friends, and her fancy party. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't know where it was in their giant maze of a house, so I peed my pants overnight. Without revealing my shameful secret, I said I wanted to go home and luckily, my step-dad came to get me and didn't so much chastise me for my soiled bedding.
That little top in the little girls' section probably would have fit someone in my second grade class. This many years later, even though life has probably "equalized" us in most respects, the sting of her snobbery and harsh words was fresh when I saw that little shirt. I'm pretty sure I never saw anything like that in any children's section when I was six or seven. That girl in my class didn't need help learning how to differentiate who was 'cool' and who was 'not.' Imagine how much more sophisticated her insults might have been if she'd had that kind of retail assistance.
Jeph and I are considering having a child of our own. I'm pretty sure he would agree that he was a member of the "cult of nerd" growing up. We savor the fact that our nerdiness and lack of popularity put us in a different social category--'most likely to succeed.' And to this day, I read goofy fantasy novels; become obsessed with weird, geeky styles; and fail to listen to the cool music. I'm okay with that. I think I'm a little more well-liked than I was as a kid. The circle of people I find myself in seems to be one that works to know who I am, instead of stopping at my quirkiness. But I worry. What if our child is a nerd? What if there's a girl or boy in second grade that treats our little Apoc the way that girl treated me?
In second grade, I didn't know I was a 'nerd,' I only knew that it hurt when people didn't include me, teased me, and made me feel unworthy of their friendship. I wasn't smart enough to understand that actually, they weren't worthy of mine.
Being a nerd is just one kind of 'person' you can be in school, or life in general. It seems to me, having such a classification called out on a piece of clothing for children sends the wrong message. Yeah, I know, it said "I love Nerds," but for a child that age, wouldn't it be better for it to say "I love my friends?"
It's just a thought.
Defying Gravity--Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
December 6, 2011--Don't be sad and unispired.
So, around a week or so ago, my closest friend posted the following Facebook status: "inspire me."
I have been thinking about that simple, yet impassioned plea ever since, and today, I am watching something that prompts me to respond with the following: "look around."
I sit watching a report by Richard Engel on gold mining in Mali, West Africa. Gold mining in Africa is nothing like mining during the Gold Rush of the American West. It's not the adventure of men hoping to strike it rich. It is backbreaking work done by children and women who often receive little if any payment for their efforts. Engel speaks to one boy on his first day who has no plans to be working the mines forever. He aspires to be a student and a soccer player. Families work side by side for at most, four dollars a day. The young boy Engel speaks to will be paid a bucket of dirt for his first day's work--it might have gold in it, if he's lucky. It's heartbreaking to watch as children lie on the ground exhausted at the end of the day, with nothing to show for it. Engel himself climbs down into one of the mines, which have footholds near the top, and then as he describes it, "nothing to hold onto" as he goes down.
And that's the truth of it, there's nothing to hold onto. The people working the mines of Mali have nothing to hold onto. Everyday, their hopes are chipped away like fist-fulls of dirt. Every bit of inspiration, lost, like the footholds that stop as you go down.
It's easy to be dragged down by the day to day grind of life. It's easy to get lost in hopes and dreams that sometimes seem completely elusive. I know that I often feel that. I have the "gift" of experiencing hopelessness, but fortunately, even I sometimes forget what that truly means.
I forget that not getting to do something I really want to do so badly is not the same thing as being without hope. I was reminded of this last night. I desperately wanted to see Florence and the Machine, but the show was completely sold out. There had been no hope. As Florence says, "it's always darkest before the dawn," because as it happens, I scooped up a couple of tickets at the last minute. Impossible. When Jeph and I were discussing what I thought of as good fortune, he said "There's no saying 'no' to you."
I wasn't sure how I felt about that statement. On the one hand, perhaps it speaks to my perseverance: when I really want something, I do everything I can to make it happen. On the other, it speaks to a possible sense of entitlement. I know Jeph knows that for a great deal of my young life, when most people are making all kinds of mistakes, and running wild, I was told 'no' at every single turn. It's probably why he works so hard to make sure 'no' is a rarity and that as many as my "have to's" happen as can.
I have a great life filled with amazing amounts of opportunities. In some respects, every opportunity stolen from me in my childhood and youth has been returned to me in spades as an adult. As I sit here and think about the fact that there's no saying 'no' to me, I think about that boy in Mali who looks around him and wants more, and I wish there was someone to say 'yes' to him. I wish there was someone to give him footholds so he will never stop trying to climb to his dreams.
Even under the worst of circumstances, being born and raised in the West affords one the option of living a life built on inspiration. Having the freedom to try and overcome our most difficult of origins is more than most people in other parts of the world can even dream of. We literally have the opportunity to dream, and often, there are people and things all around us to plant the seeds.
Another friend posted a link about a book he recently read and recommended to his friends. It prompted a brief discussion of a couple of teachers we had in elementary school who planted the love of reading within us. For two of us, it was Mrs. Johnson reading "James and the Giant Peach" in first grade, for Bob, it was Mrs. Highfill reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," in fifth grade. Imagine if you lived in a world where a teacher was akin to that fictional witch. While it's true that we all want and expect more from our education system, just the fact that we have one is something we never should take for granted.
A few weeks ago, I took on the second of my required shifts at a local emergency veterinary hospital. It was the hardest day of work I have ever had--hands down. For days, I fought to recover from the feeling that I didn't do nearly enough. Every moment of the ten hours I was there, I was both painfully aware of, and awed by how amazing those who do it every day are by comparison. Even though I felt like a failure in many respects, that day of work increased my awareness and it makes me want to do better in my regular job.
Inspiration can be practical and impractical.
Yesterday, I watched part one of the new Syfy miniseries "Neverland." Though we've never talked explicitly about it, I think "Peter Pan" must always have been a favorite story of my grandmother's. As a child, I remember every time she would come to get me to go someplace, I would ask how to get wherever we were going and she invariably answered the same way: "Second star to the right, and straight ahead 'til morning." As a result, I'm kind of fond of "Peter Pan" myself. Over the years, there have been many treatments of the J. M. Barrie tale. I've enjoyed most of them, and to a degree, "Neverland" is no exception. It gives a little bit of the backstory behind how Neverland came to be in the first place and how the characters came to be there. Admittedly, the story is much "thinner" than the imagery and effects, as is not atypical of Syfy's attempts to be "epic." That said, as a lover of "eyecandy," I still find it wonderful. What strikes me about it is that this old story has captured the passions of people who work in very modern industries.
You just never know where inspiration is going to come from.
Another story from my childhood that never failed to capture my imagination was "Charlotte's Web." Every year, the animated version worked its way onto television. Most people gravitated toward Wilbur or the beautiful Charlotte. I found myself drawn to Templeton. I remember the character voiced by Paul Lynde, a favorite of mine from--yes--the Donnie and Marie show. Templeton was the brains of the outfit. He collected tidbits and scraps of--everything! Each little scrap of paper or packaging was potentially valuable to him, and thanks to his pack-ratting ways, Wilbur never had to worry about the slaughter house. So now, Jeph, you know why I can rarely throw anything away.
Inspiration can come from that piece of trash you're getting ready to throw away.
It can also come from giant and fantastic displays of talent and beauty. Last week, I watched a movie I hadn't seen in quite some time. As I watched Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman bring "The Hours" to life, I was reminded of a story I have to tell and where pieces of it come from. There is something about tragic, haunting stories that touch me in a way that nothing else does.
Last night, I didn't have to hear the word 'no.' Last night, I got to watch Florence Welch wail like Boudica in one of the most beautiful venues in Kansas City. Based on her lyrics, I think Welch is also moved by the tragic and haunting. There's a fragility in her strength that I can't compare to anyone else in music right now. Her extreme talent fills me up like a gas tank that was hanging at a quarter full.
It's as simple as looking around. It's as simple as selecting a play list. It's as hard as dreaming, and it's as hard as stretching to reach the footholds that can allow us climb to those dreams. Never overlook the availability of inspirational opportunity. For some of us, it's easier than mining for gold.
"Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)" Florence and the Machine
I have been thinking about that simple, yet impassioned plea ever since, and today, I am watching something that prompts me to respond with the following: "look around."
I sit watching a report by Richard Engel on gold mining in Mali, West Africa. Gold mining in Africa is nothing like mining during the Gold Rush of the American West. It's not the adventure of men hoping to strike it rich. It is backbreaking work done by children and women who often receive little if any payment for their efforts. Engel speaks to one boy on his first day who has no plans to be working the mines forever. He aspires to be a student and a soccer player. Families work side by side for at most, four dollars a day. The young boy Engel speaks to will be paid a bucket of dirt for his first day's work--it might have gold in it, if he's lucky. It's heartbreaking to watch as children lie on the ground exhausted at the end of the day, with nothing to show for it. Engel himself climbs down into one of the mines, which have footholds near the top, and then as he describes it, "nothing to hold onto" as he goes down.
And that's the truth of it, there's nothing to hold onto. The people working the mines of Mali have nothing to hold onto. Everyday, their hopes are chipped away like fist-fulls of dirt. Every bit of inspiration, lost, like the footholds that stop as you go down.
It's easy to be dragged down by the day to day grind of life. It's easy to get lost in hopes and dreams that sometimes seem completely elusive. I know that I often feel that. I have the "gift" of experiencing hopelessness, but fortunately, even I sometimes forget what that truly means.
I forget that not getting to do something I really want to do so badly is not the same thing as being without hope. I was reminded of this last night. I desperately wanted to see Florence and the Machine, but the show was completely sold out. There had been no hope. As Florence says, "it's always darkest before the dawn," because as it happens, I scooped up a couple of tickets at the last minute. Impossible. When Jeph and I were discussing what I thought of as good fortune, he said "There's no saying 'no' to you."
I wasn't sure how I felt about that statement. On the one hand, perhaps it speaks to my perseverance: when I really want something, I do everything I can to make it happen. On the other, it speaks to a possible sense of entitlement. I know Jeph knows that for a great deal of my young life, when most people are making all kinds of mistakes, and running wild, I was told 'no' at every single turn. It's probably why he works so hard to make sure 'no' is a rarity and that as many as my "have to's" happen as can.
I have a great life filled with amazing amounts of opportunities. In some respects, every opportunity stolen from me in my childhood and youth has been returned to me in spades as an adult. As I sit here and think about the fact that there's no saying 'no' to me, I think about that boy in Mali who looks around him and wants more, and I wish there was someone to say 'yes' to him. I wish there was someone to give him footholds so he will never stop trying to climb to his dreams.
Even under the worst of circumstances, being born and raised in the West affords one the option of living a life built on inspiration. Having the freedom to try and overcome our most difficult of origins is more than most people in other parts of the world can even dream of. We literally have the opportunity to dream, and often, there are people and things all around us to plant the seeds.
Another friend posted a link about a book he recently read and recommended to his friends. It prompted a brief discussion of a couple of teachers we had in elementary school who planted the love of reading within us. For two of us, it was Mrs. Johnson reading "James and the Giant Peach" in first grade, for Bob, it was Mrs. Highfill reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," in fifth grade. Imagine if you lived in a world where a teacher was akin to that fictional witch. While it's true that we all want and expect more from our education system, just the fact that we have one is something we never should take for granted.
A few weeks ago, I took on the second of my required shifts at a local emergency veterinary hospital. It was the hardest day of work I have ever had--hands down. For days, I fought to recover from the feeling that I didn't do nearly enough. Every moment of the ten hours I was there, I was both painfully aware of, and awed by how amazing those who do it every day are by comparison. Even though I felt like a failure in many respects, that day of work increased my awareness and it makes me want to do better in my regular job.
Inspiration can be practical and impractical.
Yesterday, I watched part one of the new Syfy miniseries "Neverland." Though we've never talked explicitly about it, I think "Peter Pan" must always have been a favorite story of my grandmother's. As a child, I remember every time she would come to get me to go someplace, I would ask how to get wherever we were going and she invariably answered the same way: "Second star to the right, and straight ahead 'til morning." As a result, I'm kind of fond of "Peter Pan" myself. Over the years, there have been many treatments of the J. M. Barrie tale. I've enjoyed most of them, and to a degree, "Neverland" is no exception. It gives a little bit of the backstory behind how Neverland came to be in the first place and how the characters came to be there. Admittedly, the story is much "thinner" than the imagery and effects, as is not atypical of Syfy's attempts to be "epic." That said, as a lover of "eyecandy," I still find it wonderful. What strikes me about it is that this old story has captured the passions of people who work in very modern industries.
You just never know where inspiration is going to come from.
Another story from my childhood that never failed to capture my imagination was "Charlotte's Web." Every year, the animated version worked its way onto television. Most people gravitated toward Wilbur or the beautiful Charlotte. I found myself drawn to Templeton. I remember the character voiced by Paul Lynde, a favorite of mine from--yes--the Donnie and Marie show. Templeton was the brains of the outfit. He collected tidbits and scraps of--everything! Each little scrap of paper or packaging was potentially valuable to him, and thanks to his pack-ratting ways, Wilbur never had to worry about the slaughter house. So now, Jeph, you know why I can rarely throw anything away.
Inspiration can come from that piece of trash you're getting ready to throw away.
It can also come from giant and fantastic displays of talent and beauty. Last week, I watched a movie I hadn't seen in quite some time. As I watched Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman bring "The Hours" to life, I was reminded of a story I have to tell and where pieces of it come from. There is something about tragic, haunting stories that touch me in a way that nothing else does.
Last night, I didn't have to hear the word 'no.' Last night, I got to watch Florence Welch wail like Boudica in one of the most beautiful venues in Kansas City. Based on her lyrics, I think Welch is also moved by the tragic and haunting. There's a fragility in her strength that I can't compare to anyone else in music right now. Her extreme talent fills me up like a gas tank that was hanging at a quarter full.
It's as simple as looking around. It's as simple as selecting a play list. It's as hard as dreaming, and it's as hard as stretching to reach the footholds that can allow us climb to those dreams. Never overlook the availability of inspirational opportunity. For some of us, it's easier than mining for gold.
"Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)" Florence and the Machine
Sunday, November 27, 2011
November 27, 2011--Purpose gives you...purpose.
So, Jeph and I are into the whole steam punk scene. We love anything that fits into the category of "Neo-Victorian." Naturally, we were drawn to the movie "Hugo," and happily, there was just as much substance as there was style.
Hugo is a Martin Scorsese film about a young boy living in a train station in Paris. After his father dies, an uncle who maintains the clocks at the station takes him in, but it's clear he has no desire or ability to be a caregiver. Hugo ends up left to his own devices and gets by on whatever food he can steal. The only thing that seems to drive him is continuing to repair a machine he was working on with his father before his death.
The machine is an automaton--a mechanized human figure. Hugo believes that if he is successful in repairing the machine, he will receive a final message from his father. In the effort to repair the machine, Hugo stoops to stealing toys and parts of toys from a toy shop in the station. Little does he know how close he is to the very spirit of his father.
Through the course of the film, his thieving gets him into plenty of trouble, and the owner of the toy shop takes one of his prized possessions away to punish him for stealing--a small notebook with drawings and diagrams his father had made of the automaton and how to repair him. In desperation, Hugo finds himself working for the grizzled and grumpy toy shop owner, and he is soon befriended by the man's god daughter.
As their friendship grows, Hugo and Isabelle learn the secrets of her sullen godfather, and they come to believe Hugo's purpose is to fix Papa Georges.
Purpose is something very important to Hugo, for his purpose is the only link that remains between him and his father. His purpose is the only thing that prevents him from absorbing the gravity of his situation--that he is completely alone in the world.
As I watched Hugo explaining this ideal to Isabelle, it occurred to me that like connection, as I discussed in regards to the pack and family structures in the Twilight Saga, purpose also can be our saving grace. Purpose gives our lives meaning, and when we feel our purposes slip away from us from time to time, we feel as if we are losing ourselves, or losing our connection to things we hold dear.
It's not always about being the leader. It's not about having a title. It's not even about having a job. It's about fitting into a keyhole--unlocking the door to who we are. It's about the pieces of our lives fitting together like Hugo's automaton. It's about being a working piece within our own lives.
Another gem within "Hugo" is its exploration of something Scorsese and anyone who has a love for the movies should care about--the early days of film, and the way they are a doorway to our dreams. Images of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin in the early days of the movies are heartwarming to see through Scorsese's lens. I am sure I don't love them as much as he does, but I do love them.
Jeph and I saw a review of "Hugo" this morning, basically describing it as disappointing and not being as magical as it should be. But how can you define magic?
The imagery of "Hugo" alone makes it cinematic eye candy--one of my favorite film genres! But it's the passionate purpose of a little boy trying to hold onto any shred of his father that he can, that is truly the heart of the movie. It's the reminder that we are all trying to live our purpose in whatever it is we do, and without it, our lives are broken.
If you're thinking about seeing "Hugo," you should go. It's more than just magical enough.
A Kind of Magic--Queen
Hugo is a Martin Scorsese film about a young boy living in a train station in Paris. After his father dies, an uncle who maintains the clocks at the station takes him in, but it's clear he has no desire or ability to be a caregiver. Hugo ends up left to his own devices and gets by on whatever food he can steal. The only thing that seems to drive him is continuing to repair a machine he was working on with his father before his death.
The machine is an automaton--a mechanized human figure. Hugo believes that if he is successful in repairing the machine, he will receive a final message from his father. In the effort to repair the machine, Hugo stoops to stealing toys and parts of toys from a toy shop in the station. Little does he know how close he is to the very spirit of his father.
Through the course of the film, his thieving gets him into plenty of trouble, and the owner of the toy shop takes one of his prized possessions away to punish him for stealing--a small notebook with drawings and diagrams his father had made of the automaton and how to repair him. In desperation, Hugo finds himself working for the grizzled and grumpy toy shop owner, and he is soon befriended by the man's god daughter.
As their friendship grows, Hugo and Isabelle learn the secrets of her sullen godfather, and they come to believe Hugo's purpose is to fix Papa Georges.
Purpose is something very important to Hugo, for his purpose is the only link that remains between him and his father. His purpose is the only thing that prevents him from absorbing the gravity of his situation--that he is completely alone in the world.
As I watched Hugo explaining this ideal to Isabelle, it occurred to me that like connection, as I discussed in regards to the pack and family structures in the Twilight Saga, purpose also can be our saving grace. Purpose gives our lives meaning, and when we feel our purposes slip away from us from time to time, we feel as if we are losing ourselves, or losing our connection to things we hold dear.
It's not always about being the leader. It's not about having a title. It's not even about having a job. It's about fitting into a keyhole--unlocking the door to who we are. It's about the pieces of our lives fitting together like Hugo's automaton. It's about being a working piece within our own lives.
Another gem within "Hugo" is its exploration of something Scorsese and anyone who has a love for the movies should care about--the early days of film, and the way they are a doorway to our dreams. Images of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin in the early days of the movies are heartwarming to see through Scorsese's lens. I am sure I don't love them as much as he does, but I do love them.
Jeph and I saw a review of "Hugo" this morning, basically describing it as disappointing and not being as magical as it should be. But how can you define magic?
The imagery of "Hugo" alone makes it cinematic eye candy--one of my favorite film genres! But it's the passionate purpose of a little boy trying to hold onto any shred of his father that he can, that is truly the heart of the movie. It's the reminder that we are all trying to live our purpose in whatever it is we do, and without it, our lives are broken.
If you're thinking about seeing "Hugo," you should go. It's more than just magical enough.
A Kind of Magic--Queen
Sunday, November 20, 2011
November 20, 2011--It's the unnatural love story, stupid.
So, the Twilight novels frequently receive criticism from "serious" writers and "serious" people for various reasons. Over the years, even I, in all of my swept up lovingness of them have identified things about them that I find ridiculous. Certain turns of phrase make me cringe because of their absolute absurdity, like when Edward is discussing his view of his wedding night with Bella and how it was "the best night of my existence." Now, come on, would a one hundred-year-old really talk that way? I don't think so. I don't think a one thousand-year-old would talk that way.
That said, there's something that strikes a chord with Twilight fans that allows us to ignore the fact that some of the themes are redundant and trite, and at times, not even as well executed as they could be. I mean, how many girl meets vampire, girl falls in love with vampire, vampire falls in love with girl and complications ensue stories are there? A cajillion.
So why is Twilight the one that got thrown at the wall and stuck? I don't know. I only know why it stuck for me, and why it seems to have stuck for my small circle of friends. It's because of the complete unreality of the love story.
Let's forget for a just a moment that Edward is a vampire. Let's forget that Jacob is a werewolf. Let's pretend that these guys are just two average Joes. Doing that strips away the first layer of "fantastic," but even if we strip away this layer, you still have two guys behaving over a girl in a very unnatural and unrealistic way. Neither one of them walked up to Bella after class and said, 'hey, do you want to grab a bite and go see a movie?' Both of them approached her from the extreme--essentially throwing themselves at, and then desperately pulling themselves away, in spite of their deep longing, from her.
Now tell me girls, when was the last time your significant other expressed their undying love for you with this kind of angst? I'm pretty sure it's never. And now tell me, how many times have you dreamed that someone would fall so desperately in love with you that even against the most unmanageable odds they would do absolutely anything for you--even involve themselves in massive "gang" fights to protect you from certain death? How many times have you dreamed that someone would make you the entire center of their world and cater to your most absurd whim at a moment's notice? I'm pretty sure it's everyday, even if you're in a relationship.
We dream of the the absurd, and Twilight is, well, the absurd. Even some of my more grounded and down to earth friends support this idea.
As the days leading up to the "Breaking Dawn" premiere trickled away, one such friend speculated on how much of the wedding night would really be played out on film. In my opinion, one of the strengths of the books is the fact that there is so much ridiculous sexual tension, and the actual consummation of the Edward and Bella relationship might consist of a paragraph. Now, most of us in long-term, committed relationships have sex, but there's something desperately intriguing about this couple who does not. My friend who was most interested in this aspect of the story even sought out Twilight porn in hopes that it might fulfill the fantasy. Interestingly, the reason it failed was because there was no plot.
Now I think we all know that, in general, porn usually doesn't have a plot, at most it has a theme. The Edward and Bella theme isn't strong enough to carry a porno flick. Why? It's because we are after the absurdly ridiculous and unnatural love story. If dressing up as Edward and Bella and "doing the deed" was enough, there wouldn't be any reason to read the books or go to the movies multiple times.
If the wedding night was the best night of Edward's existence, then for many of us who follow and love the Twilight series, this story is at least one of the best that can never really exist, and it's not just because vampires and werewolves don't exist, it's because this kind of love doesn't really exist.
Now I know that my saying that makes me a Debbie Downer, and I will probably incur a tiny little wrath from my lovely and devoted husband, who makes a damn fine effort to love me absurdly. But hear me out.
What are Edward and Bella going to do for an eternity?
We already know that for about a hundred years, Edward has been going to high school and college over and over, and that he wasn't even really interested in dating anyone. We know that he and his family never sleep, they have no interest in television. They don't use their time to get into politics or make the world better, unless we all give Carlisle the hero award for becoming a brilliant doctor in spite of his obvious handicap, or we recognize Rosalie as the most staunchly pro-life vampire ever. It would seem that the only routine connection to contemporary life Alice has is with fashion. Who knows how Emmet, Jasper and Esme pass their time?
Yes, they have ridiculous amounts of money and can do anything they want. But at a point, what is left to do after hundreds of years besides eat and stand around looking devastatingly beautiful?
Life and the kind of love we mere humans find are real. Reality is getting up in the morning, splashing water on your face to get the sleep out of your eyes, realizing you wish you'd shaved your legs last night, and brushing your teeth. It's going to work and getting through your day. It's coming home and recapping the mundane with your partner and hitting the sack early because you have to do it all again tomorrow. It's a vacation once a year if you're lucky, and figuring out how you're going to fund it, and who's going to watch your dogs. It's an occasional night out for dinner at a fancy place in fancy clothes. It's occasionally thoughtless, and saying things you didn't mean, or even failing to realize you should have responded in the first place. It's ordinary and mundane at times, and at others, it's the only thing that keeps you going in the wake of other disappointments and despair.
Edward and Bella are the fictional characters inside our souls. They are who we would be if we didn't really exist. I'm okay with the fact that I'm not going to be kicking around looking for something to do for the next thousand years, because that means I have to find a way to fit everything into my short life that I can, and I have to appreciate every good thing that comes along before I run out of time.
Would I love for Edward Cullen to come along and brush his cool marble hand against my cheek? You betcha, but I think it would be hard for me to compete with a mountain lion for long, and even though I'm totally enamored of it right now, I'm sure I'd get really tired of Isle Esme. So, I'm going to visit the Cullens from time to time and I am going to continue to breathe in and out, and do all of the things they don't have to worry about.
A Thousand Years--Christina Perri
That said, there's something that strikes a chord with Twilight fans that allows us to ignore the fact that some of the themes are redundant and trite, and at times, not even as well executed as they could be. I mean, how many girl meets vampire, girl falls in love with vampire, vampire falls in love with girl and complications ensue stories are there? A cajillion.
So why is Twilight the one that got thrown at the wall and stuck? I don't know. I only know why it stuck for me, and why it seems to have stuck for my small circle of friends. It's because of the complete unreality of the love story.
Let's forget for a just a moment that Edward is a vampire. Let's forget that Jacob is a werewolf. Let's pretend that these guys are just two average Joes. Doing that strips away the first layer of "fantastic," but even if we strip away this layer, you still have two guys behaving over a girl in a very unnatural and unrealistic way. Neither one of them walked up to Bella after class and said, 'hey, do you want to grab a bite and go see a movie?' Both of them approached her from the extreme--essentially throwing themselves at, and then desperately pulling themselves away, in spite of their deep longing, from her.
Now tell me girls, when was the last time your significant other expressed their undying love for you with this kind of angst? I'm pretty sure it's never. And now tell me, how many times have you dreamed that someone would fall so desperately in love with you that even against the most unmanageable odds they would do absolutely anything for you--even involve themselves in massive "gang" fights to protect you from certain death? How many times have you dreamed that someone would make you the entire center of their world and cater to your most absurd whim at a moment's notice? I'm pretty sure it's everyday, even if you're in a relationship.
We dream of the the absurd, and Twilight is, well, the absurd. Even some of my more grounded and down to earth friends support this idea.
As the days leading up to the "Breaking Dawn" premiere trickled away, one such friend speculated on how much of the wedding night would really be played out on film. In my opinion, one of the strengths of the books is the fact that there is so much ridiculous sexual tension, and the actual consummation of the Edward and Bella relationship might consist of a paragraph. Now, most of us in long-term, committed relationships have sex, but there's something desperately intriguing about this couple who does not. My friend who was most interested in this aspect of the story even sought out Twilight porn in hopes that it might fulfill the fantasy. Interestingly, the reason it failed was because there was no plot.
Now I think we all know that, in general, porn usually doesn't have a plot, at most it has a theme. The Edward and Bella theme isn't strong enough to carry a porno flick. Why? It's because we are after the absurdly ridiculous and unnatural love story. If dressing up as Edward and Bella and "doing the deed" was enough, there wouldn't be any reason to read the books or go to the movies multiple times.
If the wedding night was the best night of Edward's existence, then for many of us who follow and love the Twilight series, this story is at least one of the best that can never really exist, and it's not just because vampires and werewolves don't exist, it's because this kind of love doesn't really exist.
Now I know that my saying that makes me a Debbie Downer, and I will probably incur a tiny little wrath from my lovely and devoted husband, who makes a damn fine effort to love me absurdly. But hear me out.
What are Edward and Bella going to do for an eternity?
We already know that for about a hundred years, Edward has been going to high school and college over and over, and that he wasn't even really interested in dating anyone. We know that he and his family never sleep, they have no interest in television. They don't use their time to get into politics or make the world better, unless we all give Carlisle the hero award for becoming a brilliant doctor in spite of his obvious handicap, or we recognize Rosalie as the most staunchly pro-life vampire ever. It would seem that the only routine connection to contemporary life Alice has is with fashion. Who knows how Emmet, Jasper and Esme pass their time?
Yes, they have ridiculous amounts of money and can do anything they want. But at a point, what is left to do after hundreds of years besides eat and stand around looking devastatingly beautiful?
Life and the kind of love we mere humans find are real. Reality is getting up in the morning, splashing water on your face to get the sleep out of your eyes, realizing you wish you'd shaved your legs last night, and brushing your teeth. It's going to work and getting through your day. It's coming home and recapping the mundane with your partner and hitting the sack early because you have to do it all again tomorrow. It's a vacation once a year if you're lucky, and figuring out how you're going to fund it, and who's going to watch your dogs. It's an occasional night out for dinner at a fancy place in fancy clothes. It's occasionally thoughtless, and saying things you didn't mean, or even failing to realize you should have responded in the first place. It's ordinary and mundane at times, and at others, it's the only thing that keeps you going in the wake of other disappointments and despair.
Edward and Bella are the fictional characters inside our souls. They are who we would be if we didn't really exist. I'm okay with the fact that I'm not going to be kicking around looking for something to do for the next thousand years, because that means I have to find a way to fit everything into my short life that I can, and I have to appreciate every good thing that comes along before I run out of time.
Would I love for Edward Cullen to come along and brush his cool marble hand against my cheek? You betcha, but I think it would be hard for me to compete with a mountain lion for long, and even though I'm totally enamored of it right now, I'm sure I'd get really tired of Isle Esme. So, I'm going to visit the Cullens from time to time and I am going to continue to breathe in and out, and do all of the things they don't have to worry about.
A Thousand Years--Christina Perri
Friday, November 18, 2011
November 18, 2011--We belong.
So, it was probably a given that I would write about "Breaking Dawn" this weekend, but even I didn't anticipate what would strike me about the movie.
Of course, there's the beautiful wedding. There's the love story. There's the drama of death giving birth to new life. There are so many possible topics.
But what really grabbed my attention about the way "Breaking Dawn" is brought to life on film is the story of belonging, and the significance of that feeling to our lives.
The most obvious portrayal of belonging is the Quileute wolf pack. Because of the tight bonds within the pack, one member can't think without the other members hearing the thought. They operate as a unity. They belong together.
Less obvious, but equally compelling as the substantive bonds are tightened, is the sense of belonging within the Cullen Clan. The members of the Cullen family are related by venom, not blood, but as they struggle to support, love and protect each other, their bonds are no less strong than if they truly were family.
When Bella's seemingly foolhardy decision to follow through with her "vampire" pregnancy puts the Cullen Clan at even greater odds with the Quileute pack, the two groups seem destined to rip each other to shreds. Up to this point, the two have endured a quiet and uneasy peace--both groups honoring a treaty that allows both to coexist in an otherwise intolerable scenario.
Bella believed she was trading her human life with the potential of traditional marriage and family for a forever fantasy as a vampire. Her fantasy comes crashing to the Earth as the impossibility of motherhood creates a connection with something even stronger than the connection she has with Edward. The connection of motherhood and family is actually strong enough to die for.
We watch as Bella's connections to her human life seem to be unraveling. As she leaves for her honeymoon, she is saying good by to her human family. Until this point, Bella's connection has appeared to be loose at best. It is only when she must cut her ties that the choice of giving up those connections becomes real. She seems only to truly understand the meaning of her connection with her family group when she is leaving it behind.
These kinds of strong connections become a common theme in the book as well as the movie, but the movie projects the theme so profoundly that it is easy to identify with the pain and struggle we all experience when those kinds of connections come under threat or are coming apart.
As Jacob watches Bella wasting away, the connection he has with her begins to deteriorate as well. As he struggles to cope with Bella's choice, he forms a bond with his enemies that becomes stronger than the bond he shares with his fellow pack members. The bond is strengthened because everyone is pulling together to save Bella's life. The bond within the Quileute pack strengthens because of biology and the threat that Bella's choice presents to the greater humanity the wolves have vowed to protect.
Sometimes connections falter because of such choices. Sometimes our strong bonds are challenged by our convictions and what we know in our hearts is right. We find ourselves on the outside--on the periphery of the "packs" of which we have long been a part. At those times, we find the pain of our struggle to do what's right equal to the pain of the connections that loosen.
Bella's decision to sacrifice herself for the life of her child, destroys the uneasy peace between the Quileute pack and the Cullen Clan. Two groups who had worked together to turn away the threat of Victoria and her newborns find themselves at irreconcilable odds and the only solution is to fight each other to save what each group is unwilling to sacrifice--be it principle or family, respectively.
The chaotic struggle is difficult to watch, in part because ultimately both groups actually share the same values, but express those values in different ways. Both share the desire to protect innocent life, but they differ on the definition of innocent.
I think we all find ourselves in those situations, though probably not to the same dramatic degree. We're often trying to go the same direction as others, but have different ideas about how to get there. We sometimes let those differing ideas separate us, instead of working hard to protect our connections and to pull together. Our group dynamics and connections with each other become fragmented and torn.
If you've read this far, it's probably because you know the story of Edward and Bella, and you know that Bella survives her gamble and that the child from her union with Edward survives. If you know all that, you also know that Jacob finds himself irrevocably connected to Bella and Edward's child.
In the end, it is connection that saves us. It is connection that gives us our sense of hope, meaning, and self. Whether those connections are with our family groups or with groups of close friends, they are no less invaluable for us. In those moments where the connections are injured, we don't always know how we will be drawn back together. Sometimes, we are restrung by the shared values we have to rediscover, or a future that arrives before we know how to see it.
We belong.
We Belong--Pat Benatar
Of course, there's the beautiful wedding. There's the love story. There's the drama of death giving birth to new life. There are so many possible topics.
But what really grabbed my attention about the way "Breaking Dawn" is brought to life on film is the story of belonging, and the significance of that feeling to our lives.
The most obvious portrayal of belonging is the Quileute wolf pack. Because of the tight bonds within the pack, one member can't think without the other members hearing the thought. They operate as a unity. They belong together.
Less obvious, but equally compelling as the substantive bonds are tightened, is the sense of belonging within the Cullen Clan. The members of the Cullen family are related by venom, not blood, but as they struggle to support, love and protect each other, their bonds are no less strong than if they truly were family.
When Bella's seemingly foolhardy decision to follow through with her "vampire" pregnancy puts the Cullen Clan at even greater odds with the Quileute pack, the two groups seem destined to rip each other to shreds. Up to this point, the two have endured a quiet and uneasy peace--both groups honoring a treaty that allows both to coexist in an otherwise intolerable scenario.
Bella believed she was trading her human life with the potential of traditional marriage and family for a forever fantasy as a vampire. Her fantasy comes crashing to the Earth as the impossibility of motherhood creates a connection with something even stronger than the connection she has with Edward. The connection of motherhood and family is actually strong enough to die for.
We watch as Bella's connections to her human life seem to be unraveling. As she leaves for her honeymoon, she is saying good by to her human family. Until this point, Bella's connection has appeared to be loose at best. It is only when she must cut her ties that the choice of giving up those connections becomes real. She seems only to truly understand the meaning of her connection with her family group when she is leaving it behind.
These kinds of strong connections become a common theme in the book as well as the movie, but the movie projects the theme so profoundly that it is easy to identify with the pain and struggle we all experience when those kinds of connections come under threat or are coming apart.
As Jacob watches Bella wasting away, the connection he has with her begins to deteriorate as well. As he struggles to cope with Bella's choice, he forms a bond with his enemies that becomes stronger than the bond he shares with his fellow pack members. The bond is strengthened because everyone is pulling together to save Bella's life. The bond within the Quileute pack strengthens because of biology and the threat that Bella's choice presents to the greater humanity the wolves have vowed to protect.
Sometimes connections falter because of such choices. Sometimes our strong bonds are challenged by our convictions and what we know in our hearts is right. We find ourselves on the outside--on the periphery of the "packs" of which we have long been a part. At those times, we find the pain of our struggle to do what's right equal to the pain of the connections that loosen.
Bella's decision to sacrifice herself for the life of her child, destroys the uneasy peace between the Quileute pack and the Cullen Clan. Two groups who had worked together to turn away the threat of Victoria and her newborns find themselves at irreconcilable odds and the only solution is to fight each other to save what each group is unwilling to sacrifice--be it principle or family, respectively.
The chaotic struggle is difficult to watch, in part because ultimately both groups actually share the same values, but express those values in different ways. Both share the desire to protect innocent life, but they differ on the definition of innocent.
I think we all find ourselves in those situations, though probably not to the same dramatic degree. We're often trying to go the same direction as others, but have different ideas about how to get there. We sometimes let those differing ideas separate us, instead of working hard to protect our connections and to pull together. Our group dynamics and connections with each other become fragmented and torn.
If you've read this far, it's probably because you know the story of Edward and Bella, and you know that Bella survives her gamble and that the child from her union with Edward survives. If you know all that, you also know that Jacob finds himself irrevocably connected to Bella and Edward's child.
In the end, it is connection that saves us. It is connection that gives us our sense of hope, meaning, and self. Whether those connections are with our family groups or with groups of close friends, they are no less invaluable for us. In those moments where the connections are injured, we don't always know how we will be drawn back together. Sometimes, we are restrung by the shared values we have to rediscover, or a future that arrives before we know how to see it.
We belong.
We Belong--Pat Benatar
Saturday, November 12, 2011
November 12, 2011--We've got game! Now, where is our human decency?
So, I don't care about any sport or any game of any kind.
I play a few computer games on Facebook, but I won't allow myself to obsess over them. I play them to unwind my brain at the end of the day, not to fill time. I used to like playing kickball and soccer in elementary school, but I was never athletic, and I was always picked for teams near the tail end. I was always destined to be...more...academic.
For a few short years, I enjoyed the Tour de France, but that was before I realized how completely out of the realm of possibility it was that these guys could actually climb a mountain on a bike without chemical assistance. I still have my very favorite French cyclist that I want to believe is clean, but I know that this is just denial on my part.
I know a lot of people who are obsessed with different sports and teams, and they spend a great deal of their time following them. I'm not going to lie, I find it annoying. Until this week, I was content to keep my feelings about sports and games to myself. For one, who really cares what I think? For two, is any of this really hurting anyone?
I'm perfectly fine with nobody caring what I think, but to be honest, after this week, I really do believe that all of this is hurting people.
As the reports from Penn State have flooded the media, something I've often thought but never voiced seems to be screaming at me. Football at Penn State was so important to the university and the community that instead of protecting children from abuse, these incidents were swept under the carpet and ignored. The value of football was greater than the value of these boys. It makes me really sad, and it speaks volumes about a wide reaching problem in our society.
As kids grow up and play games, sometimes, their very futures are tied to the success they achieve in relation to the ball by their foot, or the one hitting the rim of the net. Some kids have no hope of being able to afford higher education without scholarships associated with games. Sadly, when they get to school, they often struggle to balance purpose. On the one hand, they are in college to pursue an education and create a better future for themselves, on the other, they are there to play ball and bring dollars to the schools they represent.
In recent months and years scandals have rocked several athletics programs. Kids barely have enough money to pay for food and essentials, they can't receive additional gifts or funding, but universities are welcome to watch the dough roll in for ticket sales, concessions and merchandising on the backs of these young men and women. I recently heard an interview with a former college athlete who mentioned not having any groceries in his fridge during a radio interview. He got in trouble because someone gave him a bag of groceries and this infraction was discovered. Now, I'm not saying college kids should be paid to play basketball or football for their schools--or any sport for that matter, but I don't think it's ethical for schools to benefit so greatly as their athletic scholars struggle to make ends meet.
I also understand that not every student riding in on a football scholarship has the commitment and intent to complete any degree. Many are hoping to be scouted out for professional teams and going to college is just a pit stop on the way to bigger, better things. I wish the financial benefits for schools were not outweighed by their original purpose--educating people. It makes me sad that "students" like these get a full ride scholarship while a non-athletic 'B' student has to saddle themselves with student loans or settle for community college in order to get an education.
At the end of the day, I think alumni and fans forget that universities were founded for something other than games. I often wonder what sacrifices other programs have to make in order to financially support this addiction that is completely unrelated to education. And I know some people will say that team sports impart a kind of education. They help those who truly are committed develop discipline, work ethic and a sense of teamwork, but I can think of a thousand other ways to instill those lessons that don't require a coach to be paid a million dollar plus salary. And I certainly don't think it's required that these individuals should be so valued by their communities that when they fail to protect a child and are fired for it that we should all be outraged.
Professional sports aren't any better.
I mentioned cycling, but many other more popular sports are dogged by allegations of substance abuse. The public's hunger for stronger, faster, longer, tempts athletes to inject themselves with steroids, growth hormones, testosterone and a whole host of other things. Some are so obsessed with winning and beating the tests designed to catch them, that they will go to insane lengths.
We delight in giant, fat men pounding into each other like mountain goats during mating season--probably in hopes that we will see one of them fall and potentially suffer horrible injury. I know that sports can lead to injury and these athletes choose to play professionally, knowing full well the possible consequences, but if we didn't watch, they wouldn't be paid millions to have the crap knocked out of themselves and their brains scrambled. I used to blame the athletes--after all, if they are arrogant enough to think that they can receive concussion after concussion and not suffer long term health concerns, they're the fools. But without the blood, where's the show?
When you think about it, all of this sports spectating isn't all that different from the "fun" of another arena--the Roman arenas. You know, the ones where gladiators hacked each other to bits and slaves and Christians were fed to animals? All in the name of entertainment.
What kills me about all of this is the fact that it isn't killing anyone else. Nobody is looking at what happened at Penn State and asking the important question: When did money and entertainment become so important that the safety of children, the education of our students, and the well-being of our fellow humans became an after thought, and are we going to do something about it?
I realize that I might be picked last for this team, but from a purely academic standpoint, it seems to me that addressing this issue at its core is a no brainer.
Games Without Frontiers--Peter Gabriel
I play a few computer games on Facebook, but I won't allow myself to obsess over them. I play them to unwind my brain at the end of the day, not to fill time. I used to like playing kickball and soccer in elementary school, but I was never athletic, and I was always picked for teams near the tail end. I was always destined to be...more...academic.
For a few short years, I enjoyed the Tour de France, but that was before I realized how completely out of the realm of possibility it was that these guys could actually climb a mountain on a bike without chemical assistance. I still have my very favorite French cyclist that I want to believe is clean, but I know that this is just denial on my part.
I know a lot of people who are obsessed with different sports and teams, and they spend a great deal of their time following them. I'm not going to lie, I find it annoying. Until this week, I was content to keep my feelings about sports and games to myself. For one, who really cares what I think? For two, is any of this really hurting anyone?
I'm perfectly fine with nobody caring what I think, but to be honest, after this week, I really do believe that all of this is hurting people.
As the reports from Penn State have flooded the media, something I've often thought but never voiced seems to be screaming at me. Football at Penn State was so important to the university and the community that instead of protecting children from abuse, these incidents were swept under the carpet and ignored. The value of football was greater than the value of these boys. It makes me really sad, and it speaks volumes about a wide reaching problem in our society.
As kids grow up and play games, sometimes, their very futures are tied to the success they achieve in relation to the ball by their foot, or the one hitting the rim of the net. Some kids have no hope of being able to afford higher education without scholarships associated with games. Sadly, when they get to school, they often struggle to balance purpose. On the one hand, they are in college to pursue an education and create a better future for themselves, on the other, they are there to play ball and bring dollars to the schools they represent.
In recent months and years scandals have rocked several athletics programs. Kids barely have enough money to pay for food and essentials, they can't receive additional gifts or funding, but universities are welcome to watch the dough roll in for ticket sales, concessions and merchandising on the backs of these young men and women. I recently heard an interview with a former college athlete who mentioned not having any groceries in his fridge during a radio interview. He got in trouble because someone gave him a bag of groceries and this infraction was discovered. Now, I'm not saying college kids should be paid to play basketball or football for their schools--or any sport for that matter, but I don't think it's ethical for schools to benefit so greatly as their athletic scholars struggle to make ends meet.
I also understand that not every student riding in on a football scholarship has the commitment and intent to complete any degree. Many are hoping to be scouted out for professional teams and going to college is just a pit stop on the way to bigger, better things. I wish the financial benefits for schools were not outweighed by their original purpose--educating people. It makes me sad that "students" like these get a full ride scholarship while a non-athletic 'B' student has to saddle themselves with student loans or settle for community college in order to get an education.
At the end of the day, I think alumni and fans forget that universities were founded for something other than games. I often wonder what sacrifices other programs have to make in order to financially support this addiction that is completely unrelated to education. And I know some people will say that team sports impart a kind of education. They help those who truly are committed develop discipline, work ethic and a sense of teamwork, but I can think of a thousand other ways to instill those lessons that don't require a coach to be paid a million dollar plus salary. And I certainly don't think it's required that these individuals should be so valued by their communities that when they fail to protect a child and are fired for it that we should all be outraged.
Professional sports aren't any better.
I mentioned cycling, but many other more popular sports are dogged by allegations of substance abuse. The public's hunger for stronger, faster, longer, tempts athletes to inject themselves with steroids, growth hormones, testosterone and a whole host of other things. Some are so obsessed with winning and beating the tests designed to catch them, that they will go to insane lengths.
We delight in giant, fat men pounding into each other like mountain goats during mating season--probably in hopes that we will see one of them fall and potentially suffer horrible injury. I know that sports can lead to injury and these athletes choose to play professionally, knowing full well the possible consequences, but if we didn't watch, they wouldn't be paid millions to have the crap knocked out of themselves and their brains scrambled. I used to blame the athletes--after all, if they are arrogant enough to think that they can receive concussion after concussion and not suffer long term health concerns, they're the fools. But without the blood, where's the show?
When you think about it, all of this sports spectating isn't all that different from the "fun" of another arena--the Roman arenas. You know, the ones where gladiators hacked each other to bits and slaves and Christians were fed to animals? All in the name of entertainment.
What kills me about all of this is the fact that it isn't killing anyone else. Nobody is looking at what happened at Penn State and asking the important question: When did money and entertainment become so important that the safety of children, the education of our students, and the well-being of our fellow humans became an after thought, and are we going to do something about it?
I realize that I might be picked last for this team, but from a purely academic standpoint, it seems to me that addressing this issue at its core is a no brainer.
Games Without Frontiers--Peter Gabriel
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