My dog Pavo weighs 8 lbs and could probably be carried in a handbag, if I were the sort of person who carried a handbag. Though I bought him from the humane society, he is what would be decidedly called a designer dog. He is a chi weenie, a genetically altered creature bred, for God knows what reason, to combine the traits of a Chihuahua and a Dachshund.
He is the sort of dog who turns heads at the park and regularly elicits squeals from little girls who exclaim “Oh he’s so cute.” Though he would fit in a handbag and could wear a hand knit sweater, my guess is that he would jump out of the hand bag and chew the sweater yarn until he threw it up.
He is from the part of the dog world that conjures images of gourmet dog food eaten in crystal dishes at the dining room table. Yet, if I let him, my dog would spend the entire day obsessively licking the place where his testicles used to be.
Yesterday I caught my fancy, designer dog eating the remnants of my wife’s lunch from the garbage can. Last week he attempted to eat his own vomit and he enjoys nothing more than a good pissing contest with his best friend, a pit bull 10 times his size. Poor Pavo always loses.
When he meets another dog in the park he barks and then sniffs butts. When given a chance he will happily chase the neighbors cat. He is 8lbs, but 8lbs of pure, unadulterated dog.
Growing up we always had big dogs, breeds like German Shepherds or Black Labs. I was hesitant to bring a fancy little dog into my home. I thought, what will the neighbors think? When I walk him, me 6’1, 225lbs, I worry about eliciting strange looks from people who might think to rob me because, surely a man with an 8lb dog couldn’t possibly defend himself. Then I look at Pavo. I see him beg for food at the table. I see him bravely chase the neighbor’s 16lb cat. I hear him bark with excitement when he sees a squirrel.
When I come home and he runs, tail wagging, to greet me, I forget for a moment that he is an 8lb designer dog. I forget the images of Paris Hilton strolling through the airport with her handbag accessory dog. I smile. My dog, all 8lbs, is always happy to see me. He is the most uncomplicated relationship I have in my life. On bad days he is my sanity. He is a dog. A creature who, regardless of his size, would be perfectly happy to spend all day rolling around in the mud and eating grass.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Life beyond the Lockout; Man up and support the WNBA
With the threat of lockout looming in both the NFL and NBA, it is no wonder that sports fans everywhere are considering prescriptions for Xanax. However, we needn’t look to medication to calm our building anxiety. If you are like me, a professional sports fan who thinks baseball is boring and is not satisfied with collegiate offerings on ESPN 27, I have a solution for you. It’s called the WNBA.
There is an unfortunate and all too common perception that the WNBA is boring, slow and lacking in highlights worthy of primetime coverage on Sports Center
While the WNBA may lack some of the showboating and Blake Griffinesque dunks over a brand new Kia, the game is comparable if not better in multiple ways.
The ladies of the WNBA are equally capable of draining eye dropping 3’s, setting screens and scraping the floor for a loose ball. Their passing game often surpasses even the most seasoned of the NBA’s floor generals and they do it all for far less money than even the lowest paid NBA player.
The current highest paid player in the WNBA is Lauren Jackson, 2 time league MVP for the Seattle Storm. The current highest paid player for the NBA is Kobe Bryant, whose team was swept in the 2nd round of the playoffs. Kobe Bryant brings in an eye dropping $24,806,250.00, not including endorsements. Jackson
While Jackson
As a dedicated basketball fan I generally shy away from the temptation to call NBA players spoiled, overpaid cry babies. However at some point it is up to fans to come together and demand accountable from the leagues that we support with our money, time and energy. Perhaps with lockouts looming in the NFL and NBA, it is time to come together and say enough is enough.
Regardless of whether or not there is an NBA lockout, I will remain a rabid basketball fan. My love for the game is unsinkable. What is uncertain is how my loyalty to the professional branch of Men’s basketball may change. Either way, I remain comforted to know that there is a professional league out there whose players play with a passion and love for the game that is unquestionable. This league just happens to be the WNBA, a league composed of people who do not share my gender. I am fine with that difference and I hope that more men will discover that there is life out there beyond the lockout.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Evolution of Ron Artest
NBA player Ron Artest recently announced that he will change his name to Metta World Peace. His revelation has been hailed by some as an arrogant publicity ploy. Others say it is just another in a string of bizarre actions by one the NBA’s most erratic figures.
Artest, despite being among the NBA’s best defenders in the post, is probably best remembered for his role in the much hyped 2004 fight between the Detroit Pistons and Indiana Pacers.
Following the fight, Artest received and served a 1 year suspension from the NBA. Since that time Artest has remained an emotional player who plays with a passion for the game that sometimes seems to transcend reason. Yet these levels of emotion, these occasional lapses in emotional regulation are some of the things that make Ron Artest so endearing.
What Artest proves time and again is that, if he is nothing else, he is a real person. He is a flawed person who, unlike some of his teammates, allows his cracks to show.
Artest is not from a privileged background; he grew up on violent streets in parts of New York
I applaud Artest’s willingness to emphasize world peace in such a fallable and human way. Even more I applaud his consistent efforts to advocate on behalf the mentally ill and to use his celebrity to be more than a false, exaggerated stereotype of a spoiled NBA thug. Whatever name Artest chooses, he remains a growing and evolving individual who deserves consideration as a whole person and not simply a caricature.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Worried about the end of the world? Try jogging
Some people believe that the world is going to end tomorrow. Others believe it will happen in 2012. If I were a Las Vegas odds-maker I would give equal weight to everyday between today and the actual end of the world, whenever that may happen.
Last year I decided to stop watching movies about the end of the world. I made this decision after watching the film "The Road" based upon the Cormac McCarthy book of the same name and my vote for the most depressing and hopeless film I have ever had the displeasure of watching.
If and when the end of the world comes; be it through rapture, disease, environmental disaster, a super volcano or a zombie attack, I have no control over any of these things. My current moratorium on post apocalyptic films (unless they are funny-see Zombieland), is about my desire to no longer "entertain" myself by watching things that upset my fragile psyche.
The end of the world has been predicted more times than Bill Gates has dollars. I imagine that if we were to take a survey of end of the world predictions these would correspond to at least one prediction everyday for the whole of history.
Some people look for evidence that the world is going to end. Some look to the Bible: plagues, wars, rumors of wars. There is not a time in history when a plague of some kind has not been present. There has not been a moment in time when a war was not being fought somewhere over something. Other people look to present natural or man-made disasters; earthquakes, volcanoes. A simple read of history book tells us that earthquakes, volcanoes and other natural disaster have been present throughout history, ever heard of Mt. Vesuvius?
Some people, like Pat Robertson, see the hand of God in every disaster, calling it divine punishment for the wickedness of man. Other's see natural and man made disasters as evidence that there is no God at all. I prefer to believe that, in a world with so many natural and man made disasters, the fact that any of us make it a day is evidence of God.
While the question of God's existence and involvement in the daily operations of planet Earth will, without doubt, be debated until the end of time, the one thing that I am certain of is that what I have control over in this world is a very small postage stamp on a very large envelope.
I had a friend who spent most of his time reading about the end of the world. When he read the Bible he only read Revelations. When he watched television he only watched shows about various forms of catastrophic doom and gloom. When he got on the internet he only read various conspiracy theories about how the governments of the world have created diseases.
While my former friend is perhaps an extreme case, he is indicative of many of us. While he read, he neglected his body through a lack of exercise. While he watched TV, he popped potato chips in his mouth. While he read the internet, he smoked cigarettes. If I were a gambling man, I would bet that he will eventually die not in a nuclear holocaust or super volcano, but by heart disease or cancer. My suggestion to him, take up jogging.
So while the world may end tomorrow, or in a billion years. What remains true and timeless is that we only have control over what we can control. We only have influence over what we can influence. If you are concerned about environmental disaster, recycle. If you are concerned about a zombie attack, take up running.
I leave you with this final thought. Q: What has killed more people than all of the wars in history combined? A: The lowly mosquito. Yes, the truth is, no matter what we do, the mosquito wins in the end. Somehow I find that thought comforting.
Last year I decided to stop watching movies about the end of the world. I made this decision after watching the film "The Road" based upon the Cormac McCarthy book of the same name and my vote for the most depressing and hopeless film I have ever had the displeasure of watching.
If and when the end of the world comes; be it through rapture, disease, environmental disaster, a super volcano or a zombie attack, I have no control over any of these things. My current moratorium on post apocalyptic films (unless they are funny-see Zombieland), is about my desire to no longer "entertain" myself by watching things that upset my fragile psyche.
The end of the world has been predicted more times than Bill Gates has dollars. I imagine that if we were to take a survey of end of the world predictions these would correspond to at least one prediction everyday for the whole of history.
Some people look for evidence that the world is going to end. Some look to the Bible: plagues, wars, rumors of wars. There is not a time in history when a plague of some kind has not been present. There has not been a moment in time when a war was not being fought somewhere over something. Other people look to present natural or man-made disasters; earthquakes, volcanoes. A simple read of history book tells us that earthquakes, volcanoes and other natural disaster have been present throughout history, ever heard of Mt. Vesuvius?
Some people, like Pat Robertson, see the hand of God in every disaster, calling it divine punishment for the wickedness of man. Other's see natural and man made disasters as evidence that there is no God at all. I prefer to believe that, in a world with so many natural and man made disasters, the fact that any of us make it a day is evidence of God.
While the question of God's existence and involvement in the daily operations of planet Earth will, without doubt, be debated until the end of time, the one thing that I am certain of is that what I have control over in this world is a very small postage stamp on a very large envelope.
I had a friend who spent most of his time reading about the end of the world. When he read the Bible he only read Revelations. When he watched television he only watched shows about various forms of catastrophic doom and gloom. When he got on the internet he only read various conspiracy theories about how the governments of the world have created diseases.
While my former friend is perhaps an extreme case, he is indicative of many of us. While he read, he neglected his body through a lack of exercise. While he watched TV, he popped potato chips in his mouth. While he read the internet, he smoked cigarettes. If I were a gambling man, I would bet that he will eventually die not in a nuclear holocaust or super volcano, but by heart disease or cancer. My suggestion to him, take up jogging.
So while the world may end tomorrow, or in a billion years. What remains true and timeless is that we only have control over what we can control. We only have influence over what we can influence. If you are concerned about environmental disaster, recycle. If you are concerned about a zombie attack, take up running.
I leave you with this final thought. Q: What has killed more people than all of the wars in history combined? A: The lowly mosquito. Yes, the truth is, no matter what we do, the mosquito wins in the end. Somehow I find that thought comforting.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
An Amicable End to My Life Long Love Affair With the "F" Word
I have come to a point in my life where I give more thought to how my words and action impact others, especially younger people. There is one word in particular that has taken up much of this thought. That one word, versatile, expressive, dirty and pretty all in the same breathe. I am talking about the "F" word, a word so sensational that I dare not type it in long form.
I can't quite put my finger on when my love for the "F" word began. The best I can do is point to a scene from the 80's film Coming to America in which Clarence the Barber, after becoming indignant to learn that his friends do not believe Joe Lewis is indeed 137 years old, turns to them and says "F you, F you and F you, who's next?"
In short time I became enthralled with the "F" word, especially when used as a progressive adjective and most definitely when combined with the word mother. I fell in love with the words versatility and ability to express raw emotion in simple terms.
To me the "F" word has been like music. It enhances sentences and adds needed color to each phrase. Things just began to sound better when the "F" word was added, particularly when inserted into the middle of a phrase. Good morning became Good "F'ing" Morning, Happy Birthday became Happy "F'ing Birthday and for added benefit Merry Christmas became Merry "Mother F'ing" Christmas.
I became so in love with the word that I waited through the whole of Snakes on a Plane, a truly awful film but with a brilliantly simple title, just to hear Samuel L Jackson utter the words like only he can, "That's it, I've had enough of these mother F'n snakes on this mother f''n plane.
As much as I grew to love the word, my relationship has always been infused with a great sense of unease. I am not ignorant to the dark connotative history of the word. I am not blind to the knowledge that the word is deeply offensive to many people. Most of all, I do not some day want to hear a child yell in anger "F you," and know that it is because of me.
While my long love affair with the "F" word has been sweet at times, I don't want it to become my legacy. I am not naive enough to think that continuing to use the word in any form passes the simple test of kindergarten logic. Telling children "Don't F'ing cuss" is simply illogical. Character is not communicated by telling others "Do as I say, not as I do." It is shown through action and passed on through the words we use.
So to you "F" word. It's been real. I am sure I will see you in films and hear you on the street but you are no longer a part of me. We shall have the same relationship that I have with cigarettes. You are now part of my past. A part that I deeply appreciate for what it was, but one that I recognize, at least metaphorically, may have been killing me in some small way.
I can't quite put my finger on when my love for the "F" word began. The best I can do is point to a scene from the 80's film Coming to America in which Clarence the Barber, after becoming indignant to learn that his friends do not believe Joe Lewis is indeed 137 years old, turns to them and says "F you, F you and F you, who's next?"
In short time I became enthralled with the "F" word, especially when used as a progressive adjective and most definitely when combined with the word mother. I fell in love with the words versatility and ability to express raw emotion in simple terms.
To me the "F" word has been like music. It enhances sentences and adds needed color to each phrase. Things just began to sound better when the "F" word was added, particularly when inserted into the middle of a phrase. Good morning became Good "F'ing" Morning, Happy Birthday became Happy "F'ing Birthday and for added benefit Merry Christmas became Merry "Mother F'ing" Christmas.
I became so in love with the word that I waited through the whole of Snakes on a Plane, a truly awful film but with a brilliantly simple title, just to hear Samuel L Jackson utter the words like only he can, "That's it, I've had enough of these mother F'n snakes on this mother f''n plane.
As much as I grew to love the word, my relationship has always been infused with a great sense of unease. I am not ignorant to the dark connotative history of the word. I am not blind to the knowledge that the word is deeply offensive to many people. Most of all, I do not some day want to hear a child yell in anger "F you," and know that it is because of me.
While my long love affair with the "F" word has been sweet at times, I don't want it to become my legacy. I am not naive enough to think that continuing to use the word in any form passes the simple test of kindergarten logic. Telling children "Don't F'ing cuss" is simply illogical. Character is not communicated by telling others "Do as I say, not as I do." It is shown through action and passed on through the words we use.
So to you "F" word. It's been real. I am sure I will see you in films and hear you on the street but you are no longer a part of me. We shall have the same relationship that I have with cigarettes. You are now part of my past. A part that I deeply appreciate for what it was, but one that I recognize, at least metaphorically, may have been killing me in some small way.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
My feets is too fat for Nikes: Making the perfect running playlist
In my humble opinion, finding the right music is as essential to running as finding the right pair of shoes. My recommendation, by the way, is NuBalance, because my feets is too fat for Nikes.
The process of finding the right play list for a run has taken, much like the process of finding the right shoes, a bit of trial and error, minus the shin splints. I can best describe this process by comparing it to the plight of Goldielocks in the 3 bears saga. Some songs are too slow, some are too fast and some as just right.
When I first began looking for music I thought, the faster the better. This reasoning, although somewhat logical, ended with me being winded and downtrodden after only a couple of miles. I now shy away from anything too fast. Dance music is mostly out of the question. While some songs might be good for the club, they are bad for the treadmill, case in point Bombs over Baghdad by Outkast, a great song, but my vote for worst fast paced running song.
Choosing songs from the slow end of the spectrum might seem strange. However there is a certain logic to it. Slower songs tend to be more even tempo and can help keep a nice even pace over a long distance run. However it is best to shy away from songs that are too slow or a play list of only slower songs. One night I decided to try an all gospel hymn run. How could you go wrong with exercise and Jesus, right? After a mile or so I nearly fell off the treadmill. My vote for worst slow song, Swing Low Sweet Chariot.
So how, you ask, did I find my baby bear? Balance is the key. Songs that have have differing tempos are perfect. Songs that start out slow and get faster can give you great energy. Mixing slower tempo songs with a consistent rhythm and faster songs with a great beat can keep you motivated.
So what, you may wonder, is my perfect mix? Well, it is ever-evolving, but right now it is a mix of melodic alternative rock and mid tempo hip hop. I am always open to suggestions, but here is my current mix.
"Club Can't Handle Me Right Now (Flo Rida), "Sweet Disposition (The Temper Trap), "F You (CeeLo Green), "Blood Buzz Ohio" (The National), "Runaway" (Kanye West), "Right Above It" (Lil Wayne and Drake), "All the Right Moves" (One Republic), "Crazy (Gnarles Barkley), "Drop the World" (Lil Wayne and Eminem), "Dynamite" (Taio Cruz), "Human" (The Killers), "Mama Said Knock You Out" (LL Cool J), "Paper Planes" (MIA), "Pumped Up Kick" (Foster the People), "Ridin Solo" (Jason DeRulo), "Virtual Insanity" (Jamiroquai), "We Used to Wait" (Arcade Fire), "Lose Yourself" (Eminem).
The process of finding the right play list for a run has taken, much like the process of finding the right shoes, a bit of trial and error, minus the shin splints. I can best describe this process by comparing it to the plight of Goldielocks in the 3 bears saga. Some songs are too slow, some are too fast and some as just right.
When I first began looking for music I thought, the faster the better. This reasoning, although somewhat logical, ended with me being winded and downtrodden after only a couple of miles. I now shy away from anything too fast. Dance music is mostly out of the question. While some songs might be good for the club, they are bad for the treadmill, case in point Bombs over Baghdad by Outkast, a great song, but my vote for worst fast paced running song.
Choosing songs from the slow end of the spectrum might seem strange. However there is a certain logic to it. Slower songs tend to be more even tempo and can help keep a nice even pace over a long distance run. However it is best to shy away from songs that are too slow or a play list of only slower songs. One night I decided to try an all gospel hymn run. How could you go wrong with exercise and Jesus, right? After a mile or so I nearly fell off the treadmill. My vote for worst slow song, Swing Low Sweet Chariot.
So how, you ask, did I find my baby bear? Balance is the key. Songs that have have differing tempos are perfect. Songs that start out slow and get faster can give you great energy. Mixing slower tempo songs with a consistent rhythm and faster songs with a great beat can keep you motivated.
So what, you may wonder, is my perfect mix? Well, it is ever-evolving, but right now it is a mix of melodic alternative rock and mid tempo hip hop. I am always open to suggestions, but here is my current mix.
"Club Can't Handle Me Right Now (Flo Rida), "Sweet Disposition (The Temper Trap), "F You (CeeLo Green), "Blood Buzz Ohio" (The National), "Runaway" (Kanye West), "Right Above It" (Lil Wayne and Drake), "All the Right Moves" (One Republic), "Crazy (Gnarles Barkley), "Drop the World" (Lil Wayne and Eminem), "Dynamite" (Taio Cruz), "Human" (The Killers), "Mama Said Knock You Out" (LL Cool J), "Paper Planes" (MIA), "Pumped Up Kick" (Foster the People), "Ridin Solo" (Jason DeRulo), "Virtual Insanity" (Jamiroquai), "We Used to Wait" (Arcade Fire), "Lose Yourself" (Eminem).
Is Eating Cake Before Running a Good Idea
Though it may be a stretch to call myself an athlete, I love to run. I began my life as a runner 5 years ago and haven't looked back since.
The first time I ran I made it 1/2 a block and suffered shin splints. Later I made a mile and celebrated with a slice of carrot cake. I was in the process of losing weight at the time, running was in line with this goal, carrot cake was not. This led me to believe that eating carrot cake before running was a great idea. This led me to a stomach ache and the conclusion that eating carrot cake before a run is a very, very bad idea.
My problem with running has been that I am never satisfied with the run. I seek to run farther, faster, steeper. This quest to run steeper hills, along with a pronounced lack of calcium from the debilitating condition known as lactose intolerance, led my bones to weaken. This led to me breaking my ankle.
Breaking my ankle was devastating. I couldn't walk for months, I couldn't run for almost a year. What I learned from that experience was that running up hills at fast speeds is a bad idea, taking calcium supplements is a good idea and that calcium supplements can be constipating.
My ankle has never been the same and has led to a recurring hip injury. Having a hip injury leads me to wonder, who gets a hip injury? I had previously thought a hip injury was an ailment reserved only for say, my grandmother.
The last 2 years has been a cycle of running and injury. I am not sure that running is good for me over the long run. Perhaps it isn't good for anyone. In fact I am pretty sure it isn't. Maybe I should stop running? I won't, not yet. Today I did yoga for the first time. Pat Robertson says that yoga is demonic, after doing yoga I agree. I am more sore than when I run. I didn't do yoga to get my mind in touch with my body or to get realign my chacras. I did yoga so I can prolong my running, um career, and reduce the risk of future injuries.
If anyone has any suggestions for alternative exercise let me know. Just don't suggest biking. I know I live in Portland, but I hate bikes. If you are thinking about running as an activity my suggestion is go for it and get a good music mix. More on that to come.
"I always loved running...it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs." - Jesse Owens
The first time I ran I made it 1/2 a block and suffered shin splints. Later I made a mile and celebrated with a slice of carrot cake. I was in the process of losing weight at the time, running was in line with this goal, carrot cake was not. This led me to believe that eating carrot cake before running was a great idea. This led me to a stomach ache and the conclusion that eating carrot cake before a run is a very, very bad idea.
My problem with running has been that I am never satisfied with the run. I seek to run farther, faster, steeper. This quest to run steeper hills, along with a pronounced lack of calcium from the debilitating condition known as lactose intolerance, led my bones to weaken. This led to me breaking my ankle.
Breaking my ankle was devastating. I couldn't walk for months, I couldn't run for almost a year. What I learned from that experience was that running up hills at fast speeds is a bad idea, taking calcium supplements is a good idea and that calcium supplements can be constipating.
My ankle has never been the same and has led to a recurring hip injury. Having a hip injury leads me to wonder, who gets a hip injury? I had previously thought a hip injury was an ailment reserved only for say, my grandmother.
The last 2 years has been a cycle of running and injury. I am not sure that running is good for me over the long run. Perhaps it isn't good for anyone. In fact I am pretty sure it isn't. Maybe I should stop running? I won't, not yet. Today I did yoga for the first time. Pat Robertson says that yoga is demonic, after doing yoga I agree. I am more sore than when I run. I didn't do yoga to get my mind in touch with my body or to get realign my chacras. I did yoga so I can prolong my running, um career, and reduce the risk of future injuries.
If anyone has any suggestions for alternative exercise let me know. Just don't suggest biking. I know I live in Portland, but I hate bikes. If you are thinking about running as an activity my suggestion is go for it and get a good music mix. More on that to come.
"I always loved running...it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs." - Jesse Owens
Friday, May 6, 2011
Missing my crazy ole mama.; A mother's day tribute
“It’ll be fine,” My mother said, dismissing my first grader concerns over our impending move to Arizona. “Besides, in Arizona everyone lives in houses made out of rattlesnakes and the biggest one is owned by Willie Nelson. If you’re good I’ll take you to see it.”
I envisioned walls made from snakes tied up end to end, hissing and rattling through the night. I don’t know why I believed her or if I even knew who Willie Nelson was, but for some odd reason I found her obvious fabrication comforting. I have yet, by the way, to see a house in Arizona made from rattlesnakes.
Before she passed away 2 ½ years ago, I had been in the habit of calling my mother, at minimum, every Friday early in the afternoon. For several months after her death I would periodically find my fingers pushing the buttons on my phone that would call up her number. In the few seconds that it took me to process my mistake everything would feel okay again, as if I could call and hear how her week had gone or listen to the silence as she put her dog on the phone to say hello.
In those first weeks I would call her cell phone number just to hear her outgoing message voice speak a few words that had recently been so meaningless. There was something about those few words, spoken in the rich deep tone of her melodic voice, slow and measured, with a cadence similar to my own.
I don’t think a day has passed since her death when my mind hasn’t wandered to thinking about her. I no longer remember the bad things, the times when we didn’t get along, the moments when she let me down. I choose not too. I only remember the good times, her relentless advocacy for the underdog, her natural sense of justice, her sneaking wit and familiar sense of humor.
I carry her with me always, as we all do with those who have gone before us. I haven’t been the same person since she passed. There is something about death that changes us, that seems to alter the very chemical make up or our being. There is something about death that, even as we heal, leaves a scar to remind us of what once was there.
“Get off the phone,” pause “Phone head.” She said, smiling to reveal a mischievous squint from the corner of her eye. I let out a quick toothy grin and rolled my eyes. I was 16 and she was so lame, but still somehow charming. “I mean it,” she said. “Get off the phone before I phone your head.”
“Hold on,” I told my friend on the other end of the line. “Ma, that doesn’t even make sense.”
“I’ll make sense of your face.” She shook her fist. We both laughed and I ended my call. My mother could make anything into an empty threat. It is funny how that is one of things I miss most.
If you see me around and feel the need to threaten someone, go ahead and make it me. Just make sure the threat is absurd and delivered with love.
I envisioned walls made from snakes tied up end to end, hissing and rattling through the night. I don’t know why I believed her or if I even knew who Willie Nelson was, but for some odd reason I found her obvious fabrication comforting. I have yet, by the way, to see a house in Arizona made from rattlesnakes.
Before she passed away 2 ½ years ago, I had been in the habit of calling my mother, at minimum, every Friday early in the afternoon. For several months after her death I would periodically find my fingers pushing the buttons on my phone that would call up her number. In the few seconds that it took me to process my mistake everything would feel okay again, as if I could call and hear how her week had gone or listen to the silence as she put her dog on the phone to say hello.
In those first weeks I would call her cell phone number just to hear her outgoing message voice speak a few words that had recently been so meaningless. There was something about those few words, spoken in the rich deep tone of her melodic voice, slow and measured, with a cadence similar to my own.
I don’t think a day has passed since her death when my mind hasn’t wandered to thinking about her. I no longer remember the bad things, the times when we didn’t get along, the moments when she let me down. I choose not too. I only remember the good times, her relentless advocacy for the underdog, her natural sense of justice, her sneaking wit and familiar sense of humor.
I carry her with me always, as we all do with those who have gone before us. I haven’t been the same person since she passed. There is something about death that changes us, that seems to alter the very chemical make up or our being. There is something about death that, even as we heal, leaves a scar to remind us of what once was there.
“Get off the phone,” pause “Phone head.” She said, smiling to reveal a mischievous squint from the corner of her eye. I let out a quick toothy grin and rolled my eyes. I was 16 and she was so lame, but still somehow charming. “I mean it,” she said. “Get off the phone before I phone your head.”
“Hold on,” I told my friend on the other end of the line. “Ma, that doesn’t even make sense.”
“I’ll make sense of your face.” She shook her fist. We both laughed and I ended my call. My mother could make anything into an empty threat. It is funny how that is one of things I miss most.
If you see me around and feel the need to threaten someone, go ahead and make it me. Just make sure the threat is absurd and delivered with love.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Solving America's Debt Crisis the American Way
As national debt and deficit spending increases with every time Donald Trump asks for a document, is it any shock to say that the American people should no longer look to the government as an authority on money management? Instead I think we should take our hints from the American people. So here are 5 tips that will help us get back on the road to fiscal solvency.
1. Don’t answer the phone, especially if it‘s an unlisted number. A classic strategy in the annals of debt avoidance. Simply put, if you don’t acknowledge a debt it isn’t there. Debt stays on our credit report for what 10 years? Yet every time we acknowledge our national debt, every time Fox news puts up the new number and blames it on President Obama or MSNBC blames it on former president Bush, the clock starts again. So we need to turn off the debt clock, stop talking about it and take those bills China sends us and put them right to the shredder.
2. Pawn it. When the people are broke and can’t pay the rent, what do we do? We don’t cry and threaten people with missiles, we don’t use fuzzy math and borrow money from countries with less money than we have. No, the American people are proud, resourceful, ingenious, anything but frugal. When a normal person is behind on the rent and can’t pay the light bill we look to the pawn shop. Just think of how many things we have in the US that we don’t actually use, all that revenue just sitting there waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. Imagine how much we could get for the bridge to nowhere, and do we really need a Washington and Jefferson monument? Can’t we just sell one and rename the other the Jeff Wash Monument. While we’re at it, don’t we have enough states as it is. I mean, isn’t 50 plus territories a little greedy. Surely we could sell a couple of states. We have states that we’re hardly even using, I’m looking at you North Dakota.
3. Send checks to the wrong country. What do we the people do when we are a little behind? Maybe it’s a few days until payday and we don’t actually have the money in the account. Do we cry? Do we call the other country and beg for an extension? Just like ingenious Americans have been doing for decades, we write checks and deliberately put them in the wrong envelopes. Take China’s check and put it in Saudi Arabia’s envelope. It will take what, 4 or 5 days to get there? By the time they figure out that they’ve received the wrong check we’ll have thought of something else to do. And when they call, see #1.
4. Sell citizenship to the highest bidder. Let’s face it, there are some countries out there that are massively overpopulated and full of people just dying to get into the good old USA. We have plenty of room. If you disagree I urge you go and look at cities like Detroit and Buffalo, NY. In these cities and in other urban areas all across the country we have whole neighborhoods that are boarded up and just sitting there. With all of these houses out there we have no reason for people to be homeless, but since we are not using the houses to end our own social problems, I say we use them to end the problem of over population in other countries and get paid while we’re at it.
5. Branding Rights. We have to look no further than the world of sports to see how lucrative selling branding rights can be. Every year these rights bring in billions of dollars in revenue, with companies just lined up to hand over cold hard cash. Think about it, now your favorite parks can be branded, instead of visiting Yellowstone, you can visit Google’s Yellowstone, instead of visiting the Grand Canyon you can take in the wonders of our world wonder brought to you by your friends at Coca Cola. And how about national monuments? You want a picture of yourself smiling between Roosevelt and Lincoln on Mt. Rushmore, no problem, but it will cost you. You want the Statue of Liberty to wear a sweatshirt from your favorite college team, absolutely, as long as you can pay. This is America after all, the land of the free, the home of brave and ingenious people dedicated to liberty and most importantly to the tried and true principles of a capitalist economy.
1. Don’t answer the phone, especially if it‘s an unlisted number. A classic strategy in the annals of debt avoidance. Simply put, if you don’t acknowledge a debt it isn’t there. Debt stays on our credit report for what 10 years? Yet every time we acknowledge our national debt, every time Fox news puts up the new number and blames it on President Obama or MSNBC blames it on former president Bush, the clock starts again. So we need to turn off the debt clock, stop talking about it and take those bills China sends us and put them right to the shredder.
2. Pawn it. When the people are broke and can’t pay the rent, what do we do? We don’t cry and threaten people with missiles, we don’t use fuzzy math and borrow money from countries with less money than we have. No, the American people are proud, resourceful, ingenious, anything but frugal. When a normal person is behind on the rent and can’t pay the light bill we look to the pawn shop. Just think of how many things we have in the US that we don’t actually use, all that revenue just sitting there waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. Imagine how much we could get for the bridge to nowhere, and do we really need a Washington and Jefferson monument? Can’t we just sell one and rename the other the Jeff Wash Monument. While we’re at it, don’t we have enough states as it is. I mean, isn’t 50 plus territories a little greedy. Surely we could sell a couple of states. We have states that we’re hardly even using, I’m looking at you North Dakota.
3. Send checks to the wrong country. What do we the people do when we are a little behind? Maybe it’s a few days until payday and we don’t actually have the money in the account. Do we cry? Do we call the other country and beg for an extension? Just like ingenious Americans have been doing for decades, we write checks and deliberately put them in the wrong envelopes. Take China’s check and put it in Saudi Arabia’s envelope. It will take what, 4 or 5 days to get there? By the time they figure out that they’ve received the wrong check we’ll have thought of something else to do. And when they call, see #1.
4. Sell citizenship to the highest bidder. Let’s face it, there are some countries out there that are massively overpopulated and full of people just dying to get into the good old USA. We have plenty of room. If you disagree I urge you go and look at cities like Detroit and Buffalo, NY. In these cities and in other urban areas all across the country we have whole neighborhoods that are boarded up and just sitting there. With all of these houses out there we have no reason for people to be homeless, but since we are not using the houses to end our own social problems, I say we use them to end the problem of over population in other countries and get paid while we’re at it.
5. Branding Rights. We have to look no further than the world of sports to see how lucrative selling branding rights can be. Every year these rights bring in billions of dollars in revenue, with companies just lined up to hand over cold hard cash. Think about it, now your favorite parks can be branded, instead of visiting Yellowstone, you can visit Google’s Yellowstone, instead of visiting the Grand Canyon you can take in the wonders of our world wonder brought to you by your friends at Coca Cola. And how about national monuments? You want a picture of yourself smiling between Roosevelt and Lincoln on Mt. Rushmore, no problem, but it will cost you. You want the Statue of Liberty to wear a sweatshirt from your favorite college team, absolutely, as long as you can pay. This is America after all, the land of the free, the home of brave and ingenious people dedicated to liberty and most importantly to the tried and true principles of a capitalist economy.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Hate and Basketball; How Kobe Bryant May Just Help Me Become a Better Person
I have come to the unsurprising conclusion that I hate Kobe Bryant. As I watched him play last evening my reaction was surprising even to me. Every time he scored, a 4-letter word left my mouth When he tripped over Jason Kidd’s foot in the 4th quarter, I cheered.
I don’t imagine it matters much that I hate Kobe Bryant. I am hardly alone in this sentiment and I doubt he spends much time lamenting over the fact that I hate him.
My hatred led me to a conversation with my shadow self. This is the part of us that we would rather not acknowledge. It is the part that holds anger, jealousy, envy; the darker parts of our soul. There is an idea that we need this shadow, that it presents balance, that if we can acknowledge and know it is there, then we can keep it from taking control.
I heard someone once say “In order to see the beauty in God we must intimately know the evil in ourselves.” So what does that have to do with basketball and Kobe Bryant?
As humans we seem to need an outlet to express our anger, our frustration, our sense of helplessness that comes from a lack of control over many, if not most, of the events that define our existence.
Sports can be an outlet for venting this aggression. Through sports we develop competition, rivalry, pride in our team and, conversely, hatred for our rivals. We can participate actively or sit as spectators to watch this shadow proxy war play out night after night. We cheer, we scream, we yell at the TV and occasional this shadow spills over from being a largely symbolic display of aggression to a very real instance of violence.
Though violence is very real in our lives, maybe we receive something very real and tangible through symbolism. Perhaps we can come to a point where we only express aggression through sports or in within the confines our minds.
I was on a plane once from Phoenix to North Carolina. We were stuck on the tarmac, it was hot and the air conditioning was out. I could feel the anger rise in synchronicity with the temperature. As I sat there and stewed in my illogical anger, I could only focus on the man in front of me. He was wearing a mesh trucker hat and I could see the perspiration form on his damp and matted hair. I envisioned myself taking that hat into my hand and beating this senseless with it. I laughed. It was my shadow. Knowing my shadow helped me to keep what was in my mind from spilling over into reality and being escorted from the plane in handcuffs.
I would like to think that there is only love in me. That I could simply come to a place where I can love Kobe Bryant as a fellow human being, even if he were wearing a trucker hat, but I am not there yet. I have a shadow, a very real self that becomes angry, that is jealous, that is envious. Perhaps I will get there someday. Perhaps I need Kobe Bryant’s help to become a better person.
I don’t imagine it matters much that I hate Kobe Bryant. I am hardly alone in this sentiment and I doubt he spends much time lamenting over the fact that I hate him.
My hatred led me to a conversation with my shadow self. This is the part of us that we would rather not acknowledge. It is the part that holds anger, jealousy, envy; the darker parts of our soul. There is an idea that we need this shadow, that it presents balance, that if we can acknowledge and know it is there, then we can keep it from taking control.
I heard someone once say “In order to see the beauty in God we must intimately know the evil in ourselves.” So what does that have to do with basketball and Kobe Bryant?
As humans we seem to need an outlet to express our anger, our frustration, our sense of helplessness that comes from a lack of control over many, if not most, of the events that define our existence.
Sports can be an outlet for venting this aggression. Through sports we develop competition, rivalry, pride in our team and, conversely, hatred for our rivals. We can participate actively or sit as spectators to watch this shadow proxy war play out night after night. We cheer, we scream, we yell at the TV and occasional this shadow spills over from being a largely symbolic display of aggression to a very real instance of violence.
Though violence is very real in our lives, maybe we receive something very real and tangible through symbolism. Perhaps we can come to a point where we only express aggression through sports or in within the confines our minds.
I was on a plane once from Phoenix to North Carolina. We were stuck on the tarmac, it was hot and the air conditioning was out. I could feel the anger rise in synchronicity with the temperature. As I sat there and stewed in my illogical anger, I could only focus on the man in front of me. He was wearing a mesh trucker hat and I could see the perspiration form on his damp and matted hair. I envisioned myself taking that hat into my hand and beating this senseless with it. I laughed. It was my shadow. Knowing my shadow helped me to keep what was in my mind from spilling over into reality and being escorted from the plane in handcuffs.
I would like to think that there is only love in me. That I could simply come to a place where I can love Kobe Bryant as a fellow human being, even if he were wearing a trucker hat, but I am not there yet. I have a shadow, a very real self that becomes angry, that is jealous, that is envious. Perhaps I will get there someday. Perhaps I need Kobe Bryant’s help to become a better person.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Of course I have to share my thoughts on the death of Bin Laden.
I have been fascinated this morning over the differing reactions to the death of Osama Bin Laden. My first reaction was simply surprise. I remember having a conversation about Bin Laden a couple of months ago and expressing my tendency to think he was already dead. I guess I was wrong.
Before I go too deep into my thoughts on some of the implications surrounding the death of Mr. Bin Laden, let me share a couple of my favorite quotes that surfaced on facebook. One is from a long lost high school friend and the other from the only politician that I like enough to follow on facebook..
“Trump is on MSNBC demanding Bin Laden’s death certificate.” –Santico Valenzuela
“He is dead. It was necessary and just. But I won’t rejoice. I honor the memory of all terror victims and recommit to the difficult work of peace.” –Mayor Cory Booker
There are potentially hundreds of questions that could come through analysis of just the last quote alone. Is killing ever just? Should death ever be celebrated? I can’t condemn the celebrations that took place over the death of Bin Laden, but like Mayor Booker I will not be joining in.
I can understand the need for emotional release following the death of someone who has loomed so large over our nation’s collective psyche for the last decade. I can understand the sigh of relief that comes, even momentarily, through a sense of closure to a trauma as grave as 9/11.
Perhaps my hesitancy comes from a tendency to be an emotional minimalist, but also a person who tries to take a long view of history. I can find no sorrow in Bin Laden’s death, but cannot forget the others who have died in our search to find him. I can muster no sympathy for his cause but I also cannot forget that our nation played a large part in creating a platform for his extremist views.
In the 1980’s, during the Afghan war with the Soviet Union, it was the United States who, in part, supported the Mujahidin that gave legitimacy to the Taliban and people like Osama Bin Laden. We have a long history of installing and supporting dictators like Hosni Mubarak and Mobutu Sese Seko while removing democratically elected leaders like Patrice Lumumba and Salvador Allende. We’ve gone to war over genocide in places like Bosnia while choosing not to in places like Rwanda and Darfur .
So while some celebrate, some pontificate and others reflect, my only hope is that we learn from our history. I hope that we can take lessons that our actions, as individuals or as a nation, have wider implications.
So what I am saying in response to the questions that will undoubtedly surface surrounding Osama Bin Laden’s death? Nothing really, none of use knows the answers to these hard questions. I may just be one of the few willing to admit that. My only real sentiment is that there is nothing new under the sun. My only real advice is, question what you think you know, take it one step further, analyze one level deeper, and never stop questioning your own motivations and actions. I doubt that Osama Bin Laden questioned his own beliefs. I doubt that he sat down and thoughtfully considered the validity of other traditions or other ways of being. I doubt that he gave much thought to the wider implications of his actions.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Poor in the 80's: A tale of Food Stamp Nostalgia
Some of my favorite moments are those when I can sit around and laugh while discussing hilarious experiences of growing up poor in the 80's.
Remember food stamps? I'm not talking about the card based EBT system that makes it difficult to differentiate between food stamps and a debit card. I'm talking about good old fashioned food stamps. Given in books and often acquired from appreciative neighbors for $.30 on the dollar.
When I was around 8 I can remember my mother sending me to the store to get change from a $1 foodstamp. It was a win-win deal, she got $.90 toward whatever it was that she was buying and I got a chik-o-stick, remember chik-o-sticks? Anyway, multiple that $.90 by a few different stores and you got, well you do the math.
My fit of nostalgia brought me to the internet equivalent of a mall, the most glorious of all neighborhood marketplaces. I'm talking about Ebay. Along with some food stamp teeshirts and a few racist bumper stickers, I found them. The current bid for a $1.00 food stamp $12.99, a $5.00 foodstamp will run you $24.99, that's what I call hyperinflation. Oh the times they have a chang-ed.
Remember food stamps? I'm not talking about the card based EBT system that makes it difficult to differentiate between food stamps and a debit card. I'm talking about good old fashioned food stamps. Given in books and often acquired from appreciative neighbors for $.30 on the dollar.
When I was around 8 I can remember my mother sending me to the store to get change from a $1 foodstamp. It was a win-win deal, she got $.90 toward whatever it was that she was buying and I got a chik-o-stick, remember chik-o-sticks? Anyway, multiple that $.90 by a few different stores and you got, well you do the math.
My fit of nostalgia brought me to the internet equivalent of a mall, the most glorious of all neighborhood marketplaces. I'm talking about Ebay. Along with some food stamp teeshirts and a few racist bumper stickers, I found them. The current bid for a $1.00 food stamp $12.99, a $5.00 foodstamp will run you $24.99, that's what I call hyperinflation. Oh the times they have a chang-ed.
Are Donald Trump and his Birther Friends Racist?
The recent birth certificate controversy and President Obama’s act of contrition to the loose association of people we lovingly labeled birthers, has brought up many questions about the motivations of those who continue to fuel this pseudo-controversy and it’s implications on politics and issues of race.
Does the birther controversy have anything to do with race? Absolutely. Is Donald Trump a racist? Likely. Is he alone in his racism? Absolutely not. Does it matter that Donald Trump and his cohorts may be racist? Depends.
The problem lies not in defining whether or not an individual person is racist but in asking does it matter and if it matters, why?
As a society our views of whether or not someone is racist have evolved over the years. When the line between defining a person as racist or not racist lies between whether or not they are holding a fire hose and sicking dogs on civil rights protestors, that line is easier to see. Racism itself is more insidious and often difficult to define.
Unfortunately as a society we prefer to focus on the more sensational stories that highlight “racist behavior.” We love to become outraged when Kramer from Seinfeld repeatedly uses the “N” word, or when Mel Gibson becomes drunk and lets his anti-Semitism flag fly. We love to dissect off color comments by people like former Senator George Allen or make fun of lame defenses like Donald Trump and his “I’ve always been good to the blacks” comment.
While racism is expressed in words we like to act as if racism is wholly and only expressed in words. While we seem okay with ignoring things like unequal school funding, continued discrimination in housing and the lasting psychological effects of centuries of systematic racial oppression, we are not okay with Charlie Sheen getting drunk and screaming obscenities laced with racist language.
For those who may feel that racism has vanished it hasn’t. In many ways it has simply gone underground. Unfortunately, rather than taking a long hard look at ourselves as a nation and asking how we got here, we prefer to look at incidents of individual behavior and shake our collective heads. Until we grow tired of our obsession with sensationalized “news,” we will never move to a place of meaningful discussions on topics of race and the cultural legacy of oppression and inequity.
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