I used the word "chicane" today. Correctly. It doesn't mean the same as chicanery, which means fooling or cheating someone. Most of you have experienced a chicane when you wait on the security line at the airport. It's that place where you go back and forth and slowly approach where you're trying to get. My first time hearing the word was on ABC's Wide World of Sports, where from time to time they would show bobsledding for the famous Cresta Run in St. Moritz, where are all of the turns had names. Chicane was a rapid back and forth, leading up to the feared Shuttlecock curve, which was always the most exciting part of the run, just because a racer's chance of getting through it without flying off the track and into a big pile of hay bales were about 50-50.
That has little to do with riding a bike in Florida, which is what I did today. I've been doing this every day. The roadside bike trails here are as nice as any you'll see- smooth and uninterrupted all 10 miles from Key Biscayne to the mainland. It's an absolute pleasure to ride on, even on a crappy hybrid rental bike (my bike this time isn't nearly as crappy as last time- at least all the gears work). The only problem is the other riders, who are almost universally rude. I'm not sure why the code about announcing yourself when you're passing someone is ignored here. I guess it's not exactly a code- it's more like guidelines. But anywhere you ride in the east, if someone is going to pass you they say "on your left" so you know to hold your line and not take that moment to get a drink.
Maybe it's because the bike lanes are too nice, but 99% of riders here see no need to do this, and some of them cut close enough that even a slight change of direction would cause us both to crash. I mean, how hard is it to be considerate? Okay, I'm a human being in 2017. It seems it's generally a lot of effort to be considerate, but it's no excuse.
I put up with it because the flat, smooth ride takes you through mangroves and then on a causeway connecting Key Biscayne to Virginia Key to the mainland. There are spots on the causeway with pretty spectacular views of Miami and Miami Beach and, today at least, a half dozen massive cruise ships parked in between.
Ever since I've been doing this I wondered why so many cyclists turned off onto this road on Virginia Key. What could be out there, I wondered? (Not sure if that's correct punctuation) The sign only says "Water Treatment Plant." So I decided to follow a group and passed a mile of parking lots, ending with one large one full of cars with bike racks. People weren't actually going there, they were just coming back to their cars. Plus to add to the enjoyment, a car passed me and someone yelled out the window "Keep peddling bitch." I'm not sure what he meant by that. Of course I was going to keep peddling. I was on a bicycle. That's the way they move. But with that encouragement, I reached the end of the access road.
If it wasn't the destination I had in mind, at least I saw there was a mountain biking area next to the parking lot. Now this is absurd on its face. There isn't even a hill within 200 miles of here, much less a mountain. But I decided to enter anyway just to see. One of the advantages of the crappy rental bike is that it's able to do things that your own beloved bike could never do, like ride in the sand. Kind of like the way rental cars are able to handle speed bumps without your having to slow down. I entered someplace labeled "Novice Trail."
I've never mountain biked. They have a lot of it in Lake Placid. I've heard that biking down a novice ski slope is absolutely terrifying. It sounds like fun but I'm too cautious a rider to really enjoy it. Here, lacking a mountain, they make do with trees and, I'm sure you were wondering when it I'd get to it, a chicane. The trail is in a 100 foot square of pine trees with a narrow path roped off where you make one 180 degree turn after another. The only challenge is that the path is only about a foot wider than the handlebars, so if you don't hit the turn right, your handlebars hit a tree and you either fall or put your feet down, which I what I did the couple of times it happened. After about 5 minutes of that silliness I escaped. Getting buzzed by other cyclists again was a relative pleasure.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
You must remember this
Like many things I sound very sure about, I have no proof for the following statement, but my guess is that people in general don't like to see themselves as memories. We tend to think of ourselves as corporeal and the center of our own particular universe. Having had more than one opportunity recently to ponder the ending and ultimate meaning of things, however, I've tempered my own view of this sort of thing.
I've been thinking about what constitutes happy endings. I think that in most scenarios, a happy ending can be made up of mostly if not entirely memories. For any individual life, for example, that's what there is in the end. My uncle now consists for me and everyone else entirely of memories, and I am more than okay with that thought. It's like a line from The Phantom Tollbooth (of course) "if something is there, you can only see it with your eyes open, but if it isn't there, you can see it just as well with your eyes closed. That's why imaginary things are often easier to see than real ones."
This may sound morbid when you're talking about people who've passed away, but that's just because we choose to view death as morbid, which is something that's cultural. Death is just death. My uncle lived across the continent from me, and even when I was spending the most time with him, it was only 2-3 weeks out of a year. He remains just as real to me as he was for almost my entire waking life, and not just because I was holding his hand a week ago.
As a teacher, I should point out, memories are what I peddle in. If I do my job really well, in the end I will have a lasting relationship with my students based (almost always) entirely on memories. I (we) spend much of our time trying to explain things in a way that will stick, because what is learning really but a meaningful set of memories?
Of course there are experiences involved in learning as well, but even those will ultimately be all in the past. And that's a good thing. You can't add your presence to everything you've ever taught or everything you've ever done or everyone you've ever known, all at the same time. I'm as good at spreading myself around as anyone, but much as I hate to, sometimes I have to put limits on myself or risk exhaustion. Anyone who's been around me recently can understand why this is on my mind these days.
We try to peddle meaningful memories as parents and friends and mentors and any kind of nurturing relationship. Whether you're talking about death or life, ultimately there's a time to let go and let that relationship become a memory. Hopefully it's one of the meaningful kind. So lately when I think of loss and ending, I try to keep this in mind and not get sad or upset about it. It's just the way things go, and go they will.
Oh, and I apologize for the cheesy title.
I've been thinking about what constitutes happy endings. I think that in most scenarios, a happy ending can be made up of mostly if not entirely memories. For any individual life, for example, that's what there is in the end. My uncle now consists for me and everyone else entirely of memories, and I am more than okay with that thought. It's like a line from The Phantom Tollbooth (of course) "if something is there, you can only see it with your eyes open, but if it isn't there, you can see it just as well with your eyes closed. That's why imaginary things are often easier to see than real ones."
This may sound morbid when you're talking about people who've passed away, but that's just because we choose to view death as morbid, which is something that's cultural. Death is just death. My uncle lived across the continent from me, and even when I was spending the most time with him, it was only 2-3 weeks out of a year. He remains just as real to me as he was for almost my entire waking life, and not just because I was holding his hand a week ago.
As a teacher, I should point out, memories are what I peddle in. If I do my job really well, in the end I will have a lasting relationship with my students based (almost always) entirely on memories. I (we) spend much of our time trying to explain things in a way that will stick, because what is learning really but a meaningful set of memories?
Of course there are experiences involved in learning as well, but even those will ultimately be all in the past. And that's a good thing. You can't add your presence to everything you've ever taught or everything you've ever done or everyone you've ever known, all at the same time. I'm as good at spreading myself around as anyone, but much as I hate to, sometimes I have to put limits on myself or risk exhaustion. Anyone who's been around me recently can understand why this is on my mind these days.
We try to peddle meaningful memories as parents and friends and mentors and any kind of nurturing relationship. Whether you're talking about death or life, ultimately there's a time to let go and let that relationship become a memory. Hopefully it's one of the meaningful kind. So lately when I think of loss and ending, I try to keep this in mind and not get sad or upset about it. It's just the way things go, and go they will.
Oh, and I apologize for the cheesy title.
Why does it always have to be you?
I managed to coax myself into sleeping for 7 1/2 hours last night. I always fall asleep easily, but have a tendency to wake up and stay up. But at least for the duration of this trip I'm managing to get 6 1/2 or more hours a night. Because of the long sleep, I had a somewhat shortened bike ride, but I made it through the day nonetheless. We don't do much here.
We sit on lounge chairs by the pool and read is most of it. We arrange an umbrella so I'm in the sun and Ronnie is in the shade. I turn my chair facing in the opposite direction from everyone else, enduring the good-natured ridicule. Aside: One of my favorite moments for adolescence, and face it, how many of us have any favorite moments from adolescence, was when I did something, I don't remember what but something, that amused and stirred up a large group of people and I muttered, "There's one in every crowd" and my friend replied "Yeah, but why does it always have to be you."
Honestly, being on the beach is nicer. The view out into the ocean is more pleasant than the pool and (very nice) hotel grounds, but the beach requires a relatively low level of wind to prevent umbrellas flying around and it's been very windy the whole time. Nonetheless I am getting very tan. I kind of can't help it- my skin just does that. I'm a careful tanner though- annoyingly thorough with sunscreen.
I'm reading a book called You Gotta Have Wa, about Japanese baseball. Very entertaining and interesting. A good vacation read. In the evening we went to the movies and had a mixed bag kind of dinner at the Ice Box, noted mostly for their desserts and specifically Key Lime Pie. The dinner was okay- one dish way better than the other, the service pretty uneven, but the pie? Heavenly.
We sit on lounge chairs by the pool and read is most of it. We arrange an umbrella so I'm in the sun and Ronnie is in the shade. I turn my chair facing in the opposite direction from everyone else, enduring the good-natured ridicule. Aside: One of my favorite moments for adolescence, and face it, how many of us have any favorite moments from adolescence, was when I did something, I don't remember what but something, that amused and stirred up a large group of people and I muttered, "There's one in every crowd" and my friend replied "Yeah, but why does it always have to be you."
Honestly, being on the beach is nicer. The view out into the ocean is more pleasant than the pool and (very nice) hotel grounds, but the beach requires a relatively low level of wind to prevent umbrellas flying around and it's been very windy the whole time. Nonetheless I am getting very tan. I kind of can't help it- my skin just does that. I'm a careful tanner though- annoyingly thorough with sunscreen.
I'm reading a book called You Gotta Have Wa, about Japanese baseball. Very entertaining and interesting. A good vacation read. In the evening we went to the movies and had a mixed bag kind of dinner at the Ice Box, noted mostly for their desserts and specifically Key Lime Pie. The dinner was okay- one dish way better than the other, the service pretty uneven, but the pie? Heavenly.
Inyjoy
I would say that it's just the training at this hotel, but I've heard it almost everywhere we've gone- some sort of Spanish accented version of enjoy. I don't know why they pick this particular word- there's no 'j' sound in Spanish, so depending on the speaker's English skill, it comes out anywhere between "enjoy" and "enyoy" inclusive. And the people here say it in response to almost anything (like in response to my saying "thank you" to someone for holding the door- yes, I enjoyed walking through the door). And this is just a transliteration thing, not any sort of commentary. I'm in the minority here not speaking Spanish. Miami is definitely an ESL kind of place. I guess at some point it was mostly Cuban influence, but it's very international at this point.
I took my mandatory walk up to the the lighthouse in the morning. That's a great walk, although today it was a little difficult because the wind has pushed a lot of seaweed onto the shore. The beach is pretty narrow in the first place, and the only place to walk was in the water. That was fine, the ocean temperature is lovely. It's just wet and slow going, and anytime anyone was coming in the other direction it was a challenge to avoid getting either soaked or tangle in the weeds.
Our day was spent by the pool, where we stayed until an incredibly, inconsiderately loud group of 6 or so people sat by us and then went in the pool and got louder and louder and louder until it was unbearable. We went up to the room and I went for a short bike ride before we headed out for our evening activity, a Miami Marlins-New York Mets baseball game.
This was my first indoor baseball game in a while (the last one has a long story surrounding it which I should write up some time). It was beautiful out, with a couple of showers around I suppose. But for whatever reason they chose to have the retractable roof closed. Not sure for what sort of evening they would have it open.
Marlins Park looks and feels like a Structure. It's what architecture critics might call "muscular." You can see the big strong stuff holding the whole thing together. It's not the most inviting place I've ever seen. The air inside was okay, though not as nice as outside. My problem with the closed roof was the reverberation of the sound of the crowd, music and announcer. I found the noise kind of weird and echoey and off-putting. I suppose I could get used to it but I'm glad I don't have to.
It seemed oddly uncrowded outside, but there were plenty of people inside, about half rooting for each team, which made for a pretty constant din. The seats were decent but the whole place was kind of distracting in a way that made it difficult to focus on the game. They also seemed unprepared for the possibility that people might want to buy food once at the game.
When I say that, I mean that there were the normal number of food stands, but every single one had huge lines, from the moment we got there until out hunt for food an hour into the game. They have all kinds of specialty stuff but you couldn't get at it. The ceviché line looked like it would take about a half hour to clear, as did the Cubano line. The celebrate grilled cheese stand ran out of grilled cheese in the 4th inning. I presume these people know that baseball games usually go for longer than 4 innings, but they sure didn't show it.
Eventually we found a sushi place that only took 10 minutes of so to clear the line. The game was very long, including a crucial video review, which was worth it just for the scoreboard graphic.
It ended with a big finish for the home team, so half the crowd went home happy.
I took my mandatory walk up to the the lighthouse in the morning. That's a great walk, although today it was a little difficult because the wind has pushed a lot of seaweed onto the shore. The beach is pretty narrow in the first place, and the only place to walk was in the water. That was fine, the ocean temperature is lovely. It's just wet and slow going, and anytime anyone was coming in the other direction it was a challenge to avoid getting either soaked or tangle in the weeds.
Our day was spent by the pool, where we stayed until an incredibly, inconsiderately loud group of 6 or so people sat by us and then went in the pool and got louder and louder and louder until it was unbearable. We went up to the room and I went for a short bike ride before we headed out for our evening activity, a Miami Marlins-New York Mets baseball game.
This was my first indoor baseball game in a while (the last one has a long story surrounding it which I should write up some time). It was beautiful out, with a couple of showers around I suppose. But for whatever reason they chose to have the retractable roof closed. Not sure for what sort of evening they would have it open.
Marlins Park looks and feels like a Structure. It's what architecture critics might call "muscular." You can see the big strong stuff holding the whole thing together. It's not the most inviting place I've ever seen. The air inside was okay, though not as nice as outside. My problem with the closed roof was the reverberation of the sound of the crowd, music and announcer. I found the noise kind of weird and echoey and off-putting. I suppose I could get used to it but I'm glad I don't have to.
 |
| Note the trapezoidal scoreboard |
When I say that, I mean that there were the normal number of food stands, but every single one had huge lines, from the moment we got there until out hunt for food an hour into the game. They have all kinds of specialty stuff but you couldn't get at it. The ceviché line looked like it would take about a half hour to clear, as did the Cubano line. The celebrate grilled cheese stand ran out of grilled cheese in the 4th inning. I presume these people know that baseball games usually go for longer than 4 innings, but they sure didn't show it.
Eventually we found a sushi place that only took 10 minutes of so to clear the line. The game was very long, including a crucial video review, which was worth it just for the scoreboard graphic.
Friday, April 14, 2017
Miami stuff
I don't like sitcoms. Anybody who spent any time with me in front of the TV knows that; I'm pretty vocal about. For those who haven't thought about it, sitcom is short for situational comedy. Literally, there is a situation and you may comedy out of it. The situation, if you can call it that, is always that somebody says or does something that is misunderstood, misinterpreted, misconstrued or simply missed.
In real life, most of the situation resolved by simple means. People ask for clarification, we apologize, we figure out what's really going on, or we never notice and nothing ever happens. In the sitcom, however, even the smallest misunderstanding gets blown out of proportion for a period ranging from 4 to 19 minutes. Sometimes, there are multiple misunderstandings on the same topic which gives the episode, and sitcoms exist as a series of episodes, a theme. The humor comes from the viewer understanding Sometimes all the misunderstandings have resolved at once and sometimes they resolve in stages.
Are used to be fine with this until I realized how repetitive they were. Now I just find them vaguely irritating.
I mention this only because it relates to my current state of mind, so I suppose this has a theme as well. As some of you know, I've been struggling with entanglements, or at least things I viewed as entanglements. It struck me this morning that the problem is not the entanglements themselves but how I deal with them. This may seem obvious to some people but not me,
Last night we saw a movie called Personal Shopper. It stars Kristen Stewart, who you may remember from one of those vampire kinds of things that was around a few years ago. She plays basically the same part here except she's a personal shopper. Or is she? She's also a medium, trying to make contact with her dead twin brother. Or is she?
It's one of those movies where you don't know at the end if anything actually happened or if it was all in the character's head. We saw it at this little place called Cinematheque, which is the closest thing Miami Beach has to an art house. It's just a pretty big room with a large projection screen and 100 seats or so. We were the only ones there when the movie started though someone else straggled in around 5 minutes in.
The whole thing has a pretty spooky feel and Stewart, as is her wont, spends a lot of time biting her lip and pushing her hair around. After it ends with a "did this really happen?" my wife and I strolled out and said to the guy working the ticket stand, "weird to watch that movie with only one other person." To which he replied without hesitation "What other person?"
In real life, most of the situation resolved by simple means. People ask for clarification, we apologize, we figure out what's really going on, or we never notice and nothing ever happens. In the sitcom, however, even the smallest misunderstanding gets blown out of proportion for a period ranging from 4 to 19 minutes. Sometimes, there are multiple misunderstandings on the same topic which gives the episode, and sitcoms exist as a series of episodes, a theme. The humor comes from the viewer understanding Sometimes all the misunderstandings have resolved at once and sometimes they resolve in stages.
Are used to be fine with this until I realized how repetitive they were. Now I just find them vaguely irritating.
I mention this only because it relates to my current state of mind, so I suppose this has a theme as well. As some of you know, I've been struggling with entanglements, or at least things I viewed as entanglements. It struck me this morning that the problem is not the entanglements themselves but how I deal with them. This may seem obvious to some people but not me,
Last night we saw a movie called Personal Shopper. It stars Kristen Stewart, who you may remember from one of those vampire kinds of things that was around a few years ago. She plays basically the same part here except she's a personal shopper. Or is she? She's also a medium, trying to make contact with her dead twin brother. Or is she?
It's one of those movies where you don't know at the end if anything actually happened or if it was all in the character's head. We saw it at this little place called Cinematheque, which is the closest thing Miami Beach has to an art house. It's just a pretty big room with a large projection screen and 100 seats or so. We were the only ones there when the movie started though someone else straggled in around 5 minutes in.
The whole thing has a pretty spooky feel and Stewart, as is her wont, spends a lot of time biting her lip and pushing her hair around. After it ends with a "did this really happen?" my wife and I strolled out and said to the guy working the ticket stand, "weird to watch that movie with only one other person." To which he replied without hesitation "What other person?"
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Yet more noodles
Actually I mean yet more travel, but the title is a favorite phrase from our lasagna recipe.
A word to the wise- the Sacramento airport is an absolute mob scene at 5 AM. The gate agent told me that every airline has multiple 6AM departures, probably because everyone is heading for a connection somewhere else. The line to check a bag was beyond anything I've ever seen, and the security line went halfway across the bridge to the parking lot, which I heard was relatively "short." PreChek probably saved me 20 minutes and having only carry-on luggage another 10 or 15.
The hotel where I spent my last few hours in Sacramento was very nice. I got upgraded to a suite, into which you could have fit 4 of my rooms at the Best Western Plus. I sat at the desk and had a beer and wrote and then I went to bed. I only traversed the space to close the shades, which was ridiculous anyway because I was getting up before sunrise.
I know I keep coming back to this, but there’s been a surreality to this whole thing, from the timing to grocery shopping with my sister and everything in between. But I’ll never forget the warmth and unrestrained love that permeated the whole time.
The flight was pretty uneventful. I had to change planes in Phoenix, which is a huge airport where it can be daunting to change planes if you have to go from one terminal to the next (leave plenty of time if you ever connect there). But my flights were next door to each other, so I just went for a little walk to stretch my legs.
Got into Philly on time and completely disoriented. It wasn’t much better when I got home- nice as it was to be home. I (hopefully) managed to pack properly for the next trip and basically stumbled around. Ate dinner, watched some TV and went to bed.
This morning I got up and prepared to get out of town. Went to the airport and are now on our way to Miami for a few relaxing days in Key Biscayne. It seemed extremely odd to be going back to the airport less than 24 hours after getting home, but I'm happy with where we’re going. It’s a relaxing place and it’s familiar and so will not take any adjustment. We can just settle in quickly.
Eventually got through Miami's awful awful awful airport and waiting to get into our room here. I can’t help but feel a part of me still with my cousins, and my uncle’s passing is taking its time seeping through me. I’m sure that will gradually fade off, though I don’t want it entirely gone. Now I’m left to contemplate what my own next steps are. One of the reasons I wanted to go away to this place at this time was to try to disengage myself. I’m pretty sure I can at least mostly do that. It's nice to be here.
A word to the wise- the Sacramento airport is an absolute mob scene at 5 AM. The gate agent told me that every airline has multiple 6AM departures, probably because everyone is heading for a connection somewhere else. The line to check a bag was beyond anything I've ever seen, and the security line went halfway across the bridge to the parking lot, which I heard was relatively "short." PreChek probably saved me 20 minutes and having only carry-on luggage another 10 or 15.
The hotel where I spent my last few hours in Sacramento was very nice. I got upgraded to a suite, into which you could have fit 4 of my rooms at the Best Western Plus. I sat at the desk and had a beer and wrote and then I went to bed. I only traversed the space to close the shades, which was ridiculous anyway because I was getting up before sunrise.
I know I keep coming back to this, but there’s been a surreality to this whole thing, from the timing to grocery shopping with my sister and everything in between. But I’ll never forget the warmth and unrestrained love that permeated the whole time.
The flight was pretty uneventful. I had to change planes in Phoenix, which is a huge airport where it can be daunting to change planes if you have to go from one terminal to the next (leave plenty of time if you ever connect there). But my flights were next door to each other, so I just went for a little walk to stretch my legs.
Got into Philly on time and completely disoriented. It wasn’t much better when I got home- nice as it was to be home. I (hopefully) managed to pack properly for the next trip and basically stumbled around. Ate dinner, watched some TV and went to bed.
This morning I got up and prepared to get out of town. Went to the airport and are now on our way to Miami for a few relaxing days in Key Biscayne. It seemed extremely odd to be going back to the airport less than 24 hours after getting home, but I'm happy with where we’re going. It’s a relaxing place and it’s familiar and so will not take any adjustment. We can just settle in quickly.
Eventually got through Miami's awful awful awful airport and waiting to get into our room here. I can’t help but feel a part of me still with my cousins, and my uncle’s passing is taking its time seeping through me. I’m sure that will gradually fade off, though I don’t want it entirely gone. Now I’m left to contemplate what my own next steps are. One of the reasons I wanted to go away to this place at this time was to try to disengage myself. I’m pretty sure I can at least mostly do that. It's nice to be here.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
The consequences of caring
Note: If you're reading this expecting entertainment, you will be disappointed. If you're in the mood for reflective thought and, for better or worse, a dose of my own personal self-awareness you're in the right place.
So now my part of this is over. I'm heading home in the morning and then off to Florida with Ronnie the next day for a well-earned vacation. I've moved over to a hotel near the airport because I have a 6AM departure tomorrow. Whatever. I am completely disoriented as to what time or day it is at this point. Going into a situation this intense while completely exhausted has made the whole experience surreal.
Today was actually very low key. I went for a walk with my sister this morning. She's an excellent walking companion. Keeps a good pace, happy to talk or not talk. From basically nothing we've fashioned a pretty nice relationship over the past few years. It's a nice part of my life. We're pretty different but still have a lot in common, as one might expect from siblings 10 years apart in age and different genders but from the same family. There's a lot of my mom in both of us. We spent the afternoon just hanging out, we bought groceries, my sister made dinner, we all ate dinner. And it was great. She'll be here for a couple of more days, which will be great for everyone.
If nothing else, this trip has reminded me of the value of knowing what to hold onto and what to let go of. This is a struggle for me as a general rule, and the reminder doesn't necessarily make it easier but it does make it easier to see the necessity. Cute sentence structure aside, this is an important thing for me, because I've realized just over the past year or so that one of the results of being the person I am is that I can't not notice and I can't not understand and I can't not care. I have longed for the ability to transform myself into the clueless sitcom dad/guy who remains oblivious to whatever is going on around him. But it's not happening. I'm oblivious to almost nothing, and that's a problem if you can't let things go.
This was a goal for me during this break. I've gotten myself way too deep into too many things and needed some space to see my way out. I don't regret anything I've done, but I'm not really big on setting limits for myself (okay, maybe I should just say I'm not good at it) and I've always had confidence that I could take anything on and handle it. And I kind of can do that, but I'm now more aware of the emotional toll it takes. I'm a relative newcomer to emotional intelligence, so I'm always learning.
None of this has anything to do with today in particular. It's more that I've either hopped or tumbled off the treadmill, depending on whether or not you believe that the getting off was intentional. I think I knew it was necessary, and if coming into a end of life event doesn't shake you up a bit, there's something wrong with you. But more than that there is my relationship with my still living and breathing family, and these are the kinds of events that either pull you together or drive you apart. Fortunately, this was full of thankfulness and caring and genuine love. And let that be a lesson to me about what's really important. My cousins will struggle with the loss of their father but they will move on, in ways more positive than not.
The consequences of caring can affect you in all kinds of ways. I'll be the first to admit that I let them get the better of me from time to time, but I'd rather be out there and learn to deal with it than avoid the engagement in the first place. Most of my caring about people has been rewarding and soulful and in some cases really important to the people I care about. And I'll take the fallout any day, and in most cases not only don't I regret it but I'd probably do the same thing the next time around. I'll know how to handle things better but I don't think I'd change what I did.
I tell my students that one of the key questions you need to ask yourself are "Where am I and what am I doing?" And add in "how am I doing?" Well I'm here, and I'm being me, and I'm doing okay. And I'm heading home in a few hours. Things are good.
So now my part of this is over. I'm heading home in the morning and then off to Florida with Ronnie the next day for a well-earned vacation. I've moved over to a hotel near the airport because I have a 6AM departure tomorrow. Whatever. I am completely disoriented as to what time or day it is at this point. Going into a situation this intense while completely exhausted has made the whole experience surreal.
Today was actually very low key. I went for a walk with my sister this morning. She's an excellent walking companion. Keeps a good pace, happy to talk or not talk. From basically nothing we've fashioned a pretty nice relationship over the past few years. It's a nice part of my life. We're pretty different but still have a lot in common, as one might expect from siblings 10 years apart in age and different genders but from the same family. There's a lot of my mom in both of us. We spent the afternoon just hanging out, we bought groceries, my sister made dinner, we all ate dinner. And it was great. She'll be here for a couple of more days, which will be great for everyone.
If nothing else, this trip has reminded me of the value of knowing what to hold onto and what to let go of. This is a struggle for me as a general rule, and the reminder doesn't necessarily make it easier but it does make it easier to see the necessity. Cute sentence structure aside, this is an important thing for me, because I've realized just over the past year or so that one of the results of being the person I am is that I can't not notice and I can't not understand and I can't not care. I have longed for the ability to transform myself into the clueless sitcom dad/guy who remains oblivious to whatever is going on around him. But it's not happening. I'm oblivious to almost nothing, and that's a problem if you can't let things go.
This was a goal for me during this break. I've gotten myself way too deep into too many things and needed some space to see my way out. I don't regret anything I've done, but I'm not really big on setting limits for myself (okay, maybe I should just say I'm not good at it) and I've always had confidence that I could take anything on and handle it. And I kind of can do that, but I'm now more aware of the emotional toll it takes. I'm a relative newcomer to emotional intelligence, so I'm always learning.
None of this has anything to do with today in particular. It's more that I've either hopped or tumbled off the treadmill, depending on whether or not you believe that the getting off was intentional. I think I knew it was necessary, and if coming into a end of life event doesn't shake you up a bit, there's something wrong with you. But more than that there is my relationship with my still living and breathing family, and these are the kinds of events that either pull you together or drive you apart. Fortunately, this was full of thankfulness and caring and genuine love. And let that be a lesson to me about what's really important. My cousins will struggle with the loss of their father but they will move on, in ways more positive than not.
The consequences of caring can affect you in all kinds of ways. I'll be the first to admit that I let them get the better of me from time to time, but I'd rather be out there and learn to deal with it than avoid the engagement in the first place. Most of my caring about people has been rewarding and soulful and in some cases really important to the people I care about. And I'll take the fallout any day, and in most cases not only don't I regret it but I'd probably do the same thing the next time around. I'll know how to handle things better but I don't think I'd change what I did.
I tell my students that one of the key questions you need to ask yourself are "Where am I and what am I doing?" And add in "how am I doing?" Well I'm here, and I'm being me, and I'm doing okay. And I'm heading home in a few hours. Things are good.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Not the end, but the next chapter
I woke up this morning to the not unexpected news that my uncle Mike had passed away not long after I'd left. He was at peace. I'll write more about him later; he was a remarkable man by any measure. The main immediate thing is that he died on his 103rd birthday, on Palm Sunday (he was a devout Catholic- more on that later), with his family at his side, hours after his friends had gathered to celebrate him, surrounded by love. It was a blessing and nobody deserved that kind of conclusion more than he.
I'm always reticent to talk about other people in my blog, because it's none of my business, so I will just riff a bit on how I feel.
I think I made it clear in my last post how strange the juxtaposition (how many of you knew how that word was spelled?) of celebration of and impending end of life was. Looking back on it less than 24 hours later it's clear to me just how totally fitting it was.
It's hard for me to isolate my feelings without going into too many details about Mike, (he was my mother's sister's husband) which is a whole 'nother essay. But I'll focus on a couple of particularly striking things. The first is that Mike had one arm. He had a hunting accident when he was a young man and had it amputated. The only thing I ever saw him need help with as a result of this deficit was cutting his food- he needed things like steak cut for him. He remained an avid sportsman for many many years and I remember watching him tying fishing lures onto his tine with hand and teeth. I also remember playing baseball with him on the front lawn and marveling at how he could hit the ball farther than me with one arm.
Baseball was a real connection for us. He was born in 1914 and grew up idolizing Babe Ruth, wanting to be Babe Ruth, and he remained a lifelong Yankee fan. He was nothing if not loyal to those he loved. One of the best things I ever did for him was alert him to the existence of the MLB cable TV packages that allowed him to watch the Yankees on a daily basis. I wouldn't say we were close- we were polar opposites in many ways. Back in the day when I was spending a lot of time with his family, he clearly disapproved of my long hair and foul mouth and affection for certain only-now-legal-in-California substances. But he never let that stand in the way of being a loving, caring uncle who was always up for thrashing me at cribbage.
I remember camping with him and his family in northern California and on the Santa Cruz beach. I love his children as dearly as anyone in my life. He had an mostly indirect yet profound effect on me.
Once I grew up, or whatever it is that I've done, I saw him far less frequently. But he was always in my heart and always welcoming when I would venture out to his home. And I'll have him with me from now until it's my turn to go.
I'm always reticent to talk about other people in my blog, because it's none of my business, so I will just riff a bit on how I feel.
I think I made it clear in my last post how strange the juxtaposition (how many of you knew how that word was spelled?) of celebration of and impending end of life was. Looking back on it less than 24 hours later it's clear to me just how totally fitting it was.
It's hard for me to isolate my feelings without going into too many details about Mike, (he was my mother's sister's husband) which is a whole 'nother essay. But I'll focus on a couple of particularly striking things. The first is that Mike had one arm. He had a hunting accident when he was a young man and had it amputated. The only thing I ever saw him need help with as a result of this deficit was cutting his food- he needed things like steak cut for him. He remained an avid sportsman for many many years and I remember watching him tying fishing lures onto his tine with hand and teeth. I also remember playing baseball with him on the front lawn and marveling at how he could hit the ball farther than me with one arm.
Baseball was a real connection for us. He was born in 1914 and grew up idolizing Babe Ruth, wanting to be Babe Ruth, and he remained a lifelong Yankee fan. He was nothing if not loyal to those he loved. One of the best things I ever did for him was alert him to the existence of the MLB cable TV packages that allowed him to watch the Yankees on a daily basis. I wouldn't say we were close- we were polar opposites in many ways. Back in the day when I was spending a lot of time with his family, he clearly disapproved of my long hair and foul mouth and affection for certain only-now-legal-in-California substances. But he never let that stand in the way of being a loving, caring uncle who was always up for thrashing me at cribbage.
I remember camping with him and his family in northern California and on the Santa Cruz beach. I love his children as dearly as anyone in my life. He had an mostly indirect yet profound effect on me.
Once I grew up, or whatever it is that I've done, I saw him far less frequently. But he was always in my heart and always welcoming when I would venture out to his home. And I'll have him with me from now until it's my turn to go.
24 or so unusual hours
If you have a particular outlook on the world and on life, you can divide days roughly into the categories of mundane, peculiar, quite peculiar, and most peculiar. If it seems to you like I'm reaching for unusual words to describe things you would be correct. I've just tired of using words like "weird" and "bizarre." Yesterday was most peculiar.
My original spring break plan was to go to D.C. to do Washington things and then to North Carolina to visit friends. But I realized a few weeks ago that I was too wiped out to do that and needed to lie on a beach. So that was the plan, and I kind of coasted through my last day of school. And during my last class I got an email saying that my not quite 103 year-old uncle Mike, who resides in Sacramento, was in his final days. I wasn't sure what to do, but by the time evening rolled around (how do times of day 'roll around?' and what does that even mean?) I decided I had to be there.
Keep in mind that I was in no shape to be doing this, but somehow I was doing this. So I first endured this very long flight. It's very hard to get to Sacramento, considering it's the capital of a very large state. I'm not sure if it's hard to get to because there's no particular reason to go of if people rarely go there because it's hard to do, but I got in at 10:30 Pacific (1:30 Eastern) having not had dinner. The rental car agent pointed me to a nearby In-and-Out Burger so I had a burger and fries at the equivalent of 2 AM.
I got to the motel and saw a note that they were doing roof work, so I respectfully requested to not be on the top floor. This lead me to be placed in what they call an "accessible room." Everything is set up for handicapped people, so the good part is that there's a bench in the shower (always a bonus) and the bad part is that the bathroom has to be huge to accommodate a wheelchair, so the rest of the room is tiny. But I slept.
And in the morning I had the lovely breakfast that they offer at a Best Western Plus (by the way, the math teachers among us know that "plus" implies something more. Ain't seeing it here- I suppose one could be adding a negative...) and then went for a walk by the American River. That was all quite lovely. I had lots of thoughts that I believed I had recorded, but they seem to have been disappeared by my phone. Anyway, here's what happened.
After my walk I went to the house and was filled with memories of joy and love and all sorts of emotional complications over the years. I don't see my cousins nearly as often as I'd like because it's far (I had written a lot about this yesterday but my phone seems to have dropped it somehow) but they are my only really close extended family. We saw each other regularly as kids and less regularly as adults, but we've always been bonded in a way that's rare in my family.
I came in and sat with my cousins and uncle (I'm going to limit this to my own experiences as a matter of privacy for others). It felt really good to be there. I held my uncle's hand and spoke to him, and though he was mostly unresponsive, I'll believe that he knew I was there. I then was informed that because this was his 103rd birthday, that there was a party planned and that most of the people coming did not know his status. So I, along with my once-removed younger cousins, dealt with the caterer and ran to the store to get supplies and such.
I knew this was going to be strange and possibly quite awkward, but I did what I could. It was nice to spend the time with family. My uncle had a very large circle of friends and over the course of the afternoon, many of them came by to celebrate him. They were disappointed that he couldn't participate, but after the difficult part of "where's Mike?" they were still glad to be part of things. I'll write more about my uncle later, but if you live 103 years and genuinely care about people you make many unbreakable connections.
People stayed for a while. I was kind of floating in time and wasn't completely aware of everything going on, but it was a happy occasion. There was singing and story-telling and just the nice dynamic of people who have no connection with each other besides their knowing the same person getting to hear other sides of someone they cared about. My uncle was both very private and very public, so many people knew him in many different ways- neighbors, colleagues, friends from all aspects of his life.
I wish I could say that I was able to fully engage with all of this and I tried, but I didn't know any of these people nor they me and it was ultimately beyond my capacity. So eventually I had to step away for a little while. Fortunately, I had the good fortune to have the company of my brother and the husband of one of my cousins and a couple of the younger cousins. It was a separate but equally warm and caring time that I will always cherish.
Eventually the party dissipated and I went back to his room and spend some time with my close cousins and my uncle. Everyone seemed very happy about the way things had gone, even if they weren't a part of the actual goings on. We talked quietly and I held my uncle's hand for a while and talked about the past and the future. He seemed very at peace as I left, and I left thinking he was in a good place.
I went back to my crappy motel and promptly fell asleep.
More to come...
My original spring break plan was to go to D.C. to do Washington things and then to North Carolina to visit friends. But I realized a few weeks ago that I was too wiped out to do that and needed to lie on a beach. So that was the plan, and I kind of coasted through my last day of school. And during my last class I got an email saying that my not quite 103 year-old uncle Mike, who resides in Sacramento, was in his final days. I wasn't sure what to do, but by the time evening rolled around (how do times of day 'roll around?' and what does that even mean?) I decided I had to be there.
Keep in mind that I was in no shape to be doing this, but somehow I was doing this. So I first endured this very long flight. It's very hard to get to Sacramento, considering it's the capital of a very large state. I'm not sure if it's hard to get to because there's no particular reason to go of if people rarely go there because it's hard to do, but I got in at 10:30 Pacific (1:30 Eastern) having not had dinner. The rental car agent pointed me to a nearby In-and-Out Burger so I had a burger and fries at the equivalent of 2 AM.
I got to the motel and saw a note that they were doing roof work, so I respectfully requested to not be on the top floor. This lead me to be placed in what they call an "accessible room." Everything is set up for handicapped people, so the good part is that there's a bench in the shower (always a bonus) and the bad part is that the bathroom has to be huge to accommodate a wheelchair, so the rest of the room is tiny. But I slept.
And in the morning I had the lovely breakfast that they offer at a Best Western Plus (by the way, the math teachers among us know that "plus" implies something more. Ain't seeing it here- I suppose one could be adding a negative...) and then went for a walk by the American River. That was all quite lovely. I had lots of thoughts that I believed I had recorded, but they seem to have been disappeared by my phone. Anyway, here's what happened.
After my walk I went to the house and was filled with memories of joy and love and all sorts of emotional complications over the years. I don't see my cousins nearly as often as I'd like because it's far (I had written a lot about this yesterday but my phone seems to have dropped it somehow) but they are my only really close extended family. We saw each other regularly as kids and less regularly as adults, but we've always been bonded in a way that's rare in my family.
I came in and sat with my cousins and uncle (I'm going to limit this to my own experiences as a matter of privacy for others). It felt really good to be there. I held my uncle's hand and spoke to him, and though he was mostly unresponsive, I'll believe that he knew I was there. I then was informed that because this was his 103rd birthday, that there was a party planned and that most of the people coming did not know his status. So I, along with my once-removed younger cousins, dealt with the caterer and ran to the store to get supplies and such.
I knew this was going to be strange and possibly quite awkward, but I did what I could. It was nice to spend the time with family. My uncle had a very large circle of friends and over the course of the afternoon, many of them came by to celebrate him. They were disappointed that he couldn't participate, but after the difficult part of "where's Mike?" they were still glad to be part of things. I'll write more about my uncle later, but if you live 103 years and genuinely care about people you make many unbreakable connections.
People stayed for a while. I was kind of floating in time and wasn't completely aware of everything going on, but it was a happy occasion. There was singing and story-telling and just the nice dynamic of people who have no connection with each other besides their knowing the same person getting to hear other sides of someone they cared about. My uncle was both very private and very public, so many people knew him in many different ways- neighbors, colleagues, friends from all aspects of his life.
I wish I could say that I was able to fully engage with all of this and I tried, but I didn't know any of these people nor they me and it was ultimately beyond my capacity. So eventually I had to step away for a little while. Fortunately, I had the good fortune to have the company of my brother and the husband of one of my cousins and a couple of the younger cousins. It was a separate but equally warm and caring time that I will always cherish.
Eventually the party dissipated and I went back to his room and spend some time with my close cousins and my uncle. Everyone seemed very happy about the way things had gone, even if they weren't a part of the actual goings on. We talked quietly and I held my uncle's hand for a while and talked about the past and the future. He seemed very at peace as I left, and I left thinking he was in a good place.
I went back to my crappy motel and promptly fell asleep.
More to come...
Monday, March 27, 2017
Final day, much too soon
So I mentioned yesterday how I felt like I was coming down with a cold? My nose was running all day from morning until bedtime. And now how many times have I had to do that today? Try zero. Bodies can be weird things, but I'm certainly not unhappy about it.
Right now I'm on the plane heading home. I went out to the beach for a while and picked up some pretty shells and then saw my daughter off to the airport. Then I wrote report cards (yes, I did work there. In fact, I carried large piles of tests down in my carry-on bag, which stayed in the bag untouched for the duration of the trip) until it was time for us to head to our final game, where we saw the Phillies play the Pittsburgh Pirates.
This game was fun-filled and action packed, and the first 2 innings took as long as 6 innings the night before. We left after 2 hours and 4 innings, to give you an idea. But we were sitting in the shade and perfectly comfortable, and there was lots going on.
Spring training games are funny in that they're not really games, they're practice, so it always seems weird when they try to pump up the crowd by playing the charge theme or worse yet, that grating artificial clapping sound that is more like some kind of grinding metal than anything else. During actual games, people clap along with that stuff, but most people don't care who wins spring training games. They cheer for good plays and when their team scores runs, but beyond that they are just hanging out, drinking something cool and having a snack. It's very relaxed compared to a game that "counts."
So off we went to the airport and headed home. I continued my work and tried to think about how to get through the next two weeks before spring break.
Right now I'm on the plane heading home. I went out to the beach for a while and picked up some pretty shells and then saw my daughter off to the airport. Then I wrote report cards (yes, I did work there. In fact, I carried large piles of tests down in my carry-on bag, which stayed in the bag untouched for the duration of the trip) until it was time for us to head to our final game, where we saw the Phillies play the Pittsburgh Pirates.
This game was fun-filled and action packed, and the first 2 innings took as long as 6 innings the night before. We left after 2 hours and 4 innings, to give you an idea. But we were sitting in the shade and perfectly comfortable, and there was lots going on.
Spring training games are funny in that they're not really games, they're practice, so it always seems weird when they try to pump up the crowd by playing the charge theme or worse yet, that grating artificial clapping sound that is more like some kind of grinding metal than anything else. During actual games, people clap along with that stuff, but most people don't care who wins spring training games. They cheer for good plays and when their team scores runs, but beyond that they are just hanging out, drinking something cool and having a snack. It's very relaxed compared to a game that "counts."
So off we went to the airport and headed home. I continued my work and tried to think about how to get through the next two weeks before spring break.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Second day in Clearwater (Sorry, thought I'd posted this yesterday)
This morning I went into Starbucks to get a cup of coffee before heading out for my long walk. It was busy, and they had people at 2 registers and a 3rd just taking orders. The third guy took the person in front of me, who ordered one of those silly sugary things they make, and he asked what her name was. "Stephanie," she replied, to which he replied, "With an f or a ph?" She said it was ph, and I was thinking why are you bothering to ask that question when a cashier asked for my order and when I told him my name was Frank, he said, with a totally straight face, "Is that with an f or a ph?" And then he cracked up and said "I couldn't help it."
So on that note, I set off toward Sand Key, a small island just south of Clearwater Beach. I've done this walk before and there's not much there, but the bridge over the bay has great views of St. Petersburg on one side and Clearwater Beach on the other. I don't have any pictures to share because I've done that before on previous walks.
Sand Key is sort of an odd name for a place that has no more or less sand than anything else around here. Everything here is made of sand. They wouldn't call the bay Water Bay. Or would they? The state beach is beautiful though, with bright white sand and an open view of the water. What it does not have, which I couldn't help noticing because of some personal connection to the matter, is any place to go to the bathroom. There's a vast beach with a huge parking lot and the one bathhouse is closed and there's nothing else in sight. So I hereby recommend this beach for short visits when you are slightly dehydrated.
The walk is very nice and takes me by everything on the south end of the island. There's a lot of hotel construction going on. Someone was wondering if that meant there were casinos coming, but there was no particular sign of that. There certainly has been a lack of upscale properties, and I think that niche is at the edge of getting much more populated. Maybe that means next year there will be more choice and better prices.
I've not been able to completely let go of everything, but a long walk and quiet contemplation was good for me. I'm okay all things considered, aside from feeling like I'm getting a cold. My body pretty consistently does this- manages to stay healthy throughout any kind of difficulty and then as soon as things get better it rebels. That's how I ended up with shingles, but this is just a cold.
Once back at the hotel I had breakfast and we went to the beach. It's a very nice beach, as I've mentioned before. We got some chairs and an umbrella and did the beach thing. I sat in the sun and the ladies were under the umbrella. We all read books and were ably assisted by Jimmy from Englewood, NJ, who told us all about his family and how he came to be in Clearwater and also helped with the umbrella. You can't enjoy an adult beverage on most of the beach, but on this one spot by our hotel you can, and they take advantage of it with a mobile bar called Tommy's Tiki Ranger. I had a nice cold beer and my daughter had a combo margarita/piña colada, which is as good as it sounds. After a few hours it was time to get cleaned up and head down to the jauntily named Ed Smith Stadium in Sarasota to see the Baltimore Orioles play the Minnesota Twins.
The drive down, which normally takes around an hour and a half at most, took almost two hours and was pretty unpleasant, but eventually we made it and got a parking space right across the street from the stadium. I'd been there before and the one thing I remembered was how friendly everyone was there. And I remembered correctly. Every single person working there was incredibly pleasant and friendly, and the vendors were attentive and funny ("Get your water here, straight from the bottom of the well to your lips.") and the whole atmosphere could not have been nicer. The game went quickly and had patches of action, ranging from home runs to someone walking and eventually scoring without another hit by virtue of 2 wild pitches and a fly ball.
Fortunately, the trip home was much shorter, and back in the hotel room I learned that, while it is not ideal or easy to cut up and de-seed a pepper with a teaspoon, it is possible. Sort of wish I'd done a video in retrospect; I was pretty impressed with myself if you must know.
So that's a day. Nothing incredible, just a mostly pleasant, uneventful day. Home tomorrow, but that's another story.
So on that note, I set off toward Sand Key, a small island just south of Clearwater Beach. I've done this walk before and there's not much there, but the bridge over the bay has great views of St. Petersburg on one side and Clearwater Beach on the other. I don't have any pictures to share because I've done that before on previous walks.
Sand Key is sort of an odd name for a place that has no more or less sand than anything else around here. Everything here is made of sand. They wouldn't call the bay Water Bay. Or would they? The state beach is beautiful though, with bright white sand and an open view of the water. What it does not have, which I couldn't help noticing because of some personal connection to the matter, is any place to go to the bathroom. There's a vast beach with a huge parking lot and the one bathhouse is closed and there's nothing else in sight. So I hereby recommend this beach for short visits when you are slightly dehydrated.
The walk is very nice and takes me by everything on the south end of the island. There's a lot of hotel construction going on. Someone was wondering if that meant there were casinos coming, but there was no particular sign of that. There certainly has been a lack of upscale properties, and I think that niche is at the edge of getting much more populated. Maybe that means next year there will be more choice and better prices.
I've not been able to completely let go of everything, but a long walk and quiet contemplation was good for me. I'm okay all things considered, aside from feeling like I'm getting a cold. My body pretty consistently does this- manages to stay healthy throughout any kind of difficulty and then as soon as things get better it rebels. That's how I ended up with shingles, but this is just a cold.
Once back at the hotel I had breakfast and we went to the beach. It's a very nice beach, as I've mentioned before. We got some chairs and an umbrella and did the beach thing. I sat in the sun and the ladies were under the umbrella. We all read books and were ably assisted by Jimmy from Englewood, NJ, who told us all about his family and how he came to be in Clearwater and also helped with the umbrella. You can't enjoy an adult beverage on most of the beach, but on this one spot by our hotel you can, and they take advantage of it with a mobile bar called Tommy's Tiki Ranger. I had a nice cold beer and my daughter had a combo margarita/piña colada, which is as good as it sounds. After a few hours it was time to get cleaned up and head down to the jauntily named Ed Smith Stadium in Sarasota to see the Baltimore Orioles play the Minnesota Twins.
The drive down, which normally takes around an hour and a half at most, took almost two hours and was pretty unpleasant, but eventually we made it and got a parking space right across the street from the stadium. I'd been there before and the one thing I remembered was how friendly everyone was there. And I remembered correctly. Every single person working there was incredibly pleasant and friendly, and the vendors were attentive and funny ("Get your water here, straight from the bottom of the well to your lips.") and the whole atmosphere could not have been nicer. The game went quickly and had patches of action, ranging from home runs to someone walking and eventually scoring without another hit by virtue of 2 wild pitches and a fly ball.
 |
| He hit a home run, but it's disappointing that his name is pronounced "scope" and not "shoop." |
So that's a day. Nothing incredible, just a mostly pleasant, uneventful day. Home tomorrow, but that's another story.
Friday, March 24, 2017
A day away
Anybody who has spent any time with me recently would know that these past few weeks have not been the easiest, which means here that within my sphere of people there have been some huge swings of emotion. Lots of good things, but also some pretty difficult stuff to deal with. Most of it didn't happen to me, but to people I care about, which for me is usually worse. Too much drama, lots of work, a good-sized portion of stress, and not enough sleep. So saying I needed a break was a pretty dramatic understatement.
As it turned out, this was a long-planned weekend in Clearwater Beach with my wife and one daughter, which could not have been more right place at the right time. The day of departure completely crazy. Honestly, I can't believe that I managed to get everything done that I did, from making up and giving tests to meetings to teaching a class while eating a Wawa tuna wrap to pretty much every other thing I ever do during a school day all packed in from about 6 AM until 1:30 when I headed home. And at least it seems that I didn't seriously screw anything up in the process.
So we got to the airport just at the right time for our flight, and got into Tampa airport and over to Clearwater earlier than expected. We're staying at the Hilton here, which is a first time for me. It's the 6th different hotel I've used on these trips and I'm pretty happy with the choice.
I usually use Tripadvisor as a primary source for hotel searches, and had always avoided this place, in spite of its almost perfect location, because everyone said it felt old and a little run down. But this year all the reviews said things about "newly renovated," so I decided to give it a try. It's definitely had a going over, and more of it is good than not. The room is good-sized and nicely furnished, if you're into hotel furniture. Hotels are strange things, if you think about it, and how they put rooms together often makes me think about the meetings involved in the planning. Why did they make this or that particular choice? Why is there something like this out here rather than behind the desk where it wouldn't be seen?
The bed is comfortable and there's a refrigerator rather than a minibar, which is always a plus. They have a small fitness center, though the hotel guide says it's on the 3rd floor, which it is not. I ended up finding it by accident looking for the lobby. The only really confounding thing is the bathroom. It's clear that the designers found the space problematic, because there are some quirks. The sink is very stylish and looks good when you are standing over it, but the faucet is on the side rather than in back, which requires more thought from the user than would be ideal to figure out how to get hot or cold water. And as nice as it looks up above you can see the entire plumbing system down below, which is just odd.
In the hundred or so hotel reviews I've written, I've never had occasion to mention the view from the toilet, because that just seems icky for some reason, even though I suspect that most if not all of the people reading this have sat on a toilet at one time or another. Anyway, the underside of the sink is what you see when you're sitting there. It's nice and new and shiny. but not exactly slick. And what you do not see is the toilet paper, or bath tissue as the labels read but nobody, and I mean nobody, ever says or even thinks. That's because it's behind you and hidden in a kind of cubby.
As it turned out, this was a long-planned weekend in Clearwater Beach with my wife and one daughter, which could not have been more right place at the right time. The day of departure completely crazy. Honestly, I can't believe that I managed to get everything done that I did, from making up and giving tests to meetings to teaching a class while eating a Wawa tuna wrap to pretty much every other thing I ever do during a school day all packed in from about 6 AM until 1:30 when I headed home. And at least it seems that I didn't seriously screw anything up in the process.
So we got to the airport just at the right time for our flight, and got into Tampa airport and over to Clearwater earlier than expected. We're staying at the Hilton here, which is a first time for me. It's the 6th different hotel I've used on these trips and I'm pretty happy with the choice.
I usually use Tripadvisor as a primary source for hotel searches, and had always avoided this place, in spite of its almost perfect location, because everyone said it felt old and a little run down. But this year all the reviews said things about "newly renovated," so I decided to give it a try. It's definitely had a going over, and more of it is good than not. The room is good-sized and nicely furnished, if you're into hotel furniture. Hotels are strange things, if you think about it, and how they put rooms together often makes me think about the meetings involved in the planning. Why did they make this or that particular choice? Why is there something like this out here rather than behind the desk where it wouldn't be seen?
The bed is comfortable and there's a refrigerator rather than a minibar, which is always a plus. They have a small fitness center, though the hotel guide says it's on the 3rd floor, which it is not. I ended up finding it by accident looking for the lobby. The only really confounding thing is the bathroom. It's clear that the designers found the space problematic, because there are some quirks. The sink is very stylish and looks good when you are standing over it, but the faucet is on the side rather than in back, which requires more thought from the user than would be ideal to figure out how to get hot or cold water. And as nice as it looks up above you can see the entire plumbing system down below, which is just odd.
It's also facing away from you, so if you can find it you have to reach back to get at it. Hopefully I won't tear a rotator cuff trying to get at it. And I can't not mention the fact that the toilet itself is several inches lower than normal, which is far more disconcerting than one would think. Any why doesn't anyone understand that people in hotels want to be able to find and use the bathroom during the night without having to leave the bright fluorescent light on? Dimmer switch? Night light? Too difficult apparently.
But at least they designed crown moulding to accommodate the sprinkler...
But enough about that. We ate dinner at the hotel restaurant because it was easy. I got 8 hours of sleep, which is about the total I'd had the previous two nights combined. And by the time I had walked on the beach for a little while I felt so much better that I couldn't believe it. The beach here is spectacular- a wide swath of powdery white sand (Ronnie described it as feeling like walking on flour) with a hard packed part down by the water that's ideal for walking.
It was so nice that I ended up walking 5 miles all told, and it was rejuvenating. Got back to the hotel and ate something and then we went to a ballgame at the jauntily named Florida Auto Exchange Stadium. Saw some nice practice baseball and I had a blueberry wheat beer with floated frozen blueberries, a first for me.
Back at the hotel I napped for a bit and then worked out. After a shower we walked up to Frenchy's Rockaway Grill, one of my favorite spots here. Right on the beach and totally casual, no reservations, so we got on the list knowing we'd have to wait an hour and then walked onto the beach to watch the sunset. Sunsets are a thing in Clearwater. Seeing the sun disappear into the Gulf of Mexico can be a real highlight if you catch a good one, which we did tonight.
Don't have more pictures because I was too busy watching it to be dealing with a camera. It looked like the sun was getting squashed down into the water- it almost seemed oval by the time it was halfway over the horizon. When it finally slipped below the edge the hundreds of people on the beach applauded. And hopefully it will rise and set again tomorrow as well. We walked back to the restaurant and waited a few minutes before our table came up.
The food at Frenchy's is good, but what really struck me was how happy everyone there was. Lots of laughing and friendly conversation. The whole day was like that. At one point we were going down to the ground floor and the elevator stopped at the lobby level, which is one flight up. The other people in the elevator apologized for having pushed the wrong button, and I said that considering that was probably the worst thing that had happened to me all day, that it must have been a pretty good day.
Tomorrow is a beach day- baseball at night. It's supposed to be 81 degrees and sunny, so hopefully we can keep the winning streak going. I've had a few occasions in my life where I really really needed a break and this was one of them. I feel blessed, whatever that means, that it's worked out as well as it has so far.
Thursday, February 09, 2017
Leaving a part of me behind
This is a wistful title for a post about dentistry. I am having a tooth removed and replaced with an bionic tooth next week. I don't think that's what they're really called, but I prefer to think of it that way. I believe the correct term is an implant, which has an overly intrusive feeling about it.
I am fortunate in that the dentist doing this work for me is at the absolute pinnacle of the field. He's been teaching reconstructive dentistry at Penn for years and writes textbooks on it, and has developed a lot of the techniques that other dentists use. He was a lucky find for me, because I have terrible teeth, and the only reason this is my first implant is the work that he did for me nearly 30 years ago when I first started seeing him.
Before getting to see him, I was in a lot of pain in the toothal area, to adapt Woody Allen's parlance. Because it started of course on a Friday afternoon, I couldn't go see my regular guy, so I was left with a Doc-In-The-Box. This is the phrase used by doctors with regular practices to describe strip mall Urgent Care centers and their doctors. I don't think it's meant as a compliment.
I'd never been to one of these before, except when I was in Lake Placid once and came down with bronchitis. A nurse practitioner there prescribed the antibiotics one prescribes for bronchitis and that was it. This place near me has a sign saying it has dental services, so Saturday morning there I was.
I came in and the place was all but deserted. There was a dentist there, but nobody to help him, so I needed to wait until someone, who I never saw and sounded like he knew nothing, came to assist by bringing him instruments. As far as I could tell, everything he put in my mouth was coming from a sealed, sanitized package (or they were tearing paper behind me to fool me). He cleaned around it and said there might be some infection, so he prescribed me antibiotics (which ultimately helped reduce the pain). He also suggested that they take an x-ray, which I considered but rejected when I saw this sign on the wall in front of me (and I am absolutely not making this up).
Reads kind of like a ransom note, doesn't it? So I expressed my preference to have my own dentist take the x-ray, and as it turned out, the tooth needed to go. Bye-bye tooth. The weird thing is that my dentist said it didn't look like the kind of tooth that belonged in that spot in my mouth, and that I might have my wisdom teeth instead of regular molars. I seem to remember having my wisdom teeth removed, so this is mysterious, but it's a story for another day.
I am fortunate in that the dentist doing this work for me is at the absolute pinnacle of the field. He's been teaching reconstructive dentistry at Penn for years and writes textbooks on it, and has developed a lot of the techniques that other dentists use. He was a lucky find for me, because I have terrible teeth, and the only reason this is my first implant is the work that he did for me nearly 30 years ago when I first started seeing him.
Before getting to see him, I was in a lot of pain in the toothal area, to adapt Woody Allen's parlance. Because it started of course on a Friday afternoon, I couldn't go see my regular guy, so I was left with a Doc-In-The-Box. This is the phrase used by doctors with regular practices to describe strip mall Urgent Care centers and their doctors. I don't think it's meant as a compliment.
I'd never been to one of these before, except when I was in Lake Placid once and came down with bronchitis. A nurse practitioner there prescribed the antibiotics one prescribes for bronchitis and that was it. This place near me has a sign saying it has dental services, so Saturday morning there I was.
I came in and the place was all but deserted. There was a dentist there, but nobody to help him, so I needed to wait until someone, who I never saw and sounded like he knew nothing, came to assist by bringing him instruments. As far as I could tell, everything he put in my mouth was coming from a sealed, sanitized package (or they were tearing paper behind me to fool me). He cleaned around it and said there might be some infection, so he prescribed me antibiotics (which ultimately helped reduce the pain). He also suggested that they take an x-ray, which I considered but rejected when I saw this sign on the wall in front of me (and I am absolutely not making this up).
Monday, January 16, 2017
Scattered thoughts
I noticed that Sherlock is already advertising it's Season Finale. Yes, a Season Finale two weeks after the Season Premiere. Because they only make 3 episodes in a season. I'm betting the second episode is feeling pretty lousy about itself right now.
So the fragmentation of media is like going back to before there was no mass media at all. We're just not segmented geographically, it's by belief set.
I just saw a commercial for something called "Marriage Bootcamp, Reality Stars." Just to clarify, these people are on TV on a reality show already, so aren't all the people who are ever on the show reality stars? I'm willing to be further enlightened on this.
The headline in the Travel section of the newspaper says "America's Most Remote National Park." I've been to all 50 states, so I was curious. Where is it? Frigging Samoa, that's where. Doesn't seem fair, does it?
I started watching "The OA." For those of you who like me avoided it because you thought it was some kind of spinoff of "The O.C." I should tell you it is not and it is worth at least checking out. Maybe a little much after watching Westworld, but still pretty riveting.
I was walking through our local park and saw this sign on the building
So the fragmentation of media is like going back to before there was no mass media at all. We're just not segmented geographically, it's by belief set.
I just saw a commercial for something called "Marriage Bootcamp, Reality Stars." Just to clarify, these people are on TV on a reality show already, so aren't all the people who are ever on the show reality stars? I'm willing to be further enlightened on this.
The headline in the Travel section of the newspaper says "America's Most Remote National Park." I've been to all 50 states, so I was curious. Where is it? Frigging Samoa, that's where. Doesn't seem fair, does it?
I started watching "The OA." For those of you who like me avoided it because you thought it was some kind of spinoff of "The O.C." I should tell you it is not and it is worth at least checking out. Maybe a little much after watching Westworld, but still pretty riveting.
I was walking through our local park and saw this sign on the building
Maybe I'm missing something, but isn't everything that's indoors confined space? That's the whole idea of "in," I think.
A Repeal of the Stamp Act Stamp? Why did it take so long for this to happen?
Looks like I've got about 168000 years to eat these at their best.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
What's wrong with kids these days
I'll tell you what's wrong. They're small, immature, silly, contrary, alternately lazy and hyperactive, too smart for their own good and stupid beyond belief. They range from completely to selectively helpless and they don't know what's important. They're fascinated by the newest thing for no reason other than that it's the newest thing. They cluster in packs, eat stuff you wanted and don't enjoy the things they ought to enjoy, like art and classical music.
Saturday, December 03, 2016
The significance of others
Of all the weird little turns of language that have reached prominence in the, what do we call this decade anyway? In the 20's century everyone was comfortable from every decade starting in the 1920's to be "the 20's, the sixties, etc." And then everything fell apart at the beginning of the new millennium and we started trying things like the "oughty-oughts.:"
And now there's been nothing to pick up the slack. I fear we are seeing a new generation that doesn't understand the importance of the round-numberness of the decades. We're in our teens now, aren't we?
Sorry, got sidetracked there. What I was going to say is that there's almost no phrase that I utter frequently that makes me feel more awkward than "significant other." Both of my daughters are in their 20's and it seems weird to call a 28 year-old guy a boyfriend. Though I have no trouble referring to my father's 92 year-old girlfriend (he calls her his 'companion.'). So often when I describe everyone coming to the house for Thanksgiving I refer to my daughters and their significant others. And I seem to be able to do it without irony, which is surprising, but it still doesn't seem right.
What made me think about this was the reaction by people we know to their coming, the awkward questions about "where are they going to sleep?" Honestly, do people really still think this way? That a 20-something kids in a serious relationship is not going to sleep in the same bed? "Not under my roof, I tell you!" Says...well, nobody I know. Maybe it's the time I grew up (The Sixties!) and maybe we're just cool parents. Either way I find it kind of laughable, so "Ha."
The word for these adult relationships is a long running joke with me and one of my friends. We remember reading something, in the National Lampoon or some such thing, where a narrator refers to someone as his paramour and then laments, "I wish there were a better word." And of course this is English, so there's almost always a better word, but not for this.
There's nothing inherently wrong with the phrase significant other, aside from the wild variations of meanings you can attach to those words. A significant other could be a statistically meaningful alien. So you could mean that when you're talking about your boyfriend and he'd never know. Are we all okay with that? I'm not sure. I'll be back to you in the 20's.
And now there's been nothing to pick up the slack. I fear we are seeing a new generation that doesn't understand the importance of the round-numberness of the decades. We're in our teens now, aren't we?
Sorry, got sidetracked there. What I was going to say is that there's almost no phrase that I utter frequently that makes me feel more awkward than "significant other." Both of my daughters are in their 20's and it seems weird to call a 28 year-old guy a boyfriend. Though I have no trouble referring to my father's 92 year-old girlfriend (he calls her his 'companion.'). So often when I describe everyone coming to the house for Thanksgiving I refer to my daughters and their significant others. And I seem to be able to do it without irony, which is surprising, but it still doesn't seem right.
What made me think about this was the reaction by people we know to their coming, the awkward questions about "where are they going to sleep?" Honestly, do people really still think this way? That a 20-something kids in a serious relationship is not going to sleep in the same bed? "Not under my roof, I tell you!" Says...well, nobody I know. Maybe it's the time I grew up (The Sixties!) and maybe we're just cool parents. Either way I find it kind of laughable, so "Ha."
The word for these adult relationships is a long running joke with me and one of my friends. We remember reading something, in the National Lampoon or some such thing, where a narrator refers to someone as his paramour and then laments, "I wish there were a better word." And of course this is English, so there's almost always a better word, but not for this.
There's nothing inherently wrong with the phrase significant other, aside from the wild variations of meanings you can attach to those words. A significant other could be a statistically meaningful alien. So you could mean that when you're talking about your boyfriend and he'd never know. Are we all okay with that? I'm not sure. I'll be back to you in the 20's.
Thursday, December 01, 2016
The only thing we need to stress about is stress itself
My senior class, who are now in their second year with me, were telling me today how stressed they were about their midterm in my class. I got uppity about that and told them not to let the stress they're feeling about everything else in their lives bleed over into my test.
The word of the year seems to be stress. I'm trying to think back to when stress was invented. I think it was in late 1990's, with the coming of the new millennium. We all needed a new mental state to carry us through the next 1000 years and the powers that be seem to have settled on stress.
When people tell me they're stressed out, I always mean to ask them what they're talking about. Mind you, I don't ever ask, because if I did they might mistake what I'm asking and start telling me about their lives, but I don't really know what they mean when they say that.
Here's my hypothesis: Stress was invented because people needed a new excuse when "I'm tired" ceased to be believed. Saying that you're stressed is a way of deflecting the blame for you getting yourself into the mess you're in. In nearly all cases I encounter, people claim stress because of outside stuff that's going on. It's never their inability to deal with it. For a while, what people would say when you asked them how they were would be the euphemistic "Too busy." But now they just come right out and say"Stressed out." It's the default reaction to any outside stimulus.
The problem and the reason it's nothing but and excuse is that the outside forces themselves are not inherently stressful. They are just there. A test is not under any stress whatsoever, nor does it contain any stress among its pages. Nor does an IRS audit or a performance review or a budget meeting or college admissions notifications. None of those entities experience any stress. One hundred percent of the stress comes from us and the way we handle ourselves. We're the stressful things, the only stressful things.
And there's a problem with spending so much time and effort learning to deal with stress. The danger is that we're treating the symptoms and ignoring the disease. The world has changed rapidly in the last 10 years and we are not adapting well. We've lost homeostasis and we won't really feel okay until we understand why, no matter what techniques we use.
I'm aware that mine is not the prevailing opinion, and I don't presume to have the answer for anyone else. There are so many books about how we got ourselves into this position that we clearly have no clue, (it's well known that the number of books on a topic is inversely proportional to how well we understand it). That's why I'm not reading any of them. When there's only one book I'll read that. Keep me posted.
I'm not suggesting that there aren't stressful things in the world. But to paraphrase "Born Yesterday," if a building burns down, who are you going to blame, the fire? I think we owe ourselves a good hard look in the mirror and a good round of "What the hell am I doing? What is my life such that I feel so bad? Why am I doing this to myself? What changes should I make?" before we start blaming the world for the fact that we're not able to calmly deal with the world.
The word of the year seems to be stress. I'm trying to think back to when stress was invented. I think it was in late 1990's, with the coming of the new millennium. We all needed a new mental state to carry us through the next 1000 years and the powers that be seem to have settled on stress.
When people tell me they're stressed out, I always mean to ask them what they're talking about. Mind you, I don't ever ask, because if I did they might mistake what I'm asking and start telling me about their lives, but I don't really know what they mean when they say that.
Here's my hypothesis: Stress was invented because people needed a new excuse when "I'm tired" ceased to be believed. Saying that you're stressed is a way of deflecting the blame for you getting yourself into the mess you're in. In nearly all cases I encounter, people claim stress because of outside stuff that's going on. It's never their inability to deal with it. For a while, what people would say when you asked them how they were would be the euphemistic "Too busy." But now they just come right out and say"Stressed out." It's the default reaction to any outside stimulus.
The problem and the reason it's nothing but and excuse is that the outside forces themselves are not inherently stressful. They are just there. A test is not under any stress whatsoever, nor does it contain any stress among its pages. Nor does an IRS audit or a performance review or a budget meeting or college admissions notifications. None of those entities experience any stress. One hundred percent of the stress comes from us and the way we handle ourselves. We're the stressful things, the only stressful things.
And there's a problem with spending so much time and effort learning to deal with stress. The danger is that we're treating the symptoms and ignoring the disease. The world has changed rapidly in the last 10 years and we are not adapting well. We've lost homeostasis and we won't really feel okay until we understand why, no matter what techniques we use.
I'm aware that mine is not the prevailing opinion, and I don't presume to have the answer for anyone else. There are so many books about how we got ourselves into this position that we clearly have no clue, (it's well known that the number of books on a topic is inversely proportional to how well we understand it). That's why I'm not reading any of them. When there's only one book I'll read that. Keep me posted.
I'm not suggesting that there aren't stressful things in the world. But to paraphrase "Born Yesterday," if a building burns down, who are you going to blame, the fire? I think we owe ourselves a good hard look in the mirror and a good round of "What the hell am I doing? What is my life such that I feel so bad? Why am I doing this to myself? What changes should I make?" before we start blaming the world for the fact that we're not able to calmly deal with the world.
Tis the season to be annoyed
I'm annoyed at someone. And I'm annoyed at myself for being annoyed at this person. And I just wanted to let you all know that if it gets to the point where I'm annoyed with myself for getting annoyed with myself, just bury my ashes in the family plot because I will probably have spontaneously burst into flames.
I think if you made a word cloud from school that "annoyed" and "stress" would be the biggest words.
I wrote this next thing for a group of students recently because we were doing a unit on kindness. Yes, they have math teachers doing this. Go figure. Anyway, I thought it might be worth posting:
Trying to be kind without being lame
I think that one of the biggest problems that people have with thinking about being kind is that
“kind” has a connotation of weakness, the same way as “nice.” Someone called me nice to my
face on Friday and a little part of me cringed. I don’t think about being nice; I think about being a
good person. Since part of being a good person is treating others the way you want to be
treated, niceness happens without your trying.
Kindness, however, takes effort. It requires thinking about another person and considering what
would be helpful to them. I was in the supermarket today, carrying two avocados and a tomato.
As I headed toward the plastic bag dispenser, another woman, carrying pears, approached the
same bag dispenser and got there before me. She pulled a bag off and then looked up and
handed it to me. I thanked her and smiled, and it made me feel really good for several minutes
afterwards. That’s what a small act of kindness can do.
Someone in our advisory group asked me if I had a stock line when dealing with customer
service people and I think I said that I didn’t. I realized later that I do. If I carry something over
to the checkout and they ask me if I want a bag, I usually say “No, that’s okay. I got it over here
without a bag and I think I can get it out to my car without one too.” This is slightly cute and
slightly funny, but it always makes cashiers smile.
I think I know why. It’s because when they asked me if I wanted a bag I responded to them as if
they were actually speaking to me, not just reciting a line. And that’s what I do. I also take note of where they are and what they’re doing. I talk about how busy or not busy the store is. If they seem tired I ask how long they’ve been on and when their break is. We discuss the merchandise, or something that’s happening elsewhere in the store.
Here's another example. Today a cashier at Giant routinely asked me "how are you?" and I replied "I'm annoyed at someone..." Both she and the woman behind me in line looked up at me and I continued, "...like most people, I guess." This got nods from both of them and soon the cashier was telling us how upset she is with her constantly-demanding sister and how selfish she was being and how unfair it was. I said, "You know, sometimes people just can't see outside themselves." And she looked at me and smiled and said "You're right. Thank you for that." And off I went with my adult beverages. It made my day.
What those things have in common is that I’m engaging in people's lives to some small degree. I think even customer service people prefer being treated as people and not as devices.
My point here is not to tell you all how wonderful I am. I can be a jerk sometimes just like
anyone else. My point is that sometimes all it takes to be kind to someone is to see them, listen
to them, and think for a moment what might make them smile or what would be helpful. It’s
being thoughtful. And I don’t think there’s anything lame about that.
I think if you made a word cloud from school that "annoyed" and "stress" would be the biggest words.
I wrote this next thing for a group of students recently because we were doing a unit on kindness. Yes, they have math teachers doing this. Go figure. Anyway, I thought it might be worth posting:
Trying to be kind without being lame
I think that one of the biggest problems that people have with thinking about being kind is that
“kind” has a connotation of weakness, the same way as “nice.” Someone called me nice to my
face on Friday and a little part of me cringed. I don’t think about being nice; I think about being a
good person. Since part of being a good person is treating others the way you want to be
treated, niceness happens without your trying.
Kindness, however, takes effort. It requires thinking about another person and considering what
would be helpful to them. I was in the supermarket today, carrying two avocados and a tomato.
As I headed toward the plastic bag dispenser, another woman, carrying pears, approached the
same bag dispenser and got there before me. She pulled a bag off and then looked up and
handed it to me. I thanked her and smiled, and it made me feel really good for several minutes
afterwards. That’s what a small act of kindness can do.
Someone in our advisory group asked me if I had a stock line when dealing with customer
service people and I think I said that I didn’t. I realized later that I do. If I carry something over
to the checkout and they ask me if I want a bag, I usually say “No, that’s okay. I got it over here
without a bag and I think I can get it out to my car without one too.” This is slightly cute and
slightly funny, but it always makes cashiers smile.
I think I know why. It’s because when they asked me if I wanted a bag I responded to them as if
they were actually speaking to me, not just reciting a line. And that’s what I do. I also take note of where they are and what they’re doing. I talk about how busy or not busy the store is. If they seem tired I ask how long they’ve been on and when their break is. We discuss the merchandise, or something that’s happening elsewhere in the store.
Here's another example. Today a cashier at Giant routinely asked me "how are you?" and I replied "I'm annoyed at someone..." Both she and the woman behind me in line looked up at me and I continued, "...like most people, I guess." This got nods from both of them and soon the cashier was telling us how upset she is with her constantly-demanding sister and how selfish she was being and how unfair it was. I said, "You know, sometimes people just can't see outside themselves." And she looked at me and smiled and said "You're right. Thank you for that." And off I went with my adult beverages. It made my day.
What those things have in common is that I’m engaging in people's lives to some small degree. I think even customer service people prefer being treated as people and not as devices.
My point here is not to tell you all how wonderful I am. I can be a jerk sometimes just like
anyone else. My point is that sometimes all it takes to be kind to someone is to see them, listen
to them, and think for a moment what might make them smile or what would be helpful. It’s
being thoughtful. And I don’t think there’s anything lame about that.
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
The debate
I'm quoting here from Infinite Jest. " I believe I appear neutral, maybe even pleasant, though I've been coached to err on the side on the side of neutrality and not attempt what would feel to me like a pleasant expression or smile."
This is a good expression for how I'm feeling watching this debate. I am watching because, well, I don't know, maybe because I can't look away.
This is one of the most unpleasant things I've experienced semi-voluntarily in recent years. I have nothing left to say
This is a good expression for how I'm feeling watching this debate. I am watching because, well, I don't know, maybe because I can't look away.
This is one of the most unpleasant things I've experienced semi-voluntarily in recent years. I have nothing left to say
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
The Death of Irony
I wish. Irony became cool in the 80's as a reaction to the post-hippie era, where the sincerity and generosity of Baby Boomers' younger years matured into arrogant, humorless sanctimony. It needed to be punctured, and people like David Letterman did an admirable job of doing that. But that was 30-something years ago, and I don't think it even occurred to anyone that ironic distance would be the new norm. But it kind of is.
Here's the thing though, irony is no better than sanctimony. Being cool and distant is not inherently superior to being holier-than-thou. They're the same thing. Irony is originally a literary device, using that perspective to communicate the author's point. It's a good thing to recognize. But there are other literary devices, like alliteration and metaphor. Why don't we try those out for a while? Wouldn't alliteration be absolutely amusing?
The common ground between irony and sanctimony is insincerity. Holding to a particular perspective for anything, regardless of what it is, necessarily separates you from everything. It's safe and cool and ultimately sterile. It's bad for you; it's the opposite of vulnerability, which is the only way we can let new feelings or perspectives inside ourselves.
I say all of this as someone who enjoys irony as much as anyone. I spent many years in a state of ironic distance. It has its place, which is not everywhere for everything. Those years were miserable for me most of the time. Vulnerability is scary and can be painful, but it's the only way to make deep connections with other people. Which is ultimately the most important thing, isn't it?
I'll finish with a quote (a paraphrase actually, but he was speaking stream-of-consciousness and I added a bit of structure) from Bo Burnham: "Ironic self-awareness isn't enough. It isn't okay to be a self-aware asshole- you need to stop being an asshole."
Here are some unconnected, but all from me and therefore not random, thoughts.
I'm still waiting to see the headline-
"Reality TV Star Alleges Media Conspiracy Against Him."
I always have this thing in my head that says every literate person appreciates a well-placed semicolon.
I used to wonder which I'd end up being when I got old, the wise sage that everyone came to for advice, or the cranky old guy shouting "Get off of my lawn." Based on all evidence to date, it appears I shall be both.
There's a wonderful quote (actually there are a great many) in James Brooks' excellent movie Broadcast News, where Bill, William Hurt's character, asks Aaron, Albert Brooks, "What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?" Aaron, who's jealous, replies "Keep it to yourself." That's a good punch line, but the question itself is more intriguing. It's a societal question and one I'll return to in another note.
Here's the thing though, irony is no better than sanctimony. Being cool and distant is not inherently superior to being holier-than-thou. They're the same thing. Irony is originally a literary device, using that perspective to communicate the author's point. It's a good thing to recognize. But there are other literary devices, like alliteration and metaphor. Why don't we try those out for a while? Wouldn't alliteration be absolutely amusing?
The common ground between irony and sanctimony is insincerity. Holding to a particular perspective for anything, regardless of what it is, necessarily separates you from everything. It's safe and cool and ultimately sterile. It's bad for you; it's the opposite of vulnerability, which is the only way we can let new feelings or perspectives inside ourselves.
I say all of this as someone who enjoys irony as much as anyone. I spent many years in a state of ironic distance. It has its place, which is not everywhere for everything. Those years were miserable for me most of the time. Vulnerability is scary and can be painful, but it's the only way to make deep connections with other people. Which is ultimately the most important thing, isn't it?
I'll finish with a quote (a paraphrase actually, but he was speaking stream-of-consciousness and I added a bit of structure) from Bo Burnham: "Ironic self-awareness isn't enough. It isn't okay to be a self-aware asshole- you need to stop being an asshole."
Here are some unconnected, but all from me and therefore not random, thoughts.
I'm still waiting to see the headline-
"Reality TV Star Alleges Media Conspiracy Against Him."
I always have this thing in my head that says every literate person appreciates a well-placed semicolon.
I used to wonder which I'd end up being when I got old, the wise sage that everyone came to for advice, or the cranky old guy shouting "Get off of my lawn." Based on all evidence to date, it appears I shall be both.
There's a wonderful quote (actually there are a great many) in James Brooks' excellent movie Broadcast News, where Bill, William Hurt's character, asks Aaron, Albert Brooks, "What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?" Aaron, who's jealous, replies "Keep it to yourself." That's a good punch line, but the question itself is more intriguing. It's a societal question and one I'll return to in another note.
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