Blasphemy, right? Don't drink and post? Fear not, gentle readers, as always, my madness is well coated with method.
For umpteen years, outside of one glorious season, the Chicago White Sox have been mired in mediocrity and irrelevancy. In some cases, like the strike that took away what could have been a world championship in 1994, owner Jerry Reinsdorf seemed to be complicit in not pushing for his team to compete for championships, spending more of his focus on Michael Jordan and NBA glory.
But for all those years, Reinsdorf and his predecessors enjoyed insulation from the consequences of their idiocy -- the equally malfeasant performance of the ownership on the other side of town. Between the Wrigley family and the Chicago Tribune, the Cubs were content in their "lovable losers" mantle, and felt free to bleed their fandom dry financially while not doing a whole hell of a lot on or off the field. Single-season blips here and there aside, they put no pressure on the Sox to up their game.
Before the dark times. Before the Ricketts.
Tom Ricketts had the vision to raise their franchise to the next level, and the courage to do what needed to be done -- completely implode the current model and build a competent one from the ground up. They went after the best operations manager in the game, were content with caretaker managers while they used draft picks and competent player evaluation personnel to build a deep, quality roster, and when the plan was ready to be implemented, went after the best manager available to get it done.
Granted, the sheep-like compliance of a fan base willing to endure almost a century of losing helped hedge the bets on the success of the endeavor. After all, the Cubs were selling out Wrigley for last-place teams for decades, so even if the plan took longer than estimated to implement, the money would still be there.
But the Cubs' plan has come to fruition. They enter the playoffs as the odds-on favorite to win their first World Series championship in 108 years. And with the youth and favorable contracts in place, their fans will go into the next couple seasons with reasonable expectations of meaningful baseball being played by their team in September at the very least, if not beyond.
And at 35th and Shields? Not so much. This year's bunch squandered a fantastic April with a craptastic May, and were spared finishing last in their division only by the Minnesota Twins being even worse. Reinsdorf's incompetence continues to reign supreme. His experiment with Robin Ventura reportedly is reaching a blessed ending for both sides, but rather than push for excellence, he seems content to promote bench coach Rick Renteria -- whose presence this season was supposed to ameliorate Ventura's shortcomings, and yet fell short -- to the top spot. Abject failures Rick Hahn and Kenny Williams benefit from Reinsdorf's excessive loyalty to hack away at the franchise for another day. As Paul Sullivan said in the Trib today, Sox fans deserve better than this mess.
Before the Cubs renaissance, that's likely as far as it would have gone. But not now. Now the gloves are off. The veneer has been stripped bare. There's no safety net of lovable losers to deflect the harsh spotlight shining on the south side, and hopefully the beat writers and fans will put on the much-deserved pressure.
The Ricketts have shown how it can be done. It takes money and it takes effort, and probably a little bit of luck. In the short term, there will be pain, and the fans may make ownership share in that pain before it's all over.
But that's why you own a team. That's why you put your money out there -- to win. If you're not in it to win, you shouldn't be in it at all.
If it takes a Cubs World Series win to push my Sox out of mediocrity and into some kind of effort to win, it'll have been worth it. Not by a lot, but worth it still.
I don't know if Alan would do it or not, but I've no doubt he'd see the practicality of it.
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Not Vote for Your Lizard
Douglas Adams has always been one of my favorite authors. Beyond his books, he penned the scripts for some of my favorite Doctor Who episodes. And it's a quote of his from "So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish" that sticks in my mind as we careen towards the 2016 Presidential election:
My vote for Gary Johnson will be just that -- a vote for Gary Johnson. While I don't agree with everything he espouses, I'm aligned with him enough that I'm willing to work with him on the other stuff. And last time I checked (and the last 15 years notwithstanding), the President is not empowered with the ability to unilaterally implement the things he wants. So those of you who think vaccination programs are suddenly going to go away should relax -- they're not. But the political "it's just as important for them to lose as it is for us to wint" bullshit just might.
And most importantly, Gary Johnson is an adult I believe I can trust. He's served as a governor, so he has executive experience. He seems to have willingness and ability to get things done while working with those who don't necessarily agree with him -- an attribute sorely missing from politics today. He spends most of his time talking about the things he wants to do, not how awful his opponents are.
This year, the two major parties have served us up a shit sandwich, and I'm not about to validate that action with my vote. Yes, Donald Trump is a reprehensible human being and I probably would rather have slivers hammered under my fingernails than spend a minute near him. By that measure, Hilary Clinton is objectively better than Donald Trump.
But I'm not picking a spouse or a friend, I'm electing a President. So whose personality is better really doesn't matter. What matters is what kind of politician each candidate is, and on that scale, both are unacceptable.
Trump is an ignoramus whose lack of understanding of the issues makes him an unsuitable choice. He caters to the base instincts of the lowest common denominator, is unwilling or unable to rise above his bombastic nature, and is doing absolutely nothing to create any kind of civil debate in this country. Not to mention my belief he really doesn't want the job in the first place.
Clinton's complete lack of trustworthiness makes her unacceptable to me as well She is an unrepentant inveterate liar who used a questionable charity to enrich herself. The candidate who cloaks herself in feminism today has spent most of her life enabling a serial rapist and castigating the women who tried to push back on him with the same shaming rhetoric she now decries.
Someone is going to win this election -- hopefully the Johnson/Weld ticket I support -- and inevitably those who think like me will be the target of the lizard(s) that fell short in the polls, saying the loss is somehow our fault. Spare me your righteous indignation, because it's better targeted at the political parties who only exist to keep themselves in power while turning all of us against each other.
I'm not here to change your mind -- vote for whatever candidate you choose and you feel represents you and what you're about. But don't try to project your electoral anxieties and uncontrollable political animus onto me. Your lizard's fate is all on you.
I think of this quote every time I read an article like this one in ND's Observer. I don't mean to call out my fellow soon-to-be alumni, but the attitude that "any vote for a third-party candidate is a vote for [insert name of candidate you don't like]" drives me up a tree, and this is just the latest one to push me there.“It comes from a very ancient democracy, you see..."
"You mean, it comes from a world of lizards?"
"No," said Ford, who by this time was a little more rational and coherent than he had been, having finally had the coffee forced down him, "nothing so simple. Nothing anything like so straightforward. On its world, the people are people. The leaders are lizards. The people hate the lizards and the lizards rule the people."
"Odd," said Arthur, "I thought you said it was a democracy."
"I did," said Ford. "It is."
"So," said Arthur, hoping he wasn't sounding ridiculously obtuse, "why don't people get rid of the lizards?"
"It honestly doesn't occur to them," said Ford. "They've all got the vote, so they all pretty much assume that the government they've voted in more or less approximates to the government they want."
"You mean they actually vote for the lizards?"
"Oh yes," said Ford with a shrug, "of course."
"But," said Arthur, going for the big one again, "why?"
"Because if they didn't vote for a lizard," said Ford, "the wrong lizard might get in. Got any gin?"
"What?"
"I said," said Ford, with an increasing air of urgency creeping into his voice, "have you got any gin?"
"I'll look. Tell me about the lizards."
Ford shrugged again. "Some people say that the lizards are the best thing that ever happened to them," he said. "They're completely wrong of course, completely and utterly wrong, but someone's got to say it."
"But that's terrible," said Arthur.
"Listen, bud," said Ford, "if I had one Altairian dollar for every time I heard one bit of the Universe look at another bit of the Universe and say 'That's terrible' I wouldn't be sitting here like a lemon looking for a gin.”
My vote for Gary Johnson will be just that -- a vote for Gary Johnson. While I don't agree with everything he espouses, I'm aligned with him enough that I'm willing to work with him on the other stuff. And last time I checked (and the last 15 years notwithstanding), the President is not empowered with the ability to unilaterally implement the things he wants. So those of you who think vaccination programs are suddenly going to go away should relax -- they're not. But the political "it's just as important for them to lose as it is for us to wint" bullshit just might.
And most importantly, Gary Johnson is an adult I believe I can trust. He's served as a governor, so he has executive experience. He seems to have willingness and ability to get things done while working with those who don't necessarily agree with him -- an attribute sorely missing from politics today. He spends most of his time talking about the things he wants to do, not how awful his opponents are.
This year, the two major parties have served us up a shit sandwich, and I'm not about to validate that action with my vote. Yes, Donald Trump is a reprehensible human being and I probably would rather have slivers hammered under my fingernails than spend a minute near him. By that measure, Hilary Clinton is objectively better than Donald Trump.
But I'm not picking a spouse or a friend, I'm electing a President. So whose personality is better really doesn't matter. What matters is what kind of politician each candidate is, and on that scale, both are unacceptable.
Trump is an ignoramus whose lack of understanding of the issues makes him an unsuitable choice. He caters to the base instincts of the lowest common denominator, is unwilling or unable to rise above his bombastic nature, and is doing absolutely nothing to create any kind of civil debate in this country. Not to mention my belief he really doesn't want the job in the first place.
Clinton's complete lack of trustworthiness makes her unacceptable to me as well She is an unrepentant inveterate liar who used a questionable charity to enrich herself. The candidate who cloaks herself in feminism today has spent most of her life enabling a serial rapist and castigating the women who tried to push back on him with the same shaming rhetoric she now decries.
Someone is going to win this election -- hopefully the Johnson/Weld ticket I support -- and inevitably those who think like me will be the target of the lizard(s) that fell short in the polls, saying the loss is somehow our fault. Spare me your righteous indignation, because it's better targeted at the political parties who only exist to keep themselves in power while turning all of us against each other.
I'm not here to change your mind -- vote for whatever candidate you choose and you feel represents you and what you're about. But don't try to project your electoral anxieties and uncontrollable political animus onto me. Your lizard's fate is all on you.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Time to Dust Things Off
One thing Alan Shore would never do is forget an outlet to let his feelings on topics be known. So as the writing bug takes hold again, I'm dusting this place off and will start filling it up with my blatherings. Consider yourself warned.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Complications
I've never been the kind of person who writes about personal subjects on the Internet well, especially subjects I would consider Shared Human Experiences. Lots of people have kids, lots of people gain and lose jobs, lots of people gain and lose loved ones, and I feel excessively narcissistic when I try to express thoughts on those things -- like I'm some kind of authority to whom people should listen when it comes to things we'll all do eventually.
But it occurs to me such writing requires a level of bravery I don't possess. My cousin has a blog on which she describes her personal triumphs and challenges in an absolutely brilliant manner, and more than once while reading it I've regretted not having that sense of purpose in my writings.
Maybe it's time I got it. After all, Alan Shore never was shy about sharing his thoughts on matters when he thought it important. While there's a fine line between educational and overbearing, you'll never find out where it is unless you walk up to (but hopefully not over) it.
It was just about a year ago mom decided to forego further treatment for the metastasized lung cancer in her brain and spinal cord and went into hospice. The four months that followed were a roller coaster of moments both good (her appearance at my cousin's wedding, probably the last time she left the house in her life) and awful (the final days as she faded away both physically and mentally). While she's never far from my thoughts, she's even more present now with Mother's Day coming up, and I've been thinking about the ways my life is different now that she's gone.
I was reminded of one of those ways the other day on the train downtown, as I was thumbing through the Trib and happened across the obituary page. At the very top was a story of an older gentleman who, according to the headline, had succumbed to "complications from prostate cancer".
"Complications". The usage here is almost meta. A single word describing so so so many things ... things I have much more of an appreciation for today than I did a year ago.
It's also what George Carlin would deride as a euphemism. To describe what mom went through as "complications" is an injustice. For me, the experience was equal parts gratifying and horrifying, swinging more from the former to the latter as time went on. In the final days, it took everything I had just to walk through the door of 9139, and I envied the strength of my brother (who was living there at ground zero) and my sister (who was in charge of the medical decisions) as they endured something I probably could not have. As hard as I thought I had it, they had it much much worse.
Reading about "complications of cancer" brings those days back to me in sharp relief, and sometimes I bristle at what I see as the insufficiency of that single word. But while it's insufficient for me, it's probably sufficient for public consumption, so I resolve to say a little extra prayer for the loved ones and their likely "complicated" lives in the time leading up to the person's passing. Because sometimes when they say "it's complicated", it really is.
But it occurs to me such writing requires a level of bravery I don't possess. My cousin has a blog on which she describes her personal triumphs and challenges in an absolutely brilliant manner, and more than once while reading it I've regretted not having that sense of purpose in my writings.
Maybe it's time I got it. After all, Alan Shore never was shy about sharing his thoughts on matters when he thought it important. While there's a fine line between educational and overbearing, you'll never find out where it is unless you walk up to (but hopefully not over) it.
It was just about a year ago mom decided to forego further treatment for the metastasized lung cancer in her brain and spinal cord and went into hospice. The four months that followed were a roller coaster of moments both good (her appearance at my cousin's wedding, probably the last time she left the house in her life) and awful (the final days as she faded away both physically and mentally). While she's never far from my thoughts, she's even more present now with Mother's Day coming up, and I've been thinking about the ways my life is different now that she's gone.
I was reminded of one of those ways the other day on the train downtown, as I was thumbing through the Trib and happened across the obituary page. At the very top was a story of an older gentleman who, according to the headline, had succumbed to "complications from prostate cancer".
"Complications". The usage here is almost meta. A single word describing so so so many things ... things I have much more of an appreciation for today than I did a year ago.
It's also what George Carlin would deride as a euphemism. To describe what mom went through as "complications" is an injustice. For me, the experience was equal parts gratifying and horrifying, swinging more from the former to the latter as time went on. In the final days, it took everything I had just to walk through the door of 9139, and I envied the strength of my brother (who was living there at ground zero) and my sister (who was in charge of the medical decisions) as they endured something I probably could not have. As hard as I thought I had it, they had it much much worse.
Reading about "complications of cancer" brings those days back to me in sharp relief, and sometimes I bristle at what I see as the insufficiency of that single word. But while it's insufficient for me, it's probably sufficient for public consumption, so I resolve to say a little extra prayer for the loved ones and their likely "complicated" lives in the time leading up to the person's passing. Because sometimes when they say "it's complicated", it really is.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Confessional
I spent yesterday saying goodbye to a great man. I've spent the time since wondering how I can be more like him.
Thomas "Tod" McGrath was my grandmother's brother. As the youngest of six, Tod was the prototypical "fun loving" member of the family. He didn't stand on ceremony or take himself or other people too seriously. His father died when Tod was young, so he learned the value of hard work quickly and developed a self-sufficiency which served him well his whole life. When his brothers also died at relatively young ages, he was an emotional support to their children as well as his own. When his sisters tried to "mother" him, he'd laugh and (very politely and respectfully) wave them off. He had a fullness of spirit that was joyfully infectious, and was someone you just wanted to be around.
The best part of Tod, though, was his leadership. It wasn't the Patton-type of leadership that you'd feel beaten over the head with. It was a quiet, matter-of-fact leadership that seemed much more attainable, even though it was so ingrained in everything he did he made it look effortless. Whether being a dad to his five kids, having employees while running his own truck stop, being an employee working for his nephews' business, or volunteering at his church and in other communities, he was the example you wanted to follow. If he was set a task, you never for a second thought it wouldn't be done and done well. So if he set you a task, you wanted to meet that same standard ... not because of fear of what would happen if you didn't, but because you didn't want to disappoint him. He inspired a loyalty in you that remained strong even if circumstance moved him out of your immediate orbit.
Tod had a great sense of humor perfectly balanced against a zero tolerance for bullshit. His "confessional" in his office at Kean Brothers was a place for people to get much-needed friendly advice and well-deserved calling outs, sometimes within the same minute. But whichever you received, you always knew it was being delivered with your best interest at heart. There was no CYA in Tod's life, personal or professional. He was more interested in others than he was in himself, and it showed every minute you spent with him.
In my 43 years, Tod was a great-uncle, boss, co-worker, and back again, and in that time he taught me a number of lessons about responsibility to self and others, priorities, and faith. Lately, I've been bad at putting those lessons into practice. I've gotten lazy about some things. I've let events influence me rather than the other way around. I've gotten better at using excuses than using what God's given me.
In earlier days, I'd be in the "confessional" getting straightened out. But it's not earlier days, and it's up to me to put what he taught me into practice, just as it is for everyone else whose lives he touched. When you lose someone like Tod, your life is poorer only if you allow the influence he had on you to wane. The "confessional" in his office is closed. The ones in our minds and hearts remain open, and you're a fool if you don't use it.
The last time Tod was at our house, he told me what a wonderful family I had and what a lucky person I was. While I thanked him for saying so, inside, I didn't feel very lucky. But as I see now, I was, and I am, and I need to be a lot better at recognizing it. The only way I'm unlucky is I can't thank him in person today for not only imparting the lessons in the first place but reminding me about the need to put them into practice.
So I'll say it here. Thanks for everything, Uncle T. I'll miss you.
Thomas "Tod" McGrath was my grandmother's brother. As the youngest of six, Tod was the prototypical "fun loving" member of the family. He didn't stand on ceremony or take himself or other people too seriously. His father died when Tod was young, so he learned the value of hard work quickly and developed a self-sufficiency which served him well his whole life. When his brothers also died at relatively young ages, he was an emotional support to their children as well as his own. When his sisters tried to "mother" him, he'd laugh and (very politely and respectfully) wave them off. He had a fullness of spirit that was joyfully infectious, and was someone you just wanted to be around.
The best part of Tod, though, was his leadership. It wasn't the Patton-type of leadership that you'd feel beaten over the head with. It was a quiet, matter-of-fact leadership that seemed much more attainable, even though it was so ingrained in everything he did he made it look effortless. Whether being a dad to his five kids, having employees while running his own truck stop, being an employee working for his nephews' business, or volunteering at his church and in other communities, he was the example you wanted to follow. If he was set a task, you never for a second thought it wouldn't be done and done well. So if he set you a task, you wanted to meet that same standard ... not because of fear of what would happen if you didn't, but because you didn't want to disappoint him. He inspired a loyalty in you that remained strong even if circumstance moved him out of your immediate orbit.
Tod had a great sense of humor perfectly balanced against a zero tolerance for bullshit. His "confessional" in his office at Kean Brothers was a place for people to get much-needed friendly advice and well-deserved calling outs, sometimes within the same minute. But whichever you received, you always knew it was being delivered with your best interest at heart. There was no CYA in Tod's life, personal or professional. He was more interested in others than he was in himself, and it showed every minute you spent with him.
In my 43 years, Tod was a great-uncle, boss, co-worker, and back again, and in that time he taught me a number of lessons about responsibility to self and others, priorities, and faith. Lately, I've been bad at putting those lessons into practice. I've gotten lazy about some things. I've let events influence me rather than the other way around. I've gotten better at using excuses than using what God's given me.
In earlier days, I'd be in the "confessional" getting straightened out. But it's not earlier days, and it's up to me to put what he taught me into practice, just as it is for everyone else whose lives he touched. When you lose someone like Tod, your life is poorer only if you allow the influence he had on you to wane. The "confessional" in his office is closed. The ones in our minds and hearts remain open, and you're a fool if you don't use it.
The last time Tod was at our house, he told me what a wonderful family I had and what a lucky person I was. While I thanked him for saying so, inside, I didn't feel very lucky. But as I see now, I was, and I am, and I need to be a lot better at recognizing it. The only way I'm unlucky is I can't thank him in person today for not only imparting the lessons in the first place but reminding me about the need to put them into practice.
So I'll say it here. Thanks for everything, Uncle T. I'll miss you.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Go Back in Time
A while back on the NDN Back Room, there was a discussion regarding time travel. To wit: If you could travel back in time to influence a decision point in history, what would it be? The usual suspects like killing so-and-so or preventing whats-his-name from being killed were explicitly excluded, and you could assume that you had the wherewithal to actually make a difference.
I gave the matter much prayerful meditation. At first, I wanted to go back and convince Henry VIII not to split with the Catholic Church over Ann Boelyn, but that seemed a little too esoteric for me (not to mention not a guarantee that a Protestant church wouldn't have formed in England anyway). Talking President Nixon out of doing Watergate seemed to be a waste of time -- if he didn't get caught for that, he would've been caught for something.
Then it came to me, and I knew exactly where I'd set my Wayback Machine: New York City, January, 1975. I'd sit down with John Lennon and convince him he should stay with May Pang rather than meet with Yoko Ono, a meeting resulting in the end of Lennon's "Lost Weekend" and his relationship with Pang.
May Pang was good for John Lennon. While with her, he rekindled a number of relationships, not the least of which were those with his former Beatles bandmates. Near the end of 1974, there was talk of some musical collaboration and healing of hurts. If that had continued, I can only imagine the kind of music produced. Or maybe I can't, because it would boggle the mind.
But in January of 1975, Lennon ended up back with Ono, and everything went back to square one. Lennon created more music, but remained estranged from his fellow Beatles. And six years later, he was still in NYC when Mark David Chapman walked up to him in front of the Dakota. If he'd still been with Pang, they'd likely have been in California instead.
Perhaps not earth-shattering, but that's where I'd choose to go.
I gave the matter much prayerful meditation. At first, I wanted to go back and convince Henry VIII not to split with the Catholic Church over Ann Boelyn, but that seemed a little too esoteric for me (not to mention not a guarantee that a Protestant church wouldn't have formed in England anyway). Talking President Nixon out of doing Watergate seemed to be a waste of time -- if he didn't get caught for that, he would've been caught for something.
Then it came to me, and I knew exactly where I'd set my Wayback Machine: New York City, January, 1975. I'd sit down with John Lennon and convince him he should stay with May Pang rather than meet with Yoko Ono, a meeting resulting in the end of Lennon's "Lost Weekend" and his relationship with Pang.
May Pang was good for John Lennon. While with her, he rekindled a number of relationships, not the least of which were those with his former Beatles bandmates. Near the end of 1974, there was talk of some musical collaboration and healing of hurts. If that had continued, I can only imagine the kind of music produced. Or maybe I can't, because it would boggle the mind.
But in January of 1975, Lennon ended up back with Ono, and everything went back to square one. Lennon created more music, but remained estranged from his fellow Beatles. And six years later, he was still in NYC when Mark David Chapman walked up to him in front of the Dakota. If he'd still been with Pang, they'd likely have been in California instead.
Perhaps not earth-shattering, but that's where I'd choose to go.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Not Have Affairs
Every now and then, I'm reminded how little I understand the concept of marital infidelity. Such an occasion afforded itself this afternoon, when I read this article on baby boomers getting divorced.
As I said, I really don't understand why people have affairs. But what boggles my mind further is why people of advanced ages do it. Note one of the opening paragraphs in the linked article:
I just don't get it. Some guy in his mid to late 50s had an affair with his secretary? Why would you do that at this point in your life? More importantly, what led the secretary to look at this 50-something married doofus and think, "Yeah, gotta get me some of that". She obviously envisioned some kind of end-game, but damned if I can figure out what it might be.
When you get married, it's supposed to be forever. I know sometimes events transpire that can affect things, but all else equal, you're supposed to be in it for the long haul. People complain about celebrity "marriages" and goofy relationships, but as with politics, what we see simply represents the extreme edge of what the general population has brewing in it.
I could never have an affair. Even if my rule of thumb above didn't trump all, at the bare minimum I lack the necessary legerdemain to pull it off. At the end of most days, I'm lucky if I can remember what I actually did. The thought of maintaining both an actual and virtual life, each with its own itinerary and cast of characters to keep straight and separate, gives me a facial tic.
Besides, as I noted above, what's the end-game of an affair? If it's meaningless sex, there's no point. You're banging around with no purpose, and neither your state-sanctioned relationship nor its illicit counterpart will grow in any meaningful way. It's like masturbation with a partner.
If it's meaningful sex, that creates a skiff full of problems all its own. Do you think your fellow conspirator is going to leave the marriage for you? Forget the myriad complications of doing that in the first place, why do you want to hitch your wagon to a person who is that much of a shit? Why go through all that only to end up on the other side of the coin in a couple years?
There are a fair share of people who shouldn't get married in the first place. If you like sowing your wild oats, better to rent yourself out to the field owners than waste everyone's time and money buying the property. Marriage these days is viewed as a commodity, something to be "had" rather than something to be embraced. Witness all the ridiculous weddings out there, the trappings of which get more mind-boggling by the year. If you're thinking more about the checkbook than anything else, you're doing it wrong, and that's how you end up getting Kardashianed.
That's why I don't have a big problem with people who choose to cohabit. Marriage is something you need to be serious about, and if for whatever reason it doesn't work for you, no worries. Shoehorning yourself into one to satisfy someone else's weird notion of propriety does no one any favors.
So if you are married, and you either are stepping out or are thinking about it, pull your head out of your ass. You stood up and took vows. Strap up and take them seriously. If you're being stepped out on, you have my sympathies, along with the promise if I'm on your jury, I'll never vote to convict.
As I said, I really don't understand why people have affairs. But what boggles my mind further is why people of advanced ages do it. Note one of the opening paragraphs in the linked article:
A few weeks ago we learned friends of ours who had been married for 32 years were heading to divorce court; he was having an affair with his secretary and his wife had no idea.
I just don't get it. Some guy in his mid to late 50s had an affair with his secretary? Why would you do that at this point in your life? More importantly, what led the secretary to look at this 50-something married doofus and think, "Yeah, gotta get me some of that". She obviously envisioned some kind of end-game, but damned if I can figure out what it might be.
When you get married, it's supposed to be forever. I know sometimes events transpire that can affect things, but all else equal, you're supposed to be in it for the long haul. People complain about celebrity "marriages" and goofy relationships, but as with politics, what we see simply represents the extreme edge of what the general population has brewing in it.
I could never have an affair. Even if my rule of thumb above didn't trump all, at the bare minimum I lack the necessary legerdemain to pull it off. At the end of most days, I'm lucky if I can remember what I actually did. The thought of maintaining both an actual and virtual life, each with its own itinerary and cast of characters to keep straight and separate, gives me a facial tic.
Besides, as I noted above, what's the end-game of an affair? If it's meaningless sex, there's no point. You're banging around with no purpose, and neither your state-sanctioned relationship nor its illicit counterpart will grow in any meaningful way. It's like masturbation with a partner.
If it's meaningful sex, that creates a skiff full of problems all its own. Do you think your fellow conspirator is going to leave the marriage for you? Forget the myriad complications of doing that in the first place, why do you want to hitch your wagon to a person who is that much of a shit? Why go through all that only to end up on the other side of the coin in a couple years?
There are a fair share of people who shouldn't get married in the first place. If you like sowing your wild oats, better to rent yourself out to the field owners than waste everyone's time and money buying the property. Marriage these days is viewed as a commodity, something to be "had" rather than something to be embraced. Witness all the ridiculous weddings out there, the trappings of which get more mind-boggling by the year. If you're thinking more about the checkbook than anything else, you're doing it wrong, and that's how you end up getting Kardashianed.
That's why I don't have a big problem with people who choose to cohabit. Marriage is something you need to be serious about, and if for whatever reason it doesn't work for you, no worries. Shoehorning yourself into one to satisfy someone else's weird notion of propriety does no one any favors.
So if you are married, and you either are stepping out or are thinking about it, pull your head out of your ass. You stood up and took vows. Strap up and take them seriously. If you're being stepped out on, you have my sympathies, along with the promise if I'm on your jury, I'll never vote to convict.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Resolve to blog more
Yes, it's been almost a year since the last entry. No excuses, health or no.
But I want to make writing more of a thing for 2012, for reasons that hopefully will become more evident as the year progresses. So watch this space.
But I want to make writing more of a thing for 2012, for reasons that hopefully will become more evident as the year progresses. So watch this space.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Podcast
I've discovered podcasts.
Well, that's not entirely accurate. I've known they exist for a long time ... heck, I've appeared on more than a few Power Hours and Dome and Domers. But I've never been much of a podcast listener. I never took the time to set the subscriptions up or keep them updated. With a reduction in the number of business-related trips I had to take, there wasn't much demand in my mind for it.
But over time, that's changed. I've gotten sick of listening to the same music over and over on iTunes and the phone, and talk radio is getting more excruciating than anything else. So in search of novelty, I decided to give the podcasts a try again, and it's worked out great.
So what am I listening to? A bunch of free stuff:
Official ND Athletics Podcast. Great way to hear the various radio shows and interviews.
Irish Sports Daily Power Hour. Mike Frank has been a friend for a long time, and while I may be biased, I think he's the best in the business. Always good guests and info.
Dome and Domer. Wish we did shows more often, they usually generate good discussion.
The Adam Carolla Show. I'm listening to it as I type, as a matter of fact. I like his take on things, and he's always very entertaining. Good guests, with Dr. Drew making the occasional appearance.
The BBQ Central Radio Show, The BBQ Central Show, and Grate TV. Nothing gets me through the cold winter like thinking about grilling and smoking. It's like watching golf matches in January, except it works for more than one sense (especially the Grate TV entries, which are more than worth the extra download time). If Steven Raichlen had a podcast, I'd be all over it.
The Poker Edge (ESPN). I'm a known ESPN antagonist, believing their virtual monopoly on broadcasts is bad for college athletics. But I'm also a Hold 'Em buff, and Phil Gordon is one of my favorite players.
Jay & Silent Bob Get Old. Kevin Smith can be an acquired taste for some, and there are parts of the show I usually skip. But they're still entertaining.
The Dennis Miller Show. Miller already was one of my favorite comedians before I realized he (unlike so many of his compatriots) approaches things from a conservative point of view. I don't subscribe to the paid version of the show, just the stuff that gets podcasted.
NPR Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. You can thank my dear wife for my interest in the show, which usually makes me laugh.
So what else is out there I should sample?
Well, that's not entirely accurate. I've known they exist for a long time ... heck, I've appeared on more than a few Power Hours and Dome and Domers. But I've never been much of a podcast listener. I never took the time to set the subscriptions up or keep them updated. With a reduction in the number of business-related trips I had to take, there wasn't much demand in my mind for it.
But over time, that's changed. I've gotten sick of listening to the same music over and over on iTunes and the phone, and talk radio is getting more excruciating than anything else. So in search of novelty, I decided to give the podcasts a try again, and it's worked out great.
So what am I listening to? A bunch of free stuff:
Official ND Athletics Podcast. Great way to hear the various radio shows and interviews.
Irish Sports Daily Power Hour. Mike Frank has been a friend for a long time, and while I may be biased, I think he's the best in the business. Always good guests and info.
Dome and Domer. Wish we did shows more often, they usually generate good discussion.
The Adam Carolla Show. I'm listening to it as I type, as a matter of fact. I like his take on things, and he's always very entertaining. Good guests, with Dr. Drew making the occasional appearance.
The BBQ Central Radio Show, The BBQ Central Show, and Grate TV. Nothing gets me through the cold winter like thinking about grilling and smoking. It's like watching golf matches in January, except it works for more than one sense (especially the Grate TV entries, which are more than worth the extra download time). If Steven Raichlen had a podcast, I'd be all over it.
The Poker Edge (ESPN). I'm a known ESPN antagonist, believing their virtual monopoly on broadcasts is bad for college athletics. But I'm also a Hold 'Em buff, and Phil Gordon is one of my favorite players.
Jay & Silent Bob Get Old. Kevin Smith can be an acquired taste for some, and there are parts of the show I usually skip. But they're still entertaining.
The Dennis Miller Show. Miller already was one of my favorite comedians before I realized he (unlike so many of his compatriots) approaches things from a conservative point of view. I don't subscribe to the paid version of the show, just the stuff that gets podcasted.
NPR Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. You can thank my dear wife for my interest in the show, which usually makes me laugh.
So what else is out there I should sample?
Friday, October 29, 2010
Destroy the Tape
This is one of those very few times that Alan Shore might find himself in exactly the situation I'm writing about. I'm sure some lawyer is going to, anyway.
The death of Declan Sullivan has hit the Notre Dame community rather hard, as you would expect. A young man in the prime of his life lost that life in an absolutely senseless and ridiculous circumstance. He was on a portable scissor-lift platform videotaping football practice during high winds. A gust measured at over 50 miles per hour knocked over the platform, and Sullivan fell over 30 feet to his death, landing on a paved road.
This entire situation is ugly and pointless, as you would expect the death of a 20-year-old to be. Questions about who put him in such a dangerous situation will be asked and answered over the course of the various investigations into the accident. No doubt as some point there will be litigation on the matter, and even more and better answers may come out of that process.
The trouble with litigation, though, is oftentimes you get more answers than you really need or even want. That reality leads me to what will likely be an unpopular (and possibly illegal) opinion, but I'm going to write about it because not only is it something I would do were I a lawyer involved, I also think it's something Alan would do.
The only way this situation can get even more horrifying is if the video tape from that young man's machine becomes public property. Based on his well-publicized Twitter entry, he was filming for a good 20 minutes before the accident, and I would imagine the tape was running right up to (if not during) the wind gust that claimed his life. Even if the video does not contain the plummet to his death (which I would hope to God it does not), no doubt any audio on the tape would capture exclamations or other expressions of the fear he endured up on that platform in the minutes prior.
So what would I do if I were in ND's athletic or legal departments? If the fall didn't do it, I would ensure whatever video was captured by that camera was destroyed beyond recovery immediately. If the fall didn't do it, some combination of a hammer or magnet or scissors in my hand would.
Yes, the video may be considered probative by whatever legal entitles hold sway, and such an action might result in punishment. No, it's not at all my intention to allow the people responsible for Sullivan's death to escape justice -- all I want, to paraphrase Sally Brown, is what they have coming to them.
But as I can tell you from experience, the probative value can be far outweighed by the damage it may do to Declan's family. And that damage can last a long time. Four years ago, my aunt was killed in an automobile crash, and the knowledge that she saw the other car coming and reacted to it still haunts me to this day. It's one thing to wonder about the last moments of your loved one's life. It's quite another to have them thrown into sharp relief via a deposition or People's exhibit A, especially when the person likely can be convicted without it.
Yes, they'd probably throw me (or Alan or whoever else) in jail. But it'd be worth it to spare the Sullivan family a modicum more of pain than what they're probably already experiencing. As the father of two kids, I can't fathom having to bury one of them, and wouldn't wish it on anyone. Let's not make it worse.
Do the smart thing, guys. If you haven't already.
The death of Declan Sullivan has hit the Notre Dame community rather hard, as you would expect. A young man in the prime of his life lost that life in an absolutely senseless and ridiculous circumstance. He was on a portable scissor-lift platform videotaping football practice during high winds. A gust measured at over 50 miles per hour knocked over the platform, and Sullivan fell over 30 feet to his death, landing on a paved road.
This entire situation is ugly and pointless, as you would expect the death of a 20-year-old to be. Questions about who put him in such a dangerous situation will be asked and answered over the course of the various investigations into the accident. No doubt as some point there will be litigation on the matter, and even more and better answers may come out of that process.
The trouble with litigation, though, is oftentimes you get more answers than you really need or even want. That reality leads me to what will likely be an unpopular (and possibly illegal) opinion, but I'm going to write about it because not only is it something I would do were I a lawyer involved, I also think it's something Alan would do.
The only way this situation can get even more horrifying is if the video tape from that young man's machine becomes public property. Based on his well-publicized Twitter entry, he was filming for a good 20 minutes before the accident, and I would imagine the tape was running right up to (if not during) the wind gust that claimed his life. Even if the video does not contain the plummet to his death (which I would hope to God it does not), no doubt any audio on the tape would capture exclamations or other expressions of the fear he endured up on that platform in the minutes prior.
So what would I do if I were in ND's athletic or legal departments? If the fall didn't do it, I would ensure whatever video was captured by that camera was destroyed beyond recovery immediately. If the fall didn't do it, some combination of a hammer or magnet or scissors in my hand would.
Yes, the video may be considered probative by whatever legal entitles hold sway, and such an action might result in punishment. No, it's not at all my intention to allow the people responsible for Sullivan's death to escape justice -- all I want, to paraphrase Sally Brown, is what they have coming to them.
But as I can tell you from experience, the probative value can be far outweighed by the damage it may do to Declan's family. And that damage can last a long time. Four years ago, my aunt was killed in an automobile crash, and the knowledge that she saw the other car coming and reacted to it still haunts me to this day. It's one thing to wonder about the last moments of your loved one's life. It's quite another to have them thrown into sharp relief via a deposition or People's exhibit A, especially when the person likely can be convicted without it.
Yes, they'd probably throw me (or Alan or whoever else) in jail. But it'd be worth it to spare the Sullivan family a modicum more of pain than what they're probably already experiencing. As the father of two kids, I can't fathom having to bury one of them, and wouldn't wish it on anyone. Let's not make it worse.
Do the smart thing, guys. If you haven't already.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Not Phish Nuns
Trish is a couple months into her new gig with the Sisters of St. Joseph out in LaGrange. No, she's not cloistered, she's the financial director for their retreat center out there and helps the sisters with various money situations, some serious some not. And today, she got a reminder how necessary that help can be sometimes.
A little ways into the day, the center's HR director came into her office, looking nonplussed. "I guess we haven't been paying our taxes," she said. "The IRS sent us an email saying we need to get it sorted out."
Trish has been a CPA for quite a while now, so she knows to take our governmental friends seriously. But this didn't smell right to her. "Email?" she asked. "Why don't you forward those to me."
She took a look at the three emails the HR director had received. All looked to have come from the official IRS.gov website, listed specific account numbers, and explained in pretty tough language what would happen if the accounts weren't reconciled.
(editor's note -- as I heard the story this evening, my 20 years of IT experience told me exactly how it was going to end)
Official looking or not, my honey didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. She called the IRS directly to sort it out, and was told in no uncertain terms that when the Federales want to get their hooks into you, they do so via snail mail, not electronics. They told her to forward the emails to their anti-phishing email address and get on with her life.
Overall, a relatively innocuous event, and it's not like any of our information is now in nefarious hands. But it pissed her off (which, after 15 years of marriage, I could have told them was a very bad idea). CC'ed on the email were a number of older nuns, some of whom might not be as savvy as Trish in dealing with communications of this type. She quickly fired off an email to the group at large, warning them not to respond to the email and that everything was being taken care of.
There are times I weep for the state of America -- fast food on every corner, and a Kardashian on every channel. The talentless performing for the tasteless. If they ever played a Lady Gaga song on an episode of Jersey Shore, it might create a cultural singularity whose event horizon would swiftly (and mercifully) destroy us all.
But those irritants pale in comparison to the sheer evil of trying to fleece nuns of what little money they have. God forbid the scrotal chancres who attempted this larceny spend half that much energy contributing to the welfare of the universe, rather than the ill-gotten pursuits that, if there's any justice in the universe, will fast-track them to one of Dante's more interesting levels.
Sometimes people suck.
A little ways into the day, the center's HR director came into her office, looking nonplussed. "I guess we haven't been paying our taxes," she said. "The IRS sent us an email saying we need to get it sorted out."
Trish has been a CPA for quite a while now, so she knows to take our governmental friends seriously. But this didn't smell right to her. "Email?" she asked. "Why don't you forward those to me."
She took a look at the three emails the HR director had received. All looked to have come from the official IRS.gov website, listed specific account numbers, and explained in pretty tough language what would happen if the accounts weren't reconciled.
(editor's note -- as I heard the story this evening, my 20 years of IT experience told me exactly how it was going to end)
Official looking or not, my honey didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. She called the IRS directly to sort it out, and was told in no uncertain terms that when the Federales want to get their hooks into you, they do so via snail mail, not electronics. They told her to forward the emails to their anti-phishing email address and get on with her life.
Overall, a relatively innocuous event, and it's not like any of our information is now in nefarious hands. But it pissed her off (which, after 15 years of marriage, I could have told them was a very bad idea). CC'ed on the email were a number of older nuns, some of whom might not be as savvy as Trish in dealing with communications of this type. She quickly fired off an email to the group at large, warning them not to respond to the email and that everything was being taken care of.
There are times I weep for the state of America -- fast food on every corner, and a Kardashian on every channel. The talentless performing for the tasteless. If they ever played a Lady Gaga song on an episode of Jersey Shore, it might create a cultural singularity whose event horizon would swiftly (and mercifully) destroy us all.
But those irritants pale in comparison to the sheer evil of trying to fleece nuns of what little money they have. God forbid the scrotal chancres who attempted this larceny spend half that much energy contributing to the welfare of the universe, rather than the ill-gotten pursuits that, if there's any justice in the universe, will fast-track them to one of Dante's more interesting levels.
Sometimes people suck.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Not Get the Pre-Roads
Among my many psychological conditions, one minor one I've always been susceptible to is something my family calls "the pre-road downs". The pre-roads are a period of depression and annoyance that precede a vacation or any other event requiring non-minor travel, during which the sufferer debates the wisdom of taking the trip and regrets ever scheduling it.
You could be embarking on the most fun trip to the coolest place in the world for a jaunt to which you've been looking forward for weeks -- Tahiti, Aspen, Aruba, etc. And yet about 48-72 hours before you leave, you wonder what the hell you were thinking. There's still so much shit to do, you haven't packed, you forgot to stop the paper delivery, things are going to go wrong with work, airplane travel is a hassle.....
The pre-roads are much worse for me when I'm traveling alone. If Trish and the kids are in tow, or at least are meeting me at my destination, my bout is usually very minor. But for solo trips, they can be maddening. Five years ago on my trip from Chicago to LA to watch the Fighting Irish take on the Bruins in hoops, I almost decided not to board the plane. Common sense prevailed, of course, but that's how severe a case can be when I'm mobile without la familia.
They're also enhanced when the trip involves air travel. I am a confirmed aerophobe who does not see the wisdom of catapulting oneself though the air in a pressurized metal sausage casing at upwards of 500 miles per hour, and can't help but question why just because it's the pilot's time to die it has to be mine too. It wasn't always this way, but after a hellacious flight from Chicago to Dallas to attend the 1988 Cotton Bowl, I've been a "nervous flyer" ever since.
Since achieving my majority, I've endured these kinds of trips by using specialized medicinal herbs and liquids, colloquially referred to as "gin and tonics". But over the last couple months, encompassing a family trip home from San Diego and a business trip to Charlotte, I resolved to eschew the firewater and attack the evils of travel like a man ... a resolve that was sorely tested on the flight home from Charlotte during which we flew through two thunderstorms.
That's not going to work this time, though. I stand on the cusp of my guys' weekend in Vegas with about a dozen Southwest Airlines drink tickets that will be expiring at the end of the year. When Devaney, Sampson and I get to the airport, there likely will be debate as to which of us is sober enough to drive to the Mirage -- a debate I likely will win since I'll be able to point out that I wasn't the one who rented the car. And going to Vegas with these guys without tying a couple on beforehand is like running a marathon without stretching ... or training.
Yes, I will get a buzz going at 35k feet for the better part of four hours. I do it for America and in the interest of not becoming dead at some point this weekend. If there's wifi on the flight, perhaps you can be witness to the slow devolution. Until then, true believers, it's Miller time.
You could be embarking on the most fun trip to the coolest place in the world for a jaunt to which you've been looking forward for weeks -- Tahiti, Aspen, Aruba, etc. And yet about 48-72 hours before you leave, you wonder what the hell you were thinking. There's still so much shit to do, you haven't packed, you forgot to stop the paper delivery, things are going to go wrong with work, airplane travel is a hassle.....
The pre-roads are much worse for me when I'm traveling alone. If Trish and the kids are in tow, or at least are meeting me at my destination, my bout is usually very minor. But for solo trips, they can be maddening. Five years ago on my trip from Chicago to LA to watch the Fighting Irish take on the Bruins in hoops, I almost decided not to board the plane. Common sense prevailed, of course, but that's how severe a case can be when I'm mobile without la familia.
They're also enhanced when the trip involves air travel. I am a confirmed aerophobe who does not see the wisdom of catapulting oneself though the air in a pressurized metal sausage casing at upwards of 500 miles per hour, and can't help but question why just because it's the pilot's time to die it has to be mine too. It wasn't always this way, but after a hellacious flight from Chicago to Dallas to attend the 1988 Cotton Bowl, I've been a "nervous flyer" ever since.
Since achieving my majority, I've endured these kinds of trips by using specialized medicinal herbs and liquids, colloquially referred to as "gin and tonics". But over the last couple months, encompassing a family trip home from San Diego and a business trip to Charlotte, I resolved to eschew the firewater and attack the evils of travel like a man ... a resolve that was sorely tested on the flight home from Charlotte during which we flew through two thunderstorms.
That's not going to work this time, though. I stand on the cusp of my guys' weekend in Vegas with about a dozen Southwest Airlines drink tickets that will be expiring at the end of the year. When Devaney, Sampson and I get to the airport, there likely will be debate as to which of us is sober enough to drive to the Mirage -- a debate I likely will win since I'll be able to point out that I wasn't the one who rented the car. And going to Vegas with these guys without tying a couple on beforehand is like running a marathon without stretching ... or training.
Yes, I will get a buzz going at 35k feet for the better part of four hours. I do it for America and in the interest of not becoming dead at some point this weekend. If there's wifi on the flight, perhaps you can be witness to the slow devolution. Until then, true believers, it's Miller time.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Not Watch Star Trek
Unlike Boston Legal and The West Wing, Star Trek is a show my friends have no problem whatsoever understanding why I like it. The original series was a little before my time, but TNG hit right in the sweet spot of my college years, and I gobbled it up along with its first two successors. The usual schedule of violating parietal rules in Farley Hall my wife's senior year involved watching the latest TNG by candlelight, with wine and Papa John's pizza. By the time Enterprise came along, I was a little burned out on the concept, although Jolene Blalock was usually enough to ensure a pause if I cycled past an episode on the remote.
But while I was into TNG, I wasn't Into TNG, so I managed to avoid some of the phobias and manias that affected other members of the fanbase ... most particularly, the antipathy towards the character of Wesley Crusher, played by Hwil Hweaton. Given that Wheaton is about my age, he was the character with which I could identify most closely, so I didn't have (or perhaps unintentionally overlooked) any problems with the way the character was written.
Given that I'm not the go-to-conventions type, my fandom was limited to the occasional syndicated viewing. So it wasn't until I got into social media a little more that I stumbled across Wheaton's blog. After reading a couple entries, I was amazed how much in common we had. We both were rudimentary web programmers. We both enjoyed RPGs. Heck, via a recent Twitter post, I came to realize he's also a Dr. Who fan. If I'd taken that 5th grade role of Winthrop further.... So I set up a feed from his blog into my Google reader and enjoyed the occasional update.
Don't worry, as promised last time, this relates to the blog's genesis. This is one of those "I'm telling you that story so I can tell you this one" moments.
On the Thursday following my Alan Shore moment at the Hammes, I had a same-day business trip to Charlotte on the docket. As you'll probably learn more about next time, I absolutely loathe flying. I'm willing to take the occasional voyage on SWA or UAL, but it's always a means to an end I embrace reluctantly. So I'm always interested in things I can do to distract myself from my aerophobia, and one of the healthier distractions I employ is a new book. Two 90-minute flights in one day was going to require quite a distraction, so I cast about looking for something new for my Kindle.
That's when I found out Wheaton and I have something else in common -- we're published authors. I came across a reference to his autobiography, Just A Geek, and figured this would do the trick for my North Carolina jaunt. It more than did the job, especially the flight home when we spent the first 20 minutes playing chicken with Isaac Newton due to multiple thunderstorms in the area.
But it did something more than that -- it solidified in my head the idea for this blog.
Wheaton pulls no punches in his book, least of all those directed at himself. He made the decision to leave TNG just as it was hitting its stride popularity-wise, and he's watched his co-stars create lucrative careers for themselves via the show and its subsequent movies, while his acting career -- recent appearances on The Guild and Eureka (another fave) notwithstanding -- stalled out. He's very candid about his efforts to get beyond the Crusher character, and how when acting seemed to be failing him, he used other interests like his blog to keep his name out there and keep his career alive. Far from a puff piece or self-congratulatory paen, JaG is the story of a man willing to admit to his mistakes, foibles and weaknesses so he can own all of them and get past them.
Needless to say, I was emotionally poleaxed. It really takes a lot of balls, I thought as I sat in a pressurized tube 35k feet over Indiana cornfields, to put yourself out there in permanent print like Wheaton did, refusing to gloss over your fuck-ups and giving an incredibly honest self-portrayal. This is a guy comfortable enough in his own skin to do something that will benefit him in the long run while risking the slings and arrows in the short.
WWASD was born on the ride home from O'Hare. I needed a writing outlet. It probably wouldn't be pretty shaking the rust off (and might not get prettier after that), but private expression is not a useful exercise for someone trying to get a style back. I had to be willing to risk public failure if I was going to make success possible. Wil Wheaton did it. Why couldn't I?
So that's how we got here. I promise I'll get less narcissistic in the coming weeks and maybe try and approach some current events. Also, the NDN blog is finally up and running, and with basketball season approaching, I'll be making contributions there as well.
But while I was into TNG, I wasn't Into TNG, so I managed to avoid some of the phobias and manias that affected other members of the fanbase ... most particularly, the antipathy towards the character of Wesley Crusher, played by Hwil Hweaton. Given that Wheaton is about my age, he was the character with which I could identify most closely, so I didn't have (or perhaps unintentionally overlooked) any problems with the way the character was written.
Given that I'm not the go-to-conventions type, my fandom was limited to the occasional syndicated viewing. So it wasn't until I got into social media a little more that I stumbled across Wheaton's blog. After reading a couple entries, I was amazed how much in common we had. We both were rudimentary web programmers. We both enjoyed RPGs. Heck, via a recent Twitter post, I came to realize he's also a Dr. Who fan. If I'd taken that 5th grade role of Winthrop further.... So I set up a feed from his blog into my Google reader and enjoyed the occasional update.
Don't worry, as promised last time, this relates to the blog's genesis. This is one of those "I'm telling you that story so I can tell you this one" moments.
On the Thursday following my Alan Shore moment at the Hammes, I had a same-day business trip to Charlotte on the docket. As you'll probably learn more about next time, I absolutely loathe flying. I'm willing to take the occasional voyage on SWA or UAL, but it's always a means to an end I embrace reluctantly. So I'm always interested in things I can do to distract myself from my aerophobia, and one of the healthier distractions I employ is a new book. Two 90-minute flights in one day was going to require quite a distraction, so I cast about looking for something new for my Kindle.
That's when I found out Wheaton and I have something else in common -- we're published authors. I came across a reference to his autobiography, Just A Geek, and figured this would do the trick for my North Carolina jaunt. It more than did the job, especially the flight home when we spent the first 20 minutes playing chicken with Isaac Newton due to multiple thunderstorms in the area.
But it did something more than that -- it solidified in my head the idea for this blog.
Wheaton pulls no punches in his book, least of all those directed at himself. He made the decision to leave TNG just as it was hitting its stride popularity-wise, and he's watched his co-stars create lucrative careers for themselves via the show and its subsequent movies, while his acting career -- recent appearances on The Guild and Eureka (another fave) notwithstanding -- stalled out. He's very candid about his efforts to get beyond the Crusher character, and how when acting seemed to be failing him, he used other interests like his blog to keep his name out there and keep his career alive. Far from a puff piece or self-congratulatory paen, JaG is the story of a man willing to admit to his mistakes, foibles and weaknesses so he can own all of them and get past them.
Needless to say, I was emotionally poleaxed. It really takes a lot of balls, I thought as I sat in a pressurized tube 35k feet over Indiana cornfields, to put yourself out there in permanent print like Wheaton did, refusing to gloss over your fuck-ups and giving an incredibly honest self-portrayal. This is a guy comfortable enough in his own skin to do something that will benefit him in the long run while risking the slings and arrows in the short.
WWASD was born on the ride home from O'Hare. I needed a writing outlet. It probably wouldn't be pretty shaking the rust off (and might not get prettier after that), but private expression is not a useful exercise for someone trying to get a style back. I had to be willing to risk public failure if I was going to make success possible. Wil Wheaton did it. Why couldn't I?
So that's how we got here. I promise I'll get less narcissistic in the coming weeks and maybe try and approach some current events. Also, the NDN blog is finally up and running, and with basketball season approaching, I'll be making contributions there as well.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Get a Better Book Deal
Yesterday, I talked about my natural aversion to confrontation and how it's a facet of my personality I'd like, at the very least, to modify. 10 days ago, I took a first step in that direction, and it started by asking myself what Alan Shore would do in my situation.
I also mentioned my book contract yesterday, and it's there that my tale begins.
When I originally contracted to write Echoes on the Hardwood, the publisher, Diamond Communications, was a small outfit that had published a number of ND- and sports-related books. As it happens, the owner had season tickets for ND men's basketball, and when I contacted her about the project, she was over the moon about it. Even though I didn't have an official contract, she had sufficiently expressed interest such that I started doing interviews, hired a tape transcriber, etc.
Early in the process, I eschewed hiring an agent. I was working well with Diamond directly, I had direct access to an audience for the book via NDNation, and was sure I could count on help from the ND alumni association. Diamond, unlike most of the other houses, didn't require an agent's involvement. I figured I didn't need to shell out 15 percent of the revenue when I'd already done most of the heavy lifting.
Foolish decision, as it turns out.
When I had a first draft of the manuscript ready, it was time to get under contract. But in the meantime, Diamond had been purchased by Rowman and Littlefield, a much larger group with whom I didn't have nearly the same rapport as I'd had with Diamond. To her credit, Diamond's former owner (now a R&L employee) championed my book and was authorized to sign a contract.
But as it turns out, that's where it ended with R&L. I was offered a meager advance, which I decided to trade for the ability to acquire books for resale at a lower price. R&L, as I found out shortly after the book hit shelves, had budgeted approximately squadouche for marketing purposes, meaning if I wanted to do any book signings or other events, I had to plan and pay for them myself. Some of the ND alumni clubs proved much more interested in fundraising for their scholarships than helping an alum sell a book about the school. As the final straw, Diamond's former owner left R&L three weeks before my publishing date, meaning I no longer had anyone there I knew was enthused about my project.
Sales were OK, all things considered. I believe there are over 2,000 copies in circulation right now. But if I'd been better at negotiating (or more willing to mix it up), or at least had been willing to hire someone who was to act on my behalf, I believe I would have seen much better efforts from R&L because they would have been contractually obligated to provide said effort. The whole situation reeked of poor decision-making on my part, which had left a bad taste in my mouth for quite a while.
My kiddos spend a week with my in-laws in Ohio every summer, and ND is usually our hand-off point since it's a place we all like to be. Dropping them off for their 2010 trip is what led me to be in the Notre Dame bookstore on the morning of July 31st, which is where my epiphany occurred.
For those of you who have seen the Hammes, in its vestibule on the first floor is a large circular table, on which are piled the Notre Dame-related books of the day, so to speak. This time of year, a lot of them have to do with the sports teams, because with the Purdue game right around the corner, the folks at the Bookstore are prepping for the crowds and their wallets and know what side of the bread the butter's on.
As I usually do, I walked around the table to see if there was anything new to be found. There were a couple -- Monk's book had about six stacks. But most were the old stand-bys like Era of Ara, Shake Down the Thunder, Talking Irish, and other tomes that sit on my bookshelf today and have for years.
What I didn't see was EotH. Muffet's book was there. All three of Digger's books were there, two of which are just as old (if not older) than mine. But not mine.
I spent the next five to 10 minutes walking around the table, with two or three wanders part way over to the Book Information desk, debating on my next course of action. The don't-make-waves hemisphere was going full blast, as I wavered as to what to do. As the minutes ticked by, I started getting more and more frustrated with myself. I knew if I didn't do anything, I'd be in a foul humor the rest of the day, which wouldn't make for a fun drive home for either Trish or me. But I couldn't get past the inner excuse-making.
Then all at once, everything cleared. I remembered the BL episodes I'd been watching on DVD some weeks prior, and asked myself, "What would Alan Shore do if he were in this situation? Would he be wandering aimlessly around the lobby of this place? No, he'd make sure if he left the building dissatisfied, it wouldn't be due to a lack of effort on his part. So dammit, do the same thing."
I walked up to the Book Information desk, introduced myself politely, and inquired as to why EotH wasn't included on the outside table. 15 minutes of genial conversation later, not only was a stack sitting on that table but I was told the Bookstore will make sure they have plenty on hand for the upcoming season. I drove home later that day a happy person.
So far, wondering what Alan Shore would do has stood me in good stead, and I'm going to continue to do so. But that still didn't get me as far as starting this blog. I needed inspiration from another person ... a real human being this time ... who took a risk to tell his story and move past bad decisions. More about him next time.
I also mentioned my book contract yesterday, and it's there that my tale begins.
When I originally contracted to write Echoes on the Hardwood, the publisher, Diamond Communications, was a small outfit that had published a number of ND- and sports-related books. As it happens, the owner had season tickets for ND men's basketball, and when I contacted her about the project, she was over the moon about it. Even though I didn't have an official contract, she had sufficiently expressed interest such that I started doing interviews, hired a tape transcriber, etc.
Early in the process, I eschewed hiring an agent. I was working well with Diamond directly, I had direct access to an audience for the book via NDNation, and was sure I could count on help from the ND alumni association. Diamond, unlike most of the other houses, didn't require an agent's involvement. I figured I didn't need to shell out 15 percent of the revenue when I'd already done most of the heavy lifting.
Foolish decision, as it turns out.
When I had a first draft of the manuscript ready, it was time to get under contract. But in the meantime, Diamond had been purchased by Rowman and Littlefield, a much larger group with whom I didn't have nearly the same rapport as I'd had with Diamond. To her credit, Diamond's former owner (now a R&L employee) championed my book and was authorized to sign a contract.
But as it turns out, that's where it ended with R&L. I was offered a meager advance, which I decided to trade for the ability to acquire books for resale at a lower price. R&L, as I found out shortly after the book hit shelves, had budgeted approximately squadouche for marketing purposes, meaning if I wanted to do any book signings or other events, I had to plan and pay for them myself. Some of the ND alumni clubs proved much more interested in fundraising for their scholarships than helping an alum sell a book about the school. As the final straw, Diamond's former owner left R&L three weeks before my publishing date, meaning I no longer had anyone there I knew was enthused about my project.
Sales were OK, all things considered. I believe there are over 2,000 copies in circulation right now. But if I'd been better at negotiating (or more willing to mix it up), or at least had been willing to hire someone who was to act on my behalf, I believe I would have seen much better efforts from R&L because they would have been contractually obligated to provide said effort. The whole situation reeked of poor decision-making on my part, which had left a bad taste in my mouth for quite a while.
My kiddos spend a week with my in-laws in Ohio every summer, and ND is usually our hand-off point since it's a place we all like to be. Dropping them off for their 2010 trip is what led me to be in the Notre Dame bookstore on the morning of July 31st, which is where my epiphany occurred.
For those of you who have seen the Hammes, in its vestibule on the first floor is a large circular table, on which are piled the Notre Dame-related books of the day, so to speak. This time of year, a lot of them have to do with the sports teams, because with the Purdue game right around the corner, the folks at the Bookstore are prepping for the crowds and their wallets and know what side of the bread the butter's on.
As I usually do, I walked around the table to see if there was anything new to be found. There were a couple -- Monk's book had about six stacks. But most were the old stand-bys like Era of Ara, Shake Down the Thunder, Talking Irish, and other tomes that sit on my bookshelf today and have for years.
What I didn't see was EotH. Muffet's book was there. All three of Digger's books were there, two of which are just as old (if not older) than mine. But not mine.
I spent the next five to 10 minutes walking around the table, with two or three wanders part way over to the Book Information desk, debating on my next course of action. The don't-make-waves hemisphere was going full blast, as I wavered as to what to do. As the minutes ticked by, I started getting more and more frustrated with myself. I knew if I didn't do anything, I'd be in a foul humor the rest of the day, which wouldn't make for a fun drive home for either Trish or me. But I couldn't get past the inner excuse-making.
Then all at once, everything cleared. I remembered the BL episodes I'd been watching on DVD some weeks prior, and asked myself, "What would Alan Shore do if he were in this situation? Would he be wandering aimlessly around the lobby of this place? No, he'd make sure if he left the building dissatisfied, it wouldn't be due to a lack of effort on his part. So dammit, do the same thing."
I walked up to the Book Information desk, introduced myself politely, and inquired as to why EotH wasn't included on the outside table. 15 minutes of genial conversation later, not only was a stack sitting on that table but I was told the Bookstore will make sure they have plenty on hand for the upcoming season. I drove home later that day a happy person.
So far, wondering what Alan Shore would do has stood me in good stead, and I'm going to continue to do so. But that still didn't get me as far as starting this blog. I needed inspiration from another person ... a real human being this time ... who took a risk to tell his story and move past bad decisions. More about him next time.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Already Know Who He Is
Some of you may not, though, so we may as well start things off with a catch-up.
Alan Shore is a character from the television show Boston Legal, which ran for five increasingly-odd seasons on ABC, played with typical acerbic wit by actor James Spader. Spader portrays Alan as a hard-charging litigator who, while he doesn't always comply with the rules, always operates with his clients' best interest in mind and isn't afraid to push the envelope to get what he wants.
As to why I'd name this blog after him, that story's a bit more complicated.
Boston Legal, like The West Wing, is one of those shows my friends can't understand why I like. They know me to be conservative both by nature and politics, and shows like BL and TWW make no secret of their liberal leanings. My response is usually to remind them I don't take my political direction from the television set, and I'm able to take the things I like about the show and enjoy them while filtering out the political positions with which I disagree. Sure, by the fifth season, the over-the-top nature of BL got tiresome and my political filter eventually got overwhelmed by Alan's endless pontificating. But the show ended before it got walk-away bad, so I can still harbor good memories of a show I enjoyed watching. Besides, Tara Summers just does it for me.
Beyond my enjoyment of the show in general, Spader's characterization of Shore appealed to me in particular. I've never been a confrontational person by nature ... indeed, my life is peppered with situations in which I've gone out of my way to avoid conflict. Overall, I don't consider this a positive trait in my repertoire, particularly since it carries some disadvantageous by-products: I'm a crappy negotiator (e.g. buying cars, my book deal, starting salaries), I was an easy target for bullies in my youth, etc. I think I spend too much time worrying about what other people think of me, even those I'll only know for a short time.
As I'm not thrilled with that aspect of my personality, I'm always impressed by people (both real and made-up) who can display assertiveness while still retaining an aspect of non-assholish humanity. Alan Shore is archetypical of the breed. He has a very low bullshit tolerance, and even though he's an end-justifies-the-means guy, it's done out of how much he cares for his fellow people. He's got gravitas, is relentless in pursuing his goals, and can stand up to people both big and little with equal aplomb. He's consistent in how he treats people, and gives folks the respect they've earned after ample opportunity to earn it.
So when I asked myself a week ago what Alan Shore would do and then did it, I figured I had the title for the new blog. Why did I ask myself that question? That'll have to wait until next time.
Alan Shore is a character from the television show Boston Legal, which ran for five increasingly-odd seasons on ABC, played with typical acerbic wit by actor James Spader. Spader portrays Alan as a hard-charging litigator who, while he doesn't always comply with the rules, always operates with his clients' best interest in mind and isn't afraid to push the envelope to get what he wants.
As to why I'd name this blog after him, that story's a bit more complicated.
Boston Legal, like The West Wing, is one of those shows my friends can't understand why I like. They know me to be conservative both by nature and politics, and shows like BL and TWW make no secret of their liberal leanings. My response is usually to remind them I don't take my political direction from the television set, and I'm able to take the things I like about the show and enjoy them while filtering out the political positions with which I disagree. Sure, by the fifth season, the over-the-top nature of BL got tiresome and my political filter eventually got overwhelmed by Alan's endless pontificating. But the show ended before it got walk-away bad, so I can still harbor good memories of a show I enjoyed watching. Besides, Tara Summers just does it for me.
Beyond my enjoyment of the show in general, Spader's characterization of Shore appealed to me in particular. I've never been a confrontational person by nature ... indeed, my life is peppered with situations in which I've gone out of my way to avoid conflict. Overall, I don't consider this a positive trait in my repertoire, particularly since it carries some disadvantageous by-products: I'm a crappy negotiator (e.g. buying cars, my book deal, starting salaries), I was an easy target for bullies in my youth, etc. I think I spend too much time worrying about what other people think of me, even those I'll only know for a short time.
As I'm not thrilled with that aspect of my personality, I'm always impressed by people (both real and made-up) who can display assertiveness while still retaining an aspect of non-assholish humanity. Alan Shore is archetypical of the breed. He has a very low bullshit tolerance, and even though he's an end-justifies-the-means guy, it's done out of how much he cares for his fellow people. He's got gravitas, is relentless in pursuing his goals, and can stand up to people both big and little with equal aplomb. He's consistent in how he treats people, and gives folks the respect they've earned after ample opportunity to earn it.
So when I asked myself a week ago what Alan Shore would do and then did it, I figured I had the title for the new blog. Why did I ask myself that question? That'll have to wait until next time.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Be Part of the Solution
"If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem."That's the old saying ... one I haven't been heeding of late.
Back in 2005 when Echoes on the Hardwood was published, my writing had quite a bit of momentum. In addition to the new published work, I was turning out basketball articles for NDNation, had contributed to ND's 100 Seasons book, and had been offered (and declined) a position at Blue & Gold Illustrated. Difficult as it had been, I had thoroughly enjoyed putting EotH together, and was anxious to put the lessons I'd learned the hard way into practice for the second book. Charlie Weis was new to the ND campus, and I thought a comprehensive look behind the scenes at the things that went into putting on a Notre Dame football game from multiple perspectives (team, school, band, cheerleaders, media, etc.) would be my natural next step.
But I never took that step, and over the six months that followed, my writing regressed. While I continued to blog for NDNation, it seemed more of a chore than it ever had before. I turned in my home game credentials to the ND Sports Information office and stopped doing in-game coverage. Even the annual Christmas newsletter fell by the wayside, as I felt more burned out than anything else.
Time away, I thought to myself. That's what I need. I won't force it, and when it's ready to come back, it will.
Months turned into years, and "it" remained elusive. Other than the NDN contributions, I wasn't putting much on paper for anybody. And I started to get frustrated. What happened to the guy who was going to have three books to his credit by the start of the next decade? Where was the fire, the need to put into practice the corrections of mistakes that had been made in the original effort?
Why wasn't I writing?
Then last weekend, it came to me. If I wanted to write, I needed to write. Whining about it wasn't getting anything done. And whining is certainly not something Alan Shore would do. So I decided to start WWASD in an effort to kick-start the frontal lobe and scrape the rust off my fingertips whilst engaging in some linguistic legerdemain.
OK, that was over the top. Should have stretched first.
So watch this space in the coming weeks as I get back into typographic shape and feel out which way this is going to go. Some of it's bound to be boring, and some undoubtedly in bad taste. Some of it will talk about current events, some will talk about topics that interest me, some will refer to the people in my life. Eventually, I may talk about the inspiration behind the name of this blog.
Regardless, it'll be me. And that's bound to have its interesting moments.
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