Great Blogs of Fire

The Beauty of E=mc2

2012-01-02T08:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I watched an 80 minute video of an interview with Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, the director of the Hayden Planetarium in New York, but more importantly (and the reason I knew who he was) a frequent guest on the Daily Show and Colbert Report. The interview, which was conducted by Steven Colbert, himself, out of his normal egotistical character he plays on his show, was held at a local middle school as part of a series their PTA holds as a way to help inform and cultivate knowledge to their students, faculty and community. (Educators and lovers of knowledge in Texas may sigh with jealousy now.)

I highly recommend spending an hour and a half watching the interview, which I've linked below. The whole interview is fascinating for lots of reasons, and because it is hosted by Colbert it's pretty funny (Tyson is funny, in his own right). but a few key points really stuck out at me from the interview.

I posted a couple of quotes from Tyson on my Facebook page yesterday after hearing them in the interview. The one that got me the most is at about the 22 minute mark. Colbert had asked Tyson if he sees beauty in science and, if so, which is the most beautiful. Tyson answers with very little hesitation that E=mc2 is the most beautiful thing in science. After his explanation, one would be hard pressed to argue that it may not be the most beautiful thing in the world.

Not just a famous equation that is a cliched "sciencey" thing to quote and throw about, E=mc2 is the concept that connects all human beings to each other, the earth and the cosmos. If you aren't aware, E=mc2 essentially means that if we (or anything, I guess) could travel at the speed of light times itself we would become energy. Read that sentence again and wrap your head around that for a moment or two.

Energy, which for my non-scientific brain is easiest to understand as light, and matter are essentially made out of the same thing. All of the elements in the world, in space and throughout the known universe are biproducts of the same material and can, infact become that material again. We are all connected in a very real way.

This struck me from a spiritual perspective, as well. Tyson, from what I've been able to gather is either an aetheist or agnostic. And yet, when he speaks of physics and science, he does so in a way that is reminiscent of theologians and spiritual leaders. He sees hope and beauty in the world through the lens of science in the same way that I, myself have learned to view it through God and through worship. I don't want to speculate or come to conclusions as to what this means for religion or Tyson, himself, but I find it incredibly fascinating and oddly coincidential. I love when he calls us "stardust" referencing back to the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song "Woodstock" that says, "we are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden." The way that I interpret these lyrics refers to the grandest idea of the hippy movement and Woodstock, itself as a time and place when the idea of coming together and recognizing our spritual and psysiological link to each other. This idea reinforces the need for us to not hate, not hurt, and help each other. This is a concept that is understood by Christians and scientists like Neil deGrasse Tyson alike, whether or not they recognize it on a normal basis or not.

Finally, after reiterating his expertese as an astrophysicist and not as a poet, Tyson said this:

"Some of the greatest poetry is revealing to the reader the beauty in something that was so simple you had taken it for granted."

Tyson is specifically referring to the relative simplicity in Einstein's E=mc2, but the grand and wonderful conotations that are revealed because of it. However, I loved this quote so much because it is very true in a much greater sense. Often the best art, whether it be plays, films, paintings or poetry, are that which ask us to look at something simple or common with a new perspective.

Here's the link to the interview.

1/4/2012 UPDATE: So, I likely misinterpreted E=mc2. Regardless, watch the video and you will get what I'm talking about. Maybe.

Defense of The Arts

2011-12-05T15:32:00.000-08:00

This is quoted from an article at Theatre Ideas the blog of . I'm taking it out of context, but I loved the quote, nontheless.

"Culture and the arts are essential means by which all people explain their experience, shape their identity and imagine the future...People need the arts to make sense of their lives, to know who they are. But our democracy needs the arts, too. The arts animate civil society. They stretch our imagination. They increase our compassion for others by providing creative ways for us to understand and deal with differences. The arts protect and enrich the dignity and the public discourse that are at the heart of a healthy democracy."

This is a quote from Holly Sidford of the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy. The quote is made in reaction to the disparity between the amount of funds that go toward large theatre and arts in big metropolitan areas and smaller, rural communities.

The article on the Theatre Ideas blog addresses this issue in a 3 parter on the similarities between the financial disparity that Occupy Wall Street protesters are arguing against and the disparity in arts funding. Read all three parts if you have the time.

How Life Decided I Needed to Stop, Part 3

2011-11-28T12:53:00.000-08:00

I had just left the Administration building after turning in my resignation notice, and placing myself a pool of teachers who would receive a financial incentive for saving the school district the task of firing us. The mood in the Human Resources office was understandably sad. I stood there with young and old teachers, all visably shaken and bewildered. The ones who were talking were rambling and flustered, unsure what the next move was.

The news of losing my job couldn't have come at a worse time. In late March, early April every theatre director in Texas is focused on the One Act Play contest. The week before our play had advanced past the first round of competition for the third year in a row and that Saturday, the day after I was told I was being let go, was the next level of competition. The year previous we had gone on to the third round and hoped to move even further this year. The play we were performing was August: Osage County, the play de jour for the theatre world at the time. I felt like we were really stepping out with this production, due to it's edginess, it's brilliance, but mostly because it had never been done before in the UIL One Act Play competition. It was right in the sweet spot of being well-known, but not overdone, and impressive without being out of range. Or, at least I thought so. The point is that I had very high hopes for our production's success at the competition.

By the time a play has already had been through 5 weeks of rehearsals including several clinics, and one round of competition, hopefully it is self-sustaining and the job of the director is over. If that were the case my own state of mind wouldn't have mattered much, as I would have simply told my students to do the great job I knew they were capable of and left it at that. Unfortunately, high school theatre, especially when traveling a show to a competition, is an ongoing process. That Friday afternoon and into the day of the contest, dispite the students' ignorance of my situation, there was an aura of chaos. The kids were a talented bunch, and very much wanted to do well. While no one has told me this, it's always been my feeling that they could sense something was wrong with me. I had a feeling they were cueing from me, even unwittingly, to be unfocused and haphazard in their preparation. There were missing props, confused sound elements, disorganization throughout the preparations on that Friday and the morning of the competition. Perhaps it was just because they are high school students and it's a lot to handle, but my feeling all weekend was that it was because of me.

As much as I wanted to continue our run of success and show the school district that they were getting rid of the wrong guy, we didn't advance that night. When we got back to the school after the contest I gathered the students and the parents that had stuck around and told them the news. There were a lot of tears and hugs and parents asking what could be done. I genuinely thought, at that time, that it was a done deal, but told them anything they wanted to do would be appreciated.

By Monday word had spread and the general population knew about my dismissal. I recieved lots of support from other teachers, students, and parents. Before I was told I was being let go my ego had elevated some, and I started thinking of myself as the goldenboy of the district's theatre teachers. Within some exclusive circles, this might be considered a big deal, but I'll understand if the gravity of this distinction doesn't quite land with all of the readers. After all, I had been in the district now for 4 years and had built a theatre program that consistently won in UIL, but also had made a reputation for producing daring materials and pushing students to go beyond what was typical for high school theatre. Being let go kind of put me in my place, as I was extremely humbled, left wondering if I had actually made an impact, at all. The support that I was being shown and the way that everyone seemed to think I was being wronged made me feel very good about what I had done there. Regardless, I knew I had some cosmic humble pie in my belly.

Nevertheless, I still didn't have a job for the next school year my focus now turned to looking for and applying for jobs in the Houston area and throughout the state. While only a few years back I was being approched by other schools wanting me to join them, now it seemed that the jobs were going to be very few and far between. Every school district in the state of Texas was cutting back and the arts were not in the sites of any school to be able to hire, let alone expand. So, I also began looking at other types of jobs doing other things. I had worked the previous summer setting up lights and sound for trade shows for an audio/visual company in Houston. The General Manager was a students' parent and he told me he might be able to hire me full time in a project manager or sales capacity. Maybe this would be an opportunity to see if there was something other than teaching theatre that I would like doing.

As it was, even without being RIFd, I had been considering a possible change in scenery. I taught at a very large high school and every year more students were signing up for theatre. My second year there they had hired another theatre teacher to take on a couple of lower level classes, but she didn't help out very much after school. The next year we hired an honest to God assistant theatre director, but after two shows, she decided that she didn't want to work with the theatre program after school and wanted to focus on teaching English. So, for the majority of my time there I was a department of one. The next year looked to be even worse as the other theatre teacher wouldn't even be taking theatre classes all of my sections would be filled to the brim, and overflowing. For the third year in a row, my advanced theatre class would have to combine with another class, making it very difficult to establish the high level of theatre I knew was possible. I had thought that I would just ride it out the best I could, but with this new development, I began to see returning as a very scary proposition, fraught with large inconveniences and even more time spent at school, away from my family. Leaving began looking more and more appealling.

While I was going through all the stages of grief, (disbelief, anger, blame, depression, acceptance... are there more?) there were apparently things working in the background. My students parents had organized a letter writing campaign on my behalf and were inundating the Human Resources office with emails and phone calls. The students went in mass to a school board meeting, along with band and orchestra students, who also lost teachers, to tell them what kind of teacher they were losing. Even more importantly, and to my surprise my principal was working behind the scenes to affect the final outcome. I was shocked when, only three weeks after I'd been told I wouldn't have a job next year, my principal stopped me in the hall to tell me that I had gotten my job back. She told me not to worry about why, but just to know, while it wasn't official, it looked like I would be back next year, after all.

But, in my mind, things weren't that cut and dry. I had multiple applications in to various school districts, including two districts in Abilene, where my wife was from. I had even lined up an interview for a theatre job at one of the high schools, where I would head up a much smaller program, at a smaller school, with less stress, teaching well-to-do, well behaved kids. I decided to go to the interview, which I was confident I could get, and then decide if I would take the job or stay in Houston.

But, as the year drew to a close, and the district was asking if I was going to accept the offer to stay in my position, I became more and more confident that I would be staying. After all, starting over at a new school, doing the same thing wouldn't necessarily fix my problems. Even small schools have issues, of course. I even decided to hold auditions for the first show of the next school year. On the second to last day of school I got a call from the principal of one of the high schools in Abilene. He had a job for me. It wasn't teaching theatre, but I would work with a new grant-funded program at the school helping struggling students recover credit they needed to graduate. It would be less hours, allowing me time to work on my Master's Degree, which I'd put off due to the hours I was spending at the theatre. The job didn't require planning, after school hours, or weekends, which I'd spent mired in for 4 years.

My initial reaction was a big "no." I couldn't see myself working in something not remotely theatre related. I felt like I would miss it too much. Furthermore I had a strong sense of loyalty to the students in my theatre program. It was my baby, after all. But, that was the problem. I had an actual baby at home. This new job would give me more time with her and with my wife. I had always been heavily involved in theatre, and as a teacher, I had always been very busy. But, over the last 4 years, my job wasn't just a part of my life, it had become my life. I was neglecting several things that I had always been passionate about. This included my family, but also music, exercising, writing and doing things in the community. I hated that I had lost all of this, and moving into this new job would give me time to do all of these things, again.

I talked to Amanda to get her opinion, but I knew what she wanted to do without asking. This was going to be my call. I thought about the stress of running a theatre program, and about how much I've always envied people who had time for hobbies. Then I thought about how the next year was already shaping up to be difficult and frustrating, with even more on my plate than before. I thought about how happy this would make Amanda. Every now and then in life, an opportunity comes along that a person just has to follow their gut and take a plunge. It was this same intuition that brought me to where I was to begin with.

So I took the plunge. I wanted to tell the school before we let out for the summer. I felt like I owed it to my students and my principal to let them know what I planned as soon as possible. I especially didn't want my kids to find out over Facebook or when they got back in the fall. So, on the last day of school I went into my principal's office and informed her that I'd been hired by another school district and would take the job. Later that day I gathered as many of my students as I could and let them know my plans. I thought they would hate me, but to their credit, despite their disappointment, they were happy for me. A few weeks later they even threw me a going away party.

I still went to the other job interview in Abilene. The job wasn't for me, and even though I didn't get it, I had decided that I would definitely take the position in the credit recovery classes. I figured that if I was going to take a break from teaching theatre that I needed to really take a break from teaching theatre.

The move was fairly painless. I know my parents were sad to see me move away from the Houston area. We had been there for 8 years and it had become common to meet them for dinner or to schedule a Sunday afternoon together with extended family. I knew I would miss that. Amanda and I had also become close with several people at our church in Sugar Land. It was sad to say goodbye to them, but finding friends in Abilene wouldn't be too difficult. We already had Amanda's sister and one of my best friends from college there. While I had never fully fallen in love with Sugar Land, I certainly would miss many of the people I had come to know there. With Facebook and Twitter we could stay in touch, but of course, it's not the same as being able to walk down the street and share a beer. It's not the same as handing your daughter over to the same person who has cared for her since she was born, then seeing that same person at school to work on costumes. It's not the same as knowing that any day you could just get in the car and drive less than an hour to see your brother. That is, if you have the time.

So, that brings me to where we are now. It's been 5 months since Amanda and I moved here. In that time we've rented a house, been to Fort Worth to see Amanda's sister, twice, started new jobs, and helped host a party for my 10 college reunion. Personally, I've lost 15 pounds by eating better and running, written the first few chapters of a novel and generally relaxed. I've also been working on my Master's Degree and read 4 books. These are all things that I wanted to do before, but didn't have the time or energy. Things are quantitatively looking pretty good. I would like to do more to meet more people, get involved in church and travel on the weekends, now that I have the time. But, all in all, I can't complain.

Sometimes I think about the stage at my previous school. I think about standing on the stage when no one else is there and looking out at the empty seats. From there I can look up and see rows of batons, hanging silently from the high ceiling above. Behind me are old set peices, placed against the back wall for storage until we need it again. The black floor, newly painted, clean and free of marks, is the perfect surface to recall some of the old tap moves I learned in college, made difficult by the rubber soles of my running shoes, that I rarely run in. I walk around the edge of the stage into the house and sit in one of the auditorium seats. Sitting in the dark, looking at the shadowy stage, florescent light from behind the curtains spill out and create an erie, but calming mood. It was never given to me by any authority, but it was mine. I controlled that space as if I had bought and paid for it myself. It was, without any sense of metaphor or exageration, a second home. And, when those students whom I had trained and watched grow in talent as well as character and maturity walked out on that stage and performed under the the halogen lamps (I had to fight tooth and nail for the district to pay for) songs and speeches and dances that would have never occured if not for a confidence they did not have when they arrived in my class their freshman year; and sound cues and scene changes happen at the exact right time, set in motion by students who had come to me only months before with only a vague sense of wanting to belong to something larger than themselves; when all these things happen at once and all I have to do is sit back and know that the whole process has been rehearsed over and over, and the students who are backstage barking orders into their headsets feel as much of a sense of responsibility toward the outcome of the production and the future of the theatre program as I do--when I can sit in the seats and feel confident that I have had an impact by setting these peices in motion, the sense of pride that builds in me is very real, even when the their existance only survives in my imagination and memory. And I miss it.

The past five months have convinced me of three things: One, I needed the break. The time I've had with Olivia and Amanda, not to mention the time I've had to run and take care of my health, has been extremely valuable. I don't regret this year and the break from theatre, at all. Two, I'm not finished with theatre and theatre isn't finished with me, and I will be back there someday, directing and teaching and building sets. The question a theatre major is always supposed to ask himself is, "Can I imagine myself doing anything else?" If the answer is yes, you shouldn't do theatre. I can honestly say that, for me, the answer is no, I can't. It's what I'm meant to do on this earth and the legacy I should leave behind. Finally, when I do eventually get a chance to either teach theatre or run a theatre company, or wherever I'm led, I need to learn to control the program and not let the program run me. Theatre is what I do, and it's what I know, but it won't always be there when I need it. The theatre program I ran, the job that I left and the art form itself may run through my blood, but my heart will always be lying next to me at night and bringing me coffee on Sunday mornings. My soul will greet me tomorrow morning with big blue eyes, a wisp of blonde hair and a big grin saying, "Wake up, Daddy!"

How Life Decided I Needed to Stop, Part 2

2011-11-11T11:08:00.000-08:00

I took a long time to write this part because as I started writing I became unexpectedly emotional and filled with anxiety. Partly, I think because it was only months ago, and the feelings are still fresh. Also, I started to wonder if I wasn't crossing a line by divulging the manner in which I was dismissed. The proceedings and criteria by which teachers were RIFd are public to anyone who seeks them out, and I don't work for this particular district anymore, anyway. So, why care? Something just told me that it wouldn't be wise to go on at length on my personal opinions regarding the district and their methods, even if I keep them anonymous. So, I'm leaving out a lot of details that might help explain how I was let go, but really only act as more of a diversion to the main story. I also found that as I write about certain details I tend to sound defensive and legalistic, like I'm trying to prove that I was wronged. That is not the purpose of this story. The story is about how I found myself in my current job, not teaching theatre. The real purpose is to tell how I made a choice in my life for the betterment of myself and my family.

The principal was sitting at her desk, looking sullen and serious. This was not normal for her. Furthermore, our Associate Principal was also in the room. He always seemed serious, if not a little pissed off. This time he was uncharacteristically gentle. My principal did not greet me in her normal fashion, with energy, piss and vinegar. She was quiet and calm. I have never really been the most punctual person in the world, and while I was always at school before the kids arrived, I did sometimes come in after the time I was supposed to be there. I know that other teachers had been called in to inform them that they needed to do a better job at getting to school by 7am, so I thought that this is what I was going to be addressed. Even so, it seemed a little too formal for even that.
My principal spoke about budgetary concerns in the district and the problems facing all districts in the state. She spoke of the need to cut back in certain areas of the school. Maybe she was going to tell me that our funding was being deminished or cut. We were never given enough money from the school district before and had learned to supplement the budget with fundraising. We had even formed a parent booster club for that very purpose. Less money would mean we had to raise more and use it for the actual plays and less on extras, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.
Then she said something completely unexpected. "Kyle, your position in the district is being cut, and you will no longer have a job here, next year." My heart felt immediately empty and I could feel my pulse beating in my ears. This made absolutely no sense.
"There's not going to be a theatre program next year?" I asked.
She explained that they would still offer theatre, but that one of the schools, not ours, decided to cut a theatre position for the following year. There were 11 high schools in the district and several of these schools had more than one theatre techer. All of the theatre teachers in the school district were measured against each other on various criteria. The measure that seemed to matter most was the yearly teacher evaluations (the PDAS) and the one with the lowest score was the person who was let go. It didn't matter that it wasn't my job being let go, or even that I was the head theatre teacher on my campus, I had apparently received the lowest PDAS score of all the theatre teachers that year.
Again, this didn't make sense to me. That year I recieved an unusually low PDAS, but still it was not a bad appraisal by most observers' standards. I mentioned that there might be a mistake due to the fact that my evaluator had given me a low mark in a single category, that I had subsequently contested. The evaluator agreed to change it, but this was not reflected on the evaluation that was used to determine my place in the Reduction in Force. My principal assured me that the decision that had been made was final, regardless of anything else that might be discovered at a later time.
There was seemingly a silver-lining. The district was offering an insentive to resign for teachers who would do so before April, and they were only allowing so many. I was told that I needed to make a quick decision about whether or not I would take the resignation incentive, as many people were being let go the same day and I didn't want to sign up for the incentive too late. I was told that I didn't want to have the blight of a "non-contract renewal" on my record.
I found out later that my principal was reading from a script and that she was instructed to tell me these things. But, I trusted her and so I dutifully went to the administration building to turn in my resignation and incentive agreement. Before I left, though, my principal told me through tears how sorry she was, and that this wasn't my fault. She looked over my evaluation and confirmed that it was a good evaluation and that it didn't seem to make sense to her, either.
I had to tell my wife, Amanda. Her school was only a few miles away from my own and I regularly dropped by, if I needed to. Normally, I might just sign in at the front then go to her room. I didn't want to tell her the bad news in front of her student's, though, so I told her principal first, and asked if she could have someone cover Amanda's classes. Amanda's principal would have been aware of the district RIFs being done that day. I waited by the offices while Amanda's principal went and got her. Amanda was understandably worried that I hadn't just walked down there myself and thought the worst. She was almost in tears as she came down the very long hallway from her classroom. Her principal already assured her that Olivia was okay, which was Amanda's first thought.
The principal let us use her office, where we sat at a conference table. I held her hand and told her about the budget cuts and that I was one of the people the district was letting go. She began to cry, and I decided to let her for a moment. Then she started asking all of the regular questions. Why me? Who was going to replace me? How dare they do this after all the time and energy I put in? A good wife has your back, for sure, as I would always have hers.
Of course, I didn't have a lot of answers, except what I'd been told, which was that it wasn't fair, but it didn't matter. She agreed that I should take the incentive if there wasn't anything else to do. It seemed that there wouldn't be any use fighting it. I noticed a page at the back of my resignation incentive agreement indicating that I could resend the agree within a week, so with this as a seemingly solid safeguard I went to the administration building and turned in my incentive agreement. I had now officially resigned my position of theatre director at Travis High School. What I would do next was a complete mystery.

End of Part 2

How Life Decided I Needed To Stop, Part 1

2011-10-26T11:33:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has spent much time with me over the past 6 months or so are no stranger to the recent changes that have occured in my life during that time. A couple of weekends ago I went to my 10 year college reunion and was a little surprised that, even with Facebook and Twitter, many of my college friends were in the dark about these changes. Then I realized that I'd been relatively quiet on the social media front regarding the matters that transpired that lead to me living in Abilene, Texas and (more surprisingly) not teaching theatre.

The internet silence was partly due to privacy, I suppose. I've never been a terribly private person, but over the years I've discovered that it is sometimes better to keep somethings to myself. The main reason, though, is that for a long time I didn't really know how things would transpire, and I wanted to be wary about discussing my thoughts on a public forum that could potentially be seen by students or parents of students, or, God-forbid, school administration.

The story begins back in late March of this year. I was feeling very good about myself, for a number of reasons. For the third year in a row the the UIL One Act Play I had directed had just advanced from the first round of competition, and I had a good feeling about the next round. The kids were focused and doing well, we were performing a very risky and challenging play that had not been done in UIL OAP competition before. We had lots to work on, but I was confident that we had something special. I was in a large school district at a large high school and was building a theatre program that had a very positive presence on campus amoung students and faculty.

Not that the year was without it's low points. At the beginning of the year, I'd found out that my assistant no longer wanted to help in the theatre department with productions after school and would only be teaching classes during the day. This meant that I would, again, be directing, teching and producing on my own every show of the season. This is a stress that I was used to, but not one that I wanted. Nevertheless, I had several very devoted and capable parents who helped out tremendously with costumes as well as fundraising. Also, our department was able to afford to hire a woman to come in and serve as technical director and designer for the musical, which essentially gave me an hour or so per day of extra time, and a full Saturday to do things that would have normally been ignored or put-off. So, we were able to move along despite a reduction in the number of full-time theatre faculty.

The first show of the season was lots of fun. The set didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned, but the cast was small and dedicated and everyone who saw the show gave great feedback. We had to switch the musical from Fiddler on the Roof to Pippin about three weeks into rehearsals because of casting issues, but we plugged on and put on a show that was, while far from perfect, a great experience for myself and the students.

With the highs and lows of the season mostly behind me and looking toward the next year I began to see the 2010-2011 school year as a turning point for the theatre department as well as myself. It was the year where I decided to take control of the fate of the theatre program and learn from past mistakes. No longer would I attempt to produce shows beyond our means or put up with people who were getting in the way of making the theatre program successful. I wasn't going to beg the band directors to help or worry that others weren't doing my bidding. I was going to take those dedicated and hungry students and develop them into the highest quality theatre troupe that I possibly could, even if it meant losing a few. I was going to stress quality over quantity. I was very excited for the future and the UIL One Act Play was going to be the coming out party.

On April 1, the day before we were to compete at the second level of competition I was rounding up the normal last minute details of taking a show on the road: making sure that boxes were organized with props, racks were full of costumes and the required buses and permission forms were secured. Sometime around lunch I received an email stating that I needed to go meet with our principal. I joked with our bookeeper that I hoped I wasn't in trouble. I had a good relationship with my principal, and despite a few grandmotherly tongue lashings because of my tendency to, at times, be a little..."independent"(?) she liked me and I liked her. She cussed like a sailor, called you names and you realized that she loved you all at the same time. Still, there was a very real possibility that today was one of those loving repremands. At any given moment I was possibly violating some minor (and ridiculous) policy or making the custodian mad because a performance ran long. When I entered the principal's office I knew this was different.

End of Part 1

The Hunger Games Bigger Picture

2011-09-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

*Disclaimer* I did my best to leave out major spoilers, but you may still find some of the information within this post to be more than you want to know, if you plan to read these books.

I'm currently reading the book Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins after quickly reading through the first book of the Hunger Games Trilogy. I was really impressed with the first book. It was fun and kept me on the edge of my seat, but I also had a few problems with many elements of the story. Basically, I thought that things wrapped up way too easily for the protagonist, Katniss. What I mean is that things were fairly predictable and Katniss really never had to do anything wrong, or morally questionable. She kills and breaks the law, but in ways and within circumstances that any normal and sane person could reasonably be expected to do the same.

If you aren't familiar with the premise of the The Hunger Games it's not giving too much away to explain that the plot revolves around a Not-Too-Distant-Future nation called Panem that exists where North America once was. The country is divided into "districts" and Katniss is from one of the poorer districts, District 12, although all of the districts are at the mercy of a controlling, totalitarian government. As a reminder of the power of the government, which exists in a District known simply as The Capitol, each district, except The Capitol, must choose by lottery a boy and a girl to participate each year in an event known as the Hunger Games. This Nationally televised, mandatory viewing for all citizens is a fight to the death between kids, age 12-18, with the winner receiving wealth and fame for the rest of his or her life. Since you already know that there is a sequel, it's also not too much to tell you that Katniss survives.

When I say that the plot is too easy for her, what I mean is that Katniss is never really faced with a situation that would force her to do something she finds morally wrong. For instance she never has to kill someone who is portrayed as a "good" person. The subject is discussed throughout the book that the so-called "bad-guys" who are out to kill the other contestants, known as tributes, are not really the enemy, since they are all forced to participate. However, when these kids die you never really feel bad for them, like you would if the "good-guys" die.

I understand why the book was written that way. Obviously, as a reader, you don't want to see your protagonist do something abhorrent or evil, but I also feel that the story should have been told more honestly. A teen reader, for whom the book is primarily written, may be more sensitive to this kind of moral ambiguity, and therefore it may explain why Collins chose to not compromise Katniss's goodness by having her face such a morally perplexing decision as killing someone she didn't want to kill. In other words, in a graphically violent book perhaps we as the reader needed at least something, in this case Katniss's righteousness, to fully rely on. I still would have liked to see her at least face such a decision, and she never did.

So comes Catching Fire which my wife, as well as the internet see as the superior book in the trilogy. While I have still not delved very far in the second novel, (I've decided to come to terms with the fact that Katniss will probably survive this book, seeing as how there is a third) I can already see that this book will be bleaker, and truer to the world that Collins created. It also deals with at least one subject that is quite relevant to the current state of the world. In the chapter I'm currently reading, Catching Fire describes a party at the Capitol where people gorge themselves on food and drink, only to regurgitate periodically so they can continue partying throughout the night. In the following passage Katniss relays the stark contrast she sees between the citizens of The Capitol's wasteful behavior and in the faces of the starving children within her own district and others throughout the country:

"All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can't give. More food.... And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of the fun."

This passage made me feel shame. It's what we do every day in the U.S. while there are people starving in other countries. Forget other countries, there are people starving right under our noses, but most of us throw away more food in a day than many get to eat in a week.

I never felt rich, by any stretch. I always saw the shoes that other kids wore, or the cars that other parents drove and felt cheated, somehow. I wanted to know why I couldn't afford the expensive Nikes with the little air pockets and the pants with the tag on the fly; made by some designer with a name I had trouble pronouncing. But, I never worried about where food would come from. We had a car that was always full of gas and a house that was warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I was fortunate to have parents that expected me to get an education so that one day, when I was an adult with a family I wouldn't have to worry about these things, either.

When I see people in my own town who struggle with these very issues it makes me at once thankful, and determined. Determined to always provide that same feeling of comfort for my daughter, so that she never has to worry either. But, even more than that, I'm determined to show her that not everyone is as fortunate as she, and that there is a corner of our society that struggle to gain basic needs like food and shelter. Not because I want her to feel guilty or ashamed for what she has, but so that she stays aware and thankful for her position and doesn't fall into a trap that I think so many in the western world fall into. The trap is to think that because we have it, it is readily available and easy for everyone who wants it. "It" being prosperity, or at the very least, self-sufficiency. Those who don't have "it" are either lesser beings or are in that situation because they want to be there. It would be very difficult to say those things if they had ever been in that situation, I'm sure, but even just working with the students that I have worked with over the years have given me a clue about life in poverty and the difficulty in getting out of it.
I'm happy that Suzanne Collins decided to make Catching Fire a more difficult read (if, in fact, that's what she did. It's still early in the book, but so far, it seems that way). I read a critique from Stephen King that spoke highly of The Hunger Games but regretted the squandered opportunity to fully delve into the social and political issues inherit in the fictional Panem, that relate to our present world. I'm already seeing this particular critique addressed and my hope is that it will continue. It's a great read and I'm really into it from a story and character standpoint. I just hope that the younger audience that the book is marketed to can catch onto and understand the correlation between the world of fiction and the one outside their door.

This Entry Wanders. A Lot

2011-08-23T16:09:00.000-07:00

I've been listening to the Adam Carolla Show Podcast lately. I began listening because I was about to go on a long roadtrip this summer and needed some good listening material to help pass the time. If you aren't familiar with Adam Carolla he is a comedian who has been on several TV shows, usually with some kind of hosting duty. Probably his most famous show was The Man Show which was on Comedy Central in the early 2000s. Before that he did a call-in relationship advise show with Dr. Drew Pinsky (Celebrity Rehab) called Love Lines, which was a TV version of a radio show he did with the same name. On Love Lines Dr. Drew would give sound advise and Adam would generally make fun of the person, or give funny and at times common sense advise.

If you saw Adam on the Man Show then you probably also know Adam's more famous best friend, Jimmy Kimmel. On the Man Show Adam and Jimmy generally portrayed exagerated versions of the "typical guy." They drank beer, looked at hot chicks and would talk about men stuff like sports, cars, wrestling, bratwurst, and you name it. It was supposed to be fairly toungue and cheek and the humor was derived from the fact that Adam and Jimmy were not understood the ridiculousness of their ultra-macho behavior.

As I have been listening to Adam I've discovered that he is really a pretty funny guy. He would chastize me for pointing this out as he has been a working comedian for years now and of course he's funny. We don't feel the need to point out that accountants are good with numbers! I suppose I was surprised that I found him funny. On the surface he didn't seem like my cup of tea. He generally comes off as the very type of guy I didn't like in high school. He generalizes people based on their race, their job, income, and makes blanket assumptions about who people are without giving any possibility for alternative views. But, that's kind of his shtick and he also has surrounded him with people who don't necessarily believe like he does. This tells me that this is all (in part, at least) just how he has gotten laughs, and not his deeper feelings. He is also very knowledgable of politics and the goings on in America and comments frequently on the state of our economy. He holds some pretty strong opinions about anything from welfare to steroid use in professional sports.

I don't tend to agree with him on much of anything, but I don't really think he cares if you agree with him, when he decides whether or not you are worthy to talk to him. He is pretty cordial to all of his guests whether they be liberal Hollywood types or conservative politicians. His own politics are very libertarian. He is an atheist and can't understand why things like marijuana, prostitution and gay marriage aren't legal. On the other side of the spectrum he is brutal on taxes and welfare.

He talks about his upbringing and his parents quite a bit. In fact, most of his most strongly held opinions tend to be linked to the way he was raised as a poor kid whose parents were either neglectful or just plain mean to him. Or both. For instance, one reason that he doesn't believe in God is because his family would only attend church on special holidays and he realized the ridiculousness of people who treated God like a cash machine or magic genie. This soured him on religion and he eventually decided he didn't believe in God at all. His parents didn't have much money and they would talk about wealthy people in extremely negative terms. Further, according to the way he talks on the podcast his parents didn't give him much in the way of attention or material things. This is my own sort of armchair analysis of Adam, but based on what he says during his podcast, the attitudes of his family as well as his desire for wealth seem to be what drove him to his own success. Apparently, when he first became successful and told his family they responded with apathy or outright disdain. It's this part of his life that seems to have had the biggest impact on his worldview toward poor and economically challenged.

The other day on his show he was discussing taxes with one of his guests and he was talking about the Democrats wanting to raise taxes for the wealthy. He used a really great analogy to indicate how horrible it is to want to ask the wealthy for more. His basic point was that the wealthy are already the ones contributing the most to the government til and therefore we shouldn't ask them for more. Besides they worked hard to get themselves to the point where they are and therefore deserve the benefits of their hard work and tanacity. You know, the old line.

His analogy was this: We're all in a row boat and the wealthy are the only ones paddling, or at least taking on the brunt of the work, while the poorest (especially those who don't make enough to pay any taxes all) are sitting lazily on the deck, not helping out at all. His argument was that everyone needed to be putting in their fair share of paddling.

I liked his analogy a lot. However, I don't really see it like Adam sees it, and I think he stopped short of taking the analogy to a fuller and more accurate realization. So, I'd like to add to his analogy by offering a broader picture of of the rowboat reflecting how I see the world and how wealth is distributed, as well as the fairness of how we are taxed.

In this boat (that is powered by paddles, I guess) the wealthy are certainly the ones doing the majority of the work. However, that doesn't mean that they are working that hard. What Adam failed to mention was that the ones doing most of the paddling are extremely well built, healthy and strong. They are all huge Goliaths that are capable of lazily turning the paddle through the water without really breaking a sweat. Adam's version of this analogy fails to mention that the poor lazy bums not doing anything have broken limbs, are suffering from cholera, respirtory failure and any attempt they make at rowing cripples or kills them altogether. As a liberal tax and spend democrat, I feel this boat would be going a lot faster if the big, strong, muscle bound guys with their health and stamina should start using both hands and push a little harder. They don't have to strain, but maybe the big guys can pitch in the effort they are capable of exerting.

In other words, it doesn't matter that wealthy contribute more to the national debt. What matters is that the amount that the poor do pay is way more detrimental to thier living than what the wealthy pay. Weathly people and poor people, dispite the idea that the poor should live within their means (which I whole-heartedly agree with) live in the same world and much of the expenses of living are the same, regardless of your income level.

To illustrate this point I did some figures. I assumed that there were two families of four, both consisting of a stable mother and father with a boy and a girl below driving age. I tried to come up with a reasonable budget for both families based on current utility prices, percentage rates and tax brackets. One family has a joint income of $30,000 and the other family earns $250,000. I placed these families in Abilene, Texas. First, bescause that's where I live and I know about how much things cost here, and second, Abilene has a generally low cost of living, so I thought it would be a simpler comparison. I only included items that I felt were necessary to live and hold down a job (i.e. While cable TV is a luxury, I think it can be argued that cell phones have become a modern day necessity. I could make that arguement about internet, as well, but I've left that out of figures.) I also took pains to not inflate the Poor Family's expenses or deflate the Wealthy Family's. Here are the two budgets.

Wealthy Family earning 250K per year:

Income/Month 20833

Rent/Mortgage 2044.75 based on a $319K home and good credit
Electricity 225 based on Bill Estimator by Consumers Power, Inc.
Food 400 Based on my own monthy grocery bill.
Phone 270 Based on a Verizon Family Plan with 4 lines.
Car 2260 Based on a 2012 Lexus GX (assuming a 2 car family) used Edmunds.com
Insurance 200 Based on my own car insurance bill plus more to account for car type
Gas 240 Based on filling up once a week at $60 per tank
Taxes 6875 Based on a 33% tax rate (Source: bargaineering.com)

Total Bills 12514.75

Ending Balance 8318.25

Poor Family earning 30K per year. Unless indicated, estimates are based on the same sources as the Wealthy Family.

2500

Rent/Mortgage 850 Based on the low end rent of a decent 3 bedroom house in Abilene
Electricity 150
Food 400
Phone 70 Based on a Cricket, no contract, month to month plan with 2 phones
Car 180 Based on a 2006 Dodge Caravan*
Insurance 200
Gas 240
Taxes 375 Based on a 15% tax base

Total Bills 2465

Ending Balance 35

*I find it hard to believe that someone, even with good credit, would get such a low monthly payment, or that a Dodge Caravan in good condition would go for so little, but this is what Edmunds.com estimated for a 2006 Dodge Caravan. My suspicion is that it would be more.

If I only had $35 left after all of my other bills had been paid, I'd be pretty nervous. This of course doesn't account for kid's asking for money for a feild trip, or new clothes, or car repairs, or the miriad of other things that we find ourselves needing money for here and there. The wealthy family, on the other hand, have a very comfortable cushion to sustain them through the sundries that pop up from time to time, to put into savings, or to simply use for vacations, movies, or other entertainment. I won't get into the value of these types of experiences to a child's worldview, therefore giving the wealthy kids a much greater opportunity for success in the future.

So, what does this mean? I think Adam Corolla, and many conservatives, would say that the wealthy family has earned the distinction of having more because they have worked harder to acheive more. I won't debate that rich people are going to have more stuff. And that's okay. What I am saying is that if they can throw a little more in the til and still have most, if not all of that, they should. From what I've heard and read in the news raising taxes to pre-Bush levels would essentially solve the debt crisis within a few years. If this is true, I think it should be looked at much more seriously.

The problem of course is political, as it always is. Republicans would lose their seats to more conservative Republicans, or (gasp!) a Democrat, and Democrats won't hold the line either for the same reason. Furhter, as I think we've witnessed over and over during the Obama years, Republicans are so adamant on getting their way that Democrats are essentially forced to give in, time and time again, or else risk failure in much greater porportions.

I often wish that people could come and work with me in my job, or any teacher for that matter and really get to know kids from other cultures and upbringings from themselves. Not that all teachers are raving liberals, but there is a reason that teaching is a more liberal profession. When you speak to a kid whose dad was murdered in gang activity and whose mother is uneducated and unemployed, it's hard to really blame that kid for not wanting to read "To Kill a Mockingbird." Education is the key to get that kid out of poverty, but it's near impossible to make that kid realize that. If Adam Corolla, who against all odds was able to pull himself out of the clutches of cynicism, abuse, and apathetic parents, could see the gulf that lies in front of a person who is trying to simply survive, let alone succeed, I think he would stop calling them "lazy," "losers," and "scum." From his vantage point, he was able to overcome lots of adversity. He lashes out at the idea that it was all dumb luck, because he scraped and clawed and found a way to wealth and success. But, he's neglecting the fact that he is a funny person. He acknowledges his lucky brakes, but maintains that he would have come through anyway, because he was determined enough. His story really is pretty amazing. I just wish he would realize that a., not everyone who was born into poverty is a worldclass stand up comic, and b., sometimes those breaks don't come. C., and I believe that psyche plays a much bigger part in success or failure than some people want to believe. Mental barriers and limitations are not superficial limitations. Generations of uneducated family members have a much larger effect on ones ability to escape poverty than the poverty itself. Race and pressures due to race also play a large role in determining what a student is willing to even try. For instance, I've never heard a white claim that he or she can't do something because of their race. I hear this from Black and Hispanic students frequently.

So, should we try as hard as we can to fix poverty? Absolutely! But, should we help those who are engulfed in it? We have to.

Idea.

2010-12-27T18:18:00.000-08:00

I was engaged in a very necessary and daily routine earlier...let's just say this is a sitting activity that usually I try to accompany myself with some reading material of some sort.... You get it. Anyway, I found myself without any reading material. Not a problem there's always my trusty BlackBerry with it's handy Twitter and Facebook applications...but, oh, my phone's battery is dead. So, now here I was with nothing to occupy my brain for these next several minutes and I realized that this was going to be a difficult task for me. The very idea that I was nervous about spending some alone time with just my thoughts did not settle well with me (at least no better than the Mexican food I'd had for lunch. Hey-oh!). Could I really not stand the thought of not occupying my mind with twitter or Facebook or something to keep my mind elsewhere.

So, I decided that I would think of a problem that I had to deal with and figure it out over the course of the next few minutes. And, that's just what I did.

The problem: The play that I'm directing for the UIL One Act Play this year is a play called August: Osage County by Tracy Letts. The play is in three acts and there is an unwritten rule in the UIL OAP that you shouldn't have blackouts in your play. The play is only 40 minutes long and you don't want to have to stop the flow of your story with a blackout. It's not always a bad idea, but there are some judges that think it's a no-no. So, I try to avoid blackouts at all costs. Well, many of the scenes in this play would normally call for a blackout to change scenery. One of the main problems I've been having is how to effectively change scenes without a blackout. While sitting in my my throne I began thinking. The play is set in Oklahoma. Oklahoma is on the plains and know for it's America Indian culture. Part of the play actually deals with Native American culture. Perhaps there could be Native American music over lighting effects that try to elicit a feeling of sweeping plains? Well, one of the characters, the housekeeper, is a Native American. Maybe, we can show her throughout the house during the changes. That's it! Johnna, the Native American housekeeper, will be seen working in the house, fixing something, or organizing or moving or doing some type of proactive task during the scene changes to signify both that she is constantly moving in the house, that she is slowly repairing the home and tying the idea back to location of the play.

Then I was done. It is probably the best idea I've had for a play in a very long time and I wouldn't have had it had I been looking at my BlackBerry.

I'm starting to think that these bits of technology that we think are making our lives better aren't actually preventing us from being and creating and thinking. I'm actually pretty sure that this can happen. And does happen.

Can Jon Stewart Change America?

2010-09-13T20:36:00.000-07:00

You can fall in love with your own idea of common sense. Maybe the nice thing about being a comedian is never having a full belief in yourself to know the answer. So you can say all this stuff, but underneath, you’re going, ‘But of course, I’m fucking idiotic.’ It’s why we don’t lead a lot of marches.

Jon Stewart

You know how someone will say something so profound and yet, obvious at the same time? I've always been a big fan of the Daily Show and of Stewart and this is a prime example of why. He gets people and the tendencies of people and recognizes most of it to be bullshit. Because it is.

I've been thinking a lot lately about belief and why people believe what they believe. Also, what is believing? Politics, religion, education and just about any other topic under the sun (except for Math, I guess) is subject to interpretation and "belief." But, what is belief in something other than the way you see and interpret the world? If I believe in Jesus that is not to say that I saw him with my own two eyes resurrect from the grave. Just like I cannot claim to have tested the Polar Ice Caps to determine through factual study that global warming is real.

But we look at the world and we make a decision. Am I going to believe in global warming based on what I do know to be true? Am I going to believe that Jesus was God and therefore the true Messiah that the Bible says that he is? My decision to believe these things or not is based on my experiences and my attitudes as well as the facts that I can see and touch.

As Jon Stewart has wisely stated, though, problems arrise when we forget how we arrived at these decisions. They were perhaps logical, but perhaps emotional choices, primarily and not quantitative conclusions that were arrived at through mathematic reasoning, such as "1+1=2." We fall in love with our own ideas of what is logical and what is "common sense," as he puts it and we start to regard anyone who thinks or concludes differently as idiots or evil.

Stewart attributes the ability to laugh and doubt one's own common sense as being an idiot. But, the ability to step back and see the possibility of fault, even if we cannot see the fault itself, is wisdom, not idiocy. And, it's not an attribute reserved for clowns and comedians. We all have the capability to recognize the possibility of wrong thinking.

As I stated in an earlier post, however, people (particularly those who are "in love with their own idea of common sense") will view my admission of doubt in my believes as a weakness or evidence of flakiness. So, sure, I guess we want to be careful who go around revealing our inner-most doubts to. I wouldn't bring it up in a job interview, for example. But, we are currently living in an America that has people burning Qurans, going to war on false pretense, bombing buildings, bombing themselves, protesting the freedoms that we hold dear as Americans to worship where and how we like. We are living the most intolerant times of my lifetime from the perspective of respect for other views, on a very large scale. And the worst part is that our political sphere seems to be locked in a pendulum swing of inneffectiveness. How can we fix our problems if we're not willing to work together? Legislators need to legislate. Reporters need to report. Journalists should keep politicians honest and accountable. I think this is Stewart's primary objective when he targets the media and politicians. And, if Stewart's masterful execution of the pointed satire is of no effect, I'm not sure what else will do. Hopefully, it can act as a spark that ignites a flame that lights a larger target and can possibly set in motion a chain of events that leads to cooperation, understanding, and maybe we'll finally move forward and be a nation that leads again.

Talking About Myself

2010-09-11T18:27:00.000-07:00

Last May I began working on my Master's Degree through on an online program. Online is certainly NOT the best way for someone like to me to get an education. There are deadlines and readings to do, and no one to be accountable to, except yourself. When I was in undergrad at ACU, if I stepped into my acting professor's class without having read that night's chapter of whatever acting book we were using, he would make sure that I was shamed and left to feel like a failure. It sounds very cruel, but it worked for me. To his credit, I don't think he was doing it on purpose, I just think he was genuinely annoyed and disappointed when one of his students--a student who was chosen to join the university's theatre program over other's who had auditioned and been denied a spot--neglected the opportunity to take full advantage of the knowledge and instruction for which s/he was granted. I didn't think of it that way at the time, but as an educator, now, I get it. I've made enough high school students cry to know that I can have this same affect on my own students when they disappoint me. But, if there is one thing that have learned during my seven, going on eight years in the classroom, it's that to he who expects and demands greatness, greatness is given. That's not an easy credo for someone like me to adhere to. Most of the time I take a very "to each his own" sort of mentality. If you don't want to do something, who am I to try and force you. Who am I to try to make you feel guilty for choices that are yours to make. But, you can't produce plays with a mentality like that. There must be commitment and accountability and people should know when they are not living up to their end of the bargain, either in word, or simply by dismissal.

But, like I said, this goes against my DNA. I like to think of myself as a pretty forgiving person. People have told me that I have given too many chances to some kids, who continue to disappoint, and take advantage of my leniency. I think I've learned to deal with students like this in my own way, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't, but despite how far I have still to come, I feel I'm a lot harsher than I was as a brand new teacher.

But, I digress. As I said, I understand and appreciate the necessity to keep people accountable to outside entities. However, the online educational environment does not keep you accountable. The only time they ask you for anything directly is when you have to pay your bill. The reading is completely on you, as is the weekly assignments and online discussion boards. So, the only thing that keeps me moving along, at times is the desire to not waste the money I spent on the course. That and the knowledge that the program that I'm in is not a start and stop kind of deal. It's an intensive 18 monther and if I drop a course or sit one out, I would have to start over.

But, every time I sit down at my computer to work on my course I feel a great deal of anxiety. I'm not sure why. I am always able to push through that anxiety and my current GPA (highest of my lifetime) attests that I am capable of the workload. When I am finished with the work at the end of each week I feel such relief and contentment, you'd think that I would want to work because I would want to feel that feeling again. But, I don't.

As I have learned from my first class in the course (I'm now in my third) everyone has a different style of dealing with life. Some people are very future oriented and some live in the here and now. I would have to be a "here and now" kind of person. I plan because I have to and convince myself of eventual outcomes, being very careful to work toward future goals, but if I give into my natural tendencies, I would only take on projects on whims and deal with everything as it comes. Sometimes this mindset works for me and I certainly think that it has it's benefits, but often it can be troublesome. This is especially true when you are in charge of something like a high school theatre program, in finances, or when going to the beach. Spontaneity may be the spice of life, but planning has got to be the bread and butter, the meat and potatoes and the rice and beans. It's what fills you up; sustains you. That was a hard sentence to type. Because a) I know it's true and b) that's not me.

So, why did I begin a Master's Degree program knowing full well that it was the program that would give me the greatest chance of success?

First, I've always been willing and ready to talk about myself to the world and to let them into who I am and what's going on in my head. Not because I think that I'm so great, but because I truly believe that the more we know about each other, the more we can know about ourselves. So, when I talk about myself, I'm not being narcisistic, I'm just helping you get to know yourself. It's probably why I began blogging in first place. Lately, however, I've realised that people tend to take things you say about yourself and use those things to judge you or treat you according to how they interpret your words. For instance, if I say to someone that I am not a future thinker, but live in the "here and now," someone will take that to mean that I'm never going to plan and that they have to stay on me about things. What I perhaps didn't mention is that I've been dealing with this aspect of myself for a really long time and I've managed to get a grip on it, and make pains to plan and get things done, despite my natural tendency to resist planning. In other words, I know my faults and I do what it takes to correct them. It's perhaps this realization that has caused me to blog a lot less in recent years.

The second and more obvious reason that I decided to take an online degree program is that it is the most practical way for me to get my master's degree as a working dad of a 9 month old. I don't think that I would have reasonably been able to leave my wife and kid at home after being at school until 5-6 o'clock at night to attend classes until 10, wake up at 6 a.m. every morning and still be a decent teacher/director/father/husband. So, it made practical sense.

So, what was this? Just an excuse to bitch about how busy and stressed out I am? Maybe a little. More than one person has told me that I'm complaining a lot lately and not being myself. So, I figure that I it's better I unleash that onto the interwebs than onto my collegues and friends. And, hopefully...maybe...I helped you, the reader learn a little bit more about yourself.

Update

2010-06-30T13:08:00.001-07:00

There is a lot going on in my life. This has been a very interesting and productive year to say the least. Here's a rundown of a few things that I've not really been into here at the blog, but has become a major point in my life over the past year.

First, and most obviously, Amanda and I had a daughter, Olivia. She is now 7 months old and is a beautiful, happy and energetic little thing. She's, of course, loved beyond measure and everyone who meets her is charmed and smitten. This might sound like typical parental doting, and I'd be lying if there wasn't partly some of that going on, but look at this picture. She's beautiful. If she wasn't I'd probably say she was anyway, but luckily, I'm pretty confident that this isn't simply daddy-goggles. She's gorgeous and I love being with her. If you are wondering if this happy picture of Olivia is a rare gem of a photo op, where the camera, lighting and her mood all synced at the perfect time in an aligning of planets, you would be wrong. She's pretty happy most of the time. She gets cranky around 9pm, but other than that she stays fairly content. Amanda and I are extremely lucky and blessed and Olivia brings us more and more joy everyday. I could get very long winded and sappy if I continue on this course, so I'll move on.

With the addition of our little darling came an understandably interesting year at school for both Amanda and I. In an attempt to dedicate more time to the family I delegated the job of directing the yearly musical to my new assistant at school, which meant that for the first time in three years I was not directing a show while school was in session. It was pretty nice, however I still dealt with the responsibilities of the budget, and part of the technical stuff. So I was busy, but not nearly as busy. So, that made my school year different. Amanda had about 10 weeks of maternity leave so she also had a very different school year, missing that time smack in the middle of the year.

This summer I have a summer job. This isn't the first summer job I've had during my time as a teacher, but it is certainly the first to actually work out. I'm working with an Audio and Visual company in Houston, helping set up and run Trade Shows, conventions, concerts and things like that in the Houston and Galveston area. It's a lot of fun and gives me an opportunity to learn a little about the newer technical stuff going on in the lighting and sound world. Plus, I'm making a little money which is nice, too.

Finally, I've started my master's degree. I'm working on my Masters of Education Administration at Lamar University. It's an online program which means that it requires a lot of reading, writing and self-paced work. The online discussion certainly doesn't replace the classroom setting adequately, in my opinion, but it's a program that will allow me to finish fairly quickly. Navigating the online program is a little confusing and stressful at times, but I just finished my first class with an A, so I guess I'm off to a decent start. I'm not sure what I will do once I'm finished with the Masters. If nothing else it will give me options of things I can do in the future. I definitely want to stick around in my current position, for now, but I also want to be able to move into another position if the opportunity arises. I could see myself as a district Fine Arts Director, someday, so maybe that's a possibility.

Anyway, I suppose that about it. I'm having a good summer and just taking life as it comes. If only the Astros were not completely depressing, life would be just about perfect. Oh, Astros...

Wait! I Can Type More Than 140 Characters?

2010-03-08T07:11:00.000-08:00

Hello blog. It's been awhile. You and I used to be so close, and yet its been so long since we've seen each other. I guess I was lured away by newer, sleaker, faster networking sites that took less maintenance on my part. You were just so needy. I actually had to learn html code for you! I know, I know. You're much more user friendly than you used to be. I haven't even explored your newest features. I'm just sorry that you have become so neglected. Links are broken, code is out of date and messy to the point that some of your content is indecipherable. You are the internet equivailent of an unattended garden. For that, I appologize. (I especially appologize for the time I wasted on that whore, MySpace. Have you seen that thing lately? Its just sad.)

But, I haven't forgotten about you. That is the truth. Everytime I open Firefox I'm reminded of the hours I spent writing about a movie I'd seen, or the comments and discussion created from a particularly biting rant on the government (Ah, the Bush administration. Good times...)

I can't promise that I will ever be as faithfully prolific a blogger as I once was. I have new responsibilities and priorities that take up much of the time I once spent writing. But, I will say that I've missed you. I've missed the degree to which I could really unleash on a subject. I miss the clarity of thought can only come through hundreds of words as opposed to 140 characters. It will not be once or twice a week perhaps as it was between 2005 and 2007, but I am going to make an asserted effort to not wait another year before I write in you.

Elmer Fudd: I'm Hunting TAKS Tests!

2009-03-03T16:02:00.000-08:00

Me: Is that right, doc?

Fudd: Yep, it's TAKS season, and I'm going to get me a TAKS!

Me: Well, you know, doc, it's actually UIL season.

Principal Daffy: Oh, no you don't! Everybody knows it's TAKS season!

Me: UIL season.

Daffy: TAKS season!

Me: UIL season.

Daffy: TAKS season!

Me: TAKS season!

Daffy: UIL season!

Me: TAKS season!

Daffy: UIL season!

Me: TAKS season!

Daffy: Now when I say it's UIL season, I mean it's UIL season. And it's UIL SEASON!! NOW SHOOT!!

Fudd: Wehw if you say so.

*****BOOM!!!!*****

Daffy: You're 'dith"-'pickable.

from the future!!!

2008-11-28T21:19:00.000-08:00

I have been wanting a PDA phone for a while, and I finally got one. An iPhone was not in my cards, but this BlackBerry is pretty darn cool if do say so myself. Big thanks to my wife for letting me get my Christmas present early. It will certainly take me a while figure it all out but in the meantime enjoy what I have learned how to do. (Post blogs online.). Oooh! I just got an email on my phone. Awesome.

The Amazing Adventures of Bonkers

2008-10-22T19:52:00.001-07:00

This is Amanda with our cat Bonkers. About 2 weeks ago at around 6:30 p.m. we were about to eat dinner and he was wanting out on the porch. We live on the first floor, but there are bars around our patio that we had previously thought Bonkers was too fat to get through. Well, he evidently figured out how to wiggle through them and got out. We were not too concerned because Bonkers has gotten out numerous times and always came back. He never went far. So, when Amanda sent me out a few hours later to find him I expected to have to chase him from bush to bush around the apartment complex until he decided to go back home, like he normally does. But, after searching the whole apartment complex for at least an hour, he was no where to be found. I kept expecting him to show up at the door pawing to get back in, so I stayed up and would occasionally check the front door or the porch to see if he had returned. No luck. I finally went to sleep with an unsettled feeling. We had never left Bonkers out all night, despite his valiant attempts in the past to not get caught and return home.

The next two days were pretty stressful. Still, there was no sign of Bonkers by the end of the day Tuesday, so we printed out fliers with a picture on it around our complex in hopes that someone would find him and return him to us.

Everyday we came home from work expecting to see Bonkers circling the Welcome mat with a look on his face as if to say, "Where have I been? Where have you been?" But, as the days dragged on and there was no sign of the fat grey kitty we resigned ourselves to the conclusion that someone who noticed his sweet and friendly demeanor and no collar or tags must have grabbed him, thinking he was a stray and in need of some reciprocated affection.

I had another theory that he had simply reached an impasse in his life. Bonkers had always been an adventurous sort: wanting to roam outside, exploring the legs of any and every visitor that came to our home. He was even surprisingly curious and enthralled, however on alert, when faced with the dreadful barking dog. I imagined Bonkers setting off to see the world. Or, at least the immediate vicinity. No matter how hard we looked he was always one step ahead saying to us, "I shall return, but there is something I must do." Several of our friends had told us tales of brave cats returning to their owners after weeks or even months of roaming. Perhaps it was just one of those rights of passage for cats. Live on the land and see the world!

This past Saturday night Amanda's parents were in town to visit. It was their first time to see our new digs since we moved to Sugar Land and we were enjoying our visit. We were on our way back to the apartment to watch the UT/Tech football game when Amanda, from the back seat of her dad's pickup began to cry excitedly. "Someone's found Bonkers!" She exclaimed as she listened to her voice messages on her cell phone. It was the thing we had been waiting for but had decided would probably not happen. We were excited and relieved and our hearts started beating with anticipation as we called the person back who had our cat. Sure enough, it wasn't a mistake; Bonkers had been found.

"But," said the cautious voice over the phone, "he's in pretty bad shape."

"It's okay." I told the man on the other end. "We'll be there in about 5 minutes."

It is certainly difficult to wait 5 minutes when you are anticipating something. The ride to the apartment was unbearable. All the way we were going over in our minds the time Bonkers had spent out in the elements. He was gone for two weeks. In that time we had experienced several days of rain as well as a cold front. Bonkers, without claws due to a surgery he had before we rescued him from a shelter in Pasadena 5 years ago, had no way to defend himself against other cats or dogs. Hopefully, he just needed to be given some fluids and food and he would be back to his normal self in no time.

We searched for the apartment in our complex of the man who was holding Bonkers. We were amazed and frustrated over the lack of sequence in which our buildings had been arranged. "Is this building 10?" "This has to be building 10." "No. Building 8, well then it must be this way." "Building 7! Okay, the other way." "Alright, there's building 9 and...ELEVEN? What the crap?!" Finally as we approached the last building at the back of complex and noticed that we had found building 10 Amanda began to run.

A young man who would at best be described as punk rock was waiting in the breezeway with a cat carrier by his side. I'm not big on first impressions as I want to give everyone the benefit of proving their character, but if I went by my gut, I would have actually attributed the term "skin-head" to the guy. He really resembled everything you would think of in association with loud, tuneless, angry banging of drums and screaming. Black combat boots with mismatching laces, piercings, face tattoos and a buzzed haircut. As Amanda kneeled down next to the cat carrier and saw Bonkers' tired, dirty face inside she melted with joy, confusion, sorrow and hope. The Punk put his arm around my wife, which I didn't like, so I pulled her closer to me. (Don't ask me why this is relevant, because it would send me into a tirade that would take this story into an entirely different direction that is baseless and speculative. Long story, short: I didn't trust the guy.)

Sure enough, Bonkers wasn't looking good. Despite his apparent lack of interest in food, it was clear he hadn't eaten in a while. He was bleeding from his hind quarters and he was unresponsive, however obviously awake. He would let out a weak "meow" every now and then to show that he was, in fact, aware, but there was little life in his eyes. I scooped him up in an old beach towel we had brought along and immediately I realized the damage was severe. Not only was this previously girthy cat now bony and about half of his original weight, I could feel something wet soaking through the towel and onto my t-shirt. There was an odd and frightening smell as well. We knew from our experience evacuating our cats to Abilene when the Houston area was threatened with Hurricane Rita 3 years ago that when Bonkers is scared and under stress he drools and loses his bowel control. It was no surprise then that Bonkers was pooping all over the place. The reasons for that, though were much more serious than we initially thought.

As soon as we got Bonkers home we started to clean him off in the bathtub. Weeks of gravel and dirt ran brown down into the drain, as well as a dark red mix of blood and fecal matter from his backside. Bonkers was only slightly resistant as he was startled by the sound of the water rushing from the spout. Once we turned off the noise he lay there as we scrubbed and washed him, content and calm as the warm water ran through his once thick beautiful grey and white hair. Through his slightly open eyes we could see the gorgeous blue eyes that had enthralled us from the first day Amanda brought him home. They were no longer frightened but satisfied. It was the same look he would give us on Saturday mornings as he would crawl up into the bed with Amanda and I and position himself in the nook created in the comforter by our bodies. Bonkers was a cat that enjoyed and relished comfort and lounging. He had made it into an art form, if it's possible for a cat to create art. This was certainly the same cat that had lazily sprawled in the sun as it beamed in from the window on Summer mornings. His eyes showed us a glimpse into the character of Bonkers and his enjoyment of the moment. Even if his pain was still there, as long as we were petting him and literally showering him with love, he felt that and was happy.

Amanda's mother was able to find an 24 hour emergency vet clinic in our new town, in which we still hadn't ventured out enough to know where things were. Luckily it was very close, so we dried off Bonkers as best we could and scooped him up once again to take him to the vet. As Amanda held him in the backseat of our car speaking to him through tears in a sweet, friendly voice we knew that we were closer to this all being over. We were confident that all Bonkers needed was perhaps an IV and some bandages and he would be okay in no time.

The people at the Vet were extremely kind, sensitive and direct. We were dealing with a "very sick kitty," as they put it. We were approached several times over the next couple of hours with varying degrees of good and bad news. The vets were concerned about his dehydration, his blood pressure and his temperature, which was dropping fast. Also, his wounds were more severe than I had initially thought and could possibly, even with the best medical care, leave Bonkers permanently incontinent. The costs were mounting up.

Anytime money versus the heart is in question I am traditionally the first to spurn the idea of making the call in favor of the financially beneficial thing. However, I had been through this before, as many people have. As much as we love our animals and pour our hearts into them as we would another person, the fact of the matter is that we live longer. This is, in fact, how it should be. With the understanding that there is only so much that any person can be expected to do for a pet, when I saw Amanda's face as we looked at the prospect of what returning Bonkers to health would cost, there was nothing I wanted more than to incur debt upon debt to save our kitty. The other side of the coin, however, was that there were no guarantees. Regardless of the amount of money we spent on Bonkers it was possible that he would not survive. He had weathered two weeks without food or clean water and had been attacked with no means of defense. According to the doctors his injuries had been withstood early in his absence, and was perhaps the reason he didn't return that night in the first place. There was infection and organ failure and the fact that he was still alive was remarkable. The decision was made to have Bonkers put to sleep.

Visions of our family dog from my adolescence flashed through my head. She was hit by a car Christmas Eve of 1997, during my break from college my freshman year. Her spine was crushed and she was never going to be able to use her hind legs again. Seeing her as we said goodbye and then walked away as she scrambled with her front legs to follow us was the most genuinely heart wrenching thing I had ever witnessed at that point of my life. I knew it wouldn't be the last time I would have see a much loved pet for the last time, but I had hoped we still had some time with Bonkers. He made it a lot easier for us than our dog, Dutchess had. He sat content with an IV in his left paw, as peaceful (and drugged) as could be. Amanda was the only thing in my focus, besides Bonkers. She leaned over our cat as he made a couple of conciliatory meows and sobbed. I had seen her cry before, but not like this. I felt a deep and cliched responsibility to be strong for her. Our resilience during a tragedy was being tested as it would again in the years to come. Pets, as well as family members die as they would continue to do for the rest of our own lives. It's not a fun or easy subject, but it is the way things are. At this moment, however we were faced with our first great loss as a singular family unit. It was a significant moment in our lives, worthy of my utmost thought and all the love I had for my wife pouring over her. The staff of the veterinary clinic blurred around us as we pet Bonkers head and spoke softly to him. Aware, as I always am, of the surrealness and weight of a situation, I concluded that they see this all the time. Probably, more for dogs than for cats, but nonetheless, they knew how to act, and they did a masterful job.

Finally we walked away and left for home. Amanda's tears as she and I walked with her mother, who was the blessing of all blessing during this night, toward the car. I've come to believe that silence and stillness are more powerful than words than I can give my wife when she is sad or frustrated. Her mother knew what to say to her, anyway, so I tried to let her comfort her with words as I held her hand.

It's now been three days since we last saw Bonkers, and 2 weeks and 2 days since he went missing. Things happen and sometimes they happen to good cats who simply wanted a little adventure. We are still sad and we will always miss him. We are glad, however, at the time that we did have with Bonkers, who's original name was Sam when we adopted him at the age of 2. We are spending more time playing with Pumpkin, our other cat, whose energy and need for attention since the absence of Bonkers is at new highs. We are taking joy in Pumpkin's company as well as each other's. As for Bonkers, we feel a little strange mourning the loss of a cat, an animal most people tend to see as a nice addition to a home's ambiance, and less than a full-fledged member of the family, like they do with the more personable, playful and loyal dog. Bonkers, as well as our other cat, Pumpkin, are different, as anyone who has visited us will tell you. Bonkers greeted everyone at the door with a rub of the leg and lay out so that you would scratch his belly. He never hissed or swatted at you and if you picked you up would generally oblige you the inconvenience of keeping him from whatever pointless escapades he was to endeavor in next. He was certainly a smart cat, as we found out over time, although he was not nimble, like most cats. He was known to knock stuff over as he clunked his way passed various assortments arranged on a counter or table. This may have been because of his lack of a tail. This deficiency, or greatest attribute, depending on your point of view, had another apparent drawback, which I describe in this blog entry from August of 2006. But, for all of Bonkers eccentricities and odd-ballness he was certainly an integral part of our family. In fact, it was because of these thing that we loved him so much.

After Ike

2008-09-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

So, we were incredibly lucky. We live in an apartment so any damage that was sustained in our area is largely someone else's probably. As far as I can tell only some shingles fell off of the roof and a few very young, non-threatening tree came unrooted from the soil in which they were planted just a couple years before. Our electricity was out for a total of 12 hours, which was about the time that it took Amanda and I to get a good night's sleep (well, I slept well, anyway) and then eat breakfast. About the biggest inconvenience for us was the weaker than normal cell phone signal and the DVR box wasn't working until the Comcast offices openned and could resend a signal to it. Oh, and the Astros had to play two very important "home games" at "neutral" Miller Park in North Chicago.

Not everyone was so lucky. Particularly the people of Galveston and Bolivar, which is where I've grown up visiting and going to the beach. It's basically gone, now. What was once a neighborhood lined with homes is now dotted, at best with some weak structures that somehow stayed up.

My parents and many of my friends and family in Baytown were also hit pretty hard. My parents had several tree in their yard blown down as well as an electrical pole that serves their house. It will be a while before they have electricity, I'm sure. They stayed the night here the other night and I'm sure they were happy to have A/C and internet for a while.

Another friend of mine lives in La Porte, an area on the other side of the Fred Hartman Bridge from Baytown. They are still not letting people in to the town, so he is scraping for places to stay. He's going to stay with us tonight.

We've had no school this week, which has been strange. We really didn't expect the Hurricane to be this big of a deal, especially in Fort Bend, far from the Galveston coastline. It has essentially shut down the entire Houston Metro area. It's just so hard to imagine an area this huge, with this many people having their lives affected in such dramatic ways all at the same time. I heard a radio broadcaster say how Hurricane Ike was a great equalizer. We were without power for such a short period of time while several very affluent neighborhoods went much longer and may still be without power. It puts things in perspective and really makes you realize that we are all in the same boat. Hurricanes just kind of shine a light on that fact.

The Night and the Aftermath

2008-09-13T15:38:00.000-07:00

The Wind's Picking Up!

2008-09-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

Hurricane Part 2

2008-09-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

Hurricane Ike!

2008-09-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

I didn't think it would take so long to get this posted, so it's like 2 hours later. Time for another entry.

Made Popular By Barnard Pivot

2008-06-19T22:45:00.000-07:00

Fan's of the Bravo TV show Inside the Actor's Studio will remember the questionnaire that James Lipton asks the guest at the end of the interview. The questions come from a very old survey popularized, but not invented, by writer Marcel Proust. Not that anyone cares. He only asked a few of the questions and the survey actually is much longer. It's kind of like all of those stupid MySpace questionnaires that I can't help answering but in kind of an 1890s way. Anyway, now that I'm in summer and have a bit more time on my hands I've been looking for a way to start blogging, despite my disinterest with it. So here it is:

1. Your favorite virtue/The principal aspect of my personality
Answer: My desire to be truly known by others.

2. Your favorite qualities in a man.
Answer: Humility

3. Your favorite qualities in a woman.
Answer: Patience, strength

4. What you appreciate the most in your friends
Answer: Sincerity and the ability to open up and not try to hard to impress anyone.

5. Your main fault
Answer: I tend to cripple underneath stress or when something may seem too tough. I tend to under prepare and get lazy until the last minute.

6. Your favorite occupation.
Answer: Laughing

7. Your idea of happiness
Answer: Doing things with people who I love.

8. Your idea of misery.
Answer: Being with people who have contempt, disrespect, or simply don't like me.

9. If not yourself, who would you be?
Answer: A mountain climber from some Nordic country.

10. Where would you like to live?
Answer: I saw a news story on The Netherlands and how they have to pay 50% of their paycheck in taxes, but college and healthcare, and I'm sure lots of other things are free. They have very little cares and get lots of vacation time. I think I could handle that.

11. My favourite colour.
Answer: Blue, it is very relaxing and people say that I have pretty blue eyes. Of course they're hidden behind glasses nowadays.

12. The flower that I like the most.
Answer: a girl gave me a Tiger Lily once for an opening night. I was very impressed like I had not been impressed with a flower, nor have I since. Flowers don't generally hold any kind of special allure for me, but that was a really cool flower.

13. Your favorite authors.
Answer: J. D. Salinger, Jon Krakauer, Malcolm Gladwell, J. K. Rowlings

14. Your favorite poets.
The Shins, Lord Byron

15. Your favorite heroes in fiction.
Answer: Max Fisher, Michael Corleone, John Dorian, Michael Bluth

16. Your favorite heroines in fiction.
Answer: Marge Gunderson, Pam Beesly, Maria from West Side Story

17. My favorite composers.
Answers: Mark Mothersbaugh, Pachabel, Maurice Ravel

18. My favorite painters.
Answers: Van Gogh, Picasso,

19. My heroes in real life.
Answers: Barack Obama, John Stewart, Tim Russert, King David, Jesus

20. Your favorite heroines in real life.
Answers: Anne Frank, My Mom, My Grandmother

21. What characters in history do you most dislike.
Answers: Adolf Hitler, Woodrow Wilson, Caligula, King George 3 of England

22. Your favorite food and drink.
Answers: Beer and Pizza

23. Your favorite names.
Answers: Calvin, Hobbes, Kyle, Amanda, Dylan, Lennon, Kelly, there's more.

24. What I hate the most.
Answers: hate, greed, my own faults.

25. The military event I admire the most
Answers: D-Day in Normandy, France.

26. The reform I admire the most (This is an old survey)
Answers: Jack in the Box's corporate reformation in the early 90s

27. The natural talent I'd like to be gifted with
Answers: Humor

28. How I wish to die
Answers: Young: falling from somewhere very high. Old: asleep.

29. What is your present state of mind.
Answers: (This is Proust's own answer) "Boredom from having had to think about myself to answer all these questions."

30. For what fault have you most toleration ?
Answers: Social Awkwardness

31. My motto. Do what you got to do.

Seems I'm not alone...

2008-03-12T21:55:00.000-07:00

Dear people (lovely people, you are) that still read this thing, even though I tend to forget about it for months at a time,

I had some inquiry about a new job mentioned in the previous post. Let me clarify. The job isn't that new. Ryan, I think you probably knew about it. Lyndsey (whose name I'm not sure that I'm spelling right because I can't remember if it's you or L. Rogers that gets the 'a') may not have known.

But, it's not really a huge deal. I took a job at a different school, still teaching theatre, only now I'm all by myself and I'm the one solely in charge. It's also a new district with vastly different people and expectations that I'm not used to. I've been here since August, so it's not really new anymore, but since a school year is an ever evolving, crazy amoeba like thing, every day is new. Plus, my school is hosting UIL OAP this year, which is a whole nother pile of insanity to have to deal with.

So, yeah, I'm actually doing quite well, but I'm just tired a lot. But, then again, who isn't?

BTW, Lyndsey (I checked and I was right the first time), I would NEVER mispronounce your name. There's a BBQ place here in Houston called Goode Company and they pronounce it WRONG! It infuriates me. But they have good BBQ, so I deal. But people look at me weird when I call it Goode's (pronounced like 'food') BBQ.

Tagging

2008-03-11T18:47:00.000-07:00

Seeing on account of me never blogging anymore, on account of I don't usually have any time or energy, on account of I'm in a new job and even when I have something I want to write about I'm usually too tired, I decided to do something I haven't done in a long time. I haven't done it in a while because I decided that I would only blog when I really had something to say.

Of course, what the hell. By the way, I think it's pretty obvious, but I didn't write this next part:

Here's how you play: Once you've been tagged you have to write a blog with 10 weird random facts, habits, secrets, or goals about yourself, at the end choose 10 people to be tagged. List their name and why you tagged them. Don't forget to leave them a comment saying "You're It!" and to go read your blog. You can't tag the person who tagged you! So since you can't tag me back let me know when you are done so I can read your blog answers!

1) I've never been busier or more stressed in my life than I am right now.

2) I feel more fulfilled right now than I ever have in my life.

3) I secretly have always fantasized about auditioning for American Idol, and not "just for fun."

4) It makes me sick when I think about friends who I once considered as close as brothers but I never see anymore.

5) I relate to and empathize with Michael Scott.

6) I like dogs more than cats, but I'm afraid that I'm too lazy to walk one if I were to get one.

7) I wish I cried more.

8) I lost 40 pounds last year.

9) I've gained at least 20 pounds since the summer.

10) When I first learned the word 'narcissist' I became obsessed with it because this was a word that described my greatest fear about myself. I stopped Googling myself, right away. But, I started blogging, so it's like I can't get away from it. But, since I can and do acknowledge this fault in myself, I believe that this somehow forgives whatever transgression my self involved nature may be. Also, I think I go out of my way to care about and focus on others, as well, and actively put myself before other people. There are many times I only do this because I'm afraid of being a selfish person.

People I'm tagging:
Since I don't really blog much anymore and probably no one reads my blog anymore, we'll see who actually does this. If you do then let me know, so I can read what you wrote.

Mom-she may be the only person who still checks this blog.

Jason-my brother, because he may be the only other person who checks this blog.

Okay, I'm supposed to put down ten people, but I seriously don't want to. Sorry

STRIKE!

2008-01-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

This is just a little note letting you know that I'm not being lazy about blogging. I'm just refusing to cross the picket line.

I'm crossing it now because it turns out nobody give a crap whether or not I'm a scab.

Frankly, as I believe is popular opinion, I think the WGA is in the right. Far be it from me to ever side with a corporation. I read somewhere that they jumped the gun on the strike and should have waited to see what kind of profits are actually made by "new media." (For those of you not following the details of the strike, "new media," in this context refers to the recent prominance of digital media availble via the internet.) But the problem with that arguement is that in the meantime whatever profits are being made isn't being shared with the Writers, as they are with actors, producers, and the studios.

So, I think that the strike will ultimately be for the better. And I'm not just saying that because I'm hoping to one day sell the screenplay that will allow me to sleep in until 9 or 10 the rest of my life because of the enormous internet and DVD residuals. It's because next year, I'm confident, should see a surge in really creative movies, TV shows, and comedy. Think about it: the writers aren't working. They are bored and sitting at home with nothing to do except what got them introduced to the business in the first place. Writing for the sheer joy of it. Artists who aren't creating art will find some way to express themselves. If they aren't writing because they have to the easiest thing to do would be to write because they need to. So, I welcome the little lul in creative TV. I know they're good for it.

Giuliani and Me

2007-09-09T17:14:00.000-07:00

Amanda and I had an interesting morning. One of our favorite places to eat here in Houston is a place called Buffalo Grill. They would definitely be my pick for best breakfast food. We've never been for lunch or dinner, so we can't speak for anything but the pancakes, bacon, and stuff like that, but it's definitely the best we've been to in the city, so far.

But that's beside the point. While we breakfastéd there this morning (I had the #3A, Amanda a blueberry wheat pancake the size of a your face...if you have a really big face) we noticed that there were a couple young ladies and one ambitious looking young man in a navy suit handing out fliers with Rudolph Giuliani's face on it and stickers with a big "RUDY '08" on it. I thought, "Okay these people have come down to do a little canvasing whilst enjoying the best breakfast in the city."

But then I began seeing TV cameras and men with badges. Not police badges, but the important kind. The kind that says "press" and hang from the neck. And I knew they weren't just tourists with nice camera either because the microphones were fuzzy. No one has fuzzy microphones, unless there's after a scoop. Then I overheard one of the clean cut young blonds tell another breakfast goer that "he" would be here in 15 minutes. Soon, it was clear that Giuliani was actually going to be coming to the restaurant. Amanda and I were finishing up, but, to my surprise, Amanda wanted to get another cup of coffee and hang out and see if we see Rudy. Now, if you've ever been to the Buffalo Grill, particularly on a Sunday morning, you know that it's pretty busy and the line is regularly out the door. They don't let you save tables and they kind of discourage hanging around when there's a huge line. On this morning there was an even bigger crowd. So, Amanda and I felt a little bad about hogging a table, but it seemed, given the circumstance, it was appropriate. We felt a lot better when a bright eyed young couple asked if they could share our table. We were glad to do so. The guy told me that he received Giuliani email newsletters and knew about the appearance. I was really glad that he got to discover the best breakfast in town in the process.

Eventually, Rudy did show up around 10:15. You kind of had to think: 10:15 am on a Sunday morning in the West University area; this a fairly diverse mix of old school GOP and moderately liberal area of town and he was there at a time when the Republicans who dislike him would be in church. Seemed like a good strategy.

So, he walks in and, of course, the cameras and microphones swarmed around him. There was a reserved table right next to our table and he sat right there and began a chat with a little boy, who I find out from the AP later on, was named Charlie Pagan. I'm not making that up, his last name was "Pagan" and he and his Pagan family were the pre-screened exemplification of the ideal Rudy voter. Well, they weren't in church, after all.

The cool part was that he really was within spitting distance of us. Had I been so inclined I could have been kicked out of the restaurant by actually spitting. But, like I said, we love this place. Plus, why would I do that?

When Giuliani stood to pay his tab and make his rounds he walked by me and I decided that it was now or never. I stood and punched him in the face!

Just kidding. I shook his hand and asked if he'd had the pancakes. He said no, that he just had a cup of coffee. I felt this was a mistake, but I let it go.

The above picture I found it on this AP news site. So, yeah, I'm famous now. I also took some pretty crappy cell phone pics that I'll try to post maybe later.

More Reunion Junk

2007-09-08T08:00:00.001-07:00

So, the high school reunion is tonight. I've already expounded on the societal and personal implications that this night brings. I've always thought of the ten year reunion along the same lines as the Senior Prom. Not necessarily as huge as a wedding or a child birth, but still, it's a once in a lifetime kind of thing that is deeply infused into the fabric of our culture. If you doubt this then take a look at the movies that have used this overblown party as subject matter.

The previously linked blog above references a movie that is probably my favorite of these films. Grosse Pointe Blank is the story of a guy, Martin Blank played by John Cusak, who has to travel back to his home town of Grosse Pointe, Michigan on business. Unwittingly, he is there on the same weekend that his high school graduating class is having it's 10 year reunion. His caring and concerned secretary encourages him to go to the reunion, even though he really doesn't want to. It turns out that he took off the night of prom, leaving his high school sweetheart waiting to be picked up, never to be seen or heard from again. Martin is wary of going back to his reunion for the obvious awkwardness that could accompany his reunification with all his old friends, and most of all the girl.

As he is scoping out the old town and the changes that have taken place since he left, ("I'm standing where my, uh, living room was and it's not here because my house is gone and it's an Ultimart!") he happens by a shop window that houses a local radio station. The DJ at the mic is none other than his old girlfriend, played by Minnie Driver, in one of her cuter roles. He can't help himself and decides to listen into her show. As the curiosity gets the better of him he decides to make use of a commercial break and drop into the station. Driver's character then puts him on air to quiz him on his going AWOL in high school and sudden return, much to his humiliation.

Oh, and Martin's business is as a killer for hire. He's a hitman. The girl doesn't know that yet, but the audience knows this from the beginning. A very good and in demand one, at that.

What I love about this movie is that, despite his job as a professional killer, (he claims a military psychological profile quiz showed he had a certain "Moral flexibility") he is very concerned with the way people see him. Even when he's been hired to kill someone he seems genuinely hurt when the person he's about to kill thinks it's something personal. "It's not me!" he tells them, just before he puts a hole through the person's head.

Other than the killing thing, I see a lot of myself in Martin Blank. He is thoughtful, in the sense that he may over think a topic. He is very self-aware, knows how he feels and is able to verbalize his feelings, but also realizes and compares this to how he should be feeling. Like, on the one hand, he knows that going to his reunion, given the circumstances surrounding his departure, his return, and his career, would probably be a mistake. On the other hand, he knows that he's curious and a peek into his old life, when presented to him on a covered platter is more than he can handle. He must cave in.

Well, here I am with the covered platter only minutes from my home. Despite the $60 a pop price tag, it was just too difficult not to peek back into that world. Of course, it's not like I left in some weird way or that I'm expecting people to think it odd that I'm there, like Martin Blank, but, of the few people with whom I kept in contact after high school, I don't think that any of them are coming. I'm sure this would be enough to fend away most sensible people. But, once again, I over think things and can't resist an opportunity to put myself in an awkward situation. Then again, I might have a blast. Who knows.

By the way, what's with movies and TV shows always holding the reunions in the gym of the high school. You can't drink in a public high school, which is one of the greatest things about the high reunion to begin with. The last time I saw some of these people we were jumping the fence at a party where the cops showed up or sneaking around to pay off some homeless guy to buy us beer. How surreal and wonderful is that?

Cast for the THS production of A Midsummer Night's Dream

2007-09-01T13:18:00.001-07:00

Thank you for all who auditioned. The decisions were very difficult and I look forward to working with each of you.

The first rehearsal will be on

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2007, 3pm-5pm
in the Black Box Theater

Please be early!

If you can’t be there or at any future rehearsals please contact Aaron Hlavaty or Mr. Martin. You will receive a script and complete schedule at that time.

Carole-Marie Wiser will serve as Assistant Stage Manager with Aaron!

Mr. THESEUS David Novark
Mrs. EGEUS Zainab Elkadin
LYSANDER Emilio Campos
DEMETRIUS Erik Schorken
Mrs. PHILOSTRATE Haley Thurman
QUINCE Ryan Hadfield
SNUG Sammy Rice
BOTTOM Richard Gomez
FLUTE Zach Brady
SNOUT Polo Barfield
STARVELING Cash Koppe
HIPPOLYTA (Mrs. Theseus) Reade Burke
HERMIA Sarah McCall
HELENA Jessica Ries
OBERON Daniel Colvin
TITANIA Adrienne Enderle
PUCK Josephine Tran
First FAIRY Daniela Silva
PEASEBLOSSOM Lindsay Madura
COBWEB Alessandra Suniaga
MOTH Anja Senn
MUSTARDSEED Brennen Blankenship
FAIRIES Aziza Lewally
Jaquelyne Mata
Jessica Sabillion
Marissa Sendejas
Terran Freeman
Victoria Rios
Towobola Jokodola
Attendants to OBERON Sitrutul Abedin
John Whitney
Chad Heller
David McGarrigle

The Liberal Media

2007-08-14T22:56:00.000-07:00

If the media is so liberal, which I think is a lie fed to us by the conservative, and unabashedly so, talk radio media, then it is only because the very idea of media, in this case meaning news and information givers known as the press, is a liberal idea. Telling people what they need to know in order for them to better keep the government and those in power accountable is a very liberal concept, especially when put in context with the course of history that has progressed so far.

If education in the United States, where teachers are filling kids' heads with things about science and art and the unpatriotic concept that the U.S.A. has screwed up, a lot over the course of it's short history, shows a slight, or more than slight, liberal bias, which I think is another lie, it is because, once again, the idea of education is a liberal idea. Educating the masses so that everyone has access to the skills and knowledge to combat the powers that be is a very progressive and liberal idea.

The United States of America and the ideals that it was founded on are very liberal ideas thought up by some radically liberal men. These were men who wanted to eradicate slavery almost 100 years before anyone actually had the balls to actually do it. Pretty liberal. Not liberal enough, mind you, but certainly ahead of the curve.

It is because of these things that I am disturbed by the notion that has been bandied about the airwaves that the word liberal is a bad thing to be avoided. We should be proud of our liberal-ness, which one could also call LIBERTY and wear it as a badge of honor. I almost wrote pride, but I think that pride is actually a misleading feeling for people who want to feel superior, which is a feeling at odds with liberty and should be avoided. I prefer the word "honor" because it implies humility and inclusion. Inclusion and diversity being things that I feel are strongly associated with freedom and liberty.

So, is our media liberal? Maybe, but probably not enough seeing as how a sad percentage of what they show on the most respected of news channels is about the latest celebutant foibles and high profile "hot girl" killings, or sport star arrests. These footnotes take the place of information about what laws are being slipped under our noses that will deny us freedoms, and policies that are being implemented that oppose the ideas of liberty. Those who are keeping an eye on the people in charged are silenced or pushed to the daytime block of time so that Nancy "Condescending Bitch" Grace can tell us that murderers and rapists are scum during the prime time slots.

Is education biased toward liberal ideology. You would think that, since I am a teacher, I would be able to answer this question with some confidence. But, seeing as how I teach in Texas, my views are somewhat skewed on the topic. I teach in a school district that has a strict "Abstinence Only" sex ed policy, which means that students are not allowed to know about or how to use condoms. In the even they find themselves met with a temping situation, all students are expected to turn tail and run the other way, rather than engage in the sexual intercourse that awaits them. I, for one, find this to be a wonderful plan, and if carried out correctly will certainly prevent pregnancy and any number of STDs. There's a major flaw in the plan, however, and I don't think I have to spell it out. This is not a very liberal stance to take.

I won't go into how the "liberal" news media gave the Bush administration a free pass in the critical days after 9/11, or how they pander much more to big corporate business than to the people they are supposed to serve. I won't talk about how text books and teachers still gloss over the nasty parts of American history. The parts that would make students go, "We did that to the Mexicans?" all the while their parents are complaining that the restroom signs at the airports say "Banós" in tiny letters under the "Restroom" sign. I don't need to go into the whole thing in order to make a case for a lack of true liberal education or press. I don't think that I've said anything that was untrue or that many could refute. That's an overstatement and, in fact, I don't have any references to back up my claims and opinions. At least I'm not going to take the time to go look this up. But, I could, if I cared enough. If I ever write a book on the subject, I'm sure I'll have to back up my opinions in someway.

So, the next time you hear someone talk about the liberal media I would invite you to question him or her on their reasoning for saying so. You and I both know that just hearing it from Sean Hannity doesn't count. I don't think that most people would admit it even that was their only rationale. When they tell you this, and in the rare case when they are able to back it up with evidence, they will likely tell you that the media only tells us the parts they want us to hear. Let them know that, if this is in fact the truth and the press is withholding, they are being too conservative. The media needs to be more liberal. And, if they simply don't believe what they're hearing and seeing...well, then I really can't help them their. They've obviously been burned by the propagandist media before and need to help us to demand a more liberal news media.

People of the World, (Re) Unite!

2007-08-07T22:34:00.000-07:00

Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone.

I'm standing where my, uh, living room was and it's not here because my house is gone and it's an Ultimart! You can never go home again, Oatman... but I guess you can shop there.

I consider myself to be a fairly confident person. When I meet someone I don't generally have a difficult time talking to them, even if I think that the person doesn't like me. I can talk to a person and feel completely at ease, without even considering the fact that I might be some annoying weirdo whom they are too polite to tell off or walk away from. Every now and then I'll realize this in retrospect, but even then, I don't really care. It's all about confidence and being assured of who I am and realizing that if a person doesn't like me then I shouldn't really care. On top of that, I make enough friends to believe that unless the person is an asshole, they'll probably like me, well enough.

So, why, when I think about my 10 year high school reunion do I want to go shrink down into a hole a hide?

You see, I haven't always been the confident person you see today. When I was in Jr. High (Middle School to some of you) I, like many people, was self-conscious about a number of things. I worried about how cool I was, what I was wearing: did I have cool shoes, pants, was I wearing the latest haircut? I worried about whether or not girls liked me. Oh, this was a biggie! I was very concerned with how I came across to girls. I remember having a crush on a girl and speaking to her, only to say something totally nerdy and cringing, pain shooting through my gut, as if I were going to puke. Of course, there was also gym class, where, in eighth grade, as many of the other boys were hitting puberty, I was, regrettably, only getting chunky and remaining hairless. One very tall eighth grade boy looked down on me from above and proclaimed, "Kyle, did you shrink?" I felt like I had shrunk.

Scenes like this one had a lasting impression on me into high school. While I eventually stopped trying to get into the popular crowd, I was still keenly aware of how I came off to people. Especially my sophomore year I wanted to make sure that I didn't seem to care too much, but I didn't want to be a loner either. Or maybe I did want to be a loner. Screw those other people! What do I care what they think. I'll be my own person and do my own thing. So, I sat in my room and learned guitar and wrote angsty, dramatically selfish songs set to three or four chords strummed out on my mom's acoustic guitar. I was also in theatre and band, where the other weird people were. But, they weren't that weird, because oddly enough I still felt like an outcast.

At the end of my sophomore year in high school one of my teachers sat me down and basically gave me a "stop feeling sorry for yourself" talk. At least that's how I ultimately interpreted it, and that's how it was used. I had a new outlook on life. I was to take matters into my own hands and decide my own future, instead of blaming people for my shortcomings. After that year my brother went off to college. I began to learn about college life and how things there are different. People were kinder, cared less about popularity and stupid things like this. They judged the person and not the clothes.

I entered my Junior year with a new attitude. While I made more and closer friends than I'd had in the past, there was still this itching feeling that I was disliked or disrespected. Those close to me liked me, but there were those who didn't want to get to know me. I always thought that it was because they knew the old me and had a preconceived idea of who I was. Even though I cared less what others thought of me, I still wanted them to like me! My new goal was to simply ride out high school and get to college. In college no one would be able to say "in jr. high Kyle was this," or "Kyle freshman year, he did that." I would be able to reinvent myself as someone everyone loved. The way it should be.

And, that's basically what I did. I was able to endear myself to a very tight group of people who became my best friends. Most of those people I am still close to, or at least keep in contact with. College was an excellent boost to my self-esteem. Even with people who didn't warm up to me, it was a non-issue, because I was loved and appreciated by my group. Even though I had friends in high school, some were even close, I was never part of a "group." The belonging made all the difference. I could finally begin a journey to truly be myself, and be happy with that person.

Fast forward to 2007. I have now been teaching high school for 4 years, now. I see, on a daily basis the exact kinds of things that I dealt with in high school. One might think that someone who didn't like high school wouldn't want to go back, even as a teacher. There's always the evil side of a person that makes them want to "seek revenge" or something like that. It's weird. I have actually found myself forming bonds with kids, as a teacher, that I probably would have thought hated me. And then, I came to a realization. In jr. high especially, but high school also, every other kid was just as preoccupied worrying about their own mini-dramas that they didn't put nearly the kind of thought into me as I thought they had.

With all of this new found confidence you'd think that I was prepared to stroll into the reunion and be totally at ease and cool. Why not? That's how I am in pretty much every other situation. Or, else I'd have the fortitude to say that I don't even want to go to the damn thing, and mean it, and then not go.

But, I want to go! But, why, when,whenever I think about these people I revert back to the scared guy who was so afraid of saying something stupid or not getting invited to the parties. What's wrong with me.

I think the answer comes back to the reason that people go to reunions in the first place. I have this underlying feeling that the people who are going back to this thing are one of a few types of people. One, they've got a great, tight group of friends who've all decided that they're going back. These people never really lost touch anyway, but they have people to go with. I know that I'm not in that group. Two, there are people who genuinely knew lots of people and had lots of friends and would like to see what everyone's up to, nowadays. I would like to think that this is my group, but I fear that I'm in group number three. Three is the guy, or girl, who feels that they have something to prove. That high school dealt them a raw deal and that since bettering themselves they want to prove to the classmates who shunned them, that they are no longer shunable. They are basically going to be disappointed because, as I already stated, those other kids didn't think of them that way. Furthermore, this ploy is totally transparent, and no one is going to react with awe and surprise and remorse because you've got that six pack abs that so eluded you back in the day. They don't remember being a tool to you in high school. They might still be a tool, who knows? I don't think that I'm in this group, or at least I hope I'm not. Surely, I can't be, seeing as how I created the group.

At the end of the day, I suppose that I'm in my own little fourth group. The group of people who over think the reasons for going just like they over thought their own cosmic significance during high school to begin with. Or, maybe I'm just like everyone else. Scared that I haven't changed enough, or that I've changed so much that shouldn't even go, even though I really want to for some unknown reason. Maybe everyone else gets that feeling like they are revisiting old wounds whenever they encounter high school junk, and I should get over it and go, be myself, and know that it's going to fine, because I'm always fine. Part of my changed person is that attained confidence and self-esteem and I should just use it.

I'd be remiss to leave out the amount of confidence I get from my wife. Amanda is the kind of person that I always hoped that I'd marry. When I'm with her I feel totally in control because she wouldn't love me if I weren't the person who I am. And she knows me for the person I truly am. I can't help but be myself with her with me, because she'd certainly call me on it. Plus, she's a smokin' hottie, and when she's with me how could I not feel like the man.

And one last quote from a great movie:

Okay, well, I'll see you at the "I've peaked and I'm kidding myself" party.

SiCKO

2007-07-07T14:48:00.000-07:00

It doesn't take much to dislike Michael Moore. Friends and relatives of mine have expressed their dislike for the man, some to the point of hatred. These aren't people whom I would consider to be ultra-conservative or right wing on many accounts, but they are probably right of center on many things, like gun control, gay rights, fiscal matters, abortion, or immigration. They are mostly very reasonable people who have reasonable opinions on these issues, even if they are different than my own. They all characterize Moore as divisive, crazy, a blow-hard, an idiot, and a liar. They also might make fun of his weight, but I can forgive this criticism, as he is a large man, however irrelevant this may be. I suppose that my friends and family feel that his movies, (as well as his books, though I doubt many of them have read them) point to a hypocrisy in him as someone who has profited immensely while at the same time pointing out the greed in the world. People say that Michael Moore misrepresents people and situations to serve his point and disregard details that would rebut or discredit that point. One problem that people have with Moore is the method with which he tends to corner and put people in situations that do not allow them to accurately and fairly defend themselves against criticism, as he did with Charlton Heston in Bowling for Columbine. Many people have also pointed out that there are some inconsistencies and half-truths with Moore's film Fahrenheit 9/11, that discredit him and his messages.

I'm not going to debate whether or not facts were misrepresented in Bowling for Columbine or if Moore had everything 100% accurate with Fahrenheit 9/11. The fact is that the underlying motives for making these movies, I believe, are noble, and he goes about making his points and opinions in the best way he knows how. Yes, he makes the movies emotionally charged, as most Americans won't sit through a to the point bore fest about "just the facts" (Although, people sat through an Inconvenient Truth, but the same people generally hate that also). Yes, he has an agenda he is pushing and is using the media that is at his disposal to get his point across. These points are certainly his opinions which he is entitled to and he is entitled to present them in the most convincing way that he can. Does he lie? I don't believe he does. Does he present the side of an issue that best supports his point of view? Absolutely, he does. On the flip-side I think he does as good as any, if not better, at presenting the opposing view point of his own. I'm sure there are some who would take me to task on this, but it's just my own opinion.

SiCKO is no different than his other films on many levels. It attacks the super power alliance that is the corpogovernment amalgam in U.S. Politics. Who can dispute that corporate entities' financial ties with our dearly elected leaders as thick as the walls of Michael Moore's arteries. One thing that Moore does is blow the whistle on Democrats and Republicans, alike, as his new movie serves to prove.

Also, like his other movies, Moore is mainly concentrated on the middle-class's woes at the hands of afore mentioned entities and the misconceptions that we feed and perpetuate ourselves in our culture. In SiCKO, Moore interviews and case studies multiple people who are suffering from various diseases or illnesses who's claims have been denied for whatever reason. These people are hardworking, middle-class people who most would believe to be in good shape because they DO have health insurance, but are systematically denied it because they can't prove that they are owed it. Many of the people that are interviewed are former Health Care workers who have left the business because of the corruption and greed therein. They speak on how the business side of the health care industry relies on the ability for these companies to deny claims. They even found a woman whose claim was denied retroactively and she was forced to pay back the money she had been given for her doctor's bills due to the fact that she had failed to indicate a previous illness. The previous illness in question? A yeast infection!

Basically, what you have is a system that is presumably set in place to help people when they need to pay for doctors bills and medicine. You pay into a pool from which you can draw when you need it. It sounds like a great plan, except the reality is that the health care companies actively work to deny the claim instead of giving what is deserved. It is as if you bought a car and after making all the payments you have it repossessed because you forgot to sign the last page of the sales agreement.

What strikes me the most, however is that even when the system works, it serves to deplete the person of their livelihood. At the beginning of the movie Moore followed a couple in their 50s who have to move in with their 20 something daughter's family because they couldn't afford to keep their house. The husband had two heart attacks and then the wife contracted cancer. After co-pays and deductibles they were forced to sell their house and move in with their daughter's cramped basement. Moore follows people with all levels of wealth in other Westernized countries such as Canada, the U.K., and France. (Oh, and Cuba, but that's another matter, completely.) What he finds in each of these countries is that something such as heart attacks and cancer, which, along with the understandable fear and painful physical toll, would also prove to be a major financial burden here in the U.S., are not going to make any difference to the sick or injured person's pocketbook. It is completely free. They will pay nothing for any medical services they receive.

The major problems that the U.S. are given for why we don't want to move to universal health care such as they have in Canada or the U.K. are pretty flimsy. They say that the quality of the care will diminish and that the conditions of the medical facilities will falter if universal health care is implemented in the U.S. They also imagine the lives of doctors must be taken down a notch because, without people paying out the nose, how can doctors still be paid as much as American doctors.

SiCKO addresses all of these problems. Going to the countries themselves, Moore interviews people who make decent wages, own property and would be considered well off, even, who take advantage of Government run medica facilities. As one Canadian woman accurately states, there is always something to complain about, but at the end of the day they never have to wait at the E.R. longer than an hour and walk out without paying a dime. In some cases there is a cashier, but his job is to reimburse those with lower incomes their transportation costs. *RUBS EYES* Whaaa?!

Contrast that to my own experiences with the emergency room.

Last September I was in the Sterling High School auditorium finishing up sets and lights for a production of Romeo and Juliet. I was walking down the steps from the stage to the house floor when, in total darkness and looking at my remote lighting controller, I took a step thinking I was at the bottom of the steps. I wasn't. I turned my right ankle pretty badly and found that I couldn't put any weight on it. I went to the emergency room at 10:30 that night thinking that I had insurance and wouldn't have to pay for much more than a co-pay. Maybe $100, tops. It turns out that this was a workers comp issue and I wouldn't have to pay anything at all. I just had to fill out some forms when I got back to work and everything would be taken care of. At the emergency room itself, I waited for a good three hours before being x-rayed and then another hour or so to see a doctor. I was finally wrapped up, given some crutches and told that I owed $400 dollars. I didn't have that on me or in my checking account, at the time, so I somehow convinced the ER to let me pay $40 and go. When I got to school I filled out the paperwork, and was told everything would be taken care of by workers comp. In the next month or so I received a letter in the mail saying that the workers comp company wouldn't cover my expenses for some reason. I have made multiple phone calls to district employees, Board of Education people, and collecting agents who have all told me things would be taken care of, and yet I'm still receiving notices that I owe 500 plus dollars. Now, if this were a deductible or something like that, no one has told me this. As far as I've been told I shouldn't owe anything.

That's the efficiency of this system we have.

It is with this experience that I approached SiCKO, by Michael Moore. I'm insured, I work, I own a car, pay my bills and yet I'm being screwed by this system that wouldn't even be an issue in any other civilized society.

Speaking of civilized societies, SiCKO spends about the last 30 minutes of the film on a segment in a country that most Americans would categorize as third world. It's not exactly Ethiopia but Cuba is certainly a poor country with very little to show for itself in terms of resources or political power. The U.S. won't do business with Cuba because of the atrocious way their leader treats his own people and work to oppress their human rights. In terms of quality of life, people here in the U.S. would be considered on the bottom rung of society if we lived like those with the median level of income in Cuba. A trip to Cuba to receive medical attention would seem to be a ridiculous down grade. But, that's just what Moore and some of the people from the movie who have been denied coverage in the U.S. do. First, along with the lady who moved into her daughter's basement, three people who contracted illnesses while volunteering at the World Trade Center ground zero were brought to Guantanamo Bay to the prison medical facility there. This is where Al Qaeda's "enemy combatants" are kept, without a trial, but with plenty of free, quality health care. When they are turned away (for obvious reasons) they decide to check out the island country of Cuba, itself. They quickly and easily find a pharmacy where one woman finds the exact medication she buys in the U.S. for $120 for 5 cents. One of the most poignant moments of the film for me was when they leave the pharmacy this woman breaks down weeping at the price of the drug in Cuba. "It's just insulting" she says, as she revels in how much she has to pay in America for something that cost less than a candy bar in Cuba.

From the Pharmacy the team goes to a hospital where each of them are treated for free by the hospital staff. It is here that I begin to loose my own cool, a bit. Mr. Moore has done this to me in each of his films. Call me a sucker or easily manipulated or just maybe too sensitive, whatever, I begin to feel the pangs of sympathy welling up in my eyes and throat as these people who volunteered their time, their energy, their money, their bodies and their health at the World Trade Center are finally getting their due. And, not because the country that they so loved wanted to give it to them, but because they went around the system to a country that we, as a nation, are supposed to despise.

This part of the film where Moore's crew goes to Cuba is what I've heard take the brunt of the criticism from those who oppose it. I'll be the first to admit that SiCKO paints a pretty picture of Cuba and makes Fidel Castro seem like little more than a harmless grandpa. Anyone with a mind and some knowledge on Cuba at all knows that this man isn't a saint and has kept that country in his grip of power, without allowing many of the human rights that we take for granted. But, doesn't it say something when Castro, with all that he denies his people, grants them better health care than the U.S. government grants us? Shouldn't it piss us off that to get the quality medical treatment that Cubans get for free under an oppressive regime, we have to be wealthy? The moment that it all came crumbling down for me was when the Cuban doctor comforted the American, middle-class, professional woman who was crying in a hospital bed because she couldn't believe how much care she was getting, and for nothing. We've been taught to fear and loath this government. I just kept thinking to myself, over and over, "What is wrong with us? What is wrong with us?" tears rolling down the faces of Amanda and myself.

So, what is the answer. SiCKO director Michael Moore's solution seems to be a cross between civil disobedience and revolt. Depending on one's opinion of Moore, a person could take the message to mean that we should start electing better leaders or that we should stop being polite. Some might even think that Moore wants the people to take up arms and storm congress. I don't think that's what he wants. I think he wants people to pay attention. People don't bother worrying about health care and how much it costs and the damage that the system does to our well-being until they are the one's dishing out thousands of dollars of their savings so that a loved one can stay alive. It's not until they are the one's burying their child because the nearest hospital wouldn't take their HMO that people are going to wake up and take notice.

Moore, as with all of his movies is trying with SiCKO to encourage the people to practice their rights as the sovereign of our nation and stop being squeezed by corporations who know that we have to behave or else we won't make money to pay back them so that we can have health care that may or may not work anyway. Moore may take liberties in order to tell stories but he tells them well, and he gets his point across. I hope that people will see this movie with an open mind and see it for what it is. It's not a self aggrandizing diatribe to make himself some money. It's not some communist plot to take over the nation. It is about taking care of each other and treating people how we would hope to be treated if we were in the same spot.

Mac or PC

2007-06-26T16:46:00.000-07:00

Apparently I only post videos now. Oh, well.

How Did They Know?

2007-06-17T22:38:00.001-07:00

My New Life

2007-06-08T11:14:00.000-07:00

This has been an eventful month. It's been so long since I posted and that's mainly because I've been so busy. Another reason is because the things I really wanted to post about I wasn't ever 100% sure of and so I felt I should keep it to myself.

First of all, Amanda and I moved. We moved into Houston and are now nestled in the West University area, just off of 59. So far the move has presented itself with challenges as well as pleasures. For one thing, Amanda and I have, since the time we were married always lived in apartment complexes. When you live in an apartment complex they take of every problem that you might have. If you've got bad plumbing they will take care of that, right away. Garbage disposal, done. Here at this town-home there is no office on site. When we moved in we had a number difficulties that made life less than desirable, at least at first. The garbage disposal was broken and the air wouldn't turn on and there were a number of rods and hooks that would just slip right out of the sheet-rock. Luckily, the people got over here as soon as they could and now everything is taken care of. As of now, we like living here, a lot. The location is perfect and the place is bigger and a little more homey.

My next big move is yet to happen, but I've been offered a new job teaching theatre at a school in the Fort Bend school district in Houston. It's a shorter drive for me, for one, but it's also a very new school and I would be the head of the program there. There is paperwork and references to check and then I will get an official offer from the Human Resources department in the district, but barring one of my references telling them horrible things about me the job is mine. I'm just waiting on that next call.

If you haven't seen Wait Until Dark yet you need to see it. We were given a spot on a radio show on 1070 AM called Harbor Highlights It's a show about stuff to do in the Bay Area, spanning Galveston to Baytown. It wasn't a review or anything, but just came and saw the show, interviewed me and then said nice stuff about it. They seemed to really love Amanda's performance. Of course, who wouldn't.

If you don't know what I'm talking about I'm directing Wait Until Dark at the Baytown Little Theater. We have two more performances left. Friday and Saturday night, the 15 and 16 of June. Shows start at 8 pm. Well, I'll put the poster below.

Well, that's what's new with me. It's summer, so I'm sure I'll post more often. I hope everyone is doing well.

The Real Colbert

2007-05-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

For you Colbert fans here's a rare glimpse of the man.

Joke

2007-05-10T09:12:00.000-07:00

An assistant principal walks into a production of Equus and says, "Hey, you stop this horseplay right now!"

I just made that up. Just now.

Sir Ian McKellan Explains His Process

2007-05-04T00:27:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen: The following video illustrates all that you really need to know about acting. If only I could put it so plainly for my students.

Another Heartbreaking Symptom

2007-04-18T21:32:00.000-07:00

Why are Americans so obsessed with the right to bare arms. The only answer that I've ever heard in regard to this question is that we need the right to defend ourselves. I don't argue that we should have the right to defend ourselves, but when was the last time you heard of a gun preventing violence or preventing a crime. I looked around for some statistics on how often people's guns save them, somehow, and just couldn't find anything. I found lots of evidence of people using guns to rob, assault, attack or otherwise harm another person. Guns are always used to cause violence, but the very few and far between incidents of them actually being used for what people say they are for doesn't seem to justify their reasoning. This is a story I found on this website that illustrates the absurdity that I've always seen in the "protection" argument. The story is by Kathleen Freeman.

Mary put the finishing touches on her make-up and brushed her hair back away from her face.

"I'm going shopping, dear," she said to her husband. "Is there anything you want me to get for you?"

"No, I don't need anything," he replied. "Just don't forget to take along a gun for protection."

"Of course, dear. I always do." She slipped a pearl- handled .22 into her handbag and snapped it shut. "Be back in a couple of hours." She took the elevator down to the garage. The basement was silent and empty. Her parking space was about fifty feet away, and she was almost there when suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a knife into her throat.

"Don't scream," a male voice snarled. "Do exactly as I say, and you won't get hurt." Mary was frightened. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Then she remembered the weapon in her purse. With the knife at her throat there was no way she could get to it, still, it had to be good for something.

"Listen, you can't rape me," she told her assailant. "I have a gun in my purse for protection."

"Gee, I'm sorry. I had no idea." The attacker dropped his knife and ran terrified into the street. Mary straightened her blouse and fished her car keys out of her purse.

"I'm certainly glad I had that gun for protection," she said to herself.

Mary always enjoyed her weekly grocery shopping trips. She cruised up and down the aisles, checking for specials, and marking off the items on her well-organized list. She knew the store layout well, and frequently gave directions to other shoppers. She chatted casually with the checkout clerk as she loaded the groceries into the cart and cheerfully paid the rather substantial bill. Her car was parked fairly close, so she didn't have far to walk. She loaded the bags into the trunk and had just opened the driver's side door when two armed men accosted her, one on either side.

"Just get in and drive," one of them said. "Do as you're told and you won't get hurt."

"You can't car-jack me, you fools," Mary retorted. "I have a gun in my purse for protection."

"Sorry, our mistake," the gunman said. "You have a nice day now, you hear?" And the two bandits took off across the parking lot. Mary shrugged and got into her car.

"Having a gun in your purse really does make you safer," she said to herself. She retouched her lipstick in the rearview mirror and smoothed her rumpled hair. She was a little short on cash, but there was an automatic teller machine just a few blocks away. She parked nearby and locked her car door. She always made a habit of that, even if she wasn't going far. She liked to be able to concentrate on what she was doing. She put her card in the machine and punched in the magic number. The money slid out into her hands, all nice and new and crisp. A voice behind her startled her.

"Just give me the money and you won't get hurt," it growled. Mary turned around. The man wore a stocking mask and had a gun pointed at her head. She shook her head.

"You can't rob me, you idiot," she laughed. "I have a gun in my purse for protection."

"Really," he replied. "In that case, I'd better not take any chances." And with that, he shot her, took her money and her gun, and left her lying dead on the sidewalk.

The End

I've never owned a gun. My parents never owned guns. My grandfather is the closest relative I have that owns a gun and it's an old hunting rifle that hasn't had ammo in it for over 30 years, according to him. It sits in a case in the back of a closet somewhere. Perhaps because of my upbringing, I've just never felt the need to own a gun for protection. I've never been that worried about it. I suppose that many people feel the opposite of me for the very same reason: they were raised to be afraid of what might one day happen.

In light of the tragedy this week in Virginia I've got to revisit this old thought that I've always had, which is why is the U.S. more than any other western country so entangled in this obsession with violence. I really can't discuss the issue any better than the film Bowling for Columbine, so if you would like to hear my take on it go watch the film, if you haven't already. Basically, the film does a very good job of asking questions without really putting blame on any one thing. In fact, what the film does, or at least it did for me, was that it brought to light that, in fact, as a country we have a problem with gun violence. We have substantially more gun violence than any other westernized country and there is no reason for it other than this odd obsession with firearms. Some people like to blame music and video games and movies and race relations. All of these arguments fall very flat. No, I don't like that my students are more interested in video games that glorify guns and violence, but kids in Canada and England and Japan play these same video games and aren't shooting up dorms and schools. Kids get picked on all over the world and people watch the same Hollywood shoot-'em-up flicks in Switzerland as they are here. But, there they separate the violence from the movies. They don't kill each other on the scale that we do.

And, it's also a fallacy to argue our race problems. I won't argue that they exist but the majority of killings in the U.S. are not race related. They are wives killing husbands or vice-versa and other people who know each other blowing up in anger at something and putting bullets through each other's head.

All this is in Bowling... so you should really check it out. It's pretty fascinating.

Wikisein

2007-04-10T12:38:00.000-07:00

I've found a brand new way to waste lots and lots of time.

This American Life

2007-04-03T06:08:00.000-07:00

I've recently become addicted to This American Life. If you don't know what this show is then I highly recommend it to you. It is a radio show that chooses a subject each week and tells stories about that subject. Usually there are 3 or 4 stories, but sometimes more or less. They've been known to dedicate an entire hour to one story and even once they told 20 Stories in 60 minutes.

When it comes to addictions I typically don't keep them for very long. I guess, in this way, they aren't really addictions, but temporary obsessions. My previous temporary obsessions include MySpace, GarageBand, writing plays, Wikipedia, the blog that you are currently reading, reading other blogs, and The Daily Show with John Stewart. Some of these are obviously more healthy than others.

This American Life is different, though, in that I really don't see myself tiring of it. It is so fascinating and so different, each episode is like a new obsession to be had. Obviously, not every episode is life changing, and there are some that are fairly forgetable. But, I've never been bored and I've never simply decided to turn the whole thing off, like I have with some of my favorite shows. I am, in fact, continually inspired by This American Life to write and to create and to tell my own stories. Recently, I went back and reviewed some of my better entries from Great Blogs of Fire and realized that some of my own personal stories would make for good entries for This American Life. This was a realization that made my day, because, since I've been listening to TAL I've been racking my brain for a story of my own that would fit the TAL mold. When I say "mold" I'm kind of referring to stories that they would consider worthy of putting on their show. There isn't exactly a set mold, in that a story must conform to a certain format. Basically, as noted on their website, they are looking for narratives that show the human, emotional side of a story. They want stories that involve a protagonist enduring an emotional arch of some kind. I think back on my stories from last year where I revisited Jr. High and discussed the various episodes of my decent into adolescence. I can literally pinpoint the moments when I decided some of the most important beliefs that I still hold today.

I think, if I'm not mistaken, that this is what TAL is looking for. So, do I want to get one of my stories on This American Life. Yes. It would be one of the coolest things to ever happen. Maybe it's my next obsession. Anything to help me procrastinate.

Baseball Season is Here!

2007-04-01T19:39:00.000-07:00

Yippee!

I wish it could be springtime always.

iRack

2007-03-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

2007-03-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

I posted a new entry on Run, Fat Man! Run! my fitness blog. Yes, I have a fitness blog.

The Verdict or Bits About God

2007-03-07T11:52:00.000-08:00

As many of you know I recently travelled to Austin to interview for spot in the Drama and Theatre for Youth, Master's degree program at the University of Texas at Austin. The program would last for three years and would award me an MFA, which is considered a terminal degree, meaning that there is no higher degree available in theatre. I was excited about the prospect, and knew that I would have to sacrifice my paycheck, but I was more than willing. Moving to Austin was certainly a plus since Amanda and I really like it there.

The time between Amanda calling me with news that I'd gotten a letter and the moment I actually arrived at home seemed like forever. I had about a million things going through my head. First of all, ever since I visited the campus in Austin I had began to develop a small, but significant tightening in my stomach. I think it stemmed from being on that enormous campus surrounded by real life students and professors and everything seeming so real. I had been raised to believe I would go to college and so when it actually came, it was exciting but, of no surprise. I think I always figured that I might get a Master's but it wasn't until I saw the benefit of a MFA that I really considered it, sometime after college. So, the reality of placing myself back into a full-time student environment, after becoming so comfortable in my current position, making a living, not worrying about bills or teachers or impressing people, all came at me at once and proved to be rather scary. In fact, when asked by my last interviewer, the newest member of the DTY faculty, how I was feeling about the whole experience, I answered her honestly. I told her it was scary. She asked why and I told her that I was making a good living and was comfortable. While being comfortable was never something that I ever valued much before, It's tough to leave a good situation so that in three years you'll have an even better situation. Going from home to college is easy, because you're gaining freedom. In grad school I'd have no more freedom than I ever had before, but with less...we'll call it "mobility" than I've had in the past.

Amanda's been great throughout this whole thing. She's been so supportive and encouraging toward me and the idea of supporting me while I pursue my Master's. It's not been lost on me, however, that this process would be tough on her, as well. We're both used to two paychecks, now. It wouldn't be easy to give that up so that I could get a peice of paper.

With all of these fears and anxieties, I still really wanted this opportunity. The chance to study theatre under some of the best artists in the world, with access to playwrights, actors, and directors who are nationally and world renowned was one that I couldn't pass up. So, I did something I do very rarely, nowadays. I prayed about it. I left it to a sign from God. I rarely do this, not because I don't value God's influence in my life, but because in recent years I've come to feel that we, as humans, as Christians, and as believers kind of abuse the privelage. Not that I think God doesn't care, but I don't really see the benefit in seeing the Big Man over the mundane aspects of life. Is my haircut going to make my face look fat? Pray to God. I can't find my keys. Pray to God. The Gap was out of my size in loose fitting jeans. Pray to God. Suddenly the haircut is great, you find your keys and they find a box of jeans in the stock room. It all seems so trite, as to diminish the need for prayer. I feel really close to God when I pray to him and I find great comfort in our relationship and my belief in his power, but if I allow myself to believe that God cares about and controls even the most minute details of my life then I think he ends up getting blamed for things that shouldn't be attributed to him, as well.

With all this said, my point is that I decided to leave this one in God's hands. Why? While most of the Evangelical Christian Tradition probably find the "why?" perplexing (just like it bothers them that I'm not capitalizing the pronoun forms of God) to me it's not so obvious. I went to God because I couldn't deal with the stress. I was being pulled in so many directions I was beginning to feel a little sick, even. My friends could tell. They would ask me, "What's wrong?" or tell me, "You don't seem like you're normal self." The truth was that the answer was coming. I knew that I was going to find out my destiny for the next year with the next couple of days. And, I was nervous. God brought me solice. It was nice. Lately, I've been pretty critical of Christians, particulary of the sect from which I was raised. My reluctance to be associated with those in the government or popular opinion with whom I disagree with so vehemently had inavertently had the adverse affect of making me forget about and neglect my relationship with God. So, I kind of had to laugh a little when I found that I naturally, in a time of confusion and great stress, give it straight up to the Big Man.

So, anyway, I just decided that it would all be left in his hands. Whatever will be, will be the best thing. Which brings us to the verdict:

I didn't get in.

And it's cool. After reading the last couple paragraphs you might think I am relieved. In a way, I am. But, it's still disappointing. I want my Master's degree and I would, ideally, like to get it in theatre as an MFA, which generally means a lot more time and effort and that I must do it fulltime. That's the hard part. I know I'll have more opportunities to apply again and would most likely have an even better shot at it next year. Seeing as I was a finalist this year gives me a pretty darn good chance, I think. But, for now I'm going to do my job the best I can and enjoy what I'm doing, now. Next year I'll worry about next year.

Foxy!

2007-03-03T15:29:00.000-08:00

Fox has come out with a new show that takes the news and puts it into a half hour of comedy, not unlike a Daily Show or Colbert Report type thing. It's called The Fox 1/2 Hour, News Hour, and the biggest difference between it and the Comedy Central shows, as you would imagine, is that they carry a more conservative bent, as a contrast to the other two's liberal leanings. I watched this segment that they have on their website, and I must admit, it was kind of funny. Given my theory that most shows take at least a whole year to reach its full potential, and usually longer, it's got a promising start. My guess is that for whatever reason the show won't last that long. I don't know why. I suppose it's my preconception about conservative viewers or inherit dangers of beginning a show as such an obvious reaction to an earlier, hugely funny and successful show. Not that I think conservative viewers wouldn't like a little funny in their diatribe, but it just seems that there isn't a big enough market for smart, political satir coming from the right POV. I know this may seem unfair, but satir just strikes me as a liberal thing. I guess because it's historically been used more often by progressives and liberals.

Mostly, the reason it bugged me was because I truly believe that most conservatives already like Stewart, and they'll be smart enough to see this show as pathetic knockoff, even if it is a truly funny show, it it's own right. Afterall, Stewart takes shots at all politicians, and welcomes both sides of the aisle on his show and is generally the most brutal to the media, which is, of course, the true enemy of the conservatives, anyway. The Limbaugh crowd and the folks who are always reacting to clever liberal satir by firing back with their own, weaker versions will like this, because it seems that they are the ones who created it. But, most people, conservative and liberals alike, will most likely pass it over with little more than chuckle and a pitiful head shake.

Finally, if Fox is going to keep their comedy show up, they really need to up their integrity factor to the level of The Daily Show. Granted, as John Stewart will say himself, The Daily Show shouldn't be considered the most reliable source for objective journalism, seeing as that most of what he says is false, but, let's face it: if you're adept at reading between the lines and taking a hint, The Daily Show is much better at cutting to the core of a news story than any of the other networks combined and looks at the news from the freshest angle possible: the honest one. The 1/2 Hour News Hour, while they didn't go into a rhelm of out and out lies, one segment was meant to take a jab at the ACLU, a bastion of liberalism if there ever was one. The clip was a fake comercial, showing a guy speaking to the camera about how he helped Neo-Nazis and hate group gain the right to protest and assemble and how he and these groups successfully sued the government for the right to hold rallies, etc. At the end he revealed that he was from the ACLU.

Now, everything that this comercial says was probably true, but what it implies is that hleping out the hate groups was an illeagal thing, or at least a bad thing. But, in true Fox form, they are expecting their viewing audience to be stupider than (let's hope) they are. To me, this validates and plays into the purpose of the ACLU and what they would admittedly do. THey ensure that laws are followed and that people's right's aren't infringed. This is done no matter how much they might disagree with the people who's rights are being protected. In a sense, Fox's faux commercial validates the ACLU more than it insults or discredits them.

I'm sure there are times that The Daily Show, and definitely the Colbert Report does the same thing on the other spectrum, but I haven't noticed. Maybe because of my own POV, I don't see it. But the show just seems doomed if they keep making simple mistakes like this.

Geek Moment: Google Maps

2007-02-09T14:24:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've become a little bit addicted to Google Maps. The last few days I've spent way too much time examining the globe and all of the wonderful things that can be viewed from space. I've found my apartment, my parent's house, the house I grew up in, the location of the Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare performed many of his plays, the modern recreation of the Globe, and Anne Frank's house, among other things. I've also been brushing up on my Iraq War knowledge by finding the places in Iraq where things happened, where Saddam lived, the airport, and that sort of thing.

Based on the fact that the house that I grew up in has some foreign items in the backyard I'm assuming that the satellite photo is taken after the summer of 2003, when my parents moved into their current house, which is also when Amanda and I moved to Baytown from Fort Worth. But, based on the incomplete restaurant across the street from our apartment, the incomplete construction of the Toyota Center in Houston, and the fact that there are currently houses behind our apartment complex, but none show in the photo, this photo couldn't have been taken within the last year or two. It's my guess that it's a 2004 photo, sometime in February or March.

If I'm right then the U.S. was fully entrenched in the securing of democracy in Iraq, having completed the mission and all, so it was with some excitement and "holy-crap"ness that I scrolled across this portion of the Google Maps satellite photo in Iraq. I can only imagine, with violence at an all time high in Iraq, if the satellite were to take a photo now we would see more just like this. Anyway, I was pretty fascinated.

Sympathy? More like Empathy!

2007-02-05T07:08:00.000-08:00

Last night I was hanging lights at the Baytown Little Theatre when I got a call from my brother. I hadn't heard my cell ring because my music was playing, but I soon noticed that my brother had called and I called him back. A very urgent Jason told me he'd broken his leg. He needed me to call our grandmother, who was coming to pick up his kids, and give her directions to the hospital. As he began to describe to me in great detail exactly what happened and all of the ways that his leg was flopping around and completely useless to him at the current time I began getting slightly unnerved and asked him to just give the directions, because hearing the details was making me physically hurt, myself.

It got me thinking about a couple of things. First off, I thought about how glad I was that I didn't go into the medical field. I am so squeemish I become ill just thinking of the visual aid Jason used to describe how his injury happened. Hint: it involved straws.

The second thing that has been on my mind after this event is the idea of empathy. Empathy runs heavy in my family. Everyone who heard about Jason's injury and how it happened said the same thing. "That hurts just to hear it!" And it does. I went and saw Jason in his hospital gown and leg contraption, hooked up to IVs and eating hospital food, and the whole time I was there I had a pain in my own leg. That sounds a little extreme, but it was true.

Empathy is a wierd emotion. It's not even as much of an emotion as it is a talent or ability. Or curse, depending on how you look at it. Empathy, for some of my high school students, is synonomous with "sympathy," which is an understandable misconception. Sympathy is largely a result of empathy, although it's very possible to experience one without the other.

I think true empathy is actually an accurance of feeling what someone else is feeling, even if you have never experienced that. It's knowing how a friend feels at the loss of a loved one, despite having never lost a loved one your self. I've never broken my leg, but I certainly can imagine the pain. I suppose that is what empathy is: imagination. But, imagination shouldn't be taken lightly. I believe that imagination can be as fullfilling, hurtful, dangerous, or awesome as reality in many ways and should be treated with care, just as we are cautious with our reality. How often have we heard of people getting too caught up in lies or an imaginary life to the point that affects their real life?

So, empathy, while a good quality to have can also be a curse of sorts. I guess I'm happy to have the ability to feel for my family when they are hurting, just so that they know I care and that I am understanding. With that said, I'm not looking forward to childbirth.

I Just Had a Thought

2007-01-31T06:14:00.000-08:00

Imagine you are digging a hole. You have your reasons for digging this hole and you explained your reasoning to everyone who has partial ownership in the land where the hole is being dug. No one is quite sure why you started the hole, but at the time you started, everyone trusted that you had your reasons for digging the hole, and that these reasons were honorable.

Unfortunately, nothing that you told them that was down there was actually there. You dig and dig and nothing shows up. Before long everyone thinks you're searching in vain and tries to convince you to get out of the hole and stop digging while you are still close enough to the top to get out. You ignore them and continue to dig your hole. Eventually you're just the idiot still digging a hole that goes nowhere all the while depleating the land of valuable resources and beauty.

Your reason for continuing to dig and for getting even deaper into the hole?

You don't want the terrorists to win.

So just keep digging. We'll show them.

Pan's Labyrinth

2007-01-21T10:23:00.000-08:00

Amanda and I saw Pan's labyrinth yesterday. First of all, it was by far the most gruesome, violent movie I've seen in a long time, and certainly the most violent movie I wasn't expecting to be violent. With that said, it was also one of the most jarring and creative movies I've ever seen. Director, Guillermo del Toro mixes visual imagery and stunning camera work to take the viewer between World War 2 era Spain, who have just undergone a civil war, and the super-real world of Ofelia's mind. Ofelia is a little girl whose mother has remarried after losing her father. The mother is pregnant and Ofelia's stepfather, a Captain in the military, has insisted that they make a dangerous trek to where he is stationed to quell communist uprisings. On the way Ofelia's mom becomes sick and it is thought that she might lose the baby and even her own life.

While stopped to let her mother rest Ofelia spots a large bug looking object that she takes to be a fairy. An avid reader of fantasy stories, Ofelia has a vivid imagination and uses this imagination to escape and dream of fantastical lands that are unknown to the human world. We soon find out that her stepfather is a cruel and heartless fascist, who is obsessed with finding and killing a group of communist rebels. He's very Hitleresque in his approach, killing based on nothing but suspicion or disloyalty, with little regard for even his own wife. To him his wife is simply a carrier of his son, an heir to carry on his name and legacy. Much like his own father was, Captain Vidal is a brutal military man, with little to no patience for any opposition or insubordination. What I liked about this character was the depth of his villainy. He wasn't simply a man out for personal glory and use of his own goals as fuel for his sadism. Vidal is a Captain haunted by the memory and death of his father, like him a prideful authoritarian who believed that his family alone was destined and had rights to power, no matter the cost. Some of the most complex scenes take place with Vidal shaving in a mirror, contemplating suicide. In these moments where we get to witness his true demons we realize that he is simply a man more at war with himself than any communist rebels or dissidence.

Ofelia's fantasy world, in steep contrast to her reality, is a world where she is a princess, lost in the human world who is being drawn back to her true home in an underground kingdom where there is no pain or sadness. Del Toro takes us so seamlessly back and forth from the real world and Ofelia's that we begin to wonder if what Ofelia sees isn't, in fact, real. Her life in the underground world is introduced through the fairies who lead her to Pan, a Faun who looks more like a giant grasshopper than the half-human, half-goat creatures from the Narnia books. Pan sends on a number of quests to prove that she is the true princess of this underworld, and hasn't become too human in her time on earth.

Besides being beautifully filmed and extraordinarily acted (particularly by 12 year old Ivana Baquero), the story is as captivating as I've ever heard, and true down to the last moment of the film. You find yourself realizing that this film will actually go where most won't out of sheer obligation to honesty in story telling. Many will find that this isn't the typical fair because the bad guys are not necessarily going to get theirs while the good guys win. Pan's labyrinth is as sad, awesome and unbelievable a story as you will find in filmaking today.

Jabba the Snowman Imprisons Han in Substandard Carbonite Slush

2007-01-17T05:28:00.000-08:00

Any time it gets really cold like this I think about different times in my childhood that it would freeze. It was about as close as we ever got to a "snow day" here in Southeast Texas. From my non-meteorological understanding, our humid state prevents it from snowing much, even when we do get a snap of cold pushed down from the North. So, in essence, what we end up having is beautiful, Spring-like weather that comes as naturally as a New England fall, followed by rain and a cold-front that freezes the rain. What you end up with is beautiful greenery encased in ice. Flowers that were tricked into believing that Spring was here, blossom only to be trapped by a thin sheet of glass. It's really pretty amazing and I imagine a circumstance that is unique to few parts of the world.

The unusually warm January days notwithstanding, as a child you see kids on TV playing in the snow, making snowmen and sledding down hills. Even if it does snow, we'd have no hill on which to sled, so that one's kind of a double whammy. You become a little jealous and even swear that you wouldn't mind having to shovel a little snow if it meant that you'd have the ability to make snowballs suitable for pelting your brother in the face.

But, on days like this one, when the temperature outside reaches the once a year low of 34 degrees, icicles hang from the eves of buildings like fruit, ready to be plucked from a tree. Only, very early on, I was warned by my mother that these seemingly tasty treats are actually filled with bird poo and should not be treated as nature's freezer pops. The puddles in front of the drive way would glaze over with ice the way that a pitcher of tea does in the refrigerator when it isn't drank soon enough and is stored near the back. Sometimes it would freeze long enough for these small patches of water to completely turn to ice and we would have ourselves our very own 2 by 5 foot ice rink in front of the drive way. Nevermind that we didn't own skates because tennis shoes were perfectly sufficient for sliding across a 5 foot plane of ice before halting abruptly on the cement, only to quickly regain your footing, lest you plummet head-first onto the pavement, or better yet, the next stretch of drain-water-ice.

The most fun, however, came when the ice would soften and a slushy-like substance could be formed. It was as close to snow as we ever experienced, and, despite it's sub-standard quality, it was all we needed. That brown, icey, substance, littered with bits of grass and gravel would become snowballs of mass detruction. Our battles turned to chemical warfare as snowballs laced with whatever diseases resided in the puddles and ditches of the neighborhood were tossed about, entangling in hair, wounds, clothes and any bodily oriface that would recieve them. It's a wonder none of us contracted some rare disease or unknown mutation.

Our snowmen were great, as well. The best that we were ever able to muster was, essentially a one foot tall mound of dirty slug with rocks for eyes that more resembled Jabba the Hut than Frosty. At this time in my life (I was probably in my later elementary years) I was constantly being made aware of the reality of life, and how real life almost never resembled the movies. Or, as is the case with our "Jabba the Snowman," I formed the impression that TV and movies presented only the most ideal of situations and that no one actually ever made the perfect snowman with the stereotypical tapered torsoe and perfectly round head. It seemed so unfathomable that any other place could actually get colder than it was, and that anywhere else in the world could actually make a better snowman. I was always one to believe that if someone else could do something, so could I. The later disappointment of realising that life is geographically unfair was akin to my mother telling me at the barber shop that my hair "just wouldn't do that." My mom broke this news as I pointed to the 50's greaser guy in the hair style book while waiting for a haircut. He was dressed in a leather jacket combing through a dark pompodore, looking very Fonziesque (I was a big Happy Days fan) and I figured that picking out a haircut was like skimming through a Sears catalogue. All I had to do was point to what I wanted and the stylist could deliver. Why couldn't I look like Fonzie with thin, straight, whispy blonde hair. It didn't make any sense to me.

And, it didn't make to me that kids in Ohio could build a proper snowman and I was burdened with an ice-turn-slush mixture that was as pliant as the bottom of a snowcone. The one time it did snow as a kid I remember being so disappointed because as soon as I'd gathered enough snow in my hand to form a decent snowball I'd hit the grass and was pulling up the green, green grass beneath. I'm sure it's odd to dig to the bottom of snow and find lush vegetation. Not that I'd know any different.

Pursuit of Happiness

2007-01-05T12:28:00.000-08:00

It was a good movie. It inspired the title, and to a lesser extent the rant, itself. But the rant isn't about the Will Smith flick. It's about me.

Of course, no one is reading this blog anymore. And who can blame you? I don't read yours anymore and it's been almost a month since I've posted anything. The truth is that I've lost much of my previous interest in telling the world all about my life and what I think about various things, etc. I haven't abandoned my desire for attention, however, so I find myself conflicted. I also find myself without the time or the energy most of the time to write much about myself. I guess that's why lately if I have taken the time to blog it's been pretty superficial. Either that or it's an apology/explaination for the lack of writing. I realize that this means more to me than to the 3-4 people who actually read this, but the fact remains that I like to write. I'd like to say that I am committed to writing more often and about a plethora of important issues. I'm afraid, however that I just can't do that. Call me lazy, or perhaps I finally have my priorities straight, for once in my life, but when I spend the day teaching kids and after school teaching kids and the evenings directing and my time off with my wife, the old blogging has to take a back seat. And, those days during summer vacation when I would spend the entire day in my pajamas playing guitar, biking, cooking food and watching Curb Your Enthusiasm, you could make the arguement that I had the time to blog then. However, you forget that I was doing those things in leu of even MORE important things I should have been doing. See, if I'd had any discipline on days like that, it would have manifest itself in something actually worthwhile. What's sad, however, is that this used to be the thing I did so that I could put off other things. You know something has crossed over from being faddish obsession de jour to committed passtime/hobby, when for no rational reason you feel compelled to continue doing something that takes effort, and yet will still garner no substantial, tangeble gain. But, I still enjoy it, and I still believe it is good for me. I still believe that somewhere, someday, someone is going stumble onto this little blog and decide to give me a pilot. It's my own little "pursuit."

Confession

2006-12-10T20:04:00.000-08:00

I'm video taped a confession that you must see to really understand me.

Chappell and Angelou **

2006-12-07T11:16:00.001-08:00

Last night there was an episode of Iconoclasts on the Sundance Channel with Dave Chappell and Maya Angelou. If you've never seen Iconoclasts they film a visit of one famous person with another. Usually the two people have something in common but they are typically from different areas of the entertainment industry or public eye. What I love about the show is that the two people are taped in a comfortable location, usually one of their homes, and they get real, discussing current events, their respective careers, the whole idea of fame and celebrity.

Not every episode is enlightening or fascinating, but last night Chappell visited with Angelou at her home, which was laden with African American art and photos of famous people she has known from the Civil Rights Era. It was amazing to see Chappell, who is quoted on a daily basis by my high school students pitted up Angelou, whom I admire immensely. And the truth is, I admire Dave Chappell, also, in a different way. Not only is he funny but his comedy is smart. I'm always amazed at people who are not only making witty commentary on our society but also tap into to the tastes of a larger, more fickle public's sense of longevity and are subsequently made in to icons. Chappell's comedy about race was sometimes criticized for being racist and afro-centric, but the truth is that black comedians can say things that Whites can't get away with and that rubs some people wrong. Frankly, I'm glad that all things can be said, even if not by me. Chappell made no qualms about saying these things. Saying them infused him and phrases like, "I'm rich, bitch!" and "I'm Rick James!" into our cultural lexicon. That, of course, is enough of a feat, but to do so and then walk away from it all takes a different sort of resolve. Dave Chappell isn't crazy or depressed or on a quest or anything one might think of someone who walked away from 50 million dollars. He simply didn't like what mega-ultra-uber-fame was doing to his act. That's it. He said that he left his show on Comedy Central because he couldn't perform at his stand up shows the way he had before. Every time he walked out on stage some dufus in the back was yelling out "I'm Rick James, bitch!" and oohing and awing at his celebrity. He didn't say as much, but I expect that he would say that his shows used to feel like a conversation. He had a repoir with his audience and he connected with them as individuals. Maya Angelou, as they were discussing this matter talked of the dangers of youth looking up to celebrities as anything other than ordinary people. She said something so profound: she said that when we look at celebrities and their accomplishments as super-human, as we are prone to do, young people especially start thinking that level of excellence is unattainable. When we worship celebrity and riches and people in general, how can we ourselves ever aspire to greatness. There has to be that little thing inside us that always says, "I could do better."

Obviously, Angelou is the more broad character to study. She is classic, intelligent, loving, and so gifted. And giving. That is what struck me most about their conversation. While my interests lie with Chappell, it is through Angelou that we are able to see his vulnerabilities and openness. Not that Dave Chappell isn't open in his act or in his comedy. I think most talented comedians are only funnier than the next guy because they are honest. But, with Angelou's questions and advise and strength of character, Dave opens up on a very real level and you see that he is learning, right before our eyes, what he was really doing when he walked away from the money and the show. He knew what was going on but through Angelou he had a respected mother figure affirming his decision and reassuring his goals. You could really tell that Dave was just enamored to be in Maya Angelou's home and experiencing her knowledge. One could see him just soaking it in at times.

During one of the most fascinating parts we see where their two generations clash the most. The older black lady from the civil rights era and the young, wealthy black comedian, raised as the outset of the hip-hop age. The big issue that Angelou took was with the N-word. She wouldn't even say it. Unlike many of my students, who throw the word around like "buddy," or "like," Maya Angelou sees the word as poison. She gave the example of a bottle of poison, marked poison. If the poison is taken out of the bottle, the poison still exists, and is still represented by the marking on the bottle. The N-word is similar, having had the harmful history. The history still exists even though the word is now owned by those who used to be hurt by the word. Chappell explained his usage of the word as this: it used to be a word used to exclude blacks from white society. Now, blacks use it as an exclusive word, too, but to bring people closer together. It's a word that only the chosen can say. It's probably the only word that I literally hate hearing come from the mouth of a white person, but it doesn't bother me to hear a black person say it. Most white people don't understand this. I wrote a kid up earlier this year for saying it, when he protested that blacks say it all the time, I thought, "This isn't a isolated complaint with white people." We feel a sense of entitlement. "Whites say, if they can do it, so can I." This runs in steep contrast to the way I hear black kids talk. From them I hear, "That's something white kids do." Of course, as a teacher my job is to teach against this mindset. It is also to teach the white kids humility and respect. Respect people's history and assume that you can't assume anything about the person you are speaking to. A very good friend of mine, who is black,always made me very comfortable about speaking on racial issues. It was a topic of conversation that we had, often, probably because he was the best black friend I'd ever had, and I was curious. One day, in jest, I uttered the n-word to him, and he got dead serious. I can't say that word. Regardless of the context or relationship to the person hearing. It's not my word. It never was. It was created by my ancestors to bring down his ancestors and now that is the pittance I'm paying. I'll accept it.

So, I've gotten off track. Anyway, the episode of Iconoclast was very enlightening. I encourage you to watch it if you have the Sundance Channel. It will probably replay, again.

**Alternate title "I'll Rise, Bitch!" foregone to draw in our more conservative readers.

Return to Blogging Haiku

2006-11-27T05:43:00.000-08:00

There's been so much on my mind lately and so much time to write that I've been doing the right thing and spending that time with my lovely wife.

But, the neglect of my blog is no small issue in my mind. On the contrary, it has been bothering me. The reason that I started to write a blog was because I wanted an outlet to express my opinions and feelings about things that were happening to me and around me. I figured that I would never keep a journal of this kind if I were to just write it in a private journal. Either the awaiting public or the naive belief in one is the primary reason that I've been able to keep it up this long. I'm convinced of this.

So without further ado, my next installment of Haiku Blogging:

So long without blogs.
My laziness is not new.
So much left unsaid.

Dallas was calling
From friends and family, too.
We all ate fart cheese.

The set for Forum
Is not finished but I've had
Greater miracles.

Don't try and tell Doc.
He won't hear future events
And lighting will strike.

Time curcuits on, now.
Flux copacitor, fluxing.
Doc ain't ready yet!

When you hit eight-eight
Be sure the cables are set
And the movie's done.

Students will have fun
If you take them to Corpus.
Make sure you stay sane.

Thanksgiving is great.
It is a week to take off.
Oh, yeah. And give thanks.

Taking a week off.
Is not nearly good enough.
It's like a teaser.

There it is. I hope you enjoyed the little Back to the Future sidetracking. Later.

Geek Moment: The American Bison

2006-11-10T10:24:00.000-08:00

I've decided that periodically I will post a "Geek Moment," i.e., I show my interest and/or enthusiam for something that would have the potential to alienate me from the discussion at any social gathering. This is the first.

I find this totally facsinating. It's the featured picture on the Wikipedia homepage:

Here's the caption that went with it:

Photograph from the mid-1870s of a pile of American Bison skulls waiting to be ground for fertilizer. Bison were hunted almost to extinction in the 19th century and were reduced to a few hundred head by the mid-1880s, from which all the present day's managed herds are descended. The commercial take arguably was anywhere from 2,000 to 100,000 animals per day, though there are no statistics available.

Read more here

I've always heard that the American Bison was hunted practically to extinction and I've always accepted it as fact, but I've never really gotten how a whole species could, within the course of only a handful of decades, be almost completely wiped out. This picture made it a little clearer for me.

I Feel Freer Already

2006-11-08T07:43:00.000-08:00

Way to go, boys and girls!

Now, don't screw it up!

My Week in Blog Form

2006-11-02T18:32:00.000-08:00

Things that happened this week:

Finished The Laramie Project at San Jacinto College. Overall it was a great experience, but we're glad it's over. I'm a little less consumed with things now. Everyone who saw it said they liked it, so that's a good thing. If you saw it, thanks. If not, well, you will have to rent it or something.
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My friend H.R. is in town and he saw the Sunday afternoon, final performace. It was great to see him and to talk to him. He's been having a really exciting life the last few years, living in Scotland and writing musicals and just being an artist. Yeah, for old friends. This is a picture of him in front of the Lockness lake with a local fisherman who claimed that he actually caught Nessy's older brother Fressy. Said Fressy was "the week one." That's not true, at all.
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We took our students to see Much Ado About Nothing at The Alley Theater in Houston. It was possibly the best performance of Shakespeare I've ever seen. It was creative, inspiring, unique, relavant..... All the things that Shakespeare should be. The sets, lights, costumes were beautiful and the actors were wonderful. It made me miss being involved in professional theatre. I've never really missed it before. When I was there before, I wasn't too happy.
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Amanda and I saw The Prestige. It was really cool. I'd give it a solid 4/5 bulls. Maybe even a half more.
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Played basketball with my friend Neal. I am still out of shape and it was hard, especially since it was full court, but, the last time I played I was about 30 lbs. heavier. Last time it was not fun. This time, it was still hard, but it was fun. I love playing basketball, or any sport and being active. That's going to be my new thing.
______________________________

I voted. But you knew that already.
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Finally, John Kerry screwed up a joke and pissed off a lot of people. He didn't want to applogize, for whatever reason, and that pissed people off even more. It sometimes amazes me what people who are scrutinized over as much as politicians are, still think they can get away with saying. Sure, what John Kerry said isn't what he meant, but I couldn't understand his initial refusal to appologize. He didn't have to appologize for what he meant to say, but geez, he could have soothed things over a lot better.
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And this has been my favorite video on YouTube this week:

"He's Not Kinky..."

2006-10-31T17:21:00.000-08:00

I voted today. I voted for Kinky for Governor. Maybe you're asking why. I'm pretty much a Democrat, for all intents and purposes, and sure, sometimes Friedman seems disingenuous and completely under qualified.

At first I'd decided that I was going to vote for him because of his bumper stickers. Mostly, they were humorous, but they had a major point. "Why the hell not?" Really! Why the hell not? Think about it. If you know anything about me I don't have to tell you why I'm not going to vote for Rick Perry. Chris Bell, the Democrat, seems qualified to be a decent governor, a solid democrat who could also appeal to the more conservative side of Texas by not being too far left. In other words, a centrist. However, the more I got to thinking about it, did I just want to vote for the guy because of him being the "lesser of two evils." Not that I think Bell would be a terrible choice, but he's basically a pretty run of the mill Democrat and with all of the disorganization that has plagued the party since the Clinton Administration, did I really want to support more of the same? Plus, from what I've gathered, no one is that thrilled with Perry, including Republicans in the state, but they consider him the "lesser..." Bell's chances of winning the Miss Bangkok Pageant are looking like more of a possibility than him winning the Texas Governorship.

Carol Keeton Strayhorn has my utter respect. She is a true conservative in a culture of this Neo-con bullcrap that I truly believe cares deeply about education and the betterment of the state. Her views are much more rightwing than mine, but I respect her courage and knowledge. At the end of the day, though, she doesn't have a real chance of winning. Most people won't really see her for what she is and will only see her as a typical upstart independent with lofty goals and little reality.

Part of Kinky's appeal is that, at least at first, he didn't really think that he could win, either. Probably. I'm only guessing. As a former shock-country personality he most likely saw himself as, if nothing else, a wake up call to the state. Someone to bring about a change in ideology, even if he didn't actually win. People need an option other than the big two, or in Texas, the big one and it's little brother. Kinky is that option. Maybe he's not as qualified, knowledgeable or informed. I think that he knows that and has not made any attempt to hide it. Of all of the candidates he, in my opinion, is the most likely to listen. Not just to those who think like him or in opposition to a rival, but to everyone, regardless of political affiliation or ideology. He's incredibly open-minded, which I love, and he's brazen, blunt, and has no allegiances, except to the state of Texas. This is something we only see in politicians with nothing to lose. We see it in presidents in their final term to an extent, but especially in retired politicians. I never liked any ex-presidential candidate as much as I did Bob Dole. I never would have voted for him, but as a personality in the public eye, he is likeable, lovable, blunt and relaxed. Both Bill Clinton and Al Gore speak their mind without fear of political retribution. It's refreshing and I wish it were something we heard from more politicians IN office. But they can't be frank for fear of losing a demographic. Friedman is frank. He is blunt and--not always right, or rather, in agreement with myself--but I respect that. That's the kind of leader that I can live with. Scratch that. That's the kind of leader that I crave.

To top it all off (and here's the real kicker) I think he might actually have a shot at winning. Call me crazy, I think he's got a shot. No, seriously. If you take all of the normally Democratic voters who are straying from the party, who are many, then add in the fed up members of the Republican party who feel completely betrayed by their party and you've got enough voters to give Perry a decent run. Then if you take all of the disinfranchised voters who don't feel like any party is there to serve them and typically vote independently and all of the people who are just "fed up with the system," and I think we've got ourselves a good ole' fashion contender.

Rock on, Kinky!

Liberals Love Their Talk Radio

2006-10-26T08:21:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I do it. It happens whenever I'm riding in my car and NPR is playing classical music instead of news, the local college radio station is playing their wierdest mix of monotonous, noisy, cat-wailing and white noise, and the corporate music station...well, the Clear Channels of the world continuously suck without fail. I've given up on them almost entirely. When I can't find anything else worth listening to on the radio, which is most of the time, I can usually count on A.M. talk radio to keep my interest. I should go ahead and listen to the classical music, but if I'm trying not to fall asleep at the wheel classical isn't my best option. Talk radio is sometime about all I can handle. Plus, I think there is a tiny streak of masacism in me somewhere that allows me to actually enjoy the Rushes and Hannitys of the world. Luckily for me, Jim Rome takes care of my lunch hour so I'm much less likely to turn it to the Limbaugh Liberal Bashing Hour. If you've never heard Jim Rome, he's a lot like political radio talk show host except his subject is sports, so if you're getting offended you are taking subject way to seriously. Plus, he make remarks like like this: "Want a Sling-Box (a prize he gives away to callers who make comments that he agrees with)? I'm giving Sling-Boxes away left and right, today. I'm easy, today. Today, I'm the Paris Hilton of Sling-Boxes!" That one made me laugh for a long time.

But, other times there is no respite of quality journalism, as heard on NPR, or humorous and inconsequential off-colored humor, as heard from Rome. Sometimes the only non-musical radio I can get is the ultra-conservative mudslingers that pepper the A.M. dial. Houston doesn't have the luxery of having Air America, and so I find myself yelling at the radio words that are typically reserved for 90 year old geriatrics stopped on the entrance ramp of the freeway.

So, why do I do it? Why do I listen to people with whom I know that I'm going to disagree? Nay, not just disagree, but vehemently refute, 100%? Why put myself through that. I think that there are a number of reasons. It starts with the realization that I don't think I would listen to Air America as much even if it were available. Furthermore, I think that it also goes along with why liberal talk radio doesn't do as well as conservative talk radio.

Okay, I'm about to make a blanket generalization that is only based in honest observation and how I personally feel and by ideological trends. I think, therefore that it is a generalization, but a fair one.

Conservatives want to hear people telling them that they are right while liberals like to be challenged and confrontational. Thus, conservative talk radio is listened to by both liberals and conservatives alike, because it gives everyone their "fix."

Here is how I came about this: First of all, Liberal talk radio isn't nearly as popular. NPR is what conservatives consider "liberal" which really isn't at all, as far as what is covered. Sure, it's supported by public funds in some part, which is considered a "liberal" ideal, and even if there were some liberal slant (which if that is true, carries a quite logical explanation)there is no one on NPR talking how the conservatives are ruining America, like you will hear on conservative talk shows. There is no corolation between the two since they are completely different forms of radio.

Liberals get bored hearing people who are just saying things that they agree with. I can only speak from speculation and how I personally feel, but if I'm talking to someone and there is no disagreement the conversation isn't going to last very long. If you are agreeing about a shared complaint, then all you are doing is complaining about something and reinforcing the same viewpoint. No one's is seeing things from the other side of things, which I believe is really important.

Another reason for my belief is that, as Michael Savage/Sean Hannity/etc. say, "Liberals blame America first." As a liberal I totally agree with that. Of course, to me it make total sense to blame America first, because that is the responsible thing. We try to teach our students to worry about themselves before placing the blame somewhere else. In the same way I think that it's important to look inward before bombing another country. This is why I am much more likely to see what the U.S. has done to fuel anti-Americanism than just cast off those attitudes as jealousy, or hating freedom. That way too easy and isn't going to solve any problems. I think that it is liberals' willingness and desire to look inward that decreases our desire to listen to a talking head just spouting off ideas with which we already agree. That's why our most popular liberal spokespeople are actors and comedians. If you're going to talk to us about stuff we already believe, you'd better entertain us in the process or we're going to get bored and go yell at our radio.

Maybe I'm speaking more from the point of view of a ADD kid than a liberal, but that's just an observation I had last night as I was listening to Michael "Makes Rush Limbaugh Seem Like Al Franken" Savage.

Republicans Are Mean, but Democrats are Stupid

2006-10-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

Today I saw this picture of Collin Powell holding up the infamous vile of anthrax from his U.N. Speech 3.5 years ago. The caption said that he considered this his lowest point and that he regrets acting on behalf of the Bush Administration.

I like people who admit they are wrong. I like it when people ask for forgiveness and are contrite. People who have the ability to humble themselves really get on my good side, quick. This is why I have such a problem with Bush. He's never came out and said, "I'm sorry." I'll bet the Republicans could clear this whole mess up that they're in if they would just come out and say, "Hey, guys. Listen. We screwed up. We screwed up on everything. Iraq, the economy, Hurricane Katrina, and we take full responsibility. A good half of the Republicans in office are corrupt and only work in the interest of big oil and big buisiness, and we have done a really bad job of serving everyone below the upper tax bracket. We're sorry. We're going to try better, from now on." If they did this the Democrats wouldn't have a chance because I think most people want to like the Republicans. Afterall, the gays and terrorists and aethists are Democrats!

All I'm Saying

2006-10-23T12:12:00.000-07:00

All I'm saying is that we, as western, capitalist, selfish, wealthy Americans have our priorities completely skewed. What we fail to realize sometimes is that most things in life aren't nearly as important as we think it is. We go through life feeling like we have to do this, or we have to do that. The old saying goes, "You don't have to do anything except pay taxes and die." I would argue that you don't even have to pay taxes. Sure, you might be arrested. Or perhaps not. If you choose to live life without money you don't have to pay taxes. If you choose to be a drifter with no steady work and only doing odd jobs here and there to earn enough to eat then I'm sure that you can skirt by without any legal action. The only responsibilities we have are the ones that we choose to take on. For this reason we shouldn't complain when we are adled with business and stresses that take up our time and energy. If we didn't want the pressure we could just as easily not have taken them on. I realize that this is easier said than done. We are taught from an early age that we are only worth as much as we give back to society. Bums are lazy and rich people worked the hardest. That's the American way. I think that we all know how ridiculous and unfair that stereotype is. Anyone who is willing to stop and think for a few seconds about it, at least. And, who complains the most? Not the "bums." Not the homeless. The biggest complainers are the hard workers. Granted, it seems that the middle class (who, by the way, are still among the world's wealthiest human beings, if they live in the U.S.) are the biggest complainers. I don't really hear much complaining done by the wealthiest of the wealthy, per se, of course that may be because they don't have to complain. The world is set up to serve and cater to them. If they have to complain to get something done it falls more in line with legality than an obstacle. Generally, the more money one has, the less a request is seen as a complaint and more of a necessary change. The middle class are the one's who cannot content themselves with their riches. Because they aren't as rich as the family next door. I shouldn't pretend to know what happens in the upper tiers of economic society, but it seems that the wealthy simply don't complain, they demand. It's the difference between child asking for breakfast, which is expected, or asking for chocolate, which is a treat. When the wealthy ask for something, they are asking for breakfast. The middle-class are constantly asking for chocolate; sometimes extending great lengths to recieve the treat.

We should stop complaining about what kinds of chocolate we are recieving and the wealthy should realize that their breakfast is chocolate to most Americans and completely unattainable to the poor of the world. What we should be focused on is providing breakfast for the people in the world who cannot provide it for themselves. These people are so selfless that they don't usually even ask it for themselves. And I'm not talking about the guys on the side of the road with signs or the crack addicts that ask for "gas" money at the filling station. I'm talking about the people in Latin America or Africa or right in your own town who sleep in dirt or their cars or dirty run down ghetos. These people should be our number one priority, and yet we still have people complaining that their steak was overcooked or that a movie was bad or that someone offended them by showing their breast at a football game. There's nothing wrong with living in a comfortable society, but what's wrong when when we concern ourselves with all sorts of utterly pointless things when the basic needs of other human beings are not being met.

That's all I'm saying.

"...or the orphanage will close!"

2006-10-16T15:49:00.000-07:00

My brothers and I quoted this countless times during the teen years while The State was on. It's grainy but truly a classic. For those who don't know, The State was a sketch comedy show during the mid 90s that started the careers of most of the current cast of Reno 911.

Go Shop at the Gap

2006-10-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

Read this:

________________________________

Okay, yeah, I saw this on Oprah. But, Bono was with her, so it's cool. I think this is a fabulous idea. Okay, I just said "fabulous." Let's focus here, people.

A number of companies are working to fight AIDS in Africa. While here in America having the AIDS virus will no longer be a nail in the coffin, in Africa, the drugs needed to save the lives of the millions infected with the virus are scarce and unaffordable.

We, as the richest nation in the world, can help these people by doing what we already do so well.

Spending, charging, shopping, living beyond our means!

Yes, this can save lives.

In Africa the AIDS virus infects millions and is only spreading. Education efforts are underway, and helping, but the widespread ignorance about the disease keeps the epidemic alive. Mothers give birth to entire families that are infected, they can't afford the medicine and so these families are doomed.

The (Product) Red people have set up certains brands who will donate a portion of their profits to buy anti-retroviral medicine to keep those in Africa alive. Without these kinds of medicines, people with AIDS die. As it states on the (Product) Red website, "We don't want them to die. We want to give them pills. And we can. And you can. And it's easy."

Another wonderful scheme drempt up by our man Bono.

This their website. Go there.www.joinred.com

"Thank you, sir! May I have another?"

2006-10-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

Yet, another bit of fun that I got from our dear friend Dan.

This seems like a really bad idea, but I've never really been a good judge of stuff that was good for me before. Why start now?

Click here and follow the instructions.

Gentlemen: Adhere!

2006-10-05T15:32:00.000-07:00

It's ten minutes, but it's worth it. Please. It may safe the world.

Checkin in

2006-09-29T06:59:00.001-07:00

I'm going to smell like brisket this weekend.

____________________________

How 'bout them Astros, huh. Holy freakin' unbelievable. 1/2 Game back. Unbelievable.

____________________________

A photo from R & J:

Well, It's Been a While...

2006-09-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

Here's what you missed:

Imagine owning a shovel for your entire life and only using maybe one to 4 times a year. Everytime you use the shovel it is the most important tool you have and it is vital to the success of your career that your shovel is used those few times a year. You have always had your shovel and probably take it for granted.

Imagine that the most important digging you will do all year needs to be completed yesterday and you know that you and your shovel can dig the hole in one night and all will be well. The hole must be dug by that next evening. You have others to help dig, but your shovel is the strongest and largest and the others may not dig correctly or fast enough. Then imagine that without warning your shovel breaks. You cannot get another shovel because the shovel store is closed for two weeks, but you can't wait that long. Imagine the despair. So, you do what you can without the shovel, and must take the next day off in order to try and repair your own shovel. You leave instructions with others to dig, but are resigned to the fact that it probably won't be dug correctly. Then, to your surprise, you arrive at the dig site the next day and the hole is dug. Everyone who you underestimated pulled together and the hole was completed in less time than you could have dug the hole yourself.

Well, this "hole" might have brought me to tears had I had time to cry. There were still small tunnels to dig and lights to hang, but the vast hole that was the greatest burden, was complete.

Romeo and Juliet performed to decent crowd this last weekend. The kids were great. Not everything was perfect, but pretty dang good considering all that was standing in the way. I was immensely greatful to the students and their hard work, and I hope they know that. This has been a wonderful experience.

__________________________

Emergency rooms are strange. When you arrive there you feel like everyone else has been there so much longer than you have. And they probably have. But, when I walked into the ER last Tuesday night I was limping pretty bad and yet I felt like everyone else felt right at home, while I felt like a stranger. Going to the ER is one of those things that seems completely odd and foreign when you actually have to do it, and yet, everyone has to do it at some point. You feel special and unique and yet, no one else cares because their buddy or sister or teacher or kid had to go just last week.

That's not entirely true. Lots of people keep asking how I'm doing and showed genuine concern. Thanks to all of you. Romeo and Juliet is over and so I might actually get to rest the foot for a while and let it heal.
______________________

Tonight was a good night on TV.

"Last week at the table read I got a laugh when I asked for the butter. At the rehearsal I didn't get a laugh when I asked for the butter...Why didn't I get a laugh at the rehearsal."

"Because you asked for a laugh."

"Why did I get a laugh at the table read."

"Because you asked for the butter."

That's pretty awsome.

____________________

Astros are at .500. I have a theory: The worse the Astros are in the regular season and later they wait to make a comeback to make the playoffs, the better they will be in the postseason. Based on this reasoning the Astros will not only win the World Series this year, but will win the Superbowl, Stanley Cup, NBA Finals, Gold Medal in Curling, and the Miss Universe Pageant. Look out Neptune Zorbdleblort Champs from the city-state Prarnon in the providence of Junikeri 6. Astros are coming for you next!

_____________________

This actually applies to both Democrats and Republicans. I love politicians so much more when they have nothing to lose. I certainly believe that there is a time and a place to become worked up. I imagine Clinton's critics will say he was "out of control," or "on a tirade." I personally thought that he was pretty calm, given his obvious anger at the question. Should he have been so angry? I imagine that I might be too. Did he handle it as well as he should have? Probably not. But, I love that he called Fox out for their clear right wing agenda. Watch it:

I Sprained My Show

2006-09-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

We are openning Romeo and Juliet on Thursday. The set is NOT ready. I stayed after rehearsal to finish the set with a few students when I did something stupid. I was walking down some steps in the auditorium and I thought I was at the last step, but I had a couple more to go. The result was a pretty bad sprain. I made the kids do the walking and climbing and moving around while I sat behind the light consol and programed light cues. I thought I'd be fine if I could walk it off for awhile. Not so much. The result is that I now am on cruches and am not supposed to walk on it for a week. The doc at the ER said that while it's not broken to treat it as if it were.

I repeat. We open on Thursday! That is, less than two days! I've got a whole side of a set not covered and not painted! AAAHHHH!!!

The thing is, yes, I do have students who can help and work. The bad thing is: THEY ARE SLOW! I am fast! Was fast. This would have been fine on Friday. Bad, bad, bad, bad timing.

More on the experience of being in an ER later. It was weird. It's the kind of thing that happens all of the time, just never to me, so it was wierd. Anyway. Come see R and J. It will be good, whether the walls are complete or not.

THursday, Friday, and Saturday at 7:30 pm at Sterling.

(?!!

2006-09-11T20:33:00.000-07:00

This is something I wrote right after the World Trade Center Buildings fell. Keep this in mind: I was really scared for the country.

Sat up in my bed.
Safe within these walls.
I still think I’ve got it bad.
I must have heard it wrong
The first time she said it.
I still wonder what’s for breakfast.

Every time I hear that we’ve been attacked
I stop to say that I’m filled grief.
But that’s not close to the truth.
I always feel nothing inside me.
I stand to defend the defenseless, first.
Always against the oncoming crowd.
The stream flows strong but I’m turned around.
I reach and I struggle for answers elsewhere.

If the mine lies in the east,
Then the hundred who cover those grounds
Will be sure to trip the earth.
But, here, it is in the west, where no one looked.
It’s disarmed now and cannot hurt anyone.

P.S. I'm still pretty scared.

P.P.S. I'm not afraid of terrorists.

"Look, don't get sloppy on me. I might just slug you one."

2006-09-11T08:15:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days. You know, Mondays. You know, one of those days where getting up early is especially difficult. Let me tell you how much more I would like my job if it started at 10 am and went until 6pm:

A lot. Why? I usually end up staying until 6 anyway, or later. No matter how early I go to bed I don't really wake up until around 10. Breakfast helps. I'm trying to always have some sort of breakfast item in my classroom so that I don't have to worry about at home. I'm usually in too big of a hurry.

Anyway. It's one of those days.

Romeo and Juliet goes up in a week and the set is NOT ready. It will be.

Holla, Y'all

2006-09-09T06:59:00.000-07:00

You Are a Liberal for Life

You've got a bleeding heart - and you're proud of it.

For you, liberal means being compassionate, pro-government, and anti-business.

You believe in equality for every person, and you consider yourself universally empathetic.

Helping others is not just political for you ... it's very personal too.

What's Your Political Persuasion?

Laramie at San Jac

2006-09-08T13:07:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be in the Laramie Project at San Jacinto College. I'll be working with Jeff Sensat, the artistic director of the Slightly Off-Center Players in Deer Park. He's guest directing for the school. I've been wanting to work with him since I saw his group do All in the Timing a couple of years ago. He's a really talented guy.

Anyway, it will be in October and I'll expect everyone of you to come see it. If you want to know what the play is about, here is a link

Peace That Passes Understanding

2006-09-03T23:31:00.000-07:00

I heard a guy say this tonight: It is my right to not know.

I agree with this. I also think that we have the right not to try to figure out things that we cannot understand. He also said that we tend to diefy or demonize things that we don't understand in order to make sense of them. I had to agree whole heartedly with this statement, but it isn't something that negates or challenges my faith. My faith in God is a choice not based on mathematics or science and I like it that way. I don't think that I would like to have God or Christianity or the Bible proven to me. I think nothing wouldd destroy my passion for it more. I believe in the Gospel because I choose to believe because it brings me comfort and happiness and makes sense out of a non-sensical world. Hope is a word that Christians bandy about a lot, but then they speak of truth as if it's fact. I don't have hope in facts. If I stab myself, I know that I will bleed. I don't hope it doesn't or does happen because know it will.

I hope in things that I haven't seen. It is a choice that I make. I could easily choose otherwise and sometimes I want to, but I don't. This is what I choose to believe. But, I reserve the right to not know.

I've spent the last two nights auditioning for "The Laramie Project", a play about the killing of Matthew Shepard, a gay college student, supposedly killed because of his sexual orientation. The auditions were conducted in a very unique fashion. Instead of simply having people read from script or memorize monologues the director had groups of three sit down and interview each other with the rest of the auditioners looking on. This was to represent the interviews that the actors did with Laramie, Wyoming residents, which make up the bulk of the play. Most of the discussion was about the righteous or un-righteousness of homosexuality and how each person felt about it. I verbalized, tonight, something I've felt for sometime in a way I hadn't before.

I don't understand homosexuality. I don't understand why men want to be with other men and not women. It doesn't make any sense to me. It doesn't work.

I don't understand calculous. I don't understand what it is or why it is used or how. I doesn't make sense to me.

But, if a mathamatician told me that something was proven through calculous I wouldn't say, "No, that doesn't make sense and therefore it's wrong." I would take his word for it because it is something he understands but I do not. I don't have the right to make judgement calls on math that I don't understand.

You don't have to understand in order to accept.

"Peanuuuut, Peanut butter! and jelly"

2006-09-03T11:44:00.000-07:00

This makes me want to go to the Great Wall of China so maybe this will happen to me, too. ~

Can't Sleep. Try My House.

2006-09-02T11:47:00.000-07:00

I woke up with a headache this morning after spending the entire dang night at some friends'. (Amanda is out of town.) I was awoke by one friend after crashing at 3 ish in the morning, with a request: "Hey, sing "When Wilt Thou Save the People," A song I sang in Godspell a couple years back, which he was also in. In my groggy state I could barely make out what was being asked of me, but I was finally able to figure it out. First I was a little annoyed that he woke me up. Another friend of mine said behind him, "Kyle won't do it. He's too mature to do that. Let him sleep."

"What are doing? Having a contest to see if you could get me to sing it?"

"No." She laughed. "Go back to sleep." But, how the heck was I supposed to sleep now? I had to remember that stupid song.

After a few moments it finally came to me. It didn't come out of me sounding so great, but I got the basic tune right. My friend laughed.

When I realised that I wasn't going back to sleep and I really just wanted to go home and sleep in my own bed anyway and that the sun was up and my weirdo friends were still talking and hanging out with the same momentum they had been when I fell asleep, I had to get up and check out the situation. Sure enough it was 6:30ish and they were still on a roll. "They were all singing the song so I joined them and basked in the true oddity of watching the glow of morning on a Saturday, after having sang Kareoke and then playing Geusstures just hours earlier.

This experience is actually just a strange throughback to a time that doesn't seem that far away. College. This kind of thing was fairly normal back then. In fact, I'm reminded of a particularly interesting night of all night hanging at my college house.

The house I lived at during my junior and senior years at ACU was not quite a party house. We didn't have parties. That was a frat thing and we were theatre majors. We weren't the least bit interested in keg stands or make out parties or having DJs or anything like that. We drank imported and microbrewed beers and mixed cocktails and drank inexpensive (not cheap) wine. This was until everyone was happy enough not to care and then the Keystones and Natty Lights were broke out. At this point, my house could become a very fun place to be. My roomates and I lived in the default hang out house, a badge which I wore with honor and pride. I enjoyed having everyone over on weekends and knowing that my crashing pad was my own. Depending on your perspective, the house could be a very obnoxious place to be. Since my roomates and I liked having the "hang-out-house" we also took with it the inevidable inconveniences. Cleaning up in the morning, disposing of empty bottles and providing extra sleeping accomadations should a patron be unable to drive themselves home. This came with the territory. The most inconvenient of these inconveniences, however was if you had to wake up early on a Saturday morning.

One fine weekend, I decided that I was going to do something that I'd never done before. At least in college. I was going to wake up early even though I didn't have to. The reason I was going wake up was because our school was hosting a local Special Olympics event on campus and they had asked students to come volunteer. I was ready to accept the chanllenge and decided to make it an early(er) night in order to make the 8 am call.

My friends had other plans for me. I don't remember what had been going on that night. Usually it was a rehearsal or performance, but I don't think it was that, at this time. I believe it was a rare free night. Regardless, my house was once again full on this night and I knew that my loving wonderful friends would be in their rarest form, so I decided to hang out for a little bit and then sneak undetected to my bedroom to go to sleep. My early morning plans were unbekownst to them. So there I am, lying in bed. I'm probably not sleepy, but I'm determined to sleep. If you know me well enough, you know that this is a big deal for me. I could hear the others having fun and talking in the other room, and I've always been the kind of person that if I know someone else is up having fun, I can't sleep. Perhaps I listened to some music to help me relax and drown out the noise. I dare not tell them to be quiet because, as much as my friends love me they would do whatever necessary to not let me sleep if they knew I was trying to sleep. This was the kind of wonderful people whom I still consider some of my closest friends.

Just as I began to enter into a sort of half sleep I was woken by a strange noise that seemed very out of place at 12 or 1 in the morning. I realized that the vacuum cleaner was running. Not only was it running but it was running right outside my room. Not only was it right outside my room but it was being knocked against my door. Soon, my door, which did not have a lock on it, was being opened and the vacuum was entering. Soon the lights were being turned on. My friends, in their kindness, were vacuuming my floor for me. In my sleepy haze, I failed to see the thing they were doing as helpful and, as you would expect, asked what the hell they were doing and kicked them out, all to their protests that they only wanted to do a good deed. I used some choice words to let them know where they could put their good deed and shut the door and turned off the light.

But, the game had begun and my relentless friends had found their target. Only moments later they found another reason to come barging in and then another and another, but just couldn't understand why each entrance was met with a hostile eviction. Finally, I made a sneaky move of my own. My roomate's room was only next door, so when they weren't looking I slipped in and shut the door. There was a lock on his door, and I employed it. By now it was closer to 2:30 or 3 in the morning, but any sleep I was feeling had been taken care of by the earlier cat nap. It was no longer a fight to sleep, as that was not happening, but it was a battle of wills. Would I cave and go hang out with them, or would they give up and leave me alone?

Not able to open the door to my roomate's room without breaking it (which probably would have happend had my roomate not been one of them) they continued to bang on it and yell at me to get out. This was peppered with all kinds of requests and taunts meant to keep me from sleeping. Finally they went outside and tried to open the window and climb in. In my superior forethought I'd already locked the window. They eventually did stop for awhile. If I remember correctly, I was able to catch some Zs for awhile before the banging and yelling began again. This time I could tell they were wearing down. In an attempt to really throw them off I unlocked the window and climbed out. I got into the garage and into my car and, with doors locked, fell asleep in the back. As the sun was coming up I noticed the perpetrators standing over me looking into the car. I thought, "Great, they're never going to give up." But, to my surprise, they turned and didn't even make the attempt. They accepted defeat and returned into the house. Around 8 am, the time I was supposed to be at the Special Olympics, I went back into the house to see my last nights annoyances, crashed all around. I proceded to the kitchen where I quietly openned up the cabinets and carefully pulled out a pot and a pan. I walked to the middle of the living room, where all four night owls where fast asleep. Right there in the living room I did my best pot and pan rendition of "Rise and Shine! (And give God the Glory, Glory!)" After being reprimanded by a few hung over and angry friends of mine I walked into my room, shut the door and slept right through the Special Olympics.

The Star Wars Inside Reference That No One Get's Blog

2006-09-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

Ryan (yes, the Ryan) has been writing some stories of his own about the college experience. One such story including yours truly in a moment of stupidity. Have fun.

Bunker Down For a Whoopin'!

2006-08-30T08:08:00.000-07:00

It's really hard to think of any stories that would not embarass or implement someone who reads this blogs or someone who knows someone who reads this blog. Not that my friends or I got into trouble, but some of my better stories include instances that would better be told to the public by the person who would stand to be the most embarassed.

One story, however, that I like tell is about a friend of mine, named Ryan. I've told this story plenty of times and so I know he won't mind. If you do mind, Ryan, sorry.

Ryan was dating a friend of mine during the fall of our sophomore year. They seemed to really like each other, but the understanding was that it wasn't serious because he was going to go to Oxford, England for the next semester. One night she and he had a serious talk before he turned in for the night. Apperantly, the talk frustrated Ryan, because upon meeting him in the dorm lobby he didn't seem too happy. I walked with him up to my hallway. We were going to talk in my room. As we approached my room, another friend of ours, Chris, decided that it would be funny to jump out from behind a large trash can and scare us.

This turned out to be a dire mistake on the part of Chris. This abrupt shock sent Ryan into a fit of rage. Ryan proceded to beat on Chris with the mercy of a hungry puma. I pulled Ryan off of the shocked Chris. Ryan wasn't a huge guy, but he was certainly a bigger guy than Chris, who is prime candidate for a beanpole. Or, at least, was at the time.

Chris was understandably furious. "What's your problem?!" he yelled, as Ryan hurled warnings of ever surprising him like that again. Ryan is usually a very docile, friendly guy, and has told me that he currently has this other, darker side of himself in check. But, at the time, you could certainly catch Ryan in a bad mood and soon be in a new mood of your own if you did the wrong thing.

I tried to calm Ryan as a friend of Chris's pull him from the ground. Chris then made the his second mistake of the evening. He had dropped his glasses on the ground and turned to pick them up, lifting his rear into the air. The look on Ryan's face told me what his next move was before he had budged an inch. Before I could stop him, Ryan gave what he was hoping would be a swift and painful boot in the pants. Chris, however, dropped to the ground once again, holding his gut and midsection. The curses and pleas were of a different sort this time.

One sometimes forgets when one sees a butt aloft that depending on the angle and spread of the legs a kick to the buttocks region can also include an item, or set of items, traditionally thought of as the front. Such was the case here. I urged Ryan to escape to my room where Ryan finally started to settle down.

Ryan is one of my best friends and here is why. He is one of those few people who will admit wrong doing and give heartfelt, sincere appologies freely and without excuse. According to Ryan he can sometimes go into "seeing red" mode where everything that he does is only a fuzzy memory at best. Ryan has never been to war, but the amount of time he spends smoking out Charlie would have one thinking differently. Maybe it's all the video games. But, he realized very soon that what he'd done was mean and within an hour or so Chris and he were friends again and all was well. But, I'll never forget that moment when my friend Ryan thought Chris was a special ops assassin sent to destroy him by jumnping out from behind a trash can. One thing I can say: if that ever did happen to Ryan he'd be prepared.

"I'm a zit. Get it?"

2006-08-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

When I first started teaching my students accused me of talking about college a lot. My students said that all I ever did was talk about how much I loved college and all these stories about the theater department there, etc. I also have a bunch of non theater related stories that I probably have told at one point or another. Some I don't find that entertaining or perhaps they implement someone who knows someone who might be reading this, so I don't exactly feel right about telling all here in a blog.

But, I realized that I don't talk about college much on this blog. I talk a lot about high school, probably because I teach at one, but one of the best times of my life, my college years, has been all but ignored in this forum.

I really did enjoy my college years. I often think about them and speak of them fondly, if not longingly. So much happened to me then. I learned more about theatre than anyone could imagine, I learned so much about myself and what I valued and most importantly, I met the people, I feel, are going to be my friends for life. The greatest of these is my wife, Amanda, whom I met my sophomore year.

So, the next few posts will be stories and antidotes about my college experience. Hopes that all enjoy.

Rachel's Challenge or The Sobby Theater Teacher

2006-08-23T19:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday and today we had a visitor to our school that, I hope, has made a unique impact on our school. From what I can tell so far the students have responded in a positive way, as has the faculty. The visitor was Craig Scott who was present at the Columbine High School shootings in Littleton, Colorado. When Dylan and Erick entered the Library he and two of his friends were sitting under a table, trying to hide or protect themselves from gunfire. There is a 911 voice recording you've probably heard of a teacher yelling at kids to get under the table. He was one of the kids. Right there in the library Craig saw 10 of his fellow students shot dead including his two friends sitting with him underneath the table. For some reason he was spared.

The reason he was there to speak to us wasn't simply to give the students a history lesson or to teach them a little lesson about bullying. It was much more than that. Craig's sister, Rachel, was the first student shot and killed in the tragedy. She was sitting outside on the lawn eating lunch as the shooters entered the school. Rachel's story prior to the shootings, though, are really the focal point of Craig's speech. The program is called Rachel's Challenge

Rachel wasn't a popular girl or a cheerleader or anything like that. In fact, if I know high school kids, the popular crowd probably didn't pay her much attention. But, according to her story, she wasn't one to be bothered by something like this. Rachel was the type of person who sought out friends in other areas. She was a person who made it a point to make friends with those who needed a friend. Numerous stories were told about her welcoming a lonely new student, or standing up to big football players who were bullying a handicapped kid, or anything like that. Her friends called her "idealistic" and said she lived in a "fantasy world" because she had the crazy notion in high school that being nice to people would eventually make everyone nice. She was exactly the kind of person that Dylan and Erick needed to meet during their time at Columbine, but, unfortunately, they did not.

Just months before her death Rachel wrote an essay titled "My Ethics, My Codes of Life." If you know high school students then you know that a student who would even title a school paper like this is out of the norm. The paper went on to say that people have the capacity to start "chain reactions" simply by showing compassion for people and "looking for the best and beauty in everyone."

The assembly, led by her brother, showed clips of Rachel, photos, as well as news footage from that day and recreated scenes from different times in Rachels life. The assembly took Rachel's essay and formed it into a challenge to students and teachers to treat others as Rachel had: with respect, compassion, and honesty. The message was certainly powerful and it was evidenced by how many students were affected by the time. Since every student was required to see the presentation I was lucky enough, today and yesterday, to have some great conversations with my students about the message being presented.

Now it's not easy for a big, tough high school boy to tell anyone that they have been emotionally moved by something. But, I could not believe the amount of outpouring that happened at our school. Everyone was comparing their "cry" story. Some people wept. Others just kind of teared up, or got choked up. One of my students asked me, "Mr. Martin, did you cry?"

Now, as of July 20, 2002 I have cried a total of 4 times. That's roughly once a year. That beats out the previous 8 years by 3. So the last 4 years have seen a much softer, emotional Kyle. If you don't know, July 20, 2002 was the day I got married to Amanda. An event I attribute to my conversion to the moist side.

I have also come to the conclusion that I have allowed myself to be open to crying if the need arises. I feel, as laughing, that crying is simply an expression of emotion. We have no problem laughing when we want, so why should we resist crying? With that said I sat through the "Rachel's Challenge" assembly fighting back getting choked up and wiping a couple of tears from my eyes occasionally. However, nearing the end of the assembly the video played "Hands" by Jewel, a singer that, while possibly pretentious and melodramatic, sure, if placed within a certain context can be that special ingredient that makes something jump from "tear-jerker" to "sob-fest." To say that I cried would have been an understatement. It caught me totally by surprise, but I was certainly thankful for it.

I was not surprised to be the only one who cried, but, after outing myself as a sobber to my students, I was astonished at the rate the admissions flowed in after that. "Me too, Mr. Martin. I couldn't help it." and things like that. Most important, kids were opening up in a way I had never seen outside of church camp. Kids want and need to share this stuff, but it's too hard, because at the same time they are constantly being judged, so as soon as one kid realized that the area was safe, all bets were off. I really couldn't believe it.

I'm not sure if this was something happening all over campus or just in my class because I made them write one hundred words about a time someone was kind to them and the impact it made on them, but the sense in the school over the last two days has gone from self-conscious students back from the summer sporting their new trendy clothes to a happy, open, and friendly campus. That's something that just doesn't exist in a culture where the number one worry in a kids head is who is going to make them feel ostracized today for doing the wrong thing or saying something stupid or having the wrong accessory.

All I can say is thank you to the Scott family for sharing the life of your beautiful sister/daughter/friend's life with the world. Thank you to our administration for essentially throwing away two whole days of instruction to focus on the happiness and spirit of our school rather than worry about TAKS scores. That may be the greatest accomplishment of them all. Our principal pushed so hard for this because he realizes that the emotional well-being of our kids is more important than the freaking TAKS test and two days of instruction. He's talked about it for two years now and this isn't the first time I felt he more than proved his stance. So, thanks to Trey Kraemer.

Finally, thank you to Rachel Scott for having so much strength and courage. I remember high school and without my knowledge and will, teaching at the same high school that I attended, I remember very vividly how tough it can be to go against the grain. I remember how cruel kids could be and how isolated someone could feel. I was one of the lucky ones, I suppose, because I had friends, but I certainly remember thinking about how difficult it would be to just decide to make friends with someone who might be considered an outcast. You make me a little ashamed of myself for not doing more and for caring too much about what others might think instead of doing what I knew was right. Old and young alike can learn from you, and I'm glad to have heard your challenge. I'll accept it.

Rachel kept a journal about her goals and dreams. She felt like it was important to proclaim her goals loudly and unabashed as a reminder what she was here for. She made no qualms about the fact that she believed that she would die young and that her life would touch the hearts of millions. I'm not a firm believer in premonitions or anything, but she called this one right. I also think that she wanted to remember what life was like "back then."

I suppose that's one reason I blog, now. And, while I never really bound them up, per se, I've always kept kind of a journal in the form of poems and stories and letters. That's why I've never been able to throw them away, despite having left behind much of those thoughts and feelings. They represent what I've been through and are, in a sense, still part of who I am now. Or at least, I am the evolution of those letter and poems and stories. It seems pathetic to dwell on a time of your life when people were petty and ignorant and immature, but we certainly don't forget that they existed so why should we pretend that they didn't.

I hope that our students really do take Rachel up on her challenge. I hope they don't just see this as a "good cry" or "that time we all had a nice, warm, fuzzy." I hope that our students do start journaling, caring, and treating each other better. I think that if anything can move us along to that end, this program can. The weeks following Columbine for me were a personal low of depression and a feeling that the world was hateful and pointlessly doomed. About the same time I heard that a boy I'd grown up with committed suicide. An epidemic like this one is certainly one of those instances where God truly seems to bring out of the ashes a much stronger cause. I sometimes worry about the generation that I'm teaching, which can easily be lumped in with my own. Maybe, though, they just need the example. May we all strive to continue that example.

Permission

2006-08-22T10:32:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd bring something up again. Enjoy.

Likes and the Like

2006-08-17T06:06:00.000-07:00

I like waffles

I like pancakes

But I like waffles more than pancakes

**

I like eggs

I thought I liked Eggbeaters

I was wrong

**

I like films made by artist

I dislike movies made by entrepreneurs

Some times that's not true, but it's more of an idealistic thing.

**

I like wearing socks with sandals

I hate when my socks get wet

You will never see me in socks with flip-flops

**

I like cuddling

I like kissing

Kissing and cuddling simultaneously is the best

**

I like order

I like a little disorder

I dislike it when someone else imposes their version of order on me

**

I like the month of May

My birthday is in May

There might be a correlation, but I think I would like May regardless

**

I like hard workers

I'm annoyed with defeatists

I dislike hard workers who think that everyone else should act and believe as they do

**

I like people

I like nice people the best

I like mean people but more in the way that some people like dinosaurs or sharks, or single celled organisms.

**

I like money, I think it's pretty and it smells nice

I don't like what money does to a society

I've got enough of it

**

I hope you like these

I want you to like these

If you don't I'm not going to be hurt

Little Miss Sunshine

2006-08-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

Everyone has that movie, or genre of movie. The type of movie that just really hits home for some reason and resonates with you as an individual down to your very being. The type of movie that can sum up for you everything that you've been wanting to explain to the world about yourself and your view of the world. It can be a single movie, but for me it really boils down to a certain style of movie that connects with me like no other. After a while I start to worry that they aren't making movies like that anymore and I'll be forced to relive the Rushmores and The Royal Tenenbaums, or the Fargos and Eternal Sunshines. Not that I mind reliving these films at all. On the contrary, these are my favorite films and I could watch them all ad nauseam. I don't buy many movies because I don't really care to watch even the good ones multiple times. But these films I own on DVD. Some of these films have more in common than others. Certainly the works of the Cohen Brothers are going to have a familiar bend, as well as those of Wes Anderson or Charlie Kaufman. But, sometimes when I begin listing my favorite films of all time I find myself repeating the works of only 2 or 3 filmmakers, scattered with a Francis Ford Coppola here, or a P.T. Anderson there. Inevitably, these hardworking folk cannot maintain the same level of excellence and quirkiness that reeled me in originally and are bound to have some stinkers here and there. Or at least, as is the case with The Life Aquatic, the quirky, hip film director/writer ends up making a movie that is trying to hard to recapture the previous creativity and ends up making a decent film that almost parodies his/her previous successes. Making good movies is hard, after all. So, it's always refreshing when a new creative team emerges to pick up some of the slack and make themselves known in their own right. It's even more exciting when that little niche they are carving for themselves somehow fits into the little groove that I've created for movies that especially move me, personally.

Now, I don't know if Jonathan Dayton, Valerie Faris (directors), Michael Arndt (writer), or someone else is the creative force behind the new dark comedy Little Miss Sunshine. Sometimes it's the directors, and other times it is the writers or producers. This particular movie feels very writer driven. (The fact that two directors are listed makes me think that there might have been some problems leading to the firing of one and hiring of the other...Okay, I just looked it up. They are a husband-wife team.) But, I digress. Whomever is responsible it seems that we have (a) new filmmaker(s) that has(ve) tapped into that rare piece of dark humor and disturbing family dysfunction that makes me just as giddy as a Star Wars Nerd at a Billy Dee Williams booksigning. (I could have also gone with "Premiere of the lost film that's better than Empire", "Chained to the leg of George Lucus," or "Woke up to find him/herself in the actual planet of Dagobah confirming what they suspected all along.") This is the best thing to come around since perhaps Tenenbaums and certainly since Eternal Sunshine. The script just about perfects the dark family comedy genre and the directing and acting are so real and onpoint that this is sure to be a top contender for Oscar nods. I never say stuff like that because I'm almost always wrong, but if this doesn't get lots of recognition from awards I just give up.

Speaking of giving up, I've hit on one of the most important themes of the movie. Sunshine finds the dysfunctional Hoover family as each one is going through one crisis or another. The only family member that seems to have a truly positive outlook is little Olive, played by Abigail Breslin in the vain of Christian Bale in Empire of the Sun, that is to say, one of the best child performances I've ever seen. Olive has a healthy and somewhat idealistic view of beauty pageants and wins her local "Little Miss Sunshine Pageant" when the winner is unable to go on to the national level. The family, caught in a bind created by the suicidal Uncle Frank (played by the wonderful Steve Carrell), must all make the long trek to California for the pageant. They are on a time crunch, and so of course they cut it as close as deli meat, running into every roadblock imaginable, and many that you or I would never have thought up. But, this is certainly no cut and paste road trip flick. The relationships the audience is allowed to witness and the way they develop and interact is humorous and real and sad all at the same time. Each individual on the bus (an old VW mini-bus that, among other things, must be pushed to start and cannot go below 2nd gear) is fighting a different and equally frightening demon that plagues them throughout the movie. They all seem to have an ideal way of viewing life and then seeing that they are not living that ideal, have a plan to realize that perfect life without the suffering. One by one each character has their "ideal" ripped away from them and they find themselves fighting tooth and nail to not let the same happen to little Olive. The giving up theme is very important because of Kinnear's character's patriarchal stance that only losers give up. This seems to be the overwhelming drive for each of the family members whether it be to satisfy their father or get away from him.

I don't like saying that this is one of the best movies ever, or any so broad a proclamation as that, but the way I felt leaving the theater last night was that it was definitely the best movie I've seen this year and perhaps could be propelled into my top 10 favorite movies ever. It will take time for it to sink in, but I think it's safe to say that this movie will live on in my memory for a long time. Little Miss Sunshine accomplishes the incredibly difficult feat of being a truly dark and sad story that makes you laugh as hard as it will make you cry and then leave you feeling, in the end that you can conquer the world. But even if you don't, give em hell on the way out.

5/5 bulls

Mirror, Mirror, Mirror, Mirror....

2006-08-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

October I will go to my 5 year college reunion. Sure, it's not much, but it seems strange that I've been out of college long enough to have a reunion. Time has certainly flown by. Monday I start my fourth year as a teacher and my third year at my present job. the last two years teaching in Baytown kind of blend together now. I can't remember whether somethings were last year or two years ago. As I was cleaning out my room and the set shop, getting ready for new faces as well as the kids continuing with theatre, I kept running across things that that reminded me of something or someone. Sometimes it was a set peice or peice of a set peice that later got mangled into a different set peice and I'm reminded of a particular instance. It might take me a moment to remember whether it was last year or the one before. This last year flew by so fast that they mush together. I'm sure that this intensifies as you continue teaching, and pretty soon it's retirement age and you felt like it was just your first year. I'll bet it slows down near the end, depending on whether you like what you do or not. If you're ready to retire, I'll bet it could feel like molassas sliding off a roof in a snow storm...(I'll let that image sit with you for awhile...).

Since I began teaching at my alma mater, I've kept my eye out for signs that I was there. A prop I used or set piece I remember. Nothing stuck out as much as the little item I had to deal with today. The first year at my school I was cleaning out a room at the side of the stage and at the back of that room, standing in the corner were 4 or 5 tall flats with mirrors attached. The mirrors also had these little felt stickers attached in a strange little floral patern that bordered the mirrors. I remembered these as the mirrors that had been used when the high school performed The Chorus Line when I was in 7th grade. My older brother, Jason, was in the show, and had a pretty good part for a freshman as I recall. The theatre teacher at the time, and who eventually became my theatre teacher, and eventually ran us all off before having the audacity to retire the year after I graduated, had directed the musical for the second time in just a few years because I'm sure she just loved the fact that the only set it took were a bunch of mirrors across the back of the stage.

Well, over the last two years those stupid mirrors have gotten on my ever last nerve. What do you do with 9 ft. mirrors? I could throw them away, but I would almost certainly have to brake them into pieces to fit them into the dumpster. Plus, the frames that held the mirrors were good and could be used. So I decided to pop the mirror off the frames and keep the frames. Easier said than done. These things ended up being permenantly fixed to pieces of particle board that had been glued and nailed to the frame. I started this project last year in class and soon discovered I did not want to undertake this potentially shardzy task with students. So today I did one. It took me forever. It was not fun. So, long story short, a lady whom I wasn't too fond of in the first place made me mad again today.

My how time flies, but eventually it will catch up with you and put shards of glass in your arms and legs.

Bonker's Messes

2006-08-07T21:46:00.000-07:00

I am often, if not always on the look for better ways to clean up after my cats. For instance, Bonkers sheds a lot. I've never known a cat to shed like this and I've had cats all my life. If I hold Bonkers for even a moment my cloths are covered with thick, grey cat hair. When we have people spend the night at our apartment we have to clean the futon so they can sleep there. Bonkers doesn't spend much time there anymore because I started spraying him with water everytime he'd get up there, but I would spend at least an hour with a combo tape roller thing and vacuum cleaning that thing off. I would usually go through an entire roll of that stuff.

I'm always trying to find ways to get him to not shed as much. A couple of years ago we bought this brush. It's rubber and is supposed to have some kind of static cling power to attract as much hair as possible and then you just pull the hair off. The brush worked really well. It would pull loose hair off that cat until the cows came home. If I'm sitting at my computer Bonkers will generally let me pet and hold him as long as I want, so I would sit here with Bonkers in my lap brushing him for extended periods of time. Before long I would have handfuls of thick, grey cat hair. Typically, there would be enough that, without squishing it down, would fill a coffee. And the hair kept coming. And coming. And coming. Finally I realized that the damn cat was growing hair faster than I could pull it off of him. It didn't stop. I would wonder why the cat wasn't bald, I could pull off so much hair. It was quite remarkable actually. "Bonkers! The cat with unlimited amounts of hair!"

After a while I stopped trying. He wasn't sitting on the futon anymore, and while the papazon chair the crevices within are a jungle of fur and hair with which one could probably weave a sweater for a small boy, we never sit there and just kind of let him take it over as his throne. I still brush him to remove the excess at times, but generally it's like one of those dreams where you're climbing a staircase that leads nowhere. What's the point. Just turn around and sit on one of the steps and wait til it's all over.

The only other problem we have with Bonkers are his rogue turd nuggets. Bonkers, if you didn't already know this, is without a tale, but he does have a little tuft of fur back on his butt. Sometimes when he goes #2 a perfectly round little poop ball will follow him out of the litter box only to drop on the floor somewhere along the way. So, when we arrive home from anywhere it's not uncommon for us to find a little present lying on the floor in any number of places. It's my theory, as Bonkers is keen toward batting around little things that roll on the ground, that he probably utilizes his feces as a little self made toy.

We've yet to come up with a solution to this little issue, short of shaving his butt. Now that I think of it, that's not a bad idea. I wonder if Amanda would be mad at me. Hmmm.

R&J Costumes

2006-08-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

Here are some drawings of costumes for Romeo and Juliet from the Shakespeare play of the same name. I'm borrowing heavily from the Godfather movies, particularly the first one. I need to stop working on those, however so that I can finish the schedule. We start this week. I'm kind of excited, I must say.

Ask a Ninja

2006-08-05T12:24:00.000-07:00

Some Ninja action for your enjoyment.

ZZZZZzzzzzzzzz....... Psych.

2006-07-31T01:18:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how sleep works, in particular how it works with me. I've always been curious about the mystery of sleep. When I was a kid I always tried to pinpoint the moment that I fell asleep. To this day I am, of yet, unsuccessful. I once successfully, or at least believe that I successfully affected my dreams. One night as a youth I dreamed an amazing dream about only God knows and woke up in the middle of it frustrated that it hadn't continued. I guess I had to use the restroom or something. Well, as I lay back down I was determined to affect my dreams so that I started the same dream again. I'm not remembering if it started where it left off or if I had to start from the beginning, but by concentrating deeply on the dream and what it was about I was able to create the conditions of my dream again.

By the way, while I'm thinking of it, if you are interested in dreams and the subconcious mind, do yourself a favor and watch Waking Life by Richard Linklater. He directed School of Rock and Dazed and Confused but he also has some lesser known (lesser by big market standards, I mean, most people who really like indie film have seen it, but it could concievably be off most people's radar) movies. Waking Life is chronoscoping animation, much like his current film A Scanner Darkly, in which the actors are filmed but then the movie is animated using the original footage. It makes for a kind of mind trippy looking film.

Anyway, Waking Life takes a guy trying to wake from a dream from place to place in his dream, unable to wake up, and he just keeps meeting these different people who pontificate on the oddities of sleep and dreaming, and how it compares with life awake, and so on... If your only qualification for a movie is a compelling story then you might not like Waking Life but if you listen to NPR you'd probably like it.

This is all to say that I can't get to sleep and I'm confused as to how my body decided this. I've really confused my sleep clock this time.

For the last several nights I've been going to sleep late. Really late. So late it's early late. One morning Amanda woke up to go to a workshop at 8 am and I was still up, cleaning out the computer room. I was tired, but I was more interested in pictures I was finding that I hadn't looked through in awhile. And, let's face it, I wasn't that tired. I'd been sleeping late enough and couple that with the fact that I'm a night person anyway and I could stay up a long time. Saturday night it all kind of hit the fan because we had to wake up to go to church at 9 the next morning. With a new computer to play with, sure enough I had little interest in sleep until I forced my retirement at 6 am. With a 8:30 wake up and a very disappointing Astros game to look forward to I wasn't really looking forward to the next day, and even contemplated just staying up. But, I gave in and with 2+ hours of sleep went to church with bags under my eyes. Church was fine. I zoned out some, but was a lot more alert than I thought I'd be. A nail biting Astros game at Minute Maid Park kept my attention for the next few hours, but by the time the game was over I was ready to hit the hay. Amanda and I got home around 4:30 and I immediately went for the bedroom and got comfy. I wasn't ready to sleep yet, but instead watched a movie with Amanda. By the time 8 was rolling around I was ready to call it a night. I fell asleep around 8:30.

3 and a half hours later I wake up thinking that it's morning but I'm confused as to why it was so dark outside. I figured that it might be raining. I also notice Amanda's watching "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel and not The Today show and ask "What time is it?"

"11:30 at night." She says, "you've been asleep for 3 hours." I thought it had been one of the best night's sleep I'd had in a long time.

So now after practically no sleep a three hour nap was all I needed and I'm wide the freak awake again! Why can I go to bed at midnight and sleep til noon, but if I try to go to sleep at 8:30, even after a full day, I sleep for three hours? Makes no sense.

Part 4: This one is called "Flashing...Eyes!"

2006-07-28T05:59:00.000-07:00

As I sat buckled into my muddy grave I was left to think about my life. I went back mentally to the face of my dear mother and her sympathetic looks as my stepfather berated me with accusations of thievery and insubordination. All the while I took the abuse. Whenever I pleaded with my stepfather that it wasn't I who took his cigarettes the side of my face met headlong with his high school state championship ring. Heaven forbid that I point out to him that in his drunken stupor he had tossed the carton behind the refrigerator, and all he need would be to enlist the help of a coat hanger or such tool with which he could reach behind and retrieve the cigarettes. Surely that would have been a dire mistake. My only recourse was to accept the punish that came my way and hope that he tired himself quickly. After the tyrant was out of physical steam he resorted to the verbal before retiring to his Laz-E-Boy. "Pansy!" This was just one of many feminine epithet to which I was attributed. Would stare up blankly at my mother who would shrug, struggling to fight back tears and rage. But it wasn't sympathy that I required of the woman who bore me. As I studied the plains animals in Africa for my middle school ecology class I was envious of the lion cubs and even the prehatched snakes. The natural instinct of their mothers was to put themselves in danger for the sake of their young. A mother cheetah, when faced with a pack of hyennas would not run, as they would certainly be able to outrun the lot, but would stand her post in a show of power amid a powerful foe.

I would rise and trod past my maternal life giver, giving close attention to give eye contact. If I neglected to force my glance I would not be able to look her in the eye. With a tight clenched jaw upon my upper lip I slunk into my bedroom, resigned to face this scenario again before the week was through.

As I made my way into the upper levels of my education I slowly became all but a recluse. My routine consisted of a bus ride to school where I buried myself in the backs of classrooms wearing subdued colors as to not draw attention to myself. Not a word spoken for fear that someone might hear me and want to respond. I was on constant alert for anything that might act as the key that would unlock my chest of sorrow. In adolescence the most feared thing for a typical student is vulnerability, but for me vulnerability was more than just fears and self-doubt. It was inherit self-loathing. I was convinced that it was not so much I who was condemned to live a life of pain and anguish, but yet my entire lineage was cursed and doomed to a life of subversive meekness and low status and abilities. Generations upon generations of my family could amount to nothing and this is what had been passed on to me and I will to my children pass on even greater woe and suffering.

Just when I had convinced myself, however, that I would never know happiness she entered the classroom in which I slouched. She was wearing black clothes and did not paint her face the way that other girls did, but she had a pale face that shown through her jet black hair like a single burst of sunlight, piercing through a crack in my cell of isolation. She did not smile or look up as the teacher read from her schedule card. "We have a new student, her name is Jasmine." Jasmine! Oh, appropriate names, have thee no finer specimen! "There is a seat next to this....gentleman. I assure you, you will not be bothered here." As the others snickered at Mrs. Frank's accidental jab I sank into a new kind of despair. I was immediately smitten with Jasmine, but Mrs. Frank's inability to recall my name highlighted a major setback if I were to ever attempt to pursue her: I've never said a word in front of any of these people and before I can make the leap at courting a lady I must first speak. Such a drastic turn of events would surely cause pause in a group of misfits whom I had successfully staved off for the better part of 10 years. As we all know as soon as young man or woman notices anything out of the ordinary he or she finds that it is his or her inherit right and duty to point it out for all to see. This is customarily followed by ridicule and scoffing of said perpetrator of the unusual act. This may be a consequence that I was willing to take.

Coming soon: Part 2 of Part 4.

Romeo and Juliet Set

2006-07-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

I don't know when I'm going to finish that story I was writing. I feel like I should even though I'm not sure it was going anywhere. Maybe someone out there (Rozie) would like to finish it for me. What happened to the fire guy? all that jazz.

The last few days I've been working on a set design for Romeo and Juliet which I'm directing in Aug.-Sept. at school. The show is already cast and we begin on August 7. So if any cast members are reading this, 3 o'clock in my room, kay?

Here's what the set is looking like so far:

Floor plan: I'm limited to some extent because I can't build anything stationary below the act curtain because the school has an open house in the auditorium early in the year with the orchestra needing to be onstage. They don't want to see my set. (Yeah, like it would just offend the eyes of the parents, or something.) Anyway, the big round thing to the right rotates so that Juliet has her balcony and then it turns around to reveal her bedroom.

This is the first drawing I did of what the front should look like. The round balcony on the right is too big and there are some other issues with the back wall, but this is basically what it will look like. I've also been thinking that I might have the whole left wall swing in using the rotating platforms fulcrum.

This is a more to scale drawing, although it's obviously not as fleshed out. I eventually plan to get this one colored and such.

Snoop Took Over Ya Blizog, Cracka!

2006-07-16T22:35:00.000-07:00

Yo! Step up, playaz. Take a lizzook at T- to the H to the is

Part 3: "Burning Hate" (still)

2006-07-16T13:16:00.000-07:00

After what seemed like a dream but was reality in it's most gruesome and horrific tangible authenticity, I had pseudo-unintentionally destroyed our suburban flat, and could hear the screams of horror from neighbors, whose adjoining apartments were suffering similar fates. My body covered in cracking, lapping whips of flare and flame I was struck with the sudden realization of what was happen, although I was still not entirely sure how it had happened. I was suddenly aware, however, that, whatever had happened, I was at fault and that I needed to vacate the premises with hast and without leaving my unfaithful, now deceased spouse and her deceased lover at the scene. With the sound of sirens from the impending authorities in my ears, I fled with two charred and unrecognizable corpses flung over a shoulder to my automobile. I sped away in my Geo hatchback as fast as I could to as remote an area of the country I knew of and tried desperately to make sense of what had happened.

The sensation all over my body was warm enough to make me sweat but was simultaneously causing the air from the open windows of my hatchback to chill my skin all over. It felt like the most comfortable fever I'd ever experienced. One would think that the smell from the dead, burnt bodies in the back of the car would over-power the stint's of the singed hair that once covered my own body, yet, my newly bare form was keenly apparent to me from what was the unmistakable smell of my own burnt body hair. Oddly enough, not even a sunburn or pink patch of skin could be found. Rather, my pale and tender complexion was as it had always been. Only hairless and warm. Such immunity to fire could not be said of my wife or her companion crackling in the back seat, losing more of their earthly coil with every bump and curve in the long, isolated road.

Had I really just set fire to myself, and, in doing so, to my wife and to our apartment? Was the betrayal of my only love so desperately vile to me that, in a fit of rage I had ended her life, and the life of the man who perpetrated the act along with her? I tried to recall my adolescent years, taking physical science classes, and fire safety videos in chemistry, all cataloging what was required to make a fire. One would need fuel, a spark, and oxygen to create a fire. To my knowledge my body was lacking, if not two main components, then certainly one. And why was my own flesh impervious to the heat and flame even when my hair was not? All of these questions raced inside of me, all the while gradually allowing hate to creep in to justify my actions as retribution for my lost love's transgressions. As I concentrated on my wife's callow dishonesty, and my father's absence, and my mother's weakness I felt my pores begin to whistle softly and my skin became warm and my eyes pressurize, burning as if every blood vessel was ready to burst out, crying for fresh air. Peering down as I drove, a shallow, blue wave of light cover my right hand as I allowed myself to dwell on the hate I was feeling for those that had wronged me. My mind snapped to as I violently shook my hand before the flame could spread to my upper-arm. Wavering from the road, my eyes failed to see the dark canyon of trees through which I traveled curve slightly to the left. I lost control and my vehicle careened into a large ditch, swallowing it whole and trapping my victims and me inside as both doors and open windows were blocked on either side by earth, grass and mud. My solitary wish was that the high, narrow walls of the trench would hinder the incidental passer-by from noticing my little toy car, not to be rescued until I had met the same fate of my rear passengers.

To be continued. (it might not be called "Side Show" after all)

The Electric Car

2006-07-14T15:12:00.000-07:00

Taking a break from my weird "Top Hat Guy" story, take a look at this. I know that the idea of an electric car universe wouldn't be a popular concept in Baytown, of all places, but think about it. We gotta do something and I can't understand what the problem is. I'm looking forward to seeing this movie and any information anyone else has on this. Why did they stop making these, seemingly, great vehicles?

Part 2: "Burning Hate"

2006-07-11T10:51:00.000-07:00

When I first realized my unique problem I was at first somewhat excited. After the initial shock I thought that there could be some sort of capital to be gained from such a talent. This would require that I alter my mood on cue as to be able to take control of the fire. You see, it only occurs when I'm angry. Being a fairly docile creature by nature I had never really reached the requisite point of anger required for combustion. That is until my 23rd birthday when it was that I discovered it. On my 23rd birthday my lovely bride of 10 months and I had plans to play miniture golf. There was a popular miniture putting course in town at the time. This was before...(clears throat)the big one. Or I guess I should say the bigger one. (Starts a week laugh but thinks better of it.) She and I played together quite a lot in those days. I can't say that we lived a high octane life, but it was ours and we were happy. I was happy. She asked what I wanted to do and I said miniture golf. It was just a birthday and I didn't feel the need to do anything too extravegant aside from maybe two glasses of wine with dinner instead of just one. My bride was obviously unhappy with our plans. I arrived home from work that day to find her in bed with another man. He was our accountant, Steve. A friend. I thought.

As you could imagine I was deeply sorrowed. I had felt sadness before. My father left my family when I was thirteen. Old enough to know exactly what was going on but still young enough to have my innocence ripped from me. My mother entered into a slew of abusive and doomed relationships. Watching my mother make poor decision, one after another, was heartbreaking. No, I'd been burned on more than one occasion...no pun intended. Perhaps that's why I'd always been seen as the quiet one.

But, when I walked into the room and saw him and...and her...I...I reached deep down and decided that it was time to unleash anger. I don't think that it was anger brought on purely from my wife's infidelity but from every person who had wronged me in my life. The anger that had been harboring for so long within the depths of me, that I'd kept hidden and sqelched, was finally allowed to show it's red face to the one person in my life that I'd allowed myself to trust beyond comprimise. It was a betrayal that could be compared with that of Brutus but my rage was that of a wild hyenna. If a wild hyenna burst into flames everytime it struck it's prey.

Coming soon, Part 3: "Side Show"

Part 1: the Apologist

2006-07-11T10:11:00.000-07:00

(A tall man with a top hat and Mutton chops approaches a microphone which is situated directly under a bright, single spot light. He is gangly and his face is sunken in and he seems very tired and serious. He speaks.)

Good evening. I'm sure most of you know who I am by now. I'm sure that most of you are aware of why I'm here. Let me start of by thanking you for allowing me to come. I know that most of you did not want me here tonight, and for good reason. I can't say that I blame you. Thanks to efforts of my good friend Barthalomew...Barty...I stand in front of you today. I'm here to address you in all humility. I would like to ask first of all for your forgiveness. I know that many of you have been hurt. Most of you have had a loved one hurt. I would venture to guess that all of you know someone who has been hurt. Understand that this isn't easy for me. I didn't ask for this. If I knew how I would erraticate this affliction from my being but, as of yet, I have not discovered a valid means of doing so beyond...beyond ending my own life.

The burn from you eyes' glare does not go unoticed, I assure you. I feel the sting from your hatefilled and judgmental eyes deep down to my spine. The heat which I feel is tantamount to that which has been afflicted onto yourselves. I have suffered. The burden is mine.

Tomorrow, Part 2: Burning Hate

NYC Dormroom

2006-07-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

This is a photo that I took from my dormroom where I lived the summer of 2000 when I was taking a film class at NYU. Since I was only there for the summer I didn't take anything to decorate the room with or to keep me entertained other than a CD player and my dad's old laptop for writing. I also had books, but I came to really miss TV. Sometimes I would go downstairs and watch the TV in the lobby of the building. After the first or second week I became acquainted with the girls across the hall and I would watch over there sometimes. Anyway, this post isn't about TV. It's about the photo. Most of the time I wasn't in the room because the class I was taking was Monday-Friday, 9 am-10 pm, and Saturdays from 9-5. I rarely had much time to myself in my room. As we began filming even Sundays became busy. But, on Sundays when I wasn't busy I had a lot of time to do whatever I wanted. Part of the class required some homework, but I usually finished it easily in minutes. I used the time to write screenplays and and stage scripts, but I could only do that on my Dad's old Mac which had become compatable with PCs yet. I had no way of printing what I was writing or sending it, so it was useless for the class. I tried to go to church on Sundays. I really enjoyed attending Manhattan CoC and even ran into people I knew. But, for the first three or so weeks in New York I was pretty bored and lonely. Finally, I made friends in the class, but it took some time, for whatever reason. I called a lot of people while I was there. I called my ex, my friends, my friends' parents and I even tried calling Amanda, who was in Upstate at a camp. She didn't call me back. Knowing her now, I'm not all that surprised.

Anyway, this photo kind of reminds me of how I was feeling at that time and I thought that I'd share.

Rocket, Man.

2006-06-30T09:15:00.000-07:00

Spend some time with Shatner. You'll be glad you did.

A Lesson in the Physics of Superman Returns

2006-06-28T22:01:00.000-07:00

Amanda and I went with our friends John and Maggie to see the new Superman movie. I enjoyed it. It made for a great summer popcorn flick to see on a weekday evening with nothing else to do. Dan Carlson does a really nice job of summing up the movie and all of the vast social implications for The Man of Steel and his legacy in America. Dan speaks highly enough of the movie considering he is a pretty tough critic, but I disagreed that the movie relied too heavily on the earlier Superman movies, which seemed to be his primary complaint. I would say that it relies a sufficient amount. Anyway, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

As I mentioned, Dan felt that the movie's style was more or less an omage or perhaps even a cut-and-paste (with 2006 tech) of the style of Superman I & II. Yes, the tights and all are the classic red, blue and yellow, the little curl is present and even the clothes and cars seem stuck in the 1940s, but, other than the inexplicable internet, cell phones and flat screen televisions, one modern day advancement stuck out very clearly to me above any other. Take a close look at this picture. Do you see those little dimples on his arm. Those little dimples on his suit are the most distinguishing characteristic of the new getup. The director of Superman Returns, Bryan Singer himself, while explaining the small changes they made to the, essentially, unchanged suit, even neglected to note them in this interview. You might be asking yourself, "What does it matter if the suit has dimples or not?" "What is wrong with Kyle that he would forgo discussion about the plot line and inherit messianic qualities attributed to Superman in the new film to talk about the texture of the dang suit?" "Who cares?" The answer to these questions is...long. So, here's the short version. It matter's, but then again it doesn't.

And here's the long version.

Have you ever wondered why a golf ball flies so far? You probably haven't. But let's pretend that you have. It's because of the little dimples that cover the golf ball. For further explaination click here. You see, I was watching a documentary on Discovery Channel about Lance Armstrong and they discussed how the dimples on Lance's jersey cuts down on wind resistance. Clicking here will bring up a window that explains it further and shows a close up of the suit.

So, why would Superman need a suit like Lance Armstrong's? Quite simply, Superman would want as aerodynamic a suit as possible. He flies fast enough sure, but if you could cut a month off of your round trip to Krypton, a flight that would normally take five years, wouldn't you? The dimples can help with that. Of course, that doesn't account for the cape, which has to create drag, slowing him way down. I don't understand the function of the cape. It obviously doesn't aid in flight, as I once thought because he was able to fly without it.

And here we come the even bigger question. Why do they give the new Super-suit the dimple technology if they aren't even going to acknowledge it? Brandon Routh wasn't really flying or in need of superior aerodynamics. If it was only for asthetics then why ignore it?

Also, what's with the whole glasses/no glasses thing. I just can't get past the fact that it is so obviously the same guy.

I guess I recommend Superman Returns. Just try not to overthink it.

The movie get 3/5 bulls.

Pumpkin, the Cutest Cat Ever. Ever!

2006-06-28T09:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I'm going number 2 my cat, Pumpkin, likes to curl up in my pants sitting on the floor. He gets all comfy and snuggled up in there and I feel bad when I'm done and I've got to move him. After all, I don't want a cat living in my underwear.

Our cat, Pumpkin, is quite a unique cat. Just in case you have never met Pumpkin he is the Great Blogs of Fire mascot featured at the top of the page. He is constantly if not always doing something absolutely adorable. Sometimes I'll be typing in the computer room and Amanda will freak out, screaming, "Kyle, come here! Hurry! Quick, Kyle! Look at Pumpkin! Look what he's doing!" If I don't go she gets really down if I miss it. So, expecting to see Pumpkin wearing a bowtie and smoking a pipe while writing a letter to the President using perfect cursive with a ballpoint pen and saying "How do you spell incompetent," I get up and move into whatever room is hosting Pumpkin's marvelous feat.

Most likely it's nothing special. He's turned himself up-side-down, or is curled up underneath a blanket with just his face poking out or maybe Amanda's got him wrapped up in a blanket, all swaddled up like a fury-faced baby Jesus. Once he was sitting on the sofa like a person and Amanda (Who had probably propped him up there) thought this was grounds to call me away from the computer. She was right. Every time. I'm a softy for manufactured gooshiness, what can I say?

I've posted this picture before but I like it.

The Evolution of Love

2006-06-25T17:11:00.000-07:00

The other day I was thinking about love and how it comes in different stages and how we learn something in each relationship that we take into the next. It's basically impossible to completely leave one relationship behind just because you've entered a knew one. Even if you want to. Basically, this is how it went for me.

Childhood: Commonly known as puppy love, having a girlfriend in elementary is basically just mimicry of what we see on television and between our parents or aunts, uncles or anyone else. The affection is really still just on the friend level.

adolescence: I dated or obtained a girlfriend for a number of reasons. Probably first was hormones and the desire to just get close to a girl. Dating in high school was just a reaction to what we thought was the social norm when you were attracted to someone. Second dating was for fun, and to have someone to go to dances with. Thirdly, there was an element of status about it. Having a girlfriend was validation that your mom isn't the only one on the planet who thinks you're adorable. The funny thing is that I told at least one girl and maybe more that I loved them. I even remember talking about the future with one, talking about how life would be as a married couple. I never actually believed any of the talk, but I guess it added to the allure that we were creating for ourselves. I know that lots of people do marry their high school sweetheart, but I, for one, can't even imagine it.

Break ups as a teenager, for me, at least, was more of an ego blow than actually heartbreaking. This is especially true early on, like in 6th grade when a girl broke up with me. I swore to everyone, "She beat me to it. I was going to break up with her." Of course, the few romantic relationships that I had after that were ended by me, so I never actually got to be the breakie. Something I later would wish upon myself out of self-loathing.

College Upon entering college and scoping out the landscape of beautiful women, most of them with marriage on the brain (it was the nature of things at a Christian university, a subject which could spawn research literature), I knew right away that I really needed to be careful. There were people getting together within the first couple weeks of being on campus and pledging their undying love for each other. One needed to be careful not to fall too hard too fast in this environment.

The first girl that I dated in college taught me this lesson better than other. She was older than me and ready for something deeper. I was not. Mostly, I recognized my ability to fall in love fast, without really evaluating my true feelings. Not realizing what love really was I lured someone else into a relationship that was doomed. I learned from this to be much more careful.

My second test of the love waters in college put me in the pursuers seat. I wanted a true relationship and she just wanted a friend. I never loved this girl or even claimed to, but when I couldn't emotionally connect with her it drove me crazy. Ending that relationship was mutual and easy. We stayed friends. From this relationship I learned that not all people are emotionally compatible.

Next, I dated a girl that many, including myself, thought would be the one. I loved her, and I told her that. There was a time when I wanted to end it but I was afraid that doing so would sabotage my best chance at someone who love me unconditionally. At least in college. The Christian university setting does a really good job of creating an atmosphere where people, not only want to marry, but want to marry someone from that school. The idea is that after college comes a career, and no time to date, and even if you could date, where would you find a suitable girl. My thoughts were that the pickings were slim after we left the school and that we better find a wife here. So I pushed thoughts of breaking off this relationship into the back of my mind. In doing so I sacrificed a big part of who I was in order to conform to what she was. I fell deeply in love, but in doing so I became someone else. When I did this the unthinkable happened. She moved emotionally from me. This was my big heartbreak. I knew the only recourse was to end the relationship, as hard as that was. The main thing that I learned from that relationship was to not settle. I didn't need someone so bad that I should sacrifice myself.

By this time I was close to leaving college and was settled on graduating on my own and dealing with the significant other question much later. I still wanted to be married but was much more picky now. I was not willing to be with someone I couldn't laugh with or talk to or tell everything to. I wasn't going to mess around with someone who didn't want to give to me as much as I wanted to give to them. Pretty soon, I just decided to stop looking.

As you can imagine, this is when something amazing happened. A lightbulb went off and an opportunity was placed in my lap. There were three conversations. These conversations lasted hours and solidified a notion that had been planted in my brain when I first met her. I had fun with her and she listened to me and she seemed to care about me, but she also wanted me to know her and there was this click. There was nothing that we couldn't handle because here was someone who wasn't going anywhere. Here was someone I could trust because she loved me enough to always be herself. Most of all, she made me more of myself. This is the last phase of love. Someone you can love more than yourself because you can't imagine yourself without her. She truly became, for me, what love was about. It was way more than love, but it was commitment and dependency. Not in a bad way, where every move she or I made was controlled by the other. But, a good way, like we wanted to do things with and for each other. In other relationships I felt I had to be a certain thing to make the relationship happen, but being myself is a prerequisite for this new relationship. It was definitely different. We grew together as we grew individually and then we grew as one. We were still able to grow individually but we never grew apart. She wasn't my girlfriend, she was my best friend.

Of course, I'm talking about Amanda. I'm not writing this as a love letter to her, although she could take it that way if she likes, but more of an evaluation of the evolution of love. First was mimicking, then was experimentation and then came a narrowing down. The narrowing down consists of discovering what love is not, choosing someone who can be loved, and then finally finding out what love really is. No research went into these findings except my own experience. I'm sure that everyone's journey is quite different and I mean in no way to suggest that there is one way to find love. I think, ultimately it comes down to finding the person who makes you feel most yourself. I always thought of it as being as close to God on earth as is possible.

The Death of the Internet

2006-06-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

Watch this video. I think this is a really important issue for anyone who values the first ammendment.

COAnews

Major telecommunications companies are spending millions lobbying the U.S. congress to make the Internet into a private network. In political lingo this mean abandoning what is called "Net Neutrality". In common sense terms it's about the government withdrawing our right to Internet Freedom. This V-Doc. (viral documentary) is about the current threat to Internet Freedom and how we can hold on to the open Internet and our right to communicate.

The only way the telecommunications companies will be successful is if we fail to raise awareness about this situation. If people find out about the fact that we are about to lose our Internet freedom there is no way they will allow congress to do this.

This congressional decision will set a monumental precedent, and thus, impact not just U.S. citizens, but citizens all over world.

.

And then this:

I don't quite understand what all of this implies except that it will give individuals less of a voice. The wonderful disagreements, decention, dialogue and arguments that help edify us all will essential cease or at the very least slow to a crawl. Basically the individuality and freedom that we have to use the internet and share information will be lost if we continue to let big businesses throw their weight around. Sign petitions, call Representatives, find out more about it. I think this issue is huge and I'm kind of sad that I've only heard about this over the last couple of weeks.

This War

2006-06-22T22:47:00.000-07:00

On September 11, like everyone else I was concerned and hurt by all the people that lost their lives. My first reaction, however was pretty skeptical. I guess you could say that I took a pessimistic stance. I didn't think that the event would pull us together as a country, yet on the contrary I was afraid that the reactionary people in power and the masses were going to call for a mass retaliation and that anger would overpower rational thinking. I was afraid that Muslims and those from Middle-Eastern countries would suffer a backlash of racial profiling and discrimination unnecessarily. For the most part I was fairly pleased to see that, in the first months after the attacks Americans responded with reasonable and united actions at those who appeared to truly be the responsible ones. I had been hearing of the atrocities committed by the Taliban in Afghanistan for sometime and was happy to see that the American government was going to do something about it, even though it took the loss of 3000 Americans to get them to pay attention.

I was shocked then, to find out in the early part of 2003 that the Bush administration had set it's sites on Iraq of all countries. It was such an about face in terms of focus that began wondering if we were even pursuing Bin Laden anymore. I still kind of wonder that. I didn't understand the fascination with taking down Saddam Hussein. Sure, he was a horrible dictator. Sure, he had committed atrocities against his own people and had invaded Kuwait in the early 1990s. This was a horrible leader who we could certainly do without. What I didn't understand was why, now when we were still trying to bring the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks, were we all of a sudden turning our attention to Saddam. Well, apparently they had Weapons of Mass Destruction. This term has become so incredibly mundane that it doesn't really mean anything anymore. Basically, Iraq had nukes and or biological weapons. But you know that. You know that because Colin Powell showed the whole world at the U.N. in those aerial photos indicating the mobile weapons labs. Rumsfeld told us he knew where they were. He told us exactly their location (a fact he has recently denied.) I never saw it, but who am I? My whole opinion at this time was I hope they know what they're doing, because I don't get it. I didn't feel threatened by Hussein, I didn't feel like we had a strong case for war, and I didn't see why we were all of a sudden bringing out this old issue of Iraq. It's as if we were the jock at the 10 year high school reunion that decided we needed to beat up on the nerd one last time. And this time he was really going to it. This time, he would never get to do science experiments ever again. Of course, this time he was weaker and less prepared and we were stronger and fortified with even better arms. Am I still talking about the Jock/Nerd scenario?

Anyway, the point was that I didn't get it. I even remarked to a co-worker once that I hoped they found WMDs because then we wouldn't seem like idiots to the rest of the world and ruin our good relationships with the countries that opposed our being there. Even if we really thought that Iraq was a threat, which I doubt, why would we risk international good will. If we truly believed what we were trying to spin I think we could have eventually convinced the rest of the world. I also didn't get the American's blind lemming-like behavior during this time. I sort of expected the Republicans to be excited about a regime takeover. Oil, a new market to inundate with Coca-cola and McDonald's restaurants, contracts, contracts, contracts. Couldn't we all see Dick Cheney's mouth watering. I was mostly disappointed, as I often am, with the Democrats, as well as the general public who consider themselves independent thinkers. This was really an example of the Emperor showing off his new clothes. Where was the child? Where was the innocent voice to cry out, "The Emperor's naked!" "There are no Weapons!" It never happened. Of course, what I'm leaving out here is that Bush and his boys were taking full advantage of the goodwill they'd been given over the course of rebuilding and recovering from New York. Our country was still on a unification binder and we like it. Who wanted to rock the boat by opposing the president. As for politicians, who wanted to lose re-election because they were "soft of terrorism," or "an America hater." Anyone against the war was automatically one of these. (Sean Hannity likes to use the phrase, "the Blame America First Crowd." I think this is a great way to describe people who are willing to look inside the U.S. first and evaluate what we did wrong, taking responsibility and not simply being blinded by "Patriotism" which is a misnomer anyway. The kind of "patriotism" these people practice is really "nationalism.")

Now, we have a situation where time has passed and the political left has found an opportunity to pounce on the shortcomings of the right, who was only doing everything they ever wanted but with full consent of the left. I never really bought into the whole "you duped us" routine, mainly because I, myself, was not duped. To anyone who was not willing to accept Bush's weak explanations for war and a sly "just trust us on this one" it seems pretty obvious that the administration just wanted a war, whether it be for revenge or oil. But, with the complete failure of the current operation to show any sign of a justifiable outcome we are now completely polarized. Did we do more harm than good? Should we get out as soon as possible? What is our mission there now, anyway? My opinions on this matter are this, respectively.

Of course we did more harm than good. The idea that we can force democracy down the throats of people is what has gotten us the reputation overseas as arrogant bullies. That and the tendency of Americans that their beer is warm in Germany and that the pizza is no good in Italy. Americanization may be great for businesses and may have gotten us all the envy of the country with the greatest wealth, but it's also given distinction of "infidel." That's a term used by Radical Islam, of course, but my loose understanding of the term can be applied to just about any anti-American sentiment. Europeans, Asians, and even Canadians consider our recent problems all a case of karma. We've overstayed our welcome, in other words, and it's time to reevaluate what makes a country great. Our presence in Iraq has only strengthened the resolve of those who were opposed to us because it is another example of why they were opposed to us in the first place. We can't overthrow any government who's leaders are unjust and oppressive. We'd never be finished. There's too many of them. Plus, many of our own political and economic allies are oppressive governments. For too long we've acted as if we are the only one's on this planet that matter and soon it's going to bite us in butt. Will Iraq ever become a bastion of freedom and democracy and peace for the Middle East. I hope so, but that's beside the point. There's no way to quantify whether it was worth it in terms of lives lost versus years of oppression and what the Iraqi government might have done. The fact of the matter is that we weren't asked to overturn the regime and we didn't have the right. As a country we should follow the golden rule.

Republican's like to call it "Cut and Run" because that emphasizes the impression that Democrats are cowards, which is, of course, bull. I think that Republicans want people to believe that Democrats would have us out of Iraq tomorrow. Some Democrats might, but my impression is that most Democrats want the goal to be to leave Iraq. That doesn't mean we leave today or next week. It means that we set a time table to truly allow the Iraqi government to lead and that we allow them to call the shots as to our presence there. Make it known that we plan to help them stabilize their government, but the ultimate goal is for us to leave it to them. Our continued presence there is only hurting the already shattered American image around the world.

The Bush Administration keeps saying that we can't leave until the job is finished. This is all I've ever heard from them. I don't think I've actually ever heard what "finished" would be. Maybe they have and I missed it, but it seems that Bush has an open ended mindset for our presence in Iraq. This makes absolutely no sense to me. We were there to find WMDs. Okay, not there. Well, no what we are really there to do is liberate the people there. Well, we got them liberated and they were happy until they realized that they were in greater danger than ever. Okay what now? No, I'm asking? What the hell are we doing now?

And I think that sums up my impression of the whole deal. That last sentence in the previous paragraph. There's no plan, there's no accountability, and there's no purpose anymore.

The cynic in me thinks that there is purpose and it is the same as it's always been. Oil. But, we haven't been able to really do anything about that yet, so Bush keeps telling us, "Stay the course." Something inside me tells me that when he says that what he's really saying is, "Don't worry. As soon as this thing blows over oil prices will go back down. Rummy and me got this one covered. Hee, hee, hee!"