Another Heartbreaking Symptom

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

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

This American Life

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!

Yippee!


I wish it could be springtime always.

iRack

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chappell and Angelou **

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

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

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

Way to go, boys and girls!

Now, don't screw it up!

My Week in Blog Form

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.
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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: