I've found myself getting pretty fired up lately; the incendiaries? Documentaries.
The first, Bush's War, was part of the PBS news magazine Frontline. I have always found the Frontline series to be informative, hard hitting, and impartial and this particular episode was all three. Following eight years of misinformation, Bush's War chronicles the buffoonery of our previous administration. Frontline's narrator, Will Lyman, waxes poetic about how the decisions of a misguided few lead to the loss of countless lives and resources of a future generation. Decisions that stretched our military to the limit and created more enemies than it sought to destroy. It sickens me to say this, but my God what a waste. Time to tune to something lighter.
Next up, Food Inc. The film links forty-year old changes in the fast food industry to an unforeseen evolution of the food we eat (You do believe in evolution don't you?) The story had all the ringings of Sinclair's The Jungle; human rights violations and huge corporations controlling the food supply. Driven by the demand of an ever growing populace and with production becoming so mechanized, our food is hardly recognizable when it arrives on store shelves. Food Inc really made me think about what I eat, but perhaps most disturbing, was how disposable the food industry treats its farmers, employees, and customers. Just call it culling the herd.
But perhaps most disturbing was the Nova special, Judgement Day: Intelligent Design on Trial. Scopes Monkey Trial part two, only this time, under the beguile of "Intelligent Design"? Quite a befitting misnomer for something that seeks to set science back more than 150 years. Championing the cause to undo Darwinism, Intelligent Design proposes that certain lifeforms simply appear by means of an "Intelligent Agent", similar to how monkeys just appear out of my butt. I suppose a 150-year setback isn't so bad when you consider the same lunatics took nearly 500 years to accept Galileo's ideas on science.
What do the three have in common? Politics. I'm not one of these political fanatics; right-wing, leftist, conservative, liberal. The extent of my political motivation is voting in the last four presidential elections, beyond that, I could give about a crap. That is, I could give about a crap until certain groups' political ideals begin to affect me; be it pissing away eight years and leaving the country in a shambles, poisoning the food supply, or attempting to take science back to the middle ages. While interest groups and big corporations try to inflict their wills by bidding for politicians' hands, they also impede scientific progress and our advancement as a society. If you want to get my blood boiling, just try fleecing the country to accomplish your political, or worse yet, religious objectives. When are we going to be allowed to learn?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Refuse, Reuse, or make Refuse
Nine years ago, my wife and I packed all of our of worldly belongings into my Honda Civic and made for Charleston to start our lives together. The Civic's four-cylinder engine begged for mercy from the immense weight of our stuff. The rear shocks sagged from the car's payload, which to my dismay, included a full-size ironing board. The Honda dutifully made several more trips to Ohio and still sits in my driveway; the ironing board still hangs in my closet and sees little use.
A year later, we again packed up to move into our new house. This time the Civic couldn't hold us and nothing less than a twenty foot U-haul would do. That day, with my father-in-law riding shotgun, I learned to drive a moving truck and a manual transmission. I ground through the gears while he ground his teeth as 50-mph was all that truck could muster; it was a nervous time. Buying a home, moving, driving a big rig on South Carolina roadways; there was just cause for using the 'Oh shit!' handles in that van.
It only took us eight short years to outgrow our home and we find ourselves packing once more. Having a family will do that for you, and packing this much stuff will let you know just how gluttonous we can be. The movers have assured me that a twenty-six foot truck is all they will need. But how? How is for them to figure out, but it has got me stressed. Who needs this much stuff? In the course of packing I've found things I didn't even realize that I had, took three trunk loads to Goodwill, and put another three cubic yards in the local landfill. Among the notable finds were 200 T-shirts, six bicycles, a preserved alligator head and a set of shark jaws that my dad gave me, and no less than 12 rolls of wrapping paper from Christmases past (no Christmas trees though, those are in the woods behind my house).
How does someone accumulate so much crap? Clearly after living eight years without using any of it, I didn't need this stuff. So why do we feel it necessary that each home in America have their own ________ (insert lawnmower, gas grill, nail gun, weed eater, or any other item currently taking up space in your garage here)? Why not have a community shed of common items to be shared among neighbors? Each household could have their particular day or week to use certain things. Think of the money that could be saved; think of the fights that would ensue. We are so accustomed to having what we want, when we want it, that we have completely abandoned our communal roots. We allow companies to profit from our wastefulness and unwillingness to share.
Next time, before you throw away that motorized tie rack from your closet, ask yourself: Can I use this for something else? Or can someone else use this? Better yet, before you buy that motorized tie rack, ask yourself: Do I really need this? Until then, happy hoarding.
A year later, we again packed up to move into our new house. This time the Civic couldn't hold us and nothing less than a twenty foot U-haul would do. That day, with my father-in-law riding shotgun, I learned to drive a moving truck and a manual transmission. I ground through the gears while he ground his teeth as 50-mph was all that truck could muster; it was a nervous time. Buying a home, moving, driving a big rig on South Carolina roadways; there was just cause for using the 'Oh shit!' handles in that van.
It only took us eight short years to outgrow our home and we find ourselves packing once more. Having a family will do that for you, and packing this much stuff will let you know just how gluttonous we can be. The movers have assured me that a twenty-six foot truck is all they will need. But how? How is for them to figure out, but it has got me stressed. Who needs this much stuff? In the course of packing I've found things I didn't even realize that I had, took three trunk loads to Goodwill, and put another three cubic yards in the local landfill. Among the notable finds were 200 T-shirts, six bicycles, a preserved alligator head and a set of shark jaws that my dad gave me, and no less than 12 rolls of wrapping paper from Christmases past (no Christmas trees though, those are in the woods behind my house).
How does someone accumulate so much crap? Clearly after living eight years without using any of it, I didn't need this stuff. So why do we feel it necessary that each home in America have their own ________ (insert lawnmower, gas grill, nail gun, weed eater, or any other item currently taking up space in your garage here)? Why not have a community shed of common items to be shared among neighbors? Each household could have their particular day or week to use certain things. Think of the money that could be saved; think of the fights that would ensue. We are so accustomed to having what we want, when we want it, that we have completely abandoned our communal roots. We allow companies to profit from our wastefulness and unwillingness to share.
Next time, before you throw away that motorized tie rack from your closet, ask yourself: Can I use this for something else? Or can someone else use this? Better yet, before you buy that motorized tie rack, ask yourself: Do I really need this? Until then, happy hoarding.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Worst Way?
Couldn't sleep again last night. Between anxiety, my aching knee, and the kids screaming, I just wasn't able to do it. 2:43 am: Finally get settled back into bed.
Mind racing from this to that, it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. This must be what it feels like to drown. Drowning! Yeah, that'll calm me down; I'll just think about drowning. My mind switches focus to an untimely fate and I feel myself gasping for breath. What would it be like to drown? I'm not talking about drowning in river rapids while trying to get back into your raft. No. No desperate gasps for air here. This was more like the getting dumped in the Hudson while wearing concrete sneakers type.
Think about it. Assume you sank straight to the bottom without a struggle. You are calm and can feel the pressure of the deep building in your head; you can hear your pulse slowing in your ear. Holding out as long as possible, the lack of oxygen crushes your chest. You know it is inevitable. You must breathe.
Instinctively you draw in a breath, only this time you half swallow, half choke on a lung-full of water. Violent coughing now ensues as your lungs are flooded with water and explode. With the respiratory system down, the circulatory system is screaming towards cardiac arrest and therein lies the worst part: You're toast and you're brain still knows it. Though you've ceased being an organism, your central nervous system and all of its chemical and electrochemical reactions are still letting you know how bad your situation sucks and still letting you feel pain. I can only imagine that things are pretty chaotic at this point. Maxing out on endorphins and adrenaline in a last ditch, self-medicating effort, your body goes haywire while your brain fades to black. You're dead.
Man that would suck. Sure, you could conjure up a million more creative and seemingly worse ways to go, but this does it for me. Suddenly, I have no desire to go to the beach again. I need some sleep.
Mind racing from this to that, it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. This must be what it feels like to drown. Drowning! Yeah, that'll calm me down; I'll just think about drowning. My mind switches focus to an untimely fate and I feel myself gasping for breath. What would it be like to drown? I'm not talking about drowning in river rapids while trying to get back into your raft. No. No desperate gasps for air here. This was more like the getting dumped in the Hudson while wearing concrete sneakers type.
Think about it. Assume you sank straight to the bottom without a struggle. You are calm and can feel the pressure of the deep building in your head; you can hear your pulse slowing in your ear. Holding out as long as possible, the lack of oxygen crushes your chest. You know it is inevitable. You must breathe.
Instinctively you draw in a breath, only this time you half swallow, half choke on a lung-full of water. Violent coughing now ensues as your lungs are flooded with water and explode. With the respiratory system down, the circulatory system is screaming towards cardiac arrest and therein lies the worst part: You're toast and you're brain still knows it. Though you've ceased being an organism, your central nervous system and all of its chemical and electrochemical reactions are still letting you know how bad your situation sucks and still letting you feel pain. I can only imagine that things are pretty chaotic at this point. Maxing out on endorphins and adrenaline in a last ditch, self-medicating effort, your body goes haywire while your brain fades to black. You're dead.
Man that would suck. Sure, you could conjure up a million more creative and seemingly worse ways to go, but this does it for me. Suddenly, I have no desire to go to the beach again. I need some sleep.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Big V
So here it is; my long awaited film debut. After much anticipation and thanks to some super cool software, I was able to write, direct, and produce my thoughts into animation instead of the normal pictures and words that you see here. Expect to see more of these shorts in the future as they enable me to convey information and emotion in ways that I otherwise could not.
What follows proves once again that truth is more entertaining than fiction. The names were omitted to protect the innocent and any resemblance to real life may have been completely intentional. For most of you that have seen it (all of the six people that I know), I am sure that you won't mind watching it again. For others, I present to you without much ado, The Big V.
What follows proves once again that truth is more entertaining than fiction. The names were omitted to protect the innocent and any resemblance to real life may have been completely intentional. For most of you that have seen it (all of the six people that I know), I am sure that you won't mind watching it again. For others, I present to you without much ado, The Big V.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Full Circle
"Could you take this to your Dad on your way over there?" my father-in-law asked. "Sure, what is it?" I replied. "A baguette pan." With that, a seemingly benign conversation set into motion what I consider a remarkable turn of events. Events that have caused me to do a lot of thinking.
My dad seemed pleasantly surprised by his unexpected gift. While most would consider a baguette pan to be a "white elephant", chucking it aside atop a mountain of useless kitchen items, not my dad. Scoffing at bread machines and sending gluten-free freaks scurrying, dad is always baking up and perfecting some new and tasty breads. As if he needed a reason and anxious to test out his new toy, he set to work. Bread-making is a labor of love that requires artisan-like craftsmanship and time. But on this visit, the family was in tow and the kids were growing restless and punchy. As far as they were concerned, we had overstayed our welcome and it was time to go. Time had run out. "We better get going," I said. "But the bread will be ready in ten minutes," my mom said "C'mon, I'll throw it in a bag for you." Despite all of the screaming and chaos I capitulated, "Okay."
With hot French bread in hand and family loaded up, it was time to head across town to the other grandparents' house. Tired of highway driving, we opted for the Salem Avenue scenic and slightly downtrodden route. The old Tasty Bird Poultry Company (now out of business), Pinky's Fried Chicken (formerly a Lou's Broaster Hut and a Rally's, now all out of business), an old Red Lobster (now a fully functional funeral home), and a beggar on the I-75 on-ramp. "Don't stop, Go!" my wife urged as we approached the yellow light. Too late, I had to stop.
It'll be okay I thought to myself. This guy looked pretty bedraggled; too pathetic to try any funny business. Just don't make eye contact I again reasoned, then he may want something. His sign simply read "Hungry+Homeless." "Should we give him something?" my wife asked. No way was I giving this guy beer money (it's a shame that we have to think this way), but his sign said nothing about money. "Give him a loaf of bread" she said. Pausing for a moment I grabbed one of the loaves, shoved it in a bag, and thrust it out my now open window. "Dude, my dad just made this, it's still hot," I said handing it to him. Without missing a beat, he grabs it and stuffs it inside his jacket. "Merry Christmas" he said stoically. For the first time I make eye contact with him; he seriously looked as if he would cry.
I felt somewhat skeptical about the guy's situation, but I also felt pretty good about what just transpired. Our intentions were good and it really made me reflect on the day's events. What if I forget to bring the baguette pan? What if I decide not to wait for the bread to be ready? What if that guy really was hungry and doesn't get the bread? Our decisions, intentional or otherwise, insignificant or colossal, affect our daily lives, those of others, and our future. It's pretty amazing when you think about it. So many days and people pass right by and no thought is given to how we impact their destiny, most of the time without even knowing it.
I wonder what became of that loaf of bread. I wonder what became of that dude?
My dad seemed pleasantly surprised by his unexpected gift. While most would consider a baguette pan to be a "white elephant", chucking it aside atop a mountain of useless kitchen items, not my dad. Scoffing at bread machines and sending gluten-free freaks scurrying, dad is always baking up and perfecting some new and tasty breads. As if he needed a reason and anxious to test out his new toy, he set to work. Bread-making is a labor of love that requires artisan-like craftsmanship and time. But on this visit, the family was in tow and the kids were growing restless and punchy. As far as they were concerned, we had overstayed our welcome and it was time to go. Time had run out. "We better get going," I said. "But the bread will be ready in ten minutes," my mom said "C'mon, I'll throw it in a bag for you." Despite all of the screaming and chaos I capitulated, "Okay."
With hot French bread in hand and family loaded up, it was time to head across town to the other grandparents' house. Tired of highway driving, we opted for the Salem Avenue scenic and slightly downtrodden route. The old Tasty Bird Poultry Company (now out of business), Pinky's Fried Chicken (formerly a Lou's Broaster Hut and a Rally's, now all out of business), an old Red Lobster (now a fully functional funeral home), and a beggar on the I-75 on-ramp. "Don't stop, Go!" my wife urged as we approached the yellow light. Too late, I had to stop.
It'll be okay I thought to myself. This guy looked pretty bedraggled; too pathetic to try any funny business. Just don't make eye contact I again reasoned, then he may want something. His sign simply read "Hungry+Homeless." "Should we give him something?" my wife asked. No way was I giving this guy beer money (it's a shame that we have to think this way), but his sign said nothing about money. "Give him a loaf of bread" she said. Pausing for a moment I grabbed one of the loaves, shoved it in a bag, and thrust it out my now open window. "Dude, my dad just made this, it's still hot," I said handing it to him. Without missing a beat, he grabs it and stuffs it inside his jacket. "Merry Christmas" he said stoically. For the first time I make eye contact with him; he seriously looked as if he would cry.
I felt somewhat skeptical about the guy's situation, but I also felt pretty good about what just transpired. Our intentions were good and it really made me reflect on the day's events. What if I forget to bring the baguette pan? What if I decide not to wait for the bread to be ready? What if that guy really was hungry and doesn't get the bread? Our decisions, intentional or otherwise, insignificant or colossal, affect our daily lives, those of others, and our future. It's pretty amazing when you think about it. So many days and people pass right by and no thought is given to how we impact their destiny, most of the time without even knowing it.
I wonder what became of that loaf of bread. I wonder what became of that dude?
Friday, December 25, 2009
Greatest Gifts
Tis always the season for something and many people use this time of the year to reflect. Why not reflect on some of the greatest gifts given or received?
Rather than focusing on the former and staying away from intangibles and fluffy thoughts (such as the obvious and far too overused "it's better to give than to receive" and "this season, give the gift that keeps on giving, give the gift of life"), I present this; aren't some of the best gifts the ones that you never knew you wanted? Okay, I'll admit, that Sega Genesis of '91 kicked ass, and the Hungry Hungry Hippos of '83 made for hours of entertainment (to this day, Pinkie is still the best). But despite me keeping my Sega through college (and making good use of it too), neither stood the test of time. Breaking or otherwise falling by the wayside of life, only to be left in a scrap heap and a memory.
So what am I talking about? Nothing more than slippers and a bottle to name a few. Several Christmases ago I received some slippers from my mom. I had gone thirty years without and didn't feel the need to change now. That is, until now. Now there's not a wintry day that I can go without. So much so, that when I wore through that original pair, I went out the same day and bought another. The other happened to be a Nalgene bottle that I received from my wife. I drink a lot of water and was tired of spending two bucks a pop on throw away plastic bottles. For the eight dollars that one bottle cost, I have gotten six liters of water a day for the past year. I won't go anywhere without that bottle and won't drink out of anything else.
While these gifts fall short of Castle Greyskull or a chemistry set for "wow" potential, they more than make up for it in practicality and usage. It's unexpected treasures like these that sometimes make a Christmas season.
So what am I talking about? Nothing more than slippers and a bottle to name a few. Several Christmases ago I received some slippers from my mom. I had gone thirty years without and didn't feel the need to change now. That is, until now. Now there's not a wintry day that I can go without. So much so, that when I wore through that original pair, I went out the same day and bought another. The other happened to be a Nalgene bottle that I received from my wife. I drink a lot of water and was tired of spending two bucks a pop on throw away plastic bottles. For the eight dollars that one bottle cost, I have gotten six liters of water a day for the past year. I won't go anywhere without that bottle and won't drink out of anything else.
While these gifts fall short of Castle Greyskull or a chemistry set for "wow" potential, they more than make up for it in practicality and usage. It's unexpected treasures like these that sometimes make a Christmas season.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Ich bin kaput/Winter mode
I'm doing something that I haven't done here before: filling this post with my own self pity and doubling up on the topics.
I just haven't been myself lately. Sick for three out of the last four weeks, plenty of motivation but no impetus, and my knee is wrecked. Though I cannot cite when it happened, I can tell you that it has only gotten worse. Two doctors and four diagnoses later, and I can barely walk. This sucks. Thankfully, it is winter time, and the mileage and bike riding have slacked off (though I am not usually accustomed to this much slacking). Winter represents a hibernation for most cyclists. A time to build endurance with long, slow paced rides and a time to recover. Having been prescribed six weeks of physical therapy, I should have plenty of time for that.
Facing a mandatory reprieve from cycling, I decided to join up once more with the Charleston Winter Bike League. Like a dog let loose before being neutered, I wanted one more fling with the bike. At first I wasn't crazy with the idea of this ride, but after going a few weeks ago, I was sold. This is a great ride concept with great people and even features some off-road sections that got me feeling like Paris-Roubaix. The rest of the ride was nostalgic, even down to the pee breaks taken alongside an old logging road. It was like a scene from one of those old Tour de France posters where all of the riders stop for a smoke and a beer. Too bad my bones were sawing away again at the tendons in my knee. What a shame that it will be missing out on these rides.
I'm doing something that I haven't done here before: hanging up the bike for six weeks.
I just haven't been myself lately. Sick for three out of the last four weeks, plenty of motivation but no impetus, and my knee is wrecked. Though I cannot cite when it happened, I can tell you that it has only gotten worse. Two doctors and four diagnoses later, and I can barely walk. This sucks. Thankfully, it is winter time, and the mileage and bike riding have slacked off (though I am not usually accustomed to this much slacking). Winter represents a hibernation for most cyclists. A time to build endurance with long, slow paced rides and a time to recover. Having been prescribed six weeks of physical therapy, I should have plenty of time for that.
Facing a mandatory reprieve from cycling, I decided to join up once more with the Charleston Winter Bike League. Like a dog let loose before being neutered, I wanted one more fling with the bike. At first I wasn't crazy with the idea of this ride, but after going a few weeks ago, I was sold. This is a great ride concept with great people and even features some off-road sections that got me feeling like Paris-Roubaix. The rest of the ride was nostalgic, even down to the pee breaks taken alongside an old logging road. It was like a scene from one of those old Tour de France posters where all of the riders stop for a smoke and a beer. Too bad my bones were sawing away again at the tendons in my knee. What a shame that it will be missing out on these rides.
I'm doing something that I haven't done here before: hanging up the bike for six weeks.
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