It seems a perverse irony in the fact that St Valentine has his feast day in the middle of February. Cold, gray and intemperate are not what you would want to associate with love and romance. Or perhaps, maybe you do, if you're like me. It says that St Vee was first beaten with clubs and stoned, before being beheaded. Again, parallels with modern day love abound in that description.
So I guess you probably have figured out here that I am not a fan of Feb 14. I don't think that is a correct summation of the problem--I'd say I am unhappy that is has never really figured prominently in my life. I've gotten to the point where I've stopped wondering if it ever will.
Yes, woe is me. I'm certain that no one cares about my self-pity party, which I suppose is fine. Nobody wants to hear me prattle on about how unfair it all is and why is it only me.
No, I don't believe that at all. I know there are people who are just as alone as I am, but it's good to spit it out every few years in case someone hasn't had the pleasure of learning and hearing my sadness/anger/melancholy diatribe.
The fundamental problem with me--in respect to the issue of Why am I not Good Enough?--is not knowing what I don't know. I can assign degrees of fault in every instance of every relationship gone wrong. I've pretty much accepted total blame in one and a majority of the blame in another. The rest--couldn't say fairly, because in most cases, I don't even know reasons why things ended.
I will say however, I am extremely certain that I had no reason to feel blame or that somehow I was at fault for the most recent excursion into love. No, I made all the effort to fix problems of my own making. But still I was the bad guy. I will never accept that. I can, for once in my life, be sure that there is not something fundamentally wrong with me.
But really, that could actually be true. Maybe one exception proves the rule.
I'm not oblivious to the fact that I don't Seem communicative or personable. I'd be happy to prove otherwise. But I doubt that's gonna happen in time to save this Valentines Day.
I hope you are with someone you love, or who at least loves you on Tuesday. I'm fairly sure I'll be eating Chex Mix and browsing for Ukrainian Mail Order brides. That might be all that's left.
Selah
2/13/2012
10/10/2011
Achilles Last Stand
Finally had the opportunity to see "Senna" at the Neon Movies yesterday, and it lived up to all of the advanced reviews given to it since it opened in the summer.
Ayrton Senna was certainly the greatest Formula 1 driver over a single lap in history. I am comfortable saying that, even as I wasn't necessarily a big fan of his at the time. But I had enough sense to realize his skills commanded respect.
Like a lot of top class racing drivers, he was absolutely obsessed with trying to find the magical "edge"--just how far the limits of the machine he was controlling went. A tenth of a second here, another tenth more. It's never enough, there's always more that can be gained. It's a lot like an addiction really, it the highest form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that you can imagine. And his own obsession pushed him to a ruthlessness and single-mindedness that only a handful of drivers have ever come close to. Yet, he was a very spiritual man; he possessed an unshakeable faith in God. The film makes it a point to portray this as a counterpoint to his obsessive side.
We see the contemplative, serious Senna juxtaposed next to the relaxed, playful one. I think it's wrong to say he was driven by his demons, rather than he was driven to find perfection; as he says in an interview, he believes "that a perfect lap is like seeing God".
The tragedy of his story comes to the fore in the final 20 minutes. Driving a new car, with a new team, he struggles to find confidence enough to push towards the edge. You can see in his face he seems to almost doubt his own ability.
The 1994 San Marino Grand Prix, held at the Enzo e Dino Ferrari Circuit in Imola, Italy has to be seen today as the end of the Classical Age of Formula 1, and what we have today. 17 years on from that weekend, I still remember parts of it as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Seeing the footage again was like traveling back in time for me.
On Friday, there was maybe the most horrific crash I've ever seen in Formula 1, Rubens Barrichello (still driving today!) launched like a missle into the catch fence, 8 feet off the ground and landing head first in a sand pit.
Saturday saw another crash, at the time I saw it originally, I thought it was the least serious of the 3, however the footage in the film from an unseen (by me) angle proved me wrong. Roland Ratzenberger, in his first season--his 3rd race--with a team in it's first season, killed. There is a camera on Senna, he's watching from the garage. He gets extremely emotional.
Sunday, race day. May 1 1994. As the race begins, a car halfway back in the formation stalls. In the rush hour-like traffic that is an F1 start, a car from near the back doesn't see the stalled car until it's too late. That both drivers walked away from it is still a mystery today. A tire bounces over the catch fence and into the crowd. Debris everywhere.
During the cleanup period, as the cars circled around under behind the safety car, Senna was unhappy that it was not getting far enough ahead of the pack so that they could bring the tires up to temperature. You see him gesturing.
Finally, the green flag--we see the on-board footage from Senna's car. Sitting next to him almost. He streaks past the start/finish line, up a gear, up another, 5th, 6th, now into Tambourello corner--full throttle, 180 mph a quick flick of the steering wheel to the left.
Now he sliding, over the curbing, through the gravel trap, here's the wall closer.
We cut to the long lens shot from farther up track. The car is sliding along the wall then comes to rest. The moment of impact--the suspension piece that travels less than 4 feet--in the blink of an eye, is past. Senna isn't moving at all. The right side of the car destroyed. The course workers seem to not know what to do, the seconds seem like minutes. Finally, the emergency team arrives. It seems like hours until they extract him from the car.
The voice-over while they show the flatbed truck carry the wreckage of Senna's car makes the scene even more poignant--"he didn't have a broken bone in his body, not a bruise on him anywhere. If the piece had hit him 6" higher, or 6" lower, he would've walked away".
Though it's not in the film, the race resumed. Who won that day didn't seem to matter. There was no celebration, there was no champagne sprayed. By the time the race had ended, the news had filtered through. When I turned on the TV later that morning, maybe less than 45 minutes after the race had ended, the very first thing I saw on Sportscenter was Jack Edwards telling us that Senna was dead.
I cried that day, because I respected the man and knew that we had lost a legend in his own time. I cried during the last couple of minutes of the movies, as the took his casket from Italy, to Brazil, through a procession through the streets of Sao Paulo lined with people. To the church, his family, his friends come to mourn. They carried him to his final resting place. It's over.
Not many films have moved me as much this one.
Ayrton Senna was certainly the greatest Formula 1 driver over a single lap in history. I am comfortable saying that, even as I wasn't necessarily a big fan of his at the time. But I had enough sense to realize his skills commanded respect.
Like a lot of top class racing drivers, he was absolutely obsessed with trying to find the magical "edge"--just how far the limits of the machine he was controlling went. A tenth of a second here, another tenth more. It's never enough, there's always more that can be gained. It's a lot like an addiction really, it the highest form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that you can imagine. And his own obsession pushed him to a ruthlessness and single-mindedness that only a handful of drivers have ever come close to. Yet, he was a very spiritual man; he possessed an unshakeable faith in God. The film makes it a point to portray this as a counterpoint to his obsessive side.
We see the contemplative, serious Senna juxtaposed next to the relaxed, playful one. I think it's wrong to say he was driven by his demons, rather than he was driven to find perfection; as he says in an interview, he believes "that a perfect lap is like seeing God".
The tragedy of his story comes to the fore in the final 20 minutes. Driving a new car, with a new team, he struggles to find confidence enough to push towards the edge. You can see in his face he seems to almost doubt his own ability.
The 1994 San Marino Grand Prix, held at the Enzo e Dino Ferrari Circuit in Imola, Italy has to be seen today as the end of the Classical Age of Formula 1, and what we have today. 17 years on from that weekend, I still remember parts of it as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Seeing the footage again was like traveling back in time for me.
On Friday, there was maybe the most horrific crash I've ever seen in Formula 1, Rubens Barrichello (still driving today!) launched like a missle into the catch fence, 8 feet off the ground and landing head first in a sand pit.
Saturday saw another crash, at the time I saw it originally, I thought it was the least serious of the 3, however the footage in the film from an unseen (by me) angle proved me wrong. Roland Ratzenberger, in his first season--his 3rd race--with a team in it's first season, killed. There is a camera on Senna, he's watching from the garage. He gets extremely emotional.
Sunday, race day. May 1 1994. As the race begins, a car halfway back in the formation stalls. In the rush hour-like traffic that is an F1 start, a car from near the back doesn't see the stalled car until it's too late. That both drivers walked away from it is still a mystery today. A tire bounces over the catch fence and into the crowd. Debris everywhere.
During the cleanup period, as the cars circled around under behind the safety car, Senna was unhappy that it was not getting far enough ahead of the pack so that they could bring the tires up to temperature. You see him gesturing.
Finally, the green flag--we see the on-board footage from Senna's car. Sitting next to him almost. He streaks past the start/finish line, up a gear, up another, 5th, 6th, now into Tambourello corner--full throttle, 180 mph a quick flick of the steering wheel to the left.
Now he sliding, over the curbing, through the gravel trap, here's the wall closer.
We cut to the long lens shot from farther up track. The car is sliding along the wall then comes to rest. The moment of impact--the suspension piece that travels less than 4 feet--in the blink of an eye, is past. Senna isn't moving at all. The right side of the car destroyed. The course workers seem to not know what to do, the seconds seem like minutes. Finally, the emergency team arrives. It seems like hours until they extract him from the car.
The voice-over while they show the flatbed truck carry the wreckage of Senna's car makes the scene even more poignant--"he didn't have a broken bone in his body, not a bruise on him anywhere. If the piece had hit him 6" higher, or 6" lower, he would've walked away".
Though it's not in the film, the race resumed. Who won that day didn't seem to matter. There was no celebration, there was no champagne sprayed. By the time the race had ended, the news had filtered through. When I turned on the TV later that morning, maybe less than 45 minutes after the race had ended, the very first thing I saw on Sportscenter was Jack Edwards telling us that Senna was dead.
I cried that day, because I respected the man and knew that we had lost a legend in his own time. I cried during the last couple of minutes of the movies, as the took his casket from Italy, to Brazil, through a procession through the streets of Sao Paulo lined with people. To the church, his family, his friends come to mourn. They carried him to his final resting place. It's over.
Not many films have moved me as much this one.
2/14/2011
Finding my Way
Blow the cobwebs off of this thing and see where my brain might lead us. There's no guarantee it won't be a bummer...
Well, here we are again on February 14, and there is a distinct sense of isolation in the air. By all rights, I shouldn't be alone this time around. I worked at a relationship, honestly and sincerely. But what was always going to be a bit of an uphill struggle was made precipitously more difficult by not really being able to trust the guide I was following. When you have no faith in the directions you're supposed to be using, you lack the faith in yourself to change course. Even the attempts you make to navigate by instinct are compromised by uncertainty and self doubt.
I find this to be a common theme in all of the romantic failings of my past. Sometimes I was too stubborn to follow the charted course, and sometimes I was just unlucky to have picked the wrong route. There is evidence to argue I was to blame for every one of those relationships not working out, and there is also enough to argue the opposite. The fact that I can admit that has taken a lot of soul searching through the years. The fact I have had to do it without the barest minimum of feedback is nothing short of amazing. Or outrageous if you like.
Still, you'd think I would've at least accidentally stumbled onto the right path at least once. I can't possibly be so stupid to always get lost on the lonely highway of love. Or am I?
Maybe the reason no one can or will help is that no one really knows what path I need or want to be headed down. Maybe I have not stated the reasons and rationale for aiming for a specific destination.
But perhaps dreaming of places you'd like to go is better suited to the young. Maybe I'm to the point where I should be happy letting the current take me wherever it goes, even if it to nowhere.
I'd like to think not, but there isn't anything on the horizon giving much hope.
Selah
Well, here we are again on February 14, and there is a distinct sense of isolation in the air. By all rights, I shouldn't be alone this time around. I worked at a relationship, honestly and sincerely. But what was always going to be a bit of an uphill struggle was made precipitously more difficult by not really being able to trust the guide I was following. When you have no faith in the directions you're supposed to be using, you lack the faith in yourself to change course. Even the attempts you make to navigate by instinct are compromised by uncertainty and self doubt.
I find this to be a common theme in all of the romantic failings of my past. Sometimes I was too stubborn to follow the charted course, and sometimes I was just unlucky to have picked the wrong route. There is evidence to argue I was to blame for every one of those relationships not working out, and there is also enough to argue the opposite. The fact that I can admit that has taken a lot of soul searching through the years. The fact I have had to do it without the barest minimum of feedback is nothing short of amazing. Or outrageous if you like.
Still, you'd think I would've at least accidentally stumbled onto the right path at least once. I can't possibly be so stupid to always get lost on the lonely highway of love. Or am I?
Maybe the reason no one can or will help is that no one really knows what path I need or want to be headed down. Maybe I have not stated the reasons and rationale for aiming for a specific destination.
But perhaps dreaming of places you'd like to go is better suited to the young. Maybe I'm to the point where I should be happy letting the current take me wherever it goes, even if it to nowhere.
I'd like to think not, but there isn't anything on the horizon giving much hope.
Selah
2/12/2010
Tumble Dry Low
Things that I've been mulling over lately...
I just finished reading a book I found on the discount table at Borders, called "Our Magnificent Bastard Language" by John McWhorter. It's a pretty interesting look at how the English language was evolved into what it is today from its' various origins in Norse, Old German and Celtic with some Old French thrown in. McWhorter puts an entertaining twist on what to most people would be a pretty dry and scholarly topic. It's actually pretty casual reading--less than 200 pages broken into 5 chapters. If words mean anything to you, this is a good book to read.
I just finished reading a book I found on the discount table at Borders, called "Our Magnificent Bastard Language" by John McWhorter. It's a pretty interesting look at how the English language was evolved into what it is today from its' various origins in Norse, Old German and Celtic with some Old French thrown in. McWhorter puts an entertaining twist on what to most people would be a pretty dry and scholarly topic. It's actually pretty casual reading--less than 200 pages broken into 5 chapters. If words mean anything to you, this is a good book to read.
And now... on the the Olympics!! Not literally of course though that wouldn't be a bad trip to make. For some reason I've always been partial to the Winter version, maybe because I like hockey and skiing, even though I can't do either.
As I watch the Russians and the Czechs pound each other into Iron Curtain submission, I realized I don't think the fall of Communism was a good thing for Olympic hockey. Back in those bad old days, we only ever saw these guys every 4 years, so we basically had to take the word of the commentators how good they were. Now all the best players are in the NHL, and we see them all the time. So it's not nearly as interesting from a curiosity standpoint.
And I've actually discovered I don't completely hate all these newer X Games type sports. The Ski Cross is pretty cool and I even watched all of the womens aerials qualifying without any ironic thought.
On a more local theme, one thing I've been thinking about is the proliferation of these guys who are always standing around with these signs saying they are homeless. Except the fact they are all fairly well dressed, they have backpacks, and even though the faces change, the signs are the same one, written in the same style. Makes me think there is something more to it than meets the eye.
And why are there still cars parked on the streets that haven't been dug out of the snow?
OK, that's enough for now...
Selah
12/02/2009
I Hope they Serve Gin and Tonics in Hell
Fear and Loathing in Tallahassee...Mr Bowden has cashed his check...exit stage left to my unlikely hero...
I’m not going to even pretend to have any kind of “objectivity” or respectful detachment from this one. It’s all personal and it’s not going to be without a sense of the finality of my misspent youth.
Bobby Bowden announced he would retire as coach at Florida State after 34 years on the job. And while the general tone might sound as if I’m happy, I can’t really allow myself to be thrilled at the end of one mans livelihood in a way that neither he or anyone else quite imagined it would come down.
First, let’s go back to October 5th , and see what I had to say in response to the news story about the chairman of the FSU Board of Trustees saying that Bowden should call it a career at the end of the season–the majority of the other responses were generally negative towards this development, hence my statement about dissent:
oh goody, I get to do what I do best--the voice of dissent.
I've been a Florida State fan for 30 years, and I know how many people admire and love Bowden. But let's face some cold harsh realities.
While he took Florida State from nothing to one of the top 20 programs in America, he is doing nothing good for the school by lingering around solely for the purpose of trying to be the winningest coach of all time. Nothing is going to erase what he has done, nothing is going to take away from all the great wins.
But somebody has to ask the question to him, and expect a straight answer--is his motivation the record, or does he really believe he is acting in the best interest of the school, his players, his coaches, and the fans?
He is paralyzing the program by not coming clean about his intentions, and he is hurting everything that is rightfully his--the reputation of Florida State's football program--by not seeing that by lingering around, just like his idol The Bear did, he is diminishing his accomplishments. It took Alabama years to recover from the post-Bear hangover, and I'm afraid that FSU will suffer the same fate.
He deserves to quit on his own terms, but he owes it to his constituency to make a decision, sooner rather than later.
So, I have to look at the whole picture, and say to him the same thing Oliver Cromwell told the Long Parliament-- In the name of God, Go.
So now that we have established the particulars about my own thinking, let’s delve into the deeper issue, as far as I’m concerned.
I was a Florida State fan long before there was a bandwagon to ride. I was the bandwagon and in the 1970's, there wasn’t the mass exposure of college football that exists today. So it was hard to follow an unknown college football team that you couldn’t actually see, but you knew that it was there. Unless you actually lived in Florida, it was probably a stretch to even be able to name where Florida State University was located. But like everything else I do, I tried to get as much info as I could. And it was a great time to get in on the ground floor of something exciting like a crappy college football team that was turning the corner and beating people they had no business beating. Nebraska, Notre Dame, Pitt, Ohio State, LSU. In a 3 year period, Florida State beat all of them at least once. And they did it by slinging the ball all over the field, reverses, trick plays, the whole shooting match. Bowden never let the consequences bother him, he just kept on throwing the ball.
As the 80's inched along, the Seminoles got better every year. They could never seem to get past Miami, but the rest of the ride was pretty interesting.
But as time went on, Bowden got more cautious. He started to play the percentages more, started to reign in the offense in order to get results rather than entertain. All of which I had no problem with. As long as the score was right at the end of the game, I was all for it.
I don’t want boring, stodgy football. I want action and scoring and winning. And I don’t want excuses as to why I’m not getting it.
There have been many days I sort of felt like Cubs fans do (at least I’m pretty sure they must feel this way) when they wonder “why bother? Why have optimism when there is only going to be a disappointment at the end?” The many times I swore that I was going to give up on them were soon just a memory of instantaneous insanity in the wake of a defeat. I persevered and suffered, because that’s what you do if you love something enough. It’s a bit dysfunctional at times, but it gets you through the day. I never once believed that I was going to be a naysayer, a squeaky wheel to demand change for the sake of change.
But I eventually became that person, as evidenced by the above passage. What that says about me I have no idea. If I can’t stand up for the right of self-determination, what other principle am I going to abandon in the future?
I feel sad for Bobby, because he was sort of like another grandfather to me. You knew he was a bit campy and you might not agree with everything he said, but you loved him just because he was there and indirectly shaped your life in ways that you might not have imagined. But sometimes you had to wonder why he had that look on his face like “what the heck am I doing? I don’t need this”.
You don’t just lose your touch all at once, it just slips away gradually. And I don’t think Bobby ever quite realized that his touch was leaving him as much as it actually did. It has nothing to do with his age or his values, it just sort of happens to everyone.
I don’t think I’m prepared to blabber on in a sentimental way about him, because he’s not dead. I don’t have a sense of loss, but I feel like part of my life has ended in a way I wished had been different.
I’m not going to even pretend to have any kind of “objectivity” or respectful detachment from this one. It’s all personal and it’s not going to be without a sense of the finality of my misspent youth.
Bobby Bowden announced he would retire as coach at Florida State after 34 years on the job. And while the general tone might sound as if I’m happy, I can’t really allow myself to be thrilled at the end of one mans livelihood in a way that neither he or anyone else quite imagined it would come down.
First, let’s go back to October 5th , and see what I had to say in response to the news story about the chairman of the FSU Board of Trustees saying that Bowden should call it a career at the end of the season–the majority of the other responses were generally negative towards this development, hence my statement about dissent:
oh goody, I get to do what I do best--the voice of dissent.
I've been a Florida State fan for 30 years, and I know how many people admire and love Bowden. But let's face some cold harsh realities.
While he took Florida State from nothing to one of the top 20 programs in America, he is doing nothing good for the school by lingering around solely for the purpose of trying to be the winningest coach of all time. Nothing is going to erase what he has done, nothing is going to take away from all the great wins.
But somebody has to ask the question to him, and expect a straight answer--is his motivation the record, or does he really believe he is acting in the best interest of the school, his players, his coaches, and the fans?
He is paralyzing the program by not coming clean about his intentions, and he is hurting everything that is rightfully his--the reputation of Florida State's football program--by not seeing that by lingering around, just like his idol The Bear did, he is diminishing his accomplishments. It took Alabama years to recover from the post-Bear hangover, and I'm afraid that FSU will suffer the same fate.
He deserves to quit on his own terms, but he owes it to his constituency to make a decision, sooner rather than later.
So, I have to look at the whole picture, and say to him the same thing Oliver Cromwell told the Long Parliament-- In the name of God, Go.
So now that we have established the particulars about my own thinking, let’s delve into the deeper issue, as far as I’m concerned.
I was a Florida State fan long before there was a bandwagon to ride. I was the bandwagon and in the 1970's, there wasn’t the mass exposure of college football that exists today. So it was hard to follow an unknown college football team that you couldn’t actually see, but you knew that it was there. Unless you actually lived in Florida, it was probably a stretch to even be able to name where Florida State University was located. But like everything else I do, I tried to get as much info as I could. And it was a great time to get in on the ground floor of something exciting like a crappy college football team that was turning the corner and beating people they had no business beating. Nebraska, Notre Dame, Pitt, Ohio State, LSU. In a 3 year period, Florida State beat all of them at least once. And they did it by slinging the ball all over the field, reverses, trick plays, the whole shooting match. Bowden never let the consequences bother him, he just kept on throwing the ball.
As the 80's inched along, the Seminoles got better every year. They could never seem to get past Miami, but the rest of the ride was pretty interesting.
But as time went on, Bowden got more cautious. He started to play the percentages more, started to reign in the offense in order to get results rather than entertain. All of which I had no problem with. As long as the score was right at the end of the game, I was all for it.
I don’t want boring, stodgy football. I want action and scoring and winning. And I don’t want excuses as to why I’m not getting it.
There have been many days I sort of felt like Cubs fans do (at least I’m pretty sure they must feel this way) when they wonder “why bother? Why have optimism when there is only going to be a disappointment at the end?” The many times I swore that I was going to give up on them were soon just a memory of instantaneous insanity in the wake of a defeat. I persevered and suffered, because that’s what you do if you love something enough. It’s a bit dysfunctional at times, but it gets you through the day. I never once believed that I was going to be a naysayer, a squeaky wheel to demand change for the sake of change.
But I eventually became that person, as evidenced by the above passage. What that says about me I have no idea. If I can’t stand up for the right of self-determination, what other principle am I going to abandon in the future?
I feel sad for Bobby, because he was sort of like another grandfather to me. You knew he was a bit campy and you might not agree with everything he said, but you loved him just because he was there and indirectly shaped your life in ways that you might not have imagined. But sometimes you had to wonder why he had that look on his face like “what the heck am I doing? I don’t need this”.
You don’t just lose your touch all at once, it just slips away gradually. And I don’t think Bobby ever quite realized that his touch was leaving him as much as it actually did. It has nothing to do with his age or his values, it just sort of happens to everyone.
I don’t think I’m prepared to blabber on in a sentimental way about him, because he’s not dead. I don’t have a sense of loss, but I feel like part of my life has ended in a way I wished had been different.
The Road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions
I see humor in so many different circumstances that on the surface don’t have any humor in them, but 2 things this weekend seemed ripe for my amusement when the details came through the mist.
The tragic shooting of 4 police officers in Washington state doesn’t have any kind of mirth involved in it. It was a blatant act of cowardice and the reasons will probably never be very clear to anyone. But the emerging fact that the suspected killer was a former felon whose sentence was commuted has one particularly humorous sidelight. The person who did said commutation was none other than Mike Huckabee, the itinerant preacher/sideshow act/wannabe GOP Presidential candidate, who formerly was governor of Arkansas. I just can’t imagine how Huckabee is going to spin his way out of responsibility for releasing a man serving a 108 year sentence, who ends up walking into a coffee shop and gunning down 4 cops. I doubt that Karl Rove or Jesus Christ himself could help Mike out of this mess. Any hopes he had of ever kicking back in the office at 1600 Pennsylvania have completely gone out the window. The specter of Willie Horton has aborted Huckabees’ campaign before it ever had a chance of getting started (yes the use of that phrasing is intended for ironic purposes). Between Mike and Sarah Palin, the GOP has 2 undeclared/prospective candidates for 2012 with more baggage than even Southwest Airlines would allow on a flight for free. Huckabee should stay as far away from any FOP conventions for awhile, if he has any sense at all, and that’s debatable at the best of times.
Meanwhile, a man in serious need of the Lord and a good lawyer is one Eldrick T Woods, and the sooner the better in his case. Eldrick found himself in a bit of domestic rough on Thanksgiving night that he couldn’t save par from. Mrs Woods suggested he play a 7 iron, since his caddy was unavailable, but Eldrick demurred, and Mrs allegedly proceeded to penalize Eldrick with a stroke and distance penalty. On a related note, no mention was made of Mrs Woods handicap in any of the reports I’ve read.
We’d have never gotten a good laugh at Eldrick’s expense if he hadn’t decided he needed to run for a pack of smokes at 2:30 in the morning. I’d bet he wishes he’d called his neighbor Ken Griffey Jr for a lift instead.
Of course, Thanksgiving is not really a good time to face the family when a tabloid story about Eldrick working on his scoring average hits the stands the same week. And I’m sure that the holiday leftovers are not going down too well in the Woods abode now that a prominent glossy gossip mag has another unrelated report on Eldrick’s night putting with another groupie. Just putting, at night.
Now, I’m not mad if Eldrick thought he needed a few extra rounds away from home. Everyone knows chicks dig the long ball. But c’mon man. A 34 year old nightclub “hostess”? If you’re 34 and still a VIP shill at a nightclub, you need to think about your career choices. And I forgot what the other one was (actually I just don’t have the info at my fingertips) but I seem to think it was one of the millions of waitress/aspiring actress types that are everywhere these days, not just L.A.
If Eldrick doesn’t know these are not the kind of women you should be giving a free drop to, then he has less sense than I even imagined.
But the biggest and most appalling “transgression” he committed was asking all of us to “give him and his family some privacy”. Yeah right.
If he wants to shield his life from public scrutiny so that the rest of us don’t see how shallow and boring he is, fine. Mission accomplished. But I take the same view as I do with any and all celeb-utards, public people and hucksters–-Do Not Ask for Privacy today, and then earnestly ask me to purchase a product you get for free tomorrow. That is the most cynical, arrogant, and white trash attitude anyone can adopt. And I won’t subscribe to it. Anyone who does it should be tarred and feathered and dragged by their feet behind a slow moving ice cream truck.
Even his apology seemed contrived and insincere. It was almost like he was asking for forgiveness for affairs he has yet to have.
I suspect that Eldrick will be the next reality show. Some PR flack is dreaming up the pilot as we speak. He could show the world he really is just another Ozzy, except with a more interesting wardrobe. Then people would leave him alone, which is apparently what he really wants. Except for the golf. Then he wants your full attention. And your lovely, filthy money.
Res Ipsa Loquitur
The tragic shooting of 4 police officers in Washington state doesn’t have any kind of mirth involved in it. It was a blatant act of cowardice and the reasons will probably never be very clear to anyone. But the emerging fact that the suspected killer was a former felon whose sentence was commuted has one particularly humorous sidelight. The person who did said commutation was none other than Mike Huckabee, the itinerant preacher/sideshow act/wannabe GOP Presidential candidate, who formerly was governor of Arkansas. I just can’t imagine how Huckabee is going to spin his way out of responsibility for releasing a man serving a 108 year sentence, who ends up walking into a coffee shop and gunning down 4 cops. I doubt that Karl Rove or Jesus Christ himself could help Mike out of this mess. Any hopes he had of ever kicking back in the office at 1600 Pennsylvania have completely gone out the window. The specter of Willie Horton has aborted Huckabees’ campaign before it ever had a chance of getting started (yes the use of that phrasing is intended for ironic purposes). Between Mike and Sarah Palin, the GOP has 2 undeclared/prospective candidates for 2012 with more baggage than even Southwest Airlines would allow on a flight for free. Huckabee should stay as far away from any FOP conventions for awhile, if he has any sense at all, and that’s debatable at the best of times.
Meanwhile, a man in serious need of the Lord and a good lawyer is one Eldrick T Woods, and the sooner the better in his case. Eldrick found himself in a bit of domestic rough on Thanksgiving night that he couldn’t save par from. Mrs Woods suggested he play a 7 iron, since his caddy was unavailable, but Eldrick demurred, and Mrs allegedly proceeded to penalize Eldrick with a stroke and distance penalty. On a related note, no mention was made of Mrs Woods handicap in any of the reports I’ve read.
We’d have never gotten a good laugh at Eldrick’s expense if he hadn’t decided he needed to run for a pack of smokes at 2:30 in the morning. I’d bet he wishes he’d called his neighbor Ken Griffey Jr for a lift instead.
Of course, Thanksgiving is not really a good time to face the family when a tabloid story about Eldrick working on his scoring average hits the stands the same week. And I’m sure that the holiday leftovers are not going down too well in the Woods abode now that a prominent glossy gossip mag has another unrelated report on Eldrick’s night putting with another groupie. Just putting, at night.
Now, I’m not mad if Eldrick thought he needed a few extra rounds away from home. Everyone knows chicks dig the long ball. But c’mon man. A 34 year old nightclub “hostess”? If you’re 34 and still a VIP shill at a nightclub, you need to think about your career choices. And I forgot what the other one was (actually I just don’t have the info at my fingertips) but I seem to think it was one of the millions of waitress/aspiring actress types that are everywhere these days, not just L.A.
If Eldrick doesn’t know these are not the kind of women you should be giving a free drop to, then he has less sense than I even imagined.
But the biggest and most appalling “transgression” he committed was asking all of us to “give him and his family some privacy”. Yeah right.
If he wants to shield his life from public scrutiny so that the rest of us don’t see how shallow and boring he is, fine. Mission accomplished. But I take the same view as I do with any and all celeb-utards, public people and hucksters–-Do Not Ask for Privacy today, and then earnestly ask me to purchase a product you get for free tomorrow. That is the most cynical, arrogant, and white trash attitude anyone can adopt. And I won’t subscribe to it. Anyone who does it should be tarred and feathered and dragged by their feet behind a slow moving ice cream truck.
Even his apology seemed contrived and insincere. It was almost like he was asking for forgiveness for affairs he has yet to have.
I suspect that Eldrick will be the next reality show. Some PR flack is dreaming up the pilot as we speak. He could show the world he really is just another Ozzy, except with a more interesting wardrobe. Then people would leave him alone, which is apparently what he really wants. Except for the golf. Then he wants your full attention. And your lovely, filthy money.
Res Ipsa Loquitur
9/30/2009
Well, The World Needs Ditchdiggers Too
(a post from Newsvine, this particular full page ad just made me furious)
There was a full page ad in the Dayton Daily News today, which had the ominous headline "This wheelchair is my future once the U.S. Treasury stops my GM Health Care". The ad goes on to enlighten us to the plight of one Debra Turner, who has multiple sclerosis and rheumatoid arthritis. She is a 51 year old retiree who pays $3400 a month in medications (well, her insurance pays for it actually). Debra goes on to tell us that when GM emerges from bankruptcy she will lose her health benefits, as well as 50,000 other retirees. Poor Debra will be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her natural life.
I'm sure that you think I'm probably going to venture off into a frantic plea on Debra's behalf. That I'm going to say how terrible this state of affairs is and how we should be doing everything we can to make sure this woman isn't left without the chance of a full life.
And I Could do that. But it Would Be Wrong.
The fact is, Debra elicits almost no sympathy from me at all. Her travails are almost inconsequential in the big scheme of things.
Let's narrow down the source of my cold hearted indifference, and why it is a symptom of today's political and economic climate.
Debra is thoroughly unemployable, seeing as she has 2 major debilitating genetic diseases. At 51 she could've led a fully functional working life for the next 15 years or so, but the fact she cannot move her joints and has a degenerative condition means she would've been a functional vegetable anyway, health benefits or not.
The concept that the United States Treasury is forcing her off the rolls of permanently disabled is nothing more than a calculated attempt at deflecting from the real cause--the insolvancy of the corporation that employed her, General Motors. Lost on most everyone is the fact that GM steered billions of dollars in profits into the pockets of the upper management, shareholders and various sham enterprises, while they deferred payments into pension and benefits plans for their employees. When the chickens came home to roost, GM was caught with their pants down. And now Debra has to pay for their malfeasence.
I wonder if the IUE-CWA, the union which paid for this particular piece of advertising, ever considered what would've happened if we had just let GM go along their own merry way and go broke. There would have been a meltdown on the proportions of an economic Nuclear Winter. No one in their sphere would have jobs, benefits or pensions.
It's beyond the comprehension of anyone with a moderate amount of common sense to expect that you will be taken care of for the rest of your natural life with free health and dental care. The whole idea of providing health care to people who retire at age 50 after 30 years of work, and live for another 25-30 years is outside of the bounds of rational business (or societal) principles.
We've gone crazy with the idea that we should be trying to extend the lifespan of human beings to the point of taxing the medical industy to the breaking point under the current system of most economic models. There are a lot of people out there who are being kept alive for no good reason other than the fact that we can actually do it. Is that a good reason for continuing to do so?
This has nothing to do with being anti-union, anti-GM, anti-American or anti anything else. Except for the fact I'm tired of subsidizing people living beyond their evolutionary life cycle.
There was a full page ad in the Dayton Daily News today, which had the ominous headline "This wheelchair is my future once the U.S. Treasury stops my GM Health Care". The ad goes on to enlighten us to the plight of one Debra Turner, who has multiple sclerosis and rheumatoid arthritis. She is a 51 year old retiree who pays $3400 a month in medications (well, her insurance pays for it actually). Debra goes on to tell us that when GM emerges from bankruptcy she will lose her health benefits, as well as 50,000 other retirees. Poor Debra will be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her natural life.
I'm sure that you think I'm probably going to venture off into a frantic plea on Debra's behalf. That I'm going to say how terrible this state of affairs is and how we should be doing everything we can to make sure this woman isn't left without the chance of a full life.
And I Could do that. But it Would Be Wrong.
The fact is, Debra elicits almost no sympathy from me at all. Her travails are almost inconsequential in the big scheme of things.
Let's narrow down the source of my cold hearted indifference, and why it is a symptom of today's political and economic climate.
Debra is thoroughly unemployable, seeing as she has 2 major debilitating genetic diseases. At 51 she could've led a fully functional working life for the next 15 years or so, but the fact she cannot move her joints and has a degenerative condition means she would've been a functional vegetable anyway, health benefits or not.
The concept that the United States Treasury is forcing her off the rolls of permanently disabled is nothing more than a calculated attempt at deflecting from the real cause--the insolvancy of the corporation that employed her, General Motors. Lost on most everyone is the fact that GM steered billions of dollars in profits into the pockets of the upper management, shareholders and various sham enterprises, while they deferred payments into pension and benefits plans for their employees. When the chickens came home to roost, GM was caught with their pants down. And now Debra has to pay for their malfeasence.
I wonder if the IUE-CWA, the union which paid for this particular piece of advertising, ever considered what would've happened if we had just let GM go along their own merry way and go broke. There would have been a meltdown on the proportions of an economic Nuclear Winter. No one in their sphere would have jobs, benefits or pensions.
It's beyond the comprehension of anyone with a moderate amount of common sense to expect that you will be taken care of for the rest of your natural life with free health and dental care. The whole idea of providing health care to people who retire at age 50 after 30 years of work, and live for another 25-30 years is outside of the bounds of rational business (or societal) principles.
We've gone crazy with the idea that we should be trying to extend the lifespan of human beings to the point of taxing the medical industy to the breaking point under the current system of most economic models. There are a lot of people out there who are being kept alive for no good reason other than the fact that we can actually do it. Is that a good reason for continuing to do so?
This has nothing to do with being anti-union, anti-GM, anti-American or anti anything else. Except for the fact I'm tired of subsidizing people living beyond their evolutionary life cycle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
