“I’m the next American Idol!”
As you may or may not know, one of my guilty pleasures is watching American Idol. Yes, I know that this show is a good example of how the world is going to pot, and being addicted to something so trivial and mindless is not a good thing, but in my defense, it’s the only reality show I ever watch, and the only reason I do so is to observe the interplay between contestants and judges – for me, it’s a fascinating study in psychology, especially as it pertains to the delivery and reception of feedback (yeah, right). Plus, it’s fun to make fun of various people on the show – like the contestants when they give a lousy performance (or slide across the floor like a big dork), or the audience members whenever someone sings a slow song and they wave their arms from side to side like a flock of seaweed waving in the waves, or the contestants when they say something deep and insightful, like, “I was just trying to have fun out there,” or the judges when they say something incomprehensible (doesn’t happen nearly as often since Paula got the boot), or Ryan Seacrest for just about anything he says or does. Yes, I do realize that making fun of these people does nothing more than reveal my own deep-seated insecurities, and that if I was a truly enlightened and self-actualized person, I wouldn’t feel the need to drag others down, but what the hey. Anyhow, the show reached an all-time low for me this week when I saw who the “Celebrity-guest Mentor” was going to be. They’ve had some kind of odd choices in the past (Kenny Rogers?) but this week, they actually had – wait for it – Miley Cyrus (or was it Hannah Montana?) serve as a mentor. In the words of Seth and Amy from SNL – REALLY???!!. I mean, you’re REALLY going to ask a seventeen-year-old (even though she’s been in “the business” for sixteen and a half years) to give advice to these people? And of all the seventeen-year-old singers out there, you’re REALLY going to invite one that suffers from multiple personality disorder? I mean, REALLY? One who thinks she creates an alter-ego by putting on a different colored wig? REALLY? Someone who thinks no one can tell she’s the same person underneath that wig? And yes, I do understand that Superman’s Clark Kent disguise is just about as lame, but there was actually an explanation for why his disguise worked (the lenses on Clark Kent’s glasses were made out of the glass from the spaceship he rode to Earth, so when he looked through them, he had “super-hypnotic” powers and made people see him as weak and frail rather than buff and, well, super – yeah, it’s lame, but it’s better than a wig). And does Miley Cyrus (or Hannah Montana, or whoever she thinks she is at a particular moment in time) REALLY know how to sing in the first place? Whenever I hear her, it sounds, to borrow a phrase from Randy Jackson, “Pitchy, dog. Just bein’ real.” And then when she performed on the results show (yes, I actually watch the results show, and I am fully aware of how pitiful that is, but I love the part when Ryan says, “Dim the lights,” and have borrowed the phrase on several occasions in my own classroom – it really does create a sense of drama) did she REALLY think that her strange and spastic jerking motions were anything other than strange and spastic looking? REALLY Miley/Hannah? Are you seriously taking yourself seriously? Please tell me you’re just playing at this whole thing and laughing all the way to the bank, because if you REALLY think you’re a serious “artist” as you seem to think you are, then you are REALLY, REALLY deluding yourself. Phew. That felt good to get off my chest.
Have you ever kissed a giraffe?
This may seem like a somewhat random query, but the reason I ask is because this week, my lovely wife is spending time at the zoo during her “intersession” session. So everyday, she comes home with a new “zoo tale” to share with her family. For example, one day, she came home and told us that she’d kissed a giraffe. Or maybe the giraffe kissed her? Or maybe it was an anteater? Anyway, someone kissed someone else at the zoo, and there were multiple species involved, as well as at least one tongue. You’ll have to ask her for the details, because, to be honest, now that I’m getting older, I have a tendency to forget the details about events, so I just write about what I think happened, or sometimes I write about what I wished had happened, or sometimes I just write something I think is kind of funny that’s sort of based on what happened. On another day, she came home and, hoping to impress Connor, said, “Guess what I did today, Connor?” to which he replied, “What?” to which she replied, “I brushed a rhinoceros,” to which he replied (with a bored expression and slightly raised eyebrows), “Oh yeah? Well, I brushed the cat.” Touché.
The beat goes on
Boston is now a little bit more than three weeks away, so I’m maxing out my mileage, which is (strangely enough) my favorite part of training. So this week, my “mid-long during the week run” was a 12-miler with some speedwork thrown in (eight ½ mile repeats with ¼ mile recoveries). And this weekend, I’ll be getting up in the 4’s and heading out in the dark so I can run from my house to the starting line of a half-marathon, then I’ll run the half-marathon (23 miles total, more or less), and then I’ll get a ride home (if I was really a stud, I’d be running home as well – oh well). I will also be running in this event to honor all the students in my classes who donated to the cause this year – so I’ll be writing their names (around 80 of them) on my arms and legs in marker, which might look a little bit strange, but what the hey, it’s all for a good cause.
That’s all the news that’s new for now, so until next time, may your idols remain true (as opposed to false), may your mentors remain respectable and respected (as opposed to being openly mocked and ridiculed), and may your animal kisses remain chaste and pure (as opposed to – well, you know).
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
21st Century, Bad Poetry, and an Update
To Infinity and Beyond
When I arrived home the other afternoon after a long and arduous day of bringing home the bacon, I found my three children (Caitlyn was visiting due to Spring Break) immersed in the world which has become our world and is referred to by many as “the 21st century,” causing me to feel as if I'd slipped down a long and slippery rabbit hole and emerged in a futuristic novel in which the world has moved forward in time and that which is has become that which will be. First I saw Caitlyn, perched on a stool in the kitchen, headphones on and fingers dancing across the keyboard of her laptop (she was writing a story for one of her classes). Then I went into the living room and saw Connor playing a video game on Katie’s laptop and Carrie sitting at the computer facebooking (also with her headphones on). It is definitely a brave new world.
Bad Poems
As you may know if you’re a faithful and regular reader, I hold a “Bad Poetry” contest every year for my students, in which they endeavor to write the very best bad poem and win fame and fortune in the form of gaining the satisfaction that their poem was selected as one of the very best worst poems that was written that year. I receive several hundred submissions for this contest (maybe because it’s an assignment, and if they don’t turn in an entry, they get a zero, and maybe because the kids get excited about writing bad poetry) all of which are bad, but only a few of which are so bad that they’re actually really good. Now some may say that having children learn to write bad poems is a complete and utter waste of time. And some wouldn’t. And some would say it’s “cheating” for me to include their work on this site, because this is supposed to be my site filled with my thoughts and musings, but I would respond to all of these critics by pointing out that I am touching the future here, people, so get over it. Anyway, here are a few of my faves from this year’s crop (with the names left off because we live in a world ruled by paranoia, which means that we’re afraid that including children’s names on these poems might somehow induce one of the many web-surfing weirdos who lurk on the internet searching for children’s names to kidnap them and do horrible and unspeakable things):
Hickory Dickory Dock
Hickory Dickory Dock
Three mice ran up the clock
The clock struck one
and the other two escaped with minor injuries.
-G. S.
Decapitated
With a squelching sound
Decapitated heads roll
Going splat on floor.
-M. H.
This is Just to Say (inspired by William Carlos Williams)
I have eaten
the children
that were in
your yard
and which
you were probably
saving
for family game night
Forgive me
they were delicious
so juicy
and not furry at all
-M. K.
Broken Heart
We were so in love,
then he broke my heart. Now I'm
gonna break his face.
-K. P.
Limerick
There once was a schizophrenic mother
Whose young child she did smother
"It's too bad," she assessed,
But she wasn't depressed,
"Because I still have each other."
-N. C.
Hmm. After reading through these, I can’t help but notice how many of them contain violent and disturbing imagery. Does this say something about the youth of America, or the author of this website? I’ll leave that to you to decide.
Countdown to Boston
As those of you who are on the downlow and plugged into the whole running scene may be aware, there’s a little race scheduled to be held in Boston a few weeks from now which me and about 25,000 of my very best friends will be participating in. Because of this, I’ve been spending a lot of hours pounding the pavement in an attempt to prepare for the rigors of running 26.2 miles at a reasonably rapid pace (for me – which is most definitely a less than rapid pace for the really fast runners of the world – or even the reasonably fast runners). As part of my training, next week I’ll be participating in the Arizona Distance Classic with a group of Team in Training teammates who have raised a bunch of money for the fight against cancer. Because it’s so close to Boston, instead of racing in this event for 13.1 miles, I’ll be going out early to put in extra miles, which means I’ll be running at a slower pace for a longer distance (planning to go 23 miles that day). My challenge will be to rein in the crazy-psycho runner who takes over my mind, body, and soul every time a starting gun goes off, and I’m hoping that putting in an extra 10 miles or so before the race will take care of crazy-psycho Brian, but we’ll have to wait and see.
That’s all I’ve got for now, so until next time, may your poetry remain lyrical and deep, may your glue remain sticky, and may your computers remain functional and benign.
When I arrived home the other afternoon after a long and arduous day of bringing home the bacon, I found my three children (Caitlyn was visiting due to Spring Break) immersed in the world which has become our world and is referred to by many as “the 21st century,” causing me to feel as if I'd slipped down a long and slippery rabbit hole and emerged in a futuristic novel in which the world has moved forward in time and that which is has become that which will be. First I saw Caitlyn, perched on a stool in the kitchen, headphones on and fingers dancing across the keyboard of her laptop (she was writing a story for one of her classes). Then I went into the living room and saw Connor playing a video game on Katie’s laptop and Carrie sitting at the computer facebooking (also with her headphones on). It is definitely a brave new world.
Bad Poems
As you may know if you’re a faithful and regular reader, I hold a “Bad Poetry” contest every year for my students, in which they endeavor to write the very best bad poem and win fame and fortune in the form of gaining the satisfaction that their poem was selected as one of the very best worst poems that was written that year. I receive several hundred submissions for this contest (maybe because it’s an assignment, and if they don’t turn in an entry, they get a zero, and maybe because the kids get excited about writing bad poetry) all of which are bad, but only a few of which are so bad that they’re actually really good. Now some may say that having children learn to write bad poems is a complete and utter waste of time. And some wouldn’t. And some would say it’s “cheating” for me to include their work on this site, because this is supposed to be my site filled with my thoughts and musings, but I would respond to all of these critics by pointing out that I am touching the future here, people, so get over it. Anyway, here are a few of my faves from this year’s crop (with the names left off because we live in a world ruled by paranoia, which means that we’re afraid that including children’s names on these poems might somehow induce one of the many web-surfing weirdos who lurk on the internet searching for children’s names to kidnap them and do horrible and unspeakable things):
Hickory Dickory Dock
Hickory Dickory Dock
Three mice ran up the clock
The clock struck one
and the other two escaped with minor injuries.
-G. S.
Decapitated
With a squelching sound
Decapitated heads roll
Going splat on floor.
-M. H.
This is Just to Say (inspired by William Carlos Williams)
I have eaten
the children
that were in
your yard
and which
you were probably
saving
for family game night
Forgive me
they were delicious
so juicy
and not furry at all
-M. K.
Broken Heart
We were so in love,
then he broke my heart. Now I'm
gonna break his face.
-K. P.
Limerick
There once was a schizophrenic mother
Whose young child she did smother
"It's too bad," she assessed,
But she wasn't depressed,
"Because I still have each other."
-N. C.
Hmm. After reading through these, I can’t help but notice how many of them contain violent and disturbing imagery. Does this say something about the youth of America, or the author of this website? I’ll leave that to you to decide.
Countdown to Boston
As those of you who are on the downlow and plugged into the whole running scene may be aware, there’s a little race scheduled to be held in Boston a few weeks from now which me and about 25,000 of my very best friends will be participating in. Because of this, I’ve been spending a lot of hours pounding the pavement in an attempt to prepare for the rigors of running 26.2 miles at a reasonably rapid pace (for me – which is most definitely a less than rapid pace for the really fast runners of the world – or even the reasonably fast runners). As part of my training, next week I’ll be participating in the Arizona Distance Classic with a group of Team in Training teammates who have raised a bunch of money for the fight against cancer. Because it’s so close to Boston, instead of racing in this event for 13.1 miles, I’ll be going out early to put in extra miles, which means I’ll be running at a slower pace for a longer distance (planning to go 23 miles that day). My challenge will be to rein in the crazy-psycho runner who takes over my mind, body, and soul every time a starting gun goes off, and I’m hoping that putting in an extra 10 miles or so before the race will take care of crazy-psycho Brian, but we’ll have to wait and see.
That’s all I’ve got for now, so until next time, may your poetry remain lyrical and deep, may your glue remain sticky, and may your computers remain functional and benign.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Voice-mail, Dream Interpretation, and a Weather Report
Wrong Number
I rarely use my cell phone, and probably don't really need one, except I kind of like having it when I'm on a long bike ride just in case something breaks down (though I'm not sure if that would even be helpful, because on the few occasions when I've actually tried to get ahold of Katie using the cell, I almost always get her voice-mail) and I'm supposed to have one as a running coach (though on the few occasions when someone has tried to call me when we're out running, I haven't heard it, so they've gotten my voice-mail). Anyway, it seems to me that I get way more calls from people I don't know than from people I do know, and they always seem to leave me these intriguing messages that make me feel kind of bad, because their lives are obviously way more interesting and exciting that mine. Actually, I think I should start writing down all the intriguing messages I get from strangers, because it might make a pretty mildly amusing collection. Things like, "Scooter, this is Dipsy. We're still plannin' on flippin' the cakes tonight. Don't be late," or, "Boomjaggle, you ol' corndog. Gimme a call on the q.t. Gotta go," or stuff like that. So the other day, I was at work, diligently educating our young people to be responsible and productive citizens of the 21st century, when my classroom phone rang (actually, it beeped, because it's set on "do not disturb," which means it beeps once then stops making noise). When I got a chance, I checked the message, expecting it to be from a parent. I always feel a slight sense of trepidation when I get these phone messages - usually they're not a big deal, but every once in awhile, there's a doozy, so there's always this breathless sense of nervous anticipation when I hit the "play messages" button. This time, though, it was a guy named Jerry calling from the Ford dealership, and he was quite agitated as he told me that they'd been trying to get ahold of me, because the part they ordered wasn't the part they'd received, and the customer was still waiting for it, so they need me to check the tag number on the requisition they sent, which was, "Tag number zebra, tango, one, four, libra, charlie, seven, two," and then call them back as soon as possible. Since I don't have any requisition orders from the Ford dealership, which means I don't have any tags to check, I erased the message and didn't think much about it, but then I got the same message the following day, which I once again erased and ignored for the same reasons as stated above, and I haven't heard back from Jerry since then, so I'm assuming he either figured out he wasn't calling the right person, or he decided I'm a total jerk for not returning his calls and crossed me off his Christmas card list. I'm still wondering how the guy accidentally left a message for me, because my voice-mail at school does announce my name at the beginning, so the whole thing was kind of weird.
Dream a Little Dream
I don't know about you, but people often come up to me and say something along the lines of, "Hey, I had this really weird/cool/disturbing dream last night, and you were in it." I've heard this from colleagues, students, people I run with, and even my wife (usually, my wife's dreams about me involve me doing something really awful like leaving her for another woman, which means that she's usually pretty snippy with me the next day because I was such a jerk to her in her dream - I'm sure this says something deep and meaningful about the depth and meaningfulness of our relationship, but that's a whole 'nother can of spaghetti). The other day, I got a message from my oldest daughter, Caitlyn, about a dream she'd had involving me. Here's what she had to say:
"So I wanted to tell you I had a dream about you last night. I dreamed that Mom made a movie of the two of you jetskiing. You were surpisringly agile. Except then there was a kind of accident and your ear was somehow severed from your head. I believe it was your left ear. You were trying to get it out of the water when a narwhal showed up and started munching on it. You looked very calmly and thoughtfully at the narwhal, looked at Mom (who looked horrified) and said, "Well, that'll make my ear funny-looking." And then I woke myself up laughing. Love you and miss you!"
Hmm, what could this signify? Obviously, the symbolic ramifications are running rampant in this young lady's subconscious, so let's roll up our psychological sleeves and see what we can make of it. Jetskiing obviously has to do with escaping and since you jetski on water, it must symbolize the womb, so there's something here about wanting to regress to childhood (not sure if that would be the dreamer or the dreamee). And I was "surprisingly agile" which is obviously a cheap shot at my well-known lack of dancing ability and doesn't really need to be analyzed any further. My ear was severed - more significantly, my left ear - which suggests a desire to distance oneself from the outer world and retreat into an inner world, and since the left ear connects to the right brain, that would be a retreat into an inner world of creative expression and visual stimulation. Then a narwhal eats the ear - and as I recall, a narwhal has a horn like a unicorn, so that must symbolize magical qualities and eternal life, which means my connections with the physical world are being absorbed and digested by a desire for supernatural explanations. And then my lackadaisical response to this whole thing (although my wife is horrified) suggests that I'm participating willingly in this withdrawal. And since my daughter wakes up and laughs, this means she finds this whole spiritual angst-ridden journey thing that I'm obviously struggling with amusing. So there you have it. My situation in life, according to my daughter's subconscious mind.
Running Between Raindrops
Thanks to El Niño, we've been receiving an above-average amount of rainfall over the past couple of months. In addition to providing some much-needed moisture to our drought-stricken desert, this has also created an odd and unusual situation in which our rivers actually have water in them. It's also served to reinforce the fact that I've become a pretty big wimp. Every week, I've been checking the weather forecast for the weekend, hoping beyond hope that the rain will hold off until after Saturday morning so I can get my long run in before the rain hits so I don't get wet and cold. I did have to complete one of my weekend runs in the rain several weeks ago (actually, that was on a Sunday, ironically enough) and it just wasn't fun. Actually, it was kind of fun for the first part, but then I got cold and wet and tired and discouraged, and then it wasn't fun anymore. I'm also keeping my fingers crossed regarding the weather in a certain big city located in the northeastern part of the country on the third Monday in April, because I would really appreciate having reasonably good weather for a certain little race that will be occurring that day.
That's all for this entry, so until next time may your raindrops fall at convenient times, may your psyche remain angst-free, and may your cell phone remain silent (unless, that is, you're hoping it rings.
I rarely use my cell phone, and probably don't really need one, except I kind of like having it when I'm on a long bike ride just in case something breaks down (though I'm not sure if that would even be helpful, because on the few occasions when I've actually tried to get ahold of Katie using the cell, I almost always get her voice-mail) and I'm supposed to have one as a running coach (though on the few occasions when someone has tried to call me when we're out running, I haven't heard it, so they've gotten my voice-mail). Anyway, it seems to me that I get way more calls from people I don't know than from people I do know, and they always seem to leave me these intriguing messages that make me feel kind of bad, because their lives are obviously way more interesting and exciting that mine. Actually, I think I should start writing down all the intriguing messages I get from strangers, because it might make a pretty mildly amusing collection. Things like, "Scooter, this is Dipsy. We're still plannin' on flippin' the cakes tonight. Don't be late," or, "Boomjaggle, you ol' corndog. Gimme a call on the q.t. Gotta go," or stuff like that. So the other day, I was at work, diligently educating our young people to be responsible and productive citizens of the 21st century, when my classroom phone rang (actually, it beeped, because it's set on "do not disturb," which means it beeps once then stops making noise). When I got a chance, I checked the message, expecting it to be from a parent. I always feel a slight sense of trepidation when I get these phone messages - usually they're not a big deal, but every once in awhile, there's a doozy, so there's always this breathless sense of nervous anticipation when I hit the "play messages" button. This time, though, it was a guy named Jerry calling from the Ford dealership, and he was quite agitated as he told me that they'd been trying to get ahold of me, because the part they ordered wasn't the part they'd received, and the customer was still waiting for it, so they need me to check the tag number on the requisition they sent, which was, "Tag number zebra, tango, one, four, libra, charlie, seven, two," and then call them back as soon as possible. Since I don't have any requisition orders from the Ford dealership, which means I don't have any tags to check, I erased the message and didn't think much about it, but then I got the same message the following day, which I once again erased and ignored for the same reasons as stated above, and I haven't heard back from Jerry since then, so I'm assuming he either figured out he wasn't calling the right person, or he decided I'm a total jerk for not returning his calls and crossed me off his Christmas card list. I'm still wondering how the guy accidentally left a message for me, because my voice-mail at school does announce my name at the beginning, so the whole thing was kind of weird.
Dream a Little Dream
I don't know about you, but people often come up to me and say something along the lines of, "Hey, I had this really weird/cool/disturbing dream last night, and you were in it." I've heard this from colleagues, students, people I run with, and even my wife (usually, my wife's dreams about me involve me doing something really awful like leaving her for another woman, which means that she's usually pretty snippy with me the next day because I was such a jerk to her in her dream - I'm sure this says something deep and meaningful about the depth and meaningfulness of our relationship, but that's a whole 'nother can of spaghetti). The other day, I got a message from my oldest daughter, Caitlyn, about a dream she'd had involving me. Here's what she had to say:
"So I wanted to tell you I had a dream about you last night. I dreamed that Mom made a movie of the two of you jetskiing. You were surpisringly agile. Except then there was a kind of accident and your ear was somehow severed from your head. I believe it was your left ear. You were trying to get it out of the water when a narwhal showed up and started munching on it. You looked very calmly and thoughtfully at the narwhal, looked at Mom (who looked horrified) and said, "Well, that'll make my ear funny-looking." And then I woke myself up laughing. Love you and miss you!"
Hmm, what could this signify? Obviously, the symbolic ramifications are running rampant in this young lady's subconscious, so let's roll up our psychological sleeves and see what we can make of it. Jetskiing obviously has to do with escaping and since you jetski on water, it must symbolize the womb, so there's something here about wanting to regress to childhood (not sure if that would be the dreamer or the dreamee). And I was "surprisingly agile" which is obviously a cheap shot at my well-known lack of dancing ability and doesn't really need to be analyzed any further. My ear was severed - more significantly, my left ear - which suggests a desire to distance oneself from the outer world and retreat into an inner world, and since the left ear connects to the right brain, that would be a retreat into an inner world of creative expression and visual stimulation. Then a narwhal eats the ear - and as I recall, a narwhal has a horn like a unicorn, so that must symbolize magical qualities and eternal life, which means my connections with the physical world are being absorbed and digested by a desire for supernatural explanations. And then my lackadaisical response to this whole thing (although my wife is horrified) suggests that I'm participating willingly in this withdrawal. And since my daughter wakes up and laughs, this means she finds this whole spiritual angst-ridden journey thing that I'm obviously struggling with amusing. So there you have it. My situation in life, according to my daughter's subconscious mind.
Running Between Raindrops
Thanks to El Niño, we've been receiving an above-average amount of rainfall over the past couple of months. In addition to providing some much-needed moisture to our drought-stricken desert, this has also created an odd and unusual situation in which our rivers actually have water in them. It's also served to reinforce the fact that I've become a pretty big wimp. Every week, I've been checking the weather forecast for the weekend, hoping beyond hope that the rain will hold off until after Saturday morning so I can get my long run in before the rain hits so I don't get wet and cold. I did have to complete one of my weekend runs in the rain several weeks ago (actually, that was on a Sunday, ironically enough) and it just wasn't fun. Actually, it was kind of fun for the first part, but then I got cold and wet and tired and discouraged, and then it wasn't fun anymore. I'm also keeping my fingers crossed regarding the weather in a certain big city located in the northeastern part of the country on the third Monday in April, because I would really appreciate having reasonably good weather for a certain little race that will be occurring that day.
That's all for this entry, so until next time may your raindrops fall at convenient times, may your psyche remain angst-free, and may your cell phone remain silent (unless, that is, you're hoping it rings.
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