I feel compelled to write about a national, maybe international issue, of great import. This problem is rampant today and has been an issue for years, decades, or even centuries. This issue may even trump the all-important Republican Florida Primary being held today in our favorite Sunshine State, although it is hard to imagine anything trumping this primary. Perhaps the only bigger thing than my issue and the primary is the Republican Presidential Candidate Wannabes' obvious desire for self-destruction and an even more intense desire to hand the Presidency back to the Democrats for one more term. Ah, but I digress.
I am uncertain just what topic today's post is about. In fact, I do not know how to categorize my dis-comfort about this glaringly troubling problem: When to say "thank you" and when to respond, "You're welcome." John Q. Public obviously has no idea when to utter which, because you can listen to interview after interview, either on the radio or television, and repeatedly, interviewees (guests) respond, when the interviewer says, "Thank you for being with us today.", "Oh, thank you!" The correct response to "thank you" is "you're welcome".
This drives me nuts. I am just as guilty as the next upright homo sapien when it comes to this social trip-up. When a store clerk hands me my receipt and says, "Thank you for shopping with us today.", what do I mindlessly respond in reply? Why, "thank you", of course, as if it is she or he that did me the big favor by letting me spend my dollars in the store and I gratefully reply, "thank you". For what? Handing me the receipt?
I do the same thing when I am at the drive-in window of the bank. Upon completion of my transaction, the window teller puts my receipt in the drawer, pushes the button to move the receipt out to me and says, "thank you". Well, the teller should thank the customer for bringing business to his or her bank instead of the dozens of other banking alternatives available to the local consumer. But, do I say, "You're welcome." (for giving your bank business?) No. Instead I mutter "thank you". For what? The privilege of doing business here?
This just makes no sense to me. Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners, has written a multitude of books on manners, politeness, etiquette - whatever term you wish to give this conundrum that I raise. I do recall, some years ago, reading an article about this sticky issue. She - Miss Manners - was very emphatic about the (her) fact that "thank you" should be followed by a "you're welcome".
Maybe the problem is not one of social interaction at all. Perhaps since a large part of our society cannot spell "you're" correctly, it is not possible to use the phrase correctly, either. What is your opinion about you're? Or, is it you're opinion about your?
If I have brought any clarity to this national issue, I'll say, "You're welcome." in response to your "thank you".
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
A Great Day
Capt. Cook and I traveled to Three-Musketeer Land yesterday. We always look forward to our time with boundless energy, smiles, kisses, and hugs. We were amazed at the delight that decades-old Legos brought to a wide range of ages. Not realizing what had been carefully packed up and preserved, upon opening the Lego carrying cases, Daddy Musketeer discovered several Lego structures he had made, still together in my favorite of all storage methods - a Ziploc bag. Someday my loved ones will undoubtedly find many strange things carefully preserved in Ziploc bags.
One of the other highlights of yesterday was being able to attend Musketeer-the-Eldest's first piano recital. My rendition of the event may be ho-hum to those readers who never had the occasion to either play in a recital, attend a recital, give a recital or organize a recital.....but if you fall into any one of the four latter categories, you may have your own flashbacks as I recall yesterday afternoon.
First of all, there is hardly anything, I repeat - hardly anything more button-busting than parents watching their child (or children) perform in or on anything. When I was teaching, this was never more apparent than when the beginning band would perform in the first concert of the school year. If you have attended a concert featuring a beginning band - especially the first of the year - you will know about that which I write. Let's just say that when a beginning band performs for the first time, the definition of perfection must be re-calibrated. Having said that, the feeling of success from the students and the evidence of parental pride is never more palpable than during a beginning band's first performance.
Recitals are no different than beginning band performances. The venue, in yesterday's case a beautiful church sanctuary, was filled with proud grandparents, even prouder parents, lots of nervous energy and one probably slightly nervous piano teacher. When dealing with students, of any age, the element of nerves always presents itself with unpredictable outcomes. I can tell you that from the previous vantage point of a performer, a parent and a teacher, you never quite know what the final product will be until the last note is played. This is just the way of live performing. I do remember the feeling of nervous anticipation when Capt. Cook's and my children would take the stage, seat themselves at the piano (or cello), place their hands on the keys and begin to play. Holding my breath was never hard during the early, short pieces but as the years went by and greater skill meant longer pieces, I'm certain my face was blue when they finished.
Recitals are also microcosms of humanity. The performers present themselves in all age ranges, all shapes and sizes, all manner of dress, widely differing approaches to playing, wide-ranges of performance body language from the stiff and stilted to the "in-the-moment" swaying back and forth with the music, comically different ways to take and leave the stage, and varying emotional looks from wild enthusiasm to thinly veiled fear. Yesterday's selection titles ranged from Shinichi Suzuki's "Twinkle Variation A", to the final performer who played Claud Debussy's "Arabesque No. 1".
Yes, I was among the audience members who left with all buttons busted. "Musketeer-the-Eldest", who has had three lessons, performed Suzuki's "Twinkle Variation 'A'", a button-busting performance if ever I heard one!
It was a great day. A great day, indeed.
Ancora imparo
One of the other highlights of yesterday was being able to attend Musketeer-the-Eldest's first piano recital. My rendition of the event may be ho-hum to those readers who never had the occasion to either play in a recital, attend a recital, give a recital or organize a recital.....but if you fall into any one of the four latter categories, you may have your own flashbacks as I recall yesterday afternoon.
First of all, there is hardly anything, I repeat - hardly anything more button-busting than parents watching their child (or children) perform in or on anything. When I was teaching, this was never more apparent than when the beginning band would perform in the first concert of the school year. If you have attended a concert featuring a beginning band - especially the first of the year - you will know about that which I write. Let's just say that when a beginning band performs for the first time, the definition of perfection must be re-calibrated. Having said that, the feeling of success from the students and the evidence of parental pride is never more palpable than during a beginning band's first performance.
Recitals are no different than beginning band performances. The venue, in yesterday's case a beautiful church sanctuary, was filled with proud grandparents, even prouder parents, lots of nervous energy and one probably slightly nervous piano teacher. When dealing with students, of any age, the element of nerves always presents itself with unpredictable outcomes. I can tell you that from the previous vantage point of a performer, a parent and a teacher, you never quite know what the final product will be until the last note is played. This is just the way of live performing. I do remember the feeling of nervous anticipation when Capt. Cook's and my children would take the stage, seat themselves at the piano (or cello), place their hands on the keys and begin to play. Holding my breath was never hard during the early, short pieces but as the years went by and greater skill meant longer pieces, I'm certain my face was blue when they finished.
Recitals are also microcosms of humanity. The performers present themselves in all age ranges, all shapes and sizes, all manner of dress, widely differing approaches to playing, wide-ranges of performance body language from the stiff and stilted to the "in-the-moment" swaying back and forth with the music, comically different ways to take and leave the stage, and varying emotional looks from wild enthusiasm to thinly veiled fear. Yesterday's selection titles ranged from Shinichi Suzuki's "Twinkle Variation A", to the final performer who played Claud Debussy's "Arabesque No. 1".
Yes, I was among the audience members who left with all buttons busted. "Musketeer-the-Eldest", who has had three lessons, performed Suzuki's "Twinkle Variation 'A'", a button-busting performance if ever I heard one!
It was a great day. A great day, indeed.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Would I Really Want To Know?
Yet one more posting resulting from attending a church service on a Saturday night.
First of all, this daring young pastor has been delivering sermons from a series he has called "good sex, GOD'S way". Tonight's sermon was the last in the series and only the second one Capt. Cook and I have heard. While perhaps not drawing the targeted audience of adults, the congregation has certainly had its fair share of teens willing to set through a sermon about "SEX". Tonight's sermon began with a video clip from a 1971 movie called "Defending Your Life", starring - among others - Meryl Streep, Albert Brooks and Rip Torn. The scene we saw was where Streep and Brooks are in line, waiting to enter heaven. Upon arrival, they are ushered into individual "booths" where they are addressed by a character, played by Shirley MacLaine, who tells them that they will shortly be viewing themselves in past lives. MacLaine, of course, is famous, perhaps infamous, for her belief in reincarnation. Meryl Streep's character discovers she was a Sir-Lancelot-type who came to people's rescues. Albert Brooks character discovers he was an aboriginal native about to be a great cat's dinner.
If reincarnation was "real", would you want to know who or what you were in past lives? Would you want to know that you had been present on the earth in other bodies or forms? Would you want to know that you were a daisy blowing in the wind, only to be picked by a child, innocently placed in water on a dining room table and left there to wither and wilt? Would you want to know that you were once a Tasmanian Devil who was a fierce and feared predator? Would you want to know that you were almost a wife of King Henry the VIII?
I'm quite certain, if reincarnation were a real phenomenon, that I would have been a Siamese cat. At least, this is what I always told my mother. No wonder I drove the poor woman nuts. I would rather think of myself as a Siamese feline than a small insect that scurries about apartments and restaurants at night and then flies into the woodwork at the flick of a light switch.
All conjecture anyway. I do not think I would really want to know. I'll leave that to the characters in the film, "Defending Your Life".
Ancora improbablearo
First of all, this daring young pastor has been delivering sermons from a series he has called "good sex, GOD'S way". Tonight's sermon was the last in the series and only the second one Capt. Cook and I have heard. While perhaps not drawing the targeted audience of adults, the congregation has certainly had its fair share of teens willing to set through a sermon about "SEX". Tonight's sermon began with a video clip from a 1971 movie called "Defending Your Life", starring - among others - Meryl Streep, Albert Brooks and Rip Torn. The scene we saw was where Streep and Brooks are in line, waiting to enter heaven. Upon arrival, they are ushered into individual "booths" where they are addressed by a character, played by Shirley MacLaine, who tells them that they will shortly be viewing themselves in past lives. MacLaine, of course, is famous, perhaps infamous, for her belief in reincarnation. Meryl Streep's character discovers she was a Sir-Lancelot-type who came to people's rescues. Albert Brooks character discovers he was an aboriginal native about to be a great cat's dinner.
If reincarnation was "real", would you want to know who or what you were in past lives? Would you want to know that you had been present on the earth in other bodies or forms? Would you want to know that you were a daisy blowing in the wind, only to be picked by a child, innocently placed in water on a dining room table and left there to wither and wilt? Would you want to know that you were once a Tasmanian Devil who was a fierce and feared predator? Would you want to know that you were almost a wife of King Henry the VIII?
I'm quite certain, if reincarnation were a real phenomenon, that I would have been a Siamese cat. At least, this is what I always told my mother. No wonder I drove the poor woman nuts. I would rather think of myself as a Siamese feline than a small insect that scurries about apartments and restaurants at night and then flies into the woodwork at the flick of a light switch.
All conjecture anyway. I do not think I would really want to know. I'll leave that to the characters in the film, "Defending Your Life".
Ancora improbablearo
Soprano Sax, Gershwin and Peace
I went to church tonight. Yeah, a Saturday night church service. The pastor, who delivers a great sermon spoke about finding yourself, forgiving your past and finding peace. This, of course, caused me to reflect on what brings me peace and I remembered the great sense of peace that fell over me this morning all because of.......you guessed it.......music.
I was listening to a public radio station that has "Classical Music By Request" every Saturday morning. Since anyone can call, email, text, write or twitter in their request for anything remotely classical, you pretty much get carte blanche or, as Cole Porter's musical is titled, "Anything Goes". Admittedly, about fifty percent of what is requested is not my cup of tea but only about twenty percent receives a station change when I hear it played. Otherwise, the requested selections either energize or relax me, as did one piece this morning.
If you are not familiar with the music from George Gershwin's musical, "Porgy and Bess", you would do yourself a big favor by becoming acquainted with this masterful work of Gershwin's. I love all things Gershwin, but the music from "Porgy and Bess" has always spoken directly to my soul. Perhaps it is the combination of the touching story line and music that draws me to this piece. Whatever the cause, I never tire of hearing it.
This morning, someone requested to hear a medley from "Porgy and Bess" featuring a soprano saxophonist with orchestral accompaniment. The soprano sax is the smallest of the saxophone family and pitched the highest. Not an easy instrument to play, when played well produces a hauntingly beautiful sound, with a timbre easily identified. During my years in the bandroom, a highly talented district father played a mean saxophone of any kind and often soloed with my jazz band. His soprano- sax playing was always my favorite. When I heard the "Porgy and Bess" medley today, it evoked memories of "Doc" from years ago and this incredible sense of peace came over me. Granted, it only lasted the four-to-five minutes of the medley, but it was worth every second. I stopped what I was doing and simply sat, letting the music envelope me and take me to zen.
Need some peace in your world? Listen to George Gershwin's "Porgy and Bess".
Ancora imparo
I was listening to a public radio station that has "Classical Music By Request" every Saturday morning. Since anyone can call, email, text, write or twitter in their request for anything remotely classical, you pretty much get carte blanche or, as Cole Porter's musical is titled, "Anything Goes". Admittedly, about fifty percent of what is requested is not my cup of tea but only about twenty percent receives a station change when I hear it played. Otherwise, the requested selections either energize or relax me, as did one piece this morning.
If you are not familiar with the music from George Gershwin's musical, "Porgy and Bess", you would do yourself a big favor by becoming acquainted with this masterful work of Gershwin's. I love all things Gershwin, but the music from "Porgy and Bess" has always spoken directly to my soul. Perhaps it is the combination of the touching story line and music that draws me to this piece. Whatever the cause, I never tire of hearing it.
This morning, someone requested to hear a medley from "Porgy and Bess" featuring a soprano saxophonist with orchestral accompaniment. The soprano sax is the smallest of the saxophone family and pitched the highest. Not an easy instrument to play, when played well produces a hauntingly beautiful sound, with a timbre easily identified. During my years in the bandroom, a highly talented district father played a mean saxophone of any kind and often soloed with my jazz band. His soprano- sax playing was always my favorite. When I heard the "Porgy and Bess" medley today, it evoked memories of "Doc" from years ago and this incredible sense of peace came over me. Granted, it only lasted the four-to-five minutes of the medley, but it was worth every second. I stopped what I was doing and simply sat, letting the music envelope me and take me to zen.
Need some peace in your world? Listen to George Gershwin's "Porgy and Bess".
Ancora imparo
Friday, January 27, 2012
Kitchen Kibitzing
By choice, the majority of this day has been spent in the kitchen. After being out for several hours this morning, I returned home to a list of KP duties. I had scribbled notes to myself on multiple scraps of paper (Yes, I know I should have utilized my phone's list-making capabilities.) and was not aware of the scope of my kitchen challenge until I gathered up all the scraps of paper and made them into a single list. At first, my eyes must have bulged and I can remember making the sound of a tiny gasp, then thinking to myself, "You'd best get busy!"
My first task was to get soup going in the crockpot because I knew it would take the longest to cook. I assembled all of the ingredients I wanted to dump into the pot, knowing that we need to begin drawing down the amount of frozen foods in the freezers before Aqua RV season. I can proudly say that I emptied two partial bags of frozen veggies and six small plastic containers - all with differing kinds of veggies or meats. Chopping up potatoes, carrots and green pepper completed the process, along with a myriad of spices......a pinch at a time.
Next I knew I wanted to mix up two different types of cookie dough for refrigeration today and baking tomorrow. Done. There was a big box of white mushrooms that I wanted to slice and saute. Done. A low-fat vegetable dip needed to be made for our car trip on Sunday. Done. Capt. Cook and I are trying a new recipe for poached salmon tonight and the marinade needed to be made. Done. Lastly, we were out of humus so a new batch needed to be blended. Done.
Along the way I enjoyed some good coffee, ate lunch standing up (bad idea) and did some refrigerator reorganization. Nothing was wasted today but about one-quarter cup of old pasta sauce I found in the refrigerator. I was tired and my bare feet were a little sore. I could feel the "whinys" approaching.
Then I found the article about the mayor of Las Vegas, Carolyn Goodman, who is trying to live on food stamps; i.e. about $4.03 a day. I realized just how fortunate we are to be able to purchase Omega-3 foods such as salmon steaks; how fortunate we are that I can keep the ingredients on hand to make a big pot of steaming soup to enjoy on cold, wintery nights; how fortunate we are that I have everything needed - at my fingertips - to mix up two cookie recipes; or how fortunate we are that I can say I made a low-fat veggie dip or sauteed fresh mushrooms, or made a fresh batch of humus.
Good for you, Carolyn Goodman. A good mayor you are.
Ancora imparo
My first task was to get soup going in the crockpot because I knew it would take the longest to cook. I assembled all of the ingredients I wanted to dump into the pot, knowing that we need to begin drawing down the amount of frozen foods in the freezers before Aqua RV season. I can proudly say that I emptied two partial bags of frozen veggies and six small plastic containers - all with differing kinds of veggies or meats. Chopping up potatoes, carrots and green pepper completed the process, along with a myriad of spices......a pinch at a time.
Next I knew I wanted to mix up two different types of cookie dough for refrigeration today and baking tomorrow. Done. There was a big box of white mushrooms that I wanted to slice and saute. Done. A low-fat vegetable dip needed to be made for our car trip on Sunday. Done. Capt. Cook and I are trying a new recipe for poached salmon tonight and the marinade needed to be made. Done. Lastly, we were out of humus so a new batch needed to be blended. Done.
Along the way I enjoyed some good coffee, ate lunch standing up (bad idea) and did some refrigerator reorganization. Nothing was wasted today but about one-quarter cup of old pasta sauce I found in the refrigerator. I was tired and my bare feet were a little sore. I could feel the "whinys" approaching.
Then I found the article about the mayor of Las Vegas, Carolyn Goodman, who is trying to live on food stamps; i.e. about $4.03 a day. I realized just how fortunate we are to be able to purchase Omega-3 foods such as salmon steaks; how fortunate we are that I can keep the ingredients on hand to make a big pot of steaming soup to enjoy on cold, wintery nights; how fortunate we are that I have everything needed - at my fingertips - to mix up two cookie recipes; or how fortunate we are that I can say I made a low-fat veggie dip or sauteed fresh mushrooms, or made a fresh batch of humus.
Good for you, Carolyn Goodman. A good mayor you are.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Just Because I Chopped Ice
I should worry about my brain. The idea for this posting came while I was just chopping up the ice jam at the end of my driveway. Nothing, I repeat, nothing about chopping ice has anything to do with words, but as I was whacking away at the ice with the chopping blade - which, by the way, was quite therapeutic - the word "caterwauling" popped into my head and would not leave. Then my mind-thread went from the appearance of the word to the funny sound of the word to onomonopoteia (which means a word that sounds like its meaning). Then I thought about all of the syllables in the word which then lead me to think about other words with multiple syllables. This all while chopping ice and heaving the chunks into the snow in the yard.
Have you noticed that words with lots of syllables are not only harder to pronounce but often have meanings that are not common? Perhaps our DNA has programmed us to learn the definitions to shorter words more easily than longer, more "complicated" words. For instance, take the choir that I direct. This group sight-reads fairly proficiently, a skill that they can be proud of. At our last rehearsal, they read through two new selections for the first time - sightreading. They were just buzzing right along until they came to the word propitiation in the text. Not only was this relatively seldom-heard word in print, but the composer had chosen to assign each syllable a different part of a rhythmic pattern AND note. By the time we breezed through that section of music, everyone had stopped singing because they were laughing so hard. Propitiation is a word I've long been familiar with but never had the occasion to fully comprehend the meaning, other than garnering a meaning through context. Synonyms for propitiation that are more commonly known are appeasement, atonement, concilation and reconciliation.
Caterwauling, the word that started this whole posting topic, is a word you hear fairly seldom. When I was a kid, I had a friend whose mother wasn't really very nice to her and the mother berated my friend on a regular basis, which caused my friend to cry a lot, which caused the mother to chide her daughter constantly by telling my friend that she should stop her caterwauling. I think caterwauling is a good example of onomonopoteia.
There. My linguistic urges are over for the moment........and all because I chopped up the ice at the end of my driveway.
Ancora imparo
Have you noticed that words with lots of syllables are not only harder to pronounce but often have meanings that are not common? Perhaps our DNA has programmed us to learn the definitions to shorter words more easily than longer, more "complicated" words. For instance, take the choir that I direct. This group sight-reads fairly proficiently, a skill that they can be proud of. At our last rehearsal, they read through two new selections for the first time - sightreading. They were just buzzing right along until they came to the word propitiation in the text. Not only was this relatively seldom-heard word in print, but the composer had chosen to assign each syllable a different part of a rhythmic pattern AND note. By the time we breezed through that section of music, everyone had stopped singing because they were laughing so hard. Propitiation is a word I've long been familiar with but never had the occasion to fully comprehend the meaning, other than garnering a meaning through context. Synonyms for propitiation that are more commonly known are appeasement, atonement, concilation and reconciliation.
Caterwauling, the word that started this whole posting topic, is a word you hear fairly seldom. When I was a kid, I had a friend whose mother wasn't really very nice to her and the mother berated my friend on a regular basis, which caused my friend to cry a lot, which caused the mother to chide her daughter constantly by telling my friend that she should stop her caterwauling. I think caterwauling is a good example of onomonopoteia.
There. My linguistic urges are over for the moment........and all because I chopped up the ice at the end of my driveway.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Good Question!
I just read a fascinating article about fraud and how people say they are qualified, can even show "paperwork" to prove it, but have zero skills in the area they claim to be qualified in. This reminds me of a recent Facebook thread where a "friend", who teaches English at a junior college, was complaining that her daughter's pre-school teacher's memo home to parents was rife with spelling and grammatical errors. The ensuing thread of comments was a rant about how teachers - on the whole - could not spell, how did they ever make it through school and how were they remotely qualified to teach our children? It was a rather spiteful "conversation", one that, as a teacher, made me cringe.
The magazine article, to which I referred, was about marine surveys, the necessity of a survey when buying a used boat and the need to hire a reputable marine surveyor. Marine surveying is one segment of the economy that does not require certification, licenses, or competency exams. Anyone can become a professional marine surveyor with a business card and a cell phone.
Anyone of us can probably recall someone who professed to be qualified for a particular task or position - maybe even possessed the necessary paperwork - and, after observing repeated outcomes that were less-than-spectacular or were outright crash-and-burns, made us wonder "how did she or he ever get that job?"
For all I know someone wondered that about me at some point in my life. It is possible to reach our "Peter Principle" sooner than later and, perhaps, have never been suited for the job in the first place. In one of my early-life teaching positions, the young man who had been hired to take over one of my elementary schools because I had too many students, came and shadowed me for a day, in order to make the transition as smooth as possible for the students. I quickly discovered that he could not carry a tune to save his life and I wondered just how successful he would be teaching melodies to children?
How, you many wonder, did he get the job? Well, he had the piece of paper stating that he was trained and, therefore qualified.......but it did not hurt that his mother was the secretary to the superintendent of schools. However, the unasked question should loom large, much like the elephant in the room: How can colleges and universities matriculate and graduate students who display such a lack of skills and basic competency? If this were an isolated example I would not raise the question.
Perhaps the bar is set a bit too low.
Ancora imparo
The magazine article, to which I referred, was about marine surveys, the necessity of a survey when buying a used boat and the need to hire a reputable marine surveyor. Marine surveying is one segment of the economy that does not require certification, licenses, or competency exams. Anyone can become a professional marine surveyor with a business card and a cell phone.
Anyone of us can probably recall someone who professed to be qualified for a particular task or position - maybe even possessed the necessary paperwork - and, after observing repeated outcomes that were less-than-spectacular or were outright crash-and-burns, made us wonder "how did she or he ever get that job?"
For all I know someone wondered that about me at some point in my life. It is possible to reach our "Peter Principle" sooner than later and, perhaps, have never been suited for the job in the first place. In one of my early-life teaching positions, the young man who had been hired to take over one of my elementary schools because I had too many students, came and shadowed me for a day, in order to make the transition as smooth as possible for the students. I quickly discovered that he could not carry a tune to save his life and I wondered just how successful he would be teaching melodies to children?
How, you many wonder, did he get the job? Well, he had the piece of paper stating that he was trained and, therefore qualified.......but it did not hurt that his mother was the secretary to the superintendent of schools. However, the unasked question should loom large, much like the elephant in the room: How can colleges and universities matriculate and graduate students who display such a lack of skills and basic competency? If this were an isolated example I would not raise the question.
Perhaps the bar is set a bit too low.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
A Tiny Heart-String Tug
There are simply too many reminders that the years have passed. I recognize song titles and melodies from fifty years ago. Not only do I recognize the songs but I can sing right along, word-for-word. I can sing advertising jingles from way-too-long ago and I remember theme songs to television shows that I am embarrassed to admit knowing. The other night, while watching my favorite eldest daughter perform great jazz, blues and rock, I remarked to Capt. Cook that when I was her age, I had two children and was performing in a staid, classical trio where formal long-and-black was the uniform.
Today brought a poignant reminder of years gone by. Not too long ago, the Three Musketeers' mother emailed me and asked if we had any of Daddy Three Musketeers' Legos left. If so, could the eldest Musketeer inherit them? "Yes!" and "Absolutely!", I replied. This afternoon I went in search of the Legos and found two of the once-upon-a-time signature-red plastic carriers - one smaller and one about twice its size. I opened both carriers and it was as if I had been transported back twenty-five years ago, when my favorite son and his friends played with the Legos. My trusty video player - my memory - rewound to the house we lived in, my son's friends, his bedroom, the kitchen table where he and his friends would have sat for a snack......it was all there in Kodachrome. (There's a word that will sadly go into antique annals all too soon.) Then my mind floated back to the present and the eldest Musketeer - aka TLV - who will play with the small-size, original Legos.
He is in Kindergarten and is rapidly absorbing all that Kindergarten teaches......and more. Earlier today I dusted my office shelves and had the pleasure of reviewing all of the cards that The Three Musketeers have given me over the past few years. Their hand"printing" has predictably evolved and I have seen samples of TLV's printing from this year and the sign of improving small motor skills is evident.
After checking the contents of the Lego carriers, I went to pick them up in order to bring them upstairs so I would not forget to take them to TLV on our next trip. On the larger container is an original Lego sticker that says, "These Legos belong to______________" and there was Daddy Three Musketeers' name, from long ago, in his shaky, not-quite-perfect-yet-legible hand"printing" as a young child.
It looked just like TLV's does today.
I'm not certain which came first: The tiny tug on my heartstrings or the mist in my eyes.
Ancora imparo
Today brought a poignant reminder of years gone by. Not too long ago, the Three Musketeers' mother emailed me and asked if we had any of Daddy Three Musketeers' Legos left. If so, could the eldest Musketeer inherit them? "Yes!" and "Absolutely!", I replied. This afternoon I went in search of the Legos and found two of the once-upon-a-time signature-red plastic carriers - one smaller and one about twice its size. I opened both carriers and it was as if I had been transported back twenty-five years ago, when my favorite son and his friends played with the Legos. My trusty video player - my memory - rewound to the house we lived in, my son's friends, his bedroom, the kitchen table where he and his friends would have sat for a snack......it was all there in Kodachrome. (There's a word that will sadly go into antique annals all too soon.) Then my mind floated back to the present and the eldest Musketeer - aka TLV - who will play with the small-size, original Legos.
He is in Kindergarten and is rapidly absorbing all that Kindergarten teaches......and more. Earlier today I dusted my office shelves and had the pleasure of reviewing all of the cards that The Three Musketeers have given me over the past few years. Their hand"printing" has predictably evolved and I have seen samples of TLV's printing from this year and the sign of improving small motor skills is evident.
After checking the contents of the Lego carriers, I went to pick them up in order to bring them upstairs so I would not forget to take them to TLV on our next trip. On the larger container is an original Lego sticker that says, "These Legos belong to______________" and there was Daddy Three Musketeers' name, from long ago, in his shaky, not-quite-perfect-yet-legible hand"printing" as a young child.
It looked just like TLV's does today.
I'm not certain which came first: The tiny tug on my heartstrings or the mist in my eyes.
Ancora imparo
Monday, January 23, 2012
Big Rigs, Keep On Rolling
Kenworth, Mack, Freightliner, Volvo, International, Peterbuilt - just to name a few of the manufacturers of the big rigs (tractors) that haul the trailers on our nation's highways. The U.S. standard length of a trailer is fifty-three feet, with an overall tractor-trailer length being anywhere from around sixty-seven feet to seventy-five feet, depending on the length of the tractor. These bad boys keep our nation supplied, fed, and moving.
For some reason, unknown to even me, I have had a life-long fascination with tractor-trailer rigs. Since Capt. Cook and I have spent a fair amount of time on highways and interstate roads, I often pass the time by checking out every T-T (I have grown weary of typing out tractor-trailer) combination we either overtake (traveling in the same direction) or pass (traveling in the opposite direction). You can tell a lot about the driver's job and load just by checking out his (or her's OR theirs) tractor. A short tractor, with no sleeper-cab extension means, hopefully, that the driver is doing just short (relatively) runs, with no need to catch some serious zzzz's while working. I have to admit, though, seeing some of these types of tractors either in the middle of the night or in pre-dawn hours makes me wonder what time they left from their starting point.
There are sleeper-cab tractors that have narrow sleeping quarters and there are the tractors that appear to have the spaciousness of a New York City studio apartment. I've seen a few video clips of the interiors of this type of cab and the accoutrement's are impressive, rivaling the space in smaller, upscale recreational vehicles.
If you take time to study the big rigs as they roll down the highways at night, you will see many lighting variations, from whatever is standard for the maker's tractor and the trucking company's trailer, to elaborate lighting, perhaps on rigs that are owner/operated. There is little more spectacular to me, other than the big barge/tanker ships that motor through the water in the night, than these rigs that light up the highway much like lighthouse beacons on coastlines.
Yes, I get excited when I see T-T's. I study every one I can and have become fairly efficient in identifying which manufacturer is which. Atop my bucket list is the dream to sit in one of the OTR (over-the-road) cabs and explore its nooks and crannies.
The job of an OTR driver can be demanding, exhausting, lonely and requires great driving skill. These men and women keep our economy moving and strong. In my next life, perhaps I'll be at the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler.
Ancora imparo
For some reason, unknown to even me, I have had a life-long fascination with tractor-trailer rigs. Since Capt. Cook and I have spent a fair amount of time on highways and interstate roads, I often pass the time by checking out every T-T (I have grown weary of typing out tractor-trailer) combination we either overtake (traveling in the same direction) or pass (traveling in the opposite direction). You can tell a lot about the driver's job and load just by checking out his (or her's OR theirs) tractor. A short tractor, with no sleeper-cab extension means, hopefully, that the driver is doing just short (relatively) runs, with no need to catch some serious zzzz's while working. I have to admit, though, seeing some of these types of tractors either in the middle of the night or in pre-dawn hours makes me wonder what time they left from their starting point.
There are sleeper-cab tractors that have narrow sleeping quarters and there are the tractors that appear to have the spaciousness of a New York City studio apartment. I've seen a few video clips of the interiors of this type of cab and the accoutrement's are impressive, rivaling the space in smaller, upscale recreational vehicles.
If you take time to study the big rigs as they roll down the highways at night, you will see many lighting variations, from whatever is standard for the maker's tractor and the trucking company's trailer, to elaborate lighting, perhaps on rigs that are owner/operated. There is little more spectacular to me, other than the big barge/tanker ships that motor through the water in the night, than these rigs that light up the highway much like lighthouse beacons on coastlines.
Yes, I get excited when I see T-T's. I study every one I can and have become fairly efficient in identifying which manufacturer is which. Atop my bucket list is the dream to sit in one of the OTR (over-the-road) cabs and explore its nooks and crannies.
The job of an OTR driver can be demanding, exhausting, lonely and requires great driving skill. These men and women keep our economy moving and strong. In my next life, perhaps I'll be at the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, January 22, 2012
There Needs To Be An App
If only real life mirrored web/tech life. My routine is to run two different virus scans on my computer once a week - usually on a weekend morning. All of the icons and prompts make it easy to follow the instructions in order to complete the scans. My laptop is probably the healthiest machine - either mechanical or human - in the house. I think I can count, on one hand, the number of problems that have been identified, flushed out, and ultimately corrected. My machine is really quite self-sufficient as it fixes itself using the two virus-seeking programs.
Don't you wish that, in real life, human-attacking viruses could be as readily recognized by a scanning device as the ones discovered by computer programs developed specially for that very purpose? Oh, sure, if your doctor suspects a physical ailment within your body, then a special scan(s) is ordered, taken, then read, with the results often handled by several physicians, all receiving a large chunk of either your change or insurance change. But, if one's heart is broken, ego bruised, personhood offended or reputation maligned, then there is no scanning device available to detect, determine, derail and defuse the attacking virus, which is usually another human being. The problem is that often the attacking virus comes from within each of us, causing us to doubt our own decisions, thoughts, feelings, choices, etc.
Having an outside source (human) as the virus should be easier to erase, avoid, or remove, but sometimes the source is not so easily identified, which is where a scanning device would be so very useful. Perhaps the next generation of smart phones can have your contact list linked with a scanning app that is loaded into your phone. The phone can then be passed over your body, identifying physical problems or human problems related to someone on your contact list. The offending human could simply be deleted from the contact list and, voila!, the problem no longer exists for you.
Delete would take on a whole new meaning. All of you programming geniuses out there......could you work on this app, please?
You know, there is a children's book devoted to the solution to this very dilemma. Little Bunny Foo-Foo. In the book, the offending characters are threatened by the good fairy and her wand to turn them "into a big, big, goon!"
Sounds good to me.
Ancora imparo
Don't you wish that, in real life, human-attacking viruses could be as readily recognized by a scanning device as the ones discovered by computer programs developed specially for that very purpose? Oh, sure, if your doctor suspects a physical ailment within your body, then a special scan(s) is ordered, taken, then read, with the results often handled by several physicians, all receiving a large chunk of either your change or insurance change. But, if one's heart is broken, ego bruised, personhood offended or reputation maligned, then there is no scanning device available to detect, determine, derail and defuse the attacking virus, which is usually another human being. The problem is that often the attacking virus comes from within each of us, causing us to doubt our own decisions, thoughts, feelings, choices, etc.
Having an outside source (human) as the virus should be easier to erase, avoid, or remove, but sometimes the source is not so easily identified, which is where a scanning device would be so very useful. Perhaps the next generation of smart phones can have your contact list linked with a scanning app that is loaded into your phone. The phone can then be passed over your body, identifying physical problems or human problems related to someone on your contact list. The offending human could simply be deleted from the contact list and, voila!, the problem no longer exists for you.
Delete would take on a whole new meaning. All of you programming geniuses out there......could you work on this app, please?
You know, there is a children's book devoted to the solution to this very dilemma. Little Bunny Foo-Foo. In the book, the offending characters are threatened by the good fairy and her wand to turn them "into a big, big, goon!"
Sounds good to me.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, January 21, 2012
A Look At Robert Burns' Rodent
There are so many stories in the news relating human suffering - either nature made, man made, self-inflicted or a combination of all three causal agents - that it is difficult to keep gloom and doom away from recurring trips to my brain. The Italian cruise ship disaster, missing children, missing mothers, deceased soldiers, a young woman who walked into the moving propeller of an airplane.....the list could go on and on, which makes me wonder why I watch the news, read the newspaper or look at the updates on my phone. Good people who get diseases that no one should ever have to endure. Long-term marriages that self-destruct.........
All this brings to mind the phrase, "the best laid plans of mice and men." After I could not shake the phrase, I became curious as to its origin and found myself, once again, reading Wikipedia, the fount of all that is true and accurate. Right? I then checked two more websites and, finding corroboration, I went back to Wikipedia and re-read the information. John Steinbeck probably has the more well-known claim to fame on the phrase (using it in his famous 1937 novel, Of Mice and Men), "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men". I read the novel in high school and did remember that the phrase was contained in the text of the novel. What I did not realize that the phrase is originally attributed to the Scottish bard, Robert Burns, in his 1785 poem titled, "To A Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough".
Somewhere, either over the centuries or decades, depending on which source you most remember the phrase coming from, it has morphed from "schemes" to "plans", perhaps due to the more negative connotation of scheming versus planning? Whatever the cause of the shift, the phrase still rings true and probably will until the printed word disappears from this world. When Robert Burns immortalized the little mouse with her upended nest, little did he realize that the human race could and would identify with the mouse, on a daily basis, until the end of time. How odd that humans have so much in common with the mouse who lost her house. She planned, gathered, and executed her plan to have a safe haven only to find her life totally changed in the blink of an eye......or plough tine to be exact.
Do you ever feel like the little mouse? When our plans are the victims of upheaval - planned or unplanned, self-inflicted or otherwise - we can frantically scurry about in a frenzied fit and we can squeak as loudly as possible but, in the end, we probably have just one recourse........pick up the shovel and begin digging a new foundation, buying new two-by-fours, and rebuilding.
I'm sure Burns' little mouse did just that.
Ancora imparo
All this brings to mind the phrase, "the best laid plans of mice and men." After I could not shake the phrase, I became curious as to its origin and found myself, once again, reading Wikipedia, the fount of all that is true and accurate. Right? I then checked two more websites and, finding corroboration, I went back to Wikipedia and re-read the information. John Steinbeck probably has the more well-known claim to fame on the phrase (using it in his famous 1937 novel, Of Mice and Men), "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men". I read the novel in high school and did remember that the phrase was contained in the text of the novel. What I did not realize that the phrase is originally attributed to the Scottish bard, Robert Burns, in his 1785 poem titled, "To A Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough".
Somewhere, either over the centuries or decades, depending on which source you most remember the phrase coming from, it has morphed from "schemes" to "plans", perhaps due to the more negative connotation of scheming versus planning? Whatever the cause of the shift, the phrase still rings true and probably will until the printed word disappears from this world. When Robert Burns immortalized the little mouse with her upended nest, little did he realize that the human race could and would identify with the mouse, on a daily basis, until the end of time. How odd that humans have so much in common with the mouse who lost her house. She planned, gathered, and executed her plan to have a safe haven only to find her life totally changed in the blink of an eye......or plough tine to be exact.
Do you ever feel like the little mouse? When our plans are the victims of upheaval - planned or unplanned, self-inflicted or otherwise - we can frantically scurry about in a frenzied fit and we can squeak as loudly as possible but, in the end, we probably have just one recourse........pick up the shovel and begin digging a new foundation, buying new two-by-fours, and rebuilding.
I'm sure Burns' little mouse did just that.
Ancora imparo
Friday, January 20, 2012
Real Life Brothers Grimm?
American politics fascinate me. Our past and present political antics at times remind me of playgrounds at American elementary schools, where children tell on each other, point fingers at each other, throw things at each other, yell at each other, and pretend to like one another. Tattling on one another is de rigueur in the lives of the youngsters and so it is in the hallowed halls of the American political scene.
Media print pages, airwaves and 4G networks are ablaze with the current political scenario of an incumbent Democratic President and a rapidly shrinking field of Republican nominee wannabees. Do not ascribe any party to my thoughts because I do not think this scenario would be any different if the sitting President was a Republican and the Democrats were the challengers.
The recent spate of Republican candidates, before shrinkage, gave me pause to draw a non-traditional parallel to a well-known Disney classic, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs - Walt Disney's 1937 first, full-length feature production based on the Brothers' Grimm German fairy tale "Snow White". At one time, the most viable host of Republican contenders was one woman and seven men. You can draw your own conclusions as to which dwarf's name should be assigned to each of the seven men. I made my list, had a good time doing it and you can, too. In fact, now that there are only four dwarfs left, I have been inspired to draw another parallel - this time to a children's song.
There were ten in the bed, and the little one said, "roll over roll over" and they all rolled over and one fell out.........There were nine in the bed, and the little one said..........and so goes the song until there is only one in the bed.......which is the way it will be come summer and the conclusion of the Republican National Convention. Only one dwarf left in the bed.
Which one will it be? Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy or Happy?
Ancora imparo
Media print pages, airwaves and 4G networks are ablaze with the current political scenario of an incumbent Democratic President and a rapidly shrinking field of Republican nominee wannabees. Do not ascribe any party to my thoughts because I do not think this scenario would be any different if the sitting President was a Republican and the Democrats were the challengers.
The recent spate of Republican candidates, before shrinkage, gave me pause to draw a non-traditional parallel to a well-known Disney classic, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs - Walt Disney's 1937 first, full-length feature production based on the Brothers' Grimm German fairy tale "Snow White". At one time, the most viable host of Republican contenders was one woman and seven men. You can draw your own conclusions as to which dwarf's name should be assigned to each of the seven men. I made my list, had a good time doing it and you can, too. In fact, now that there are only four dwarfs left, I have been inspired to draw another parallel - this time to a children's song.
There were ten in the bed, and the little one said, "roll over roll over" and they all rolled over and one fell out.........There were nine in the bed, and the little one said..........and so goes the song until there is only one in the bed.......which is the way it will be come summer and the conclusion of the Republican National Convention. Only one dwarf left in the bed.
Which one will it be? Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy or Happy?
Ancora imparo
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Little Edgy, Don't You Think?
There are multiple levels of thinking and thinkers. There are different ways of displaying the thought process. Ever watch a child (or some adults from time to time) ponder a question, assess a situation OR try to formulate her or his own question or comment? While I do not wish to assign dog-like attributes to humans, this level of thinking reminds me of when I used to watch our beloved Springer Spaniel, Max, decide to do something he clearly knew he should not. We could see the little wheels turning....just shortly before he sprang up onto the table to do a snatch and grab with a piece of food.
Moving to the opposite end of the contemplation spectrum, there are those who walk among us that have the normal number of limbs, appendages, DNA strands, etc. but that is where the similarities stop with "them" and "us". These modern-day Auguste Rodin posers might well be the poster-people (no poster children among them) for the famous 1902 sculpture that some critics believe portrays Dante pondering his entrance - or lack thereof - into Hell.
While some of us regular folk gather at malls, parties, places of worship, bars and coffee shops to think and ponder, the elite thinkers use a website called Edge in which to ponder the ponderances of all ponderances. A friend introduced me to the website, edge.org. I spent almost two hours pouring through as much content as my mind could absorb which, believe me, wasn't much. I felt like Julia Roberts' character in "Pretty Woman", trying to navigate through the "regular" clienteles' shops on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles.
edge.org was described by John Naughton of The Observer as the world's smartest website. The website's mission is: To arrive at the edge of the world's knowledge, seek out the most complex and sophisticated minds, put them in a room together and have them ask each other the questions they are asking themselves.
I'm quite certain that Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta was not referring to the same "edge" as she sings the repeating chorus words over and over and over and over........"I'm on the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge..."
I have to close. I'm getting edgy.
Ancora imparo
Moving to the opposite end of the contemplation spectrum, there are those who walk among us that have the normal number of limbs, appendages, DNA strands, etc. but that is where the similarities stop with "them" and "us". These modern-day Auguste Rodin posers might well be the poster-people (no poster children among them) for the famous 1902 sculpture that some critics believe portrays Dante pondering his entrance - or lack thereof - into Hell.
While some of us regular folk gather at malls, parties, places of worship, bars and coffee shops to think and ponder, the elite thinkers use a website called Edge in which to ponder the ponderances of all ponderances. A friend introduced me to the website, edge.org. I spent almost two hours pouring through as much content as my mind could absorb which, believe me, wasn't much. I felt like Julia Roberts' character in "Pretty Woman", trying to navigate through the "regular" clienteles' shops on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles.
edge.org was described by John Naughton of The Observer as the world's smartest website. The website's mission is: To arrive at the edge of the world's knowledge, seek out the most complex and sophisticated minds, put them in a room together and have them ask each other the questions they are asking themselves.
I'm quite certain that Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta was not referring to the same "edge" as she sings the repeating chorus words over and over and over and over........"I'm on the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge..."
I have to close. I'm getting edgy.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Check Your Lids!
The morning began with the usual 6 a.m. alarm, although my wakefulness was complete just prior to the radio alarm coming on, cheerily reminding listeners that a new day was dawning and that we should begin the process of hauling ourselves from beneath the warm and toasty environment of bedcovers. Chilly tile floors helped speed up my walk as I shuffled about, gathering workout clothes and running a hairbrush through my unruly bedhead.
I was aware that all eight brain cylinders were not quite firing as they should so I made adaptive movements and decisions in order to compensate for my brain's misfirings. Fortunately, when I turned on the treadmill before stepping on - a departure from my usual routine - I remembered that it was running and hopped on at the appropriate speed. I moved through my morning exercise routine with a bit less enthusiasm than usual, got the job done, and walked into the kitchen, where I knew I'd have to think cogently because I could make some interesting mistakes if I was not on top of the choices I was making. I almost put the egg carton back into the cupboard that holds the dishes, but I caught myself in time.
After breakfast, I decided that freshly brewed coffee (as opposed to instant) would be just the ticket to offset the chill from the outside that was seeping into the condo. I gathered the necessary equipment to brew the coffee and set about making the brain-starting, synapse-firing java. The aroma was so inviting as the water slowly seeped through the ground coffee in the filter, drip-dripping into my pre-warmed ancient and favorite Thermos mug that I can no longer buy. It is a slow process but well worth the wait. When the water had finished draining through the coffee grounds, I removed the special filter-holder and screwed on the Thermos lid.......not quite paying attention to what I was doing.
Coffee, newspaper, and a cold morning are the perfect combination and now I had all three ingredients. Eager to allow the caffeine to kick-start all eight brain cylinders, I headed for my favorite chair - now basked in sunlight - sat down, and proceeded to start my relaxation "moment". The anticipation of hot coffee warming my insides was prominently in my thoughts as I tipped the Thermos mug to my lips. Reading the front page of the newspaper, engrossed in yet the latest misstep of another politician, I kept bringing the mug to my mouth when I suddenly realized that nothing was coming out. Annoyed as can be, thinking that my mug had malfunctioned somehow, I was chagrined to discover that I had placed the lid on incorrectly and that the hole where the liquid would come out was not aligned to where my mouth was. Considering the size of my mouth, I find this hard to believe, but nevertheless, I had been trying to sip from solid plastic.
As a metaphor for success today, I beseech all of you who may read this to be sure your lid is on straight. You can be sure I'll be checking mine frequently throughout the day.
Ancora imparo
I was aware that all eight brain cylinders were not quite firing as they should so I made adaptive movements and decisions in order to compensate for my brain's misfirings. Fortunately, when I turned on the treadmill before stepping on - a departure from my usual routine - I remembered that it was running and hopped on at the appropriate speed. I moved through my morning exercise routine with a bit less enthusiasm than usual, got the job done, and walked into the kitchen, where I knew I'd have to think cogently because I could make some interesting mistakes if I was not on top of the choices I was making. I almost put the egg carton back into the cupboard that holds the dishes, but I caught myself in time.
After breakfast, I decided that freshly brewed coffee (as opposed to instant) would be just the ticket to offset the chill from the outside that was seeping into the condo. I gathered the necessary equipment to brew the coffee and set about making the brain-starting, synapse-firing java. The aroma was so inviting as the water slowly seeped through the ground coffee in the filter, drip-dripping into my pre-warmed ancient and favorite Thermos mug that I can no longer buy. It is a slow process but well worth the wait. When the water had finished draining through the coffee grounds, I removed the special filter-holder and screwed on the Thermos lid.......not quite paying attention to what I was doing.
Coffee, newspaper, and a cold morning are the perfect combination and now I had all three ingredients. Eager to allow the caffeine to kick-start all eight brain cylinders, I headed for my favorite chair - now basked in sunlight - sat down, and proceeded to start my relaxation "moment". The anticipation of hot coffee warming my insides was prominently in my thoughts as I tipped the Thermos mug to my lips. Reading the front page of the newspaper, engrossed in yet the latest misstep of another politician, I kept bringing the mug to my mouth when I suddenly realized that nothing was coming out. Annoyed as can be, thinking that my mug had malfunctioned somehow, I was chagrined to discover that I had placed the lid on incorrectly and that the hole where the liquid would come out was not aligned to where my mouth was. Considering the size of my mouth, I find this hard to believe, but nevertheless, I had been trying to sip from solid plastic.
As a metaphor for success today, I beseech all of you who may read this to be sure your lid is on straight. You can be sure I'll be checking mine frequently throughout the day.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Don't Send Your Avatar
Online gaming is exceedingly popular. From apps that feature games such as "Angry Birds" to elaborate games where people can create their own avatars, gaming is big business. An acquaintance of mine has over one thousand hour "credits" built up in his avatar world. He recently explained how the avatar world works. I found his explanation to be, at once, fascinating and complicated. Not my proverbial cup of tea but diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks.
Not too long ago I composed a posting about "Angry Birds" and how astonished I was at its popularity with such a wide age-range. Grandparents play alongside their grandchildren on a regular basis with no seeming end to the ever-popular game that features brightly colored angry avians.
Some humans treat life like a game, acting more like avatars than real participants who are willing to roll up sleeves, digging in to produce excellent or superior results. I imagine that performing your job as if you are an avatar is most definitely easier than actually producing stellar outputs. A real-life avatar can be like an alter-ego, acting as a fallback to blame for poor performance, lack of preparation, substandard standards, and inferior skill sets necessary to rise anywhere remotely above mediocre. The amazing part of real-life avatars is that they manage, in many cases, to fool the public, their peers, and, unfortunately their superiors. When did mediocre become the new good, above average or excellent? When did we, as a society, decide to accept mediocrity on a regular basis? Is the poor, below average, average, mediocre, above average, excellent and superior spectrum falling into the same black hole that the grading system in the U.S. has deteriorated into? Are inflated grades just another symptom of wide-spread acceptance of mediocrity? I fervently hope not. And, I hope and pray that the mediocre "bug" never finds me. You can call me by many names, most of which I have heard before, but the one moniker that I wish to never hear associated with my name is "Mediocre".
Please, don't send your avatar to work. Either get out your "A" game or do not bother showing up.
Ancora imparo
Not too long ago I composed a posting about "Angry Birds" and how astonished I was at its popularity with such a wide age-range. Grandparents play alongside their grandchildren on a regular basis with no seeming end to the ever-popular game that features brightly colored angry avians.
Some humans treat life like a game, acting more like avatars than real participants who are willing to roll up sleeves, digging in to produce excellent or superior results. I imagine that performing your job as if you are an avatar is most definitely easier than actually producing stellar outputs. A real-life avatar can be like an alter-ego, acting as a fallback to blame for poor performance, lack of preparation, substandard standards, and inferior skill sets necessary to rise anywhere remotely above mediocre. The amazing part of real-life avatars is that they manage, in many cases, to fool the public, their peers, and, unfortunately their superiors. When did mediocre become the new good, above average or excellent? When did we, as a society, decide to accept mediocrity on a regular basis? Is the poor, below average, average, mediocre, above average, excellent and superior spectrum falling into the same black hole that the grading system in the U.S. has deteriorated into? Are inflated grades just another symptom of wide-spread acceptance of mediocrity? I fervently hope not. And, I hope and pray that the mediocre "bug" never finds me. You can call me by many names, most of which I have heard before, but the one moniker that I wish to never hear associated with my name is "Mediocre".
Please, don't send your avatar to work. Either get out your "A" game or do not bother showing up.
Ancora imparo
Monday, January 16, 2012
You Know What They Say....
Newsflash from the waters of the Great Lakes:
An Illinois man had to be rescued from the icy waters of the Great Lakes after a mishap ice fishing in less-than-completely-frozen conditions. At 3:30 a.m. the man got into trouble and required first-responders to bring him to shore. Lucky for him, those first-responders had just been trained in ice rescue the day before!
I rejoice for and with the man that he could be capably and securely saved from his own foolishness. If he has family - the article did not mention family.....perhaps because they were embarassed......I am most certain that they and he are equally thankful. Death by freezing in icy waters would be horrific.
While reading the article, I found what it did not say just as intriguing as what details it did include. the man clearly behaved recklessly, which causes me to wonder some of the same wonderings I had in yesterday's blog about the Italian cruise ship tragedy and its negligent captain. Ice fishermen can be known just as much for their revelry as their ice fishing prowess. Perhaps this unfortunate ice fisherman was catching more bottle bass than crappies or perch.
What the article did include was a valuable clue about the unfortunate man's memory. He had conveniently forgotten that just ONE YEAR AGO, he had to be ice-rescued from the same area. I repeat my surmise that, just perhaps, he was more into bottle-bass fishing than any other species.
You know what they say, don't you? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I wonder what is said about the third brain f#%t? Three times and you're out?
Ancora imparo
An Illinois man had to be rescued from the icy waters of the Great Lakes after a mishap ice fishing in less-than-completely-frozen conditions. At 3:30 a.m. the man got into trouble and required first-responders to bring him to shore. Lucky for him, those first-responders had just been trained in ice rescue the day before!
I rejoice for and with the man that he could be capably and securely saved from his own foolishness. If he has family - the article did not mention family.....perhaps because they were embarassed......I am most certain that they and he are equally thankful. Death by freezing in icy waters would be horrific.
While reading the article, I found what it did not say just as intriguing as what details it did include. the man clearly behaved recklessly, which causes me to wonder some of the same wonderings I had in yesterday's blog about the Italian cruise ship tragedy and its negligent captain. Ice fishermen can be known just as much for their revelry as their ice fishing prowess. Perhaps this unfortunate ice fisherman was catching more bottle bass than crappies or perch.
What the article did include was a valuable clue about the unfortunate man's memory. He had conveniently forgotten that just ONE YEAR AGO, he had to be ice-rescued from the same area. I repeat my surmise that, just perhaps, he was more into bottle-bass fishing than any other species.
You know what they say, don't you? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I wonder what is said about the third brain f#%t? Three times and you're out?
Ancora imparo
Sunday, January 15, 2012
All Judgement Aside.....
The captain of the cruise ship that ran aground off the coast of Italy is most certainly facing a heap o' trouble. I guess because Capt. SO and I are boaters, I have followed the tragic incident and subsequent stories with interest. Granted, since I am only reading what the media has put forth, there could be mitigating circumstances on why the ship ran aground, but unless the entire navigational crew was beamed up in concert by Scottie, then there is no good reason for this disaster to have happened.
Where the ship ran aground is so obviously close to shore and so obviously rocky......from the surface......it is no wonder that photos of the ship's hull reveal rocks protruding from the hull. Was the navigational crew eating brownies from Alice's restaurant? Were they getting jiggy with Jim Beam? Was Jimmy Buffet at the helm and the crew acting out "Margaritaville"? Maybe they had all eaten too many Twinkies and they were experiencing an out-of-control sugar high?
Imagine just being into the second or third hour of your long-awaited Dream Cruise, sitting down to dine - perhaps dressed in your finest.....ala Titanic or "The Poseidon Adventure" and you hear a grinding and banging sound as the lights suddenly flicker out. Then, as mass pandemonium ensues, in some cases in darkness, you and your fellow passengers begin fighting over life vests. Finally you and your companion have secured life vests over your finery and you head toward the lifeboats, only to discover that the lifeboats on your side of the ship - starboard, maybe, are not accessible and you have to run - or try - to the opposite side of the vessel, along with thousands of other frantic passengers. The crew, as a whole, reportedly is clueless on what to do, so they begin commandeering lifeboats themselves in order to save their own hides. As you stand by helplessly waiting for someone, anyone, who is in charge and is giving clear, concise instructions, you notice a person in what appears to be a captain's uniform climbing into a lifeboat.
Would you feel rage, desperation, resignation, agony or all of the aforementioned?
I hope to never have to find out. My captain knows how to use his navigation system, his back-up GPS unit and, lastly, HE has charts. Paper charts. The kind of charts that show how deep the water is or is not.
Ancora imparo
Where the ship ran aground is so obviously close to shore and so obviously rocky......from the surface......it is no wonder that photos of the ship's hull reveal rocks protruding from the hull. Was the navigational crew eating brownies from Alice's restaurant? Were they getting jiggy with Jim Beam? Was Jimmy Buffet at the helm and the crew acting out "Margaritaville"? Maybe they had all eaten too many Twinkies and they were experiencing an out-of-control sugar high?
Imagine just being into the second or third hour of your long-awaited Dream Cruise, sitting down to dine - perhaps dressed in your finest.....ala Titanic or "The Poseidon Adventure" and you hear a grinding and banging sound as the lights suddenly flicker out. Then, as mass pandemonium ensues, in some cases in darkness, you and your fellow passengers begin fighting over life vests. Finally you and your companion have secured life vests over your finery and you head toward the lifeboats, only to discover that the lifeboats on your side of the ship - starboard, maybe, are not accessible and you have to run - or try - to the opposite side of the vessel, along with thousands of other frantic passengers. The crew, as a whole, reportedly is clueless on what to do, so they begin commandeering lifeboats themselves in order to save their own hides. As you stand by helplessly waiting for someone, anyone, who is in charge and is giving clear, concise instructions, you notice a person in what appears to be a captain's uniform climbing into a lifeboat.
Would you feel rage, desperation, resignation, agony or all of the aforementioned?
I hope to never have to find out. My captain knows how to use his navigation system, his back-up GPS unit and, lastly, HE has charts. Paper charts. The kind of charts that show how deep the water is or is not.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Stunning Revelation
You could hear the collective American gasp world-wide on Wednesday.......Hostess Brands (formerly Interstate Bakeries Corporation) was admitting financial difficulties.....again.....and had filed for Chapter 11 Bankruptcy Protection. Millions of North Americans turned their faces to the heavens and said, "Say it isn't so!" as they contemplated the possibility of a world without the sugar-filled, air-laden, calorie-packed, nutritive-zero-value "treats" (I use that word loosely.) such as Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes, Sno Balls, Ding Dongs, and Ho Hos. Since Twinkies introduction into the world in 1930 as an inexpensive treat (figurative, not literal usage of the word) during the Great Depression, anyone between the ages of six and ninety has quite possibly eaten a product from Hostess Brands.
I have fond (yes, fond) memories of Hostess cupcakes packed into brown-bag school lunches or the white and chocolate Sno Balls plastered with coconut flakes. No matter that I would now describe the frosting on the cupcakes as cardboard, when I was a kid ripping through the cellophane wrapper, all I could think about was how good it was going to taste when I got to the goo in the center.
Never a big fan of Twinkies, this product was definitely sent to the "infamous" files when newspapers and televisions were filled with the 1979 San Francisco murder trial of Supervisor Dan White who shot and killed San Franciso city Supervisor Harvey Milk and then-Mayor George Mosconi. The fact that White committed the murders was never in question. What was in question was intent, and White's defense team came up with the improbable legal defense of Twinkies as the causal agent of a sugar rush that diminished White's mental capacity for reason. (This last sentence is not plagaristic. It is self-composed.)
The other product of Hostess Brands that, although I shall never forget, has long since been a no-show in my diet except at funeral lunches, is Wonder Bread. I still see loaves of this being unloaded in grocery store check-out lanes even though it barely qualifies as "food". In the seventies and eighties, one of my favorite recipes to make for lunches, brunches and special occasions such as baby and wedding showers was pinwheel sandwiches, which began with slices of Wonder Bread, then stuffed with either egg salad or bologna salad and rolled up into pinwheels. As a kid, I can remember climbing in the back of our giant station wagon filled with grocery bags, searching for the Wonder Bread that my mom bought. Once I found the bread, I'd open the bag, take a slice and form it into a ball in the palm of my hands. Its squishy contents were easily mashed together and made a tasty snack (or two or three) on the way home from the grocery store......which was only about a three-minute trip. It didn't take long to consume lots of slices of Wonder Bread.
Will Hostess Brands products go the way of contents in a time capsule to be opened in the year 3000? Will the only traces of Ding Dongs and Twinkies be left for future archaeologists to discover in ancient landfills in the next millennium?
Ancora probably
I have fond (yes, fond) memories of Hostess cupcakes packed into brown-bag school lunches or the white and chocolate Sno Balls plastered with coconut flakes. No matter that I would now describe the frosting on the cupcakes as cardboard, when I was a kid ripping through the cellophane wrapper, all I could think about was how good it was going to taste when I got to the goo in the center.
Never a big fan of Twinkies, this product was definitely sent to the "infamous" files when newspapers and televisions were filled with the 1979 San Francisco murder trial of Supervisor Dan White who shot and killed San Franciso city Supervisor Harvey Milk and then-Mayor George Mosconi. The fact that White committed the murders was never in question. What was in question was intent, and White's defense team came up with the improbable legal defense of Twinkies as the causal agent of a sugar rush that diminished White's mental capacity for reason. (This last sentence is not plagaristic. It is self-composed.)
The other product of Hostess Brands that, although I shall never forget, has long since been a no-show in my diet except at funeral lunches, is Wonder Bread. I still see loaves of this being unloaded in grocery store check-out lanes even though it barely qualifies as "food". In the seventies and eighties, one of my favorite recipes to make for lunches, brunches and special occasions such as baby and wedding showers was pinwheel sandwiches, which began with slices of Wonder Bread, then stuffed with either egg salad or bologna salad and rolled up into pinwheels. As a kid, I can remember climbing in the back of our giant station wagon filled with grocery bags, searching for the Wonder Bread that my mom bought. Once I found the bread, I'd open the bag, take a slice and form it into a ball in the palm of my hands. Its squishy contents were easily mashed together and made a tasty snack (or two or three) on the way home from the grocery store......which was only about a three-minute trip. It didn't take long to consume lots of slices of Wonder Bread.
Will Hostess Brands products go the way of contents in a time capsule to be opened in the year 3000? Will the only traces of Ding Dongs and Twinkies be left for future archaeologists to discover in ancient landfills in the next millennium?
Ancora probably
Friday, January 13, 2012
How I Can Relate
Capt. Cook and I attended a funeral this morning. We did not know the deceased woman well, but I know her husband. He and I serve together on a governing body, plus Capt. Cook and I both know the deceased's sister and family.
Grief is almost always apparent at a funeral, visitation or wake. In most cultures, public grieving is acceptable and often encouraged. Grieving is a way to excise sadness - however temporary the relief - and to publicly display affection and respect. Today there was one little mourner that captured my heart and attention.
She couldn't have been more than six or seven - a granddaughter of the deceased. Just the right age to understand that Grandma was not coming back. She sobbed non-stop from the time of visitation to minutes after the funeral service's conclusion.
I was her once and it took me back, just as if it were yesterday when my Nana died and I attended her funeral service.
How I loved Nana. Because my mother worked outside the home for most of my pre-marriage years, Nana was my care-giver until the time of her death, when I was about seven or eight years of age. I can still remember driving away from the cemetery, me turned around in the backseat, looking back at the cemetery and sobbing. I felt sadness when Grandad died (Nana's husband), even though I was only five or six, but it was nothing like the awful feeling I had when we buried my Nana. Years after her death, I could still be moved to tears thinking about her, realizing the great loss I had suffered. I still remember Nana, almost as if she were here only yesterday. I do not think I miss her any less, although my grief is not as palpable.
Yes, little girl, I do know how you feel. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman for you to miss her so much. Your grandmother was a very special lady to have you love her so much. I wanted to reach out, hold and hug you but I could only observe from a distance, knowing so well how you felt.
Ancora imparo
Grief is almost always apparent at a funeral, visitation or wake. In most cultures, public grieving is acceptable and often encouraged. Grieving is a way to excise sadness - however temporary the relief - and to publicly display affection and respect. Today there was one little mourner that captured my heart and attention.
She couldn't have been more than six or seven - a granddaughter of the deceased. Just the right age to understand that Grandma was not coming back. She sobbed non-stop from the time of visitation to minutes after the funeral service's conclusion.
I was her once and it took me back, just as if it were yesterday when my Nana died and I attended her funeral service.
How I loved Nana. Because my mother worked outside the home for most of my pre-marriage years, Nana was my care-giver until the time of her death, when I was about seven or eight years of age. I can still remember driving away from the cemetery, me turned around in the backseat, looking back at the cemetery and sobbing. I felt sadness when Grandad died (Nana's husband), even though I was only five or six, but it was nothing like the awful feeling I had when we buried my Nana. Years after her death, I could still be moved to tears thinking about her, realizing the great loss I had suffered. I still remember Nana, almost as if she were here only yesterday. I do not think I miss her any less, although my grief is not as palpable.
Yes, little girl, I do know how you feel. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman for you to miss her so much. Your grandmother was a very special lady to have you love her so much. I wanted to reach out, hold and hug you but I could only observe from a distance, knowing so well how you felt.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Consistent With My Inconsistencies
One of my Life Mentors, Dr. Harry Begian, whom I have written about before, had a saying that we would hear frequently in the Michigan State University band room: "You are very consistent with your inconsistencies." Funny, many of the "sayings" still running in my head today came from just two former band directors that I had the privilege of playing for.
I am continually amazed at myself on how consistent I am with my own inconsistencies. One of those inconsistencies has to do with respect - how I was taught to display respectful behavior, both physically and verbally and what I have learned about respect directed toward me. The two learning paths have not converged. My parents taught me to ALWAYS greet my "elders" by Miss, Mrs. or Mr. So-and-So, a habit that remains with me. At age Getting-Older, if I encounter a person whom I addressed, as a kid, as Miss, Mrs. or Mr., then I still greet that person that way......unless he or she instructs me to address them, after all these years, by their first name. On this I am consistent.
HOWEVER, as I have also previously written, I have learned that respect must be earned and that just because someone addresses me as Miss, Ms. or Mrs. does not mean that respect is present towards me AND I have learned that I can be addressed by my first name by a person, regardless of age, that holds me in the highest of regard.
Now for my inconsistency.
It makes me very uncomfortable when a person in authority is publicly referred to by her or his name by people who do not know the individual personally or even in a casual/social setting. I do not care if People-Of-Authority are young or not-so-young, they deserve to be publicly referred to by Miss, Ms., Mrs. or Mr. That is the way I was raised and, I suspect, that is the way I'll be when I take my last breath.
In conclusion, to be further consistent with my inconsistencies, when I make references to the Great Magician or the Great Illusionist, I write it with the greatest of respect.
Ancora imparo
I am continually amazed at myself on how consistent I am with my own inconsistencies. One of those inconsistencies has to do with respect - how I was taught to display respectful behavior, both physically and verbally and what I have learned about respect directed toward me. The two learning paths have not converged. My parents taught me to ALWAYS greet my "elders" by Miss, Mrs. or Mr. So-and-So, a habit that remains with me. At age Getting-Older, if I encounter a person whom I addressed, as a kid, as Miss, Mrs. or Mr., then I still greet that person that way......unless he or she instructs me to address them, after all these years, by their first name. On this I am consistent.
HOWEVER, as I have also previously written, I have learned that respect must be earned and that just because someone addresses me as Miss, Ms. or Mrs. does not mean that respect is present towards me AND I have learned that I can be addressed by my first name by a person, regardless of age, that holds me in the highest of regard.
Now for my inconsistency.
It makes me very uncomfortable when a person in authority is publicly referred to by her or his name by people who do not know the individual personally or even in a casual/social setting. I do not care if People-Of-Authority are young or not-so-young, they deserve to be publicly referred to by Miss, Ms., Mrs. or Mr. That is the way I was raised and, I suspect, that is the way I'll be when I take my last breath.
In conclusion, to be further consistent with my inconsistencies, when I make references to the Great Magician or the Great Illusionist, I write it with the greatest of respect.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Confusion In The Air
This odd weather pattern is creating confusion everywhere. Please do not misunderstand me. I am not complaining about our lack of snow. Each morning I am still able to scamper out to fetch my newspaper in my shorts, sandals, and little hoodie without fear of frostbitten toes, fingers, or slipping on icy or snow-covered surfaces. My gas mileage is better than normal for this time of year and I am certain that postal workers, newspaper deliverers, the UPS and FedEx drivers are all thrilled with having clear roadways and sidewalks. Motorcycle traffic can be heard on the highway that is behind our home and it is not uncommon to see young people out on their skateboards, scooters, or rollerblades.
This is mid-January.
I have friends and neighbors who routinely leave for warmer climes at this time of year, every year, and in some instances, the weather where they have "escaped" to is colder than it is here. My furnace must feel as if it (or I) is on vacation as it seldom has to run in order to keep the thermostat steady at 67 or 68 degrees during the day. With all of the sunshine that is flooding in the windows morning and afternoon, natural heat is created that even lasts through some of the night hours. Last night I spent more time throwing off covers than wanting to burrow under them. This is usually the time of year when Capt. SO spends most of his twenty-four-hour-a-day life shivering, adding layers, complaining about my body's elevated internal temperature and requesting that I put the flannel sheets on the bed. While I wouldn't describe him as reaching for bermuda shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts, he has not purchased any of those hooded blankets advertised on television......yet. Yesterday a group of retirees gathered to play nine holes of golf.
This is mid-January.
At some point, we all know that Mother Nature will have the last laugh and at our expense. Will it be a sudden and unexpected blizzard, thirty straight days of record snowfalls, the wettest spring and early summer on record, or the hottest summer in one hundred years? There is just no way that atmospheric payback will not occur. (Nice double negative, don't you think?)
Until then, I will continue to relish my winter flip-flops, shorts and tees.......inside and outside.
Ancora imparo
This is mid-January.
I have friends and neighbors who routinely leave for warmer climes at this time of year, every year, and in some instances, the weather where they have "escaped" to is colder than it is here. My furnace must feel as if it (or I) is on vacation as it seldom has to run in order to keep the thermostat steady at 67 or 68 degrees during the day. With all of the sunshine that is flooding in the windows morning and afternoon, natural heat is created that even lasts through some of the night hours. Last night I spent more time throwing off covers than wanting to burrow under them. This is usually the time of year when Capt. SO spends most of his twenty-four-hour-a-day life shivering, adding layers, complaining about my body's elevated internal temperature and requesting that I put the flannel sheets on the bed. While I wouldn't describe him as reaching for bermuda shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts, he has not purchased any of those hooded blankets advertised on television......yet. Yesterday a group of retirees gathered to play nine holes of golf.
This is mid-January.
At some point, we all know that Mother Nature will have the last laugh and at our expense. Will it be a sudden and unexpected blizzard, thirty straight days of record snowfalls, the wettest spring and early summer on record, or the hottest summer in one hundred years? There is just no way that atmospheric payback will not occur. (Nice double negative, don't you think?)
Until then, I will continue to relish my winter flip-flops, shorts and tees.......inside and outside.
Ancora imparo
Monday, January 9, 2012
Throw-out Challenge
The article lead started with "throw out fifty things"........
It was one of those New Year-New You pop culture articles that are so prevalent during the last few days of December or the first two or three days of the new year. Everyone is an expert on some kind of self-improvement routine or procedure. What I really wanted to do, in this order, was get plastic surgery, liposuction, and botox injections. Since none of those was likely going to happen, my head got totally wrapped around the idea of throwing out fifty things. And, I knew exactly what room I would start in. The kitchen.
The problem is, there are at least two drawers in our kitchen that could not only benefit from losing fifty items of content, but that probably have at least twice that much in each drawer that needs to be tossed. The biggest offender in the Kitchen Junque War is not actually what I would describe as an old-fashioned junk drawer. Previous kitchen junk drawers held scissors, a flashlight, a hammer, a set of screwdrivers, probably some small appliance operating manuals, maybe even that oldest of publications......a phone book. Somewhere along our lives' timeline, our kitchen developed more drawers and the phone book took a definite back seat in the annuals of time. Now the most offending drawer in my kitchen has a more eclectic inventory. It is the drawer where all of the smaller but must-have kitchen accessories go, plus a lot of other "stuff".
I've been quite transparent, in this blog, about my struggle to keep low inventories of boxes. (You never know when that one box will be the perfect box in which to mail something to someone.)
Since all adult problems can be related back to some childhood trauma, there must have been a box crisis in my home when I was a child. Another area of my life that probably needs some psycho-therapy would be related to saving twist ties. Honestly, they multiply like rabbits on steroids. It is just such a natural act to empty a plastic bag, have the twist tie in my hand and simply drop it into this drawer. Do I think that by dropping it into the kitchen garbage container something awful and life-threatening will occur?
So, about this drawer and its contents. Food scissors, melon-ball scooper, ice cream scooper, citrus peeler, spare car keys, twist ties, mini tongs, chopsticks, potato nails, sweet corn "knobs", wine bottle pour spouts, loose tea holders, an apparatus to make curly cues out of radishes/carrots and the like, a cheese slicer, wine bottle stoppers, vegetable scrub brushes........ and that is about fifty percent of what I could itemize. Let me just say that his drawer will be the starting point for the "Throw Out Fifty Things" challenge. I could meet the fifty-things criteria just with twist ties, for heaven's sake.
If you happen by our home and you hearing cursing and/or cheering, you will know what project I have begun. If you see me standing by the curb, clutching handfulls of twist ties, with a sign draped around my neck that says, "Will work for food.", you will know that I was unable to part with my twist ties and I couldn't find a small enough box in which to store them.
Ancora impartaro
It was one of those New Year-New You pop culture articles that are so prevalent during the last few days of December or the first two or three days of the new year. Everyone is an expert on some kind of self-improvement routine or procedure. What I really wanted to do, in this order, was get plastic surgery, liposuction, and botox injections. Since none of those was likely going to happen, my head got totally wrapped around the idea of throwing out fifty things. And, I knew exactly what room I would start in. The kitchen.
The problem is, there are at least two drawers in our kitchen that could not only benefit from losing fifty items of content, but that probably have at least twice that much in each drawer that needs to be tossed. The biggest offender in the Kitchen Junque War is not actually what I would describe as an old-fashioned junk drawer. Previous kitchen junk drawers held scissors, a flashlight, a hammer, a set of screwdrivers, probably some small appliance operating manuals, maybe even that oldest of publications......a phone book. Somewhere along our lives' timeline, our kitchen developed more drawers and the phone book took a definite back seat in the annuals of time. Now the most offending drawer in my kitchen has a more eclectic inventory. It is the drawer where all of the smaller but must-have kitchen accessories go, plus a lot of other "stuff".
I've been quite transparent, in this blog, about my struggle to keep low inventories of boxes. (You never know when that one box will be the perfect box in which to mail something to someone.)
Since all adult problems can be related back to some childhood trauma, there must have been a box crisis in my home when I was a child. Another area of my life that probably needs some psycho-therapy would be related to saving twist ties. Honestly, they multiply like rabbits on steroids. It is just such a natural act to empty a plastic bag, have the twist tie in my hand and simply drop it into this drawer. Do I think that by dropping it into the kitchen garbage container something awful and life-threatening will occur?
So, about this drawer and its contents. Food scissors, melon-ball scooper, ice cream scooper, citrus peeler, spare car keys, twist ties, mini tongs, chopsticks, potato nails, sweet corn "knobs", wine bottle pour spouts, loose tea holders, an apparatus to make curly cues out of radishes/carrots and the like, a cheese slicer, wine bottle stoppers, vegetable scrub brushes........ and that is about fifty percent of what I could itemize. Let me just say that his drawer will be the starting point for the "Throw Out Fifty Things" challenge. I could meet the fifty-things criteria just with twist ties, for heaven's sake.
If you happen by our home and you hearing cursing and/or cheering, you will know what project I have begun. If you see me standing by the curb, clutching handfulls of twist ties, with a sign draped around my neck that says, "Will work for food.", you will know that I was unable to part with my twist ties and I couldn't find a small enough box in which to store them.
Ancora impartaro
Sunday, January 8, 2012
But I Want A "Yes" Answer!
I sense more mayhem and this type could be a bit more problematic than Mayan Mayhem. National Public Radio's "All Things Considered" ran a segment this past week about the positive effects for teens who argue with their parents.
Yes, you read that correctly. "the positive effects for teens who argue with their parents"
I think I would be hard-pressed to find parents who would initially say they found arguing with their teen(s) useful or beneficial in any way. At first blush, if I ran across a parent who insisted that there were pluses to arguing with their teens, I'd check their coffee cup dregs for traces of alcohol or some other controlled substances. The article took me back to my days as a parent of teens and as a classroom teacher of tweens and teens.
Teens argue......at least most of them do. Drawing on my years in the classroom, I can remember differing levels of arguing or "talking back". Some teens are more skilled in manipulating a "conversation" with an adult who is in a position of authority - be it a teacher or a parent. Highly skilled teens (and I do believe that these teens know exactly what they are doing and how they get their way) can smile, coax, cajole and perhaps even connive their way to a "yes" conclusion. If the adult is wired into what is happening, that person may "choose their battle(s)" and acquiesce to the request or demand of the teen. Sometimes it is all about letting the other side "win". The "yes" can come to a question regarding something that by saying "yes", nothing negative, earth-shattering, or dangerous could or would happen. Sometimes the adult is wise to save the "no" for when it really counts.
Other teens are very poor at arguing. The NPR segment showcased a recently published University of Virginia study, headed by a psychologist and published in the journal Child Development. One of the conclusions of the study was that parents who argued constructively with their teens had children who were more insulated and protected against negative peer pressure. Perhaps the teens who argue less successfully with adults in authority are not being taught to argue constructively at home. Then again, how many parents can, in the heat of "the battle" step back and say to themselves, "I am the adult here. I should not be reduced to the level of an impassioned and partial teenager. Therefore, I shall train my teenager to argue constructively."? Maybe in a research environment such as the study conducted by the U. of Virginia, but in real life?
On the other hand...............I can see the value of teaching our young people the fine art of negotiating. After all, just about every day, in every situation and in every relationship there come multiple moments where the art of negotiating is what is needed to produce harmonious, meaningful, and productive outcomes - whether it be at school, the office, at home, with friends, with enemies, frenemies, the world stage or closer to home.
Fascinating study and concept. I wonder if the psychologist who headed the research has children?
I'm just sayin'.
Ancora imparo
Yes, you read that correctly. "the positive effects for teens who argue with their parents"
I think I would be hard-pressed to find parents who would initially say they found arguing with their teen(s) useful or beneficial in any way. At first blush, if I ran across a parent who insisted that there were pluses to arguing with their teens, I'd check their coffee cup dregs for traces of alcohol or some other controlled substances. The article took me back to my days as a parent of teens and as a classroom teacher of tweens and teens.
Teens argue......at least most of them do. Drawing on my years in the classroom, I can remember differing levels of arguing or "talking back". Some teens are more skilled in manipulating a "conversation" with an adult who is in a position of authority - be it a teacher or a parent. Highly skilled teens (and I do believe that these teens know exactly what they are doing and how they get their way) can smile, coax, cajole and perhaps even connive their way to a "yes" conclusion. If the adult is wired into what is happening, that person may "choose their battle(s)" and acquiesce to the request or demand of the teen. Sometimes it is all about letting the other side "win". The "yes" can come to a question regarding something that by saying "yes", nothing negative, earth-shattering, or dangerous could or would happen. Sometimes the adult is wise to save the "no" for when it really counts.
Other teens are very poor at arguing. The NPR segment showcased a recently published University of Virginia study, headed by a psychologist and published in the journal Child Development. One of the conclusions of the study was that parents who argued constructively with their teens had children who were more insulated and protected against negative peer pressure. Perhaps the teens who argue less successfully with adults in authority are not being taught to argue constructively at home. Then again, how many parents can, in the heat of "the battle" step back and say to themselves, "I am the adult here. I should not be reduced to the level of an impassioned and partial teenager. Therefore, I shall train my teenager to argue constructively."? Maybe in a research environment such as the study conducted by the U. of Virginia, but in real life?
On the other hand...............I can see the value of teaching our young people the fine art of negotiating. After all, just about every day, in every situation and in every relationship there come multiple moments where the art of negotiating is what is needed to produce harmonious, meaningful, and productive outcomes - whether it be at school, the office, at home, with friends, with enemies, frenemies, the world stage or closer to home.
Fascinating study and concept. I wonder if the psychologist who headed the research has children?
I'm just sayin'.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Mayan Mayhem
Here's another television commercial reference. The Allstate Insurance commercial with the dude who calls himself "Mayhem" and causes car "accidents". Mayhem, which can occur anywhere at any time, can be the result of human antics, mechanical malfunctions or, simply, fate. Our world seems to be in the throes of what I would describe as "Mayan Mayhem". (No offense to those of Mayan descent.)
Centuries ago, the Mayan civilization, at the time one of the most advanced on earth, devised a sophisticated calendar system which predicted that the year 2012 would be the year in which the world would end. Now that other prognosticators and preachers have mis-read the celestial and prophetic communications sent to them, the next foretelling of the world ending seems to be the Mayan myth.
Most people are skeptical at worst and disbelieving at best regarding the possibility of the end of the world happening in 2012. Comedians are having a field day with this as are the common folk on social media sites. Today, one funny fellow had a Facebook posting that said he knew the end of the world wouldn't happen in 2012 because his cereal's expiration date wasn't until 2014. I'm with him.
Chances are the end of the world will not occur until the Republicans sort through their ranks and separate the wheat from the chaff, Kim Kardashian finds true love, Jennifer Lopez remarries, the government stops sending census questionnaires, the stock market stops being manipulated from the inside AND outside, the world runs out of apps, and chocolate is named a food group. Until then, I am confident that none of the aforementioned will take place and that we will have to be subjected to a year filled with election rhetoric and nonsense.
More mayhem.
Ancora imparo
Centuries ago, the Mayan civilization, at the time one of the most advanced on earth, devised a sophisticated calendar system which predicted that the year 2012 would be the year in which the world would end. Now that other prognosticators and preachers have mis-read the celestial and prophetic communications sent to them, the next foretelling of the world ending seems to be the Mayan myth.
Most people are skeptical at worst and disbelieving at best regarding the possibility of the end of the world happening in 2012. Comedians are having a field day with this as are the common folk on social media sites. Today, one funny fellow had a Facebook posting that said he knew the end of the world wouldn't happen in 2012 because his cereal's expiration date wasn't until 2014. I'm with him.
Chances are the end of the world will not occur until the Republicans sort through their ranks and separate the wheat from the chaff, Kim Kardashian finds true love, Jennifer Lopez remarries, the government stops sending census questionnaires, the stock market stops being manipulated from the inside AND outside, the world runs out of apps, and chocolate is named a food group. Until then, I am confident that none of the aforementioned will take place and that we will have to be subjected to a year filled with election rhetoric and nonsense.
More mayhem.
Ancora imparo
Friday, January 6, 2012
You Have A Football Team, Too?
I dragged my soapbox from the storage facility in order to compose this posting. It was dusty, needed cleaning, and, besides, after listening to a radio interview this morning, it was personally required that I get my soapbox out and stand on it.
The radio interview that incensed me took place recently at a place of higher learning in the state in which I live. (Is that obfuscative enough?) The topic was whether or not having a football team was good for the university. You may remember that I've written about how, when I was in college, I stayed through the half time band performance at my Big Ten University.....but when the band left the field, so did I. The band was great and, fortunately, I had many music major friends so to follow the band back to the Music Building was fun and always unpredictable.
Today's interview with the university representative was predictably inane as "he" rambled on and, toward the end of the interview, he must have felt the need to promote the "boys" on the football team. He explained that since they had been in national bowl games for the past however-many years, that fact had really boosted the university's ranking in both polls and perception and......here comes the kicker......the university was now credible. Excuse me???????????? This university had a nationally recognized jazz program LONG before the football team got its lackluster act together. While I can agree that a successful football team might bring attention to a college or university, that particular fact does not impart credibility to it any more than having a picture of a Porche Cayenne in my office and telling people that I drive it every day.
Let's get the proper perspective of a university with a marching band and a football team. Any music major in his or her right brain (pun intended) knows that the real reason the football team exists is to allow the marching band time to perform between halves.
My soapbox is clean now. Time to put it away.
Ancora imparo
The radio interview that incensed me took place recently at a place of higher learning in the state in which I live. (Is that obfuscative enough?) The topic was whether or not having a football team was good for the university. You may remember that I've written about how, when I was in college, I stayed through the half time band performance at my Big Ten University.....but when the band left the field, so did I. The band was great and, fortunately, I had many music major friends so to follow the band back to the Music Building was fun and always unpredictable.
Today's interview with the university representative was predictably inane as "he" rambled on and, toward the end of the interview, he must have felt the need to promote the "boys" on the football team. He explained that since they had been in national bowl games for the past however-many years, that fact had really boosted the university's ranking in both polls and perception and......here comes the kicker......the university was now credible. Excuse me???????????? This university had a nationally recognized jazz program LONG before the football team got its lackluster act together. While I can agree that a successful football team might bring attention to a college or university, that particular fact does not impart credibility to it any more than having a picture of a Porche Cayenne in my office and telling people that I drive it every day.
Let's get the proper perspective of a university with a marching band and a football team. Any music major in his or her right brain (pun intended) knows that the real reason the football team exists is to allow the marching band time to perform between halves.
My soapbox is clean now. Time to put it away.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Synonyms For Disgusting
Sometimes I watch television when I am working in my office, depending on the type of project I am engaged in. If I do watch the tiny screen, I try to be cognizant of when a commercial comes on because I find most of them trite, trivial (redundant, I know), inane, and annoying - at best. If I'm on top of what I'm hearing from the tube, I hit the mute button as soon as the commercial begins. I'll be the first to admit that some commercials are witty, amusing, and well-crafted but they seem to come far and few between. Many products are produced by corporations with deep pockets and sizable advertising budgets, therefore their commercials appear frequently, ad nauseum. I think if I see one more advertisement about how a spokesman "goes to the mall" to talk about cars, I'll lose my sanity. There is a clever commercial series from Volkswagen's "Signthendrive" promotion that usually brings a smile to my face but even then, over-saturation brings boredom which breeds dismissal.
A few commercials deign to appeal to either sex, usually by portraying the featured male/female actor or actors as incompetent ignoramuses. At times, I am caused to ponder just who these commercials are targeting. Are we, the viewing public, really that stupid, complete with vapid and vacant minds that will accept any advertising garbage thrown our way? Really.......a legion of kids throwing snowballs at a car will help sell that particular model?
The "commercial to end all commercials" aired tonight - at least it is the first time that I've paid attention to this commercial for Activia, the yogurt with probiotics to enhance regularity of the digestive system. The actress who fronts these commercials ends up giving the female actor who is "in need of digestive regulation" a video camera and tells her to keep a video log. Since this commercial is about a product that aids in "digestive regulation", my mind simply cannot wrap itself around keeping a video diary about someone's "digestive regulation progress".
Yuck. Gross. Very ewwwy.
Ancora imparewwyo
A few commercials deign to appeal to either sex, usually by portraying the featured male/female actor or actors as incompetent ignoramuses. At times, I am caused to ponder just who these commercials are targeting. Are we, the viewing public, really that stupid, complete with vapid and vacant minds that will accept any advertising garbage thrown our way? Really.......a legion of kids throwing snowballs at a car will help sell that particular model?
The "commercial to end all commercials" aired tonight - at least it is the first time that I've paid attention to this commercial for Activia, the yogurt with probiotics to enhance regularity of the digestive system. The actress who fronts these commercials ends up giving the female actor who is "in need of digestive regulation" a video camera and tells her to keep a video log. Since this commercial is about a product that aids in "digestive regulation", my mind simply cannot wrap itself around keeping a video diary about someone's "digestive regulation progress".
Yuck. Gross. Very ewwwy.
Ancora imparewwyo
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Gather The Children, Guard Your Fingers!
I am the proud (and thrilled) recipient of a new phone for Christmas. As I must have over-reported previously (according to Capt. Cook), my former phone was smart, but only semi-smart. Capt. Cook is fond of stating that had he not purchased a smart phone for me, for Christmas, I would have ruined his phone with drool.
There could be some truth to that.
My new phone has been fully functional, with me, for a week now and I am embracing what it can do with as much speed as I can muster. One of the phone's functions that I find fascinating and ultra-useful is Siri, the voice-command personal assistant. Siri is the closest thing I will ever come to for either a personal assistant or a wife. I speak, she listens and acts. It just does not get much better than that.
Or will it?
Just where will all of this hand-held technology lead us? Give our civilization another millennium, bring back Charles Darwin, and he will have a field day. Humans may well have appendages that resemble nothing like the eight fingers and two thumbs presently on our hands. It is possible we will only have a thumb and forefinger on each hand, perfectly positioned to "type" on whatever smallish device each human on the planet has been assigned from "Mother Siri".
I can foresee that Siri may be the greatest threat to planet leadership in the history of the world. Siri will control our thoughts, speech, actions, bodily functions, rate of birth and death, even deciding if each human is capable of reproduction. Siri will determine what crops are grown on the earth, how and when those crops are harvested, how they are stored, prepared, and who gets to eat them. "What will I be allowed to eat tomorrow?" Siri will answer that question with her usual perky and pleasant tonal reply.
Remember the old commercial for "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter", where Mother Nature is is humanized, she raises her hands, thunder claps and lightning flashes and she says, sternly, "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature!" Siri will make this ad character look like Pollyanna.
If Siri is allowed to morph at her present speed, she may well be raising the world's children, from birth until their age of consent and reason, at which time they will be programmed to be Children of the Cloud and will follow Siri to the ends of the earth......and beyond.
I realize that I am getting ahead of myself by one or two million years, by which time young whippersnappers will have designed and programmed millions of smarter Siri-replacements.
In the meantime, I have added three additional goals to my 2012 list:
1. Keep Siri busy with constructive activities
2. Write as many cursive notes as I can
3. Get regular physical therapy on my least-used three digits. They will need as much
strengthening as possible.
Ancora imparo
There could be some truth to that.
My new phone has been fully functional, with me, for a week now and I am embracing what it can do with as much speed as I can muster. One of the phone's functions that I find fascinating and ultra-useful is Siri, the voice-command personal assistant. Siri is the closest thing I will ever come to for either a personal assistant or a wife. I speak, she listens and acts. It just does not get much better than that.
Or will it?
Just where will all of this hand-held technology lead us? Give our civilization another millennium, bring back Charles Darwin, and he will have a field day. Humans may well have appendages that resemble nothing like the eight fingers and two thumbs presently on our hands. It is possible we will only have a thumb and forefinger on each hand, perfectly positioned to "type" on whatever smallish device each human on the planet has been assigned from "Mother Siri".
I can foresee that Siri may be the greatest threat to planet leadership in the history of the world. Siri will control our thoughts, speech, actions, bodily functions, rate of birth and death, even deciding if each human is capable of reproduction. Siri will determine what crops are grown on the earth, how and when those crops are harvested, how they are stored, prepared, and who gets to eat them. "What will I be allowed to eat tomorrow?" Siri will answer that question with her usual perky and pleasant tonal reply.
Remember the old commercial for "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter", where Mother Nature is is humanized, she raises her hands, thunder claps and lightning flashes and she says, sternly, "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature!" Siri will make this ad character look like Pollyanna.
If Siri is allowed to morph at her present speed, she may well be raising the world's children, from birth until their age of consent and reason, at which time they will be programmed to be Children of the Cloud and will follow Siri to the ends of the earth......and beyond.
I realize that I am getting ahead of myself by one or two million years, by which time young whippersnappers will have designed and programmed millions of smarter Siri-replacements.
In the meantime, I have added three additional goals to my 2012 list:
1. Keep Siri busy with constructive activities
2. Write as many cursive notes as I can
3. Get regular physical therapy on my least-used three digits. They will need as much
strengthening as possible.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
This Confidence Will Self-Destruct In Five Minutes
Well, I just got smacked alongside my head by an I-T two-by-four. I was feeling pretty confident, smug and even cocky about how quickly I was assimilating myself, my laptop and my new phone into the "cloud". At a meeting this morning, I was the one who could find online information the fastest and I did not think I was audacious, cavalier, or conceited when I delivered my "found" information but God must have thought so because about two hours later, at home, my confidence and equipment came to a crashing halt. I was a ship without a captain, a canoe without a paddle, up a creek without a canoe and in the water without a life preserver. To make matters worse, my in-house expert, Capt. Cook, was gone for the day, having to do his civic duty in a jury pool. (He got selected. No big surprise there. Now let us hope that whatever the trial is......he cannot talk about it......does not turn out to be the Local Trial of the Century.)
I tried the first-line tried and true method to fix all things electronic. Turn it off, wait twenty to thirty seconds, and then turn it back on. For some reason, my laptop - and therefore my phone - could not connect to the internet. Not being able to access Capt. Cook and not wanting to bother my other favorite electronic "fixer", I was able to use Capt. Cook's phone to text another electronic expert who was able to steer me to another possible "fix-it" direction. He texted me and told me to unplug the "router", wait twenty to thirty seconds and then plug it back in. I went downstairs and found two pieces of equipment, both of which looked like they could be a "router". He said all of the lights would go out. Well, one had lots of lights and the other had no lights that I could see, but to be safe, I unplugged them both and waited. (My life's motto: If one is good, two must be better.) I do not know which one restored my service but restored, it was.
Electronic Crisis Number One solved.
I then proceeded to TRY to establish a group email list. After some putzing about, I was able to begin adding members to the group, only to have my laptop decide, about half way through my contact-selection process, that the process could no longer continue as I had been doing it. I did some more putzing about and discovered yet a new way to add contact-list members to the group and got the job done.
Electronic Crisis Number Two averted.
What this has, perhaps, taught me is that I am the most dangerous type of idiot there is: The kind that doesn't know what he/she doesn't know. I think I know more than I do. While this has all been most humbling (to me), there just may be a silver lining in my whining. I did learn two more techniques with which to bail myself out of the next crisis.......and I know it is not a matter of if but when.
I stand humbled.
Ancora imparo
I tried the first-line tried and true method to fix all things electronic. Turn it off, wait twenty to thirty seconds, and then turn it back on. For some reason, my laptop - and therefore my phone - could not connect to the internet. Not being able to access Capt. Cook and not wanting to bother my other favorite electronic "fixer", I was able to use Capt. Cook's phone to text another electronic expert who was able to steer me to another possible "fix-it" direction. He texted me and told me to unplug the "router", wait twenty to thirty seconds and then plug it back in. I went downstairs and found two pieces of equipment, both of which looked like they could be a "router". He said all of the lights would go out. Well, one had lots of lights and the other had no lights that I could see, but to be safe, I unplugged them both and waited. (My life's motto: If one is good, two must be better.) I do not know which one restored my service but restored, it was.
Electronic Crisis Number One solved.
I then proceeded to TRY to establish a group email list. After some putzing about, I was able to begin adding members to the group, only to have my laptop decide, about half way through my contact-selection process, that the process could no longer continue as I had been doing it. I did some more putzing about and discovered yet a new way to add contact-list members to the group and got the job done.
Electronic Crisis Number Two averted.
What this has, perhaps, taught me is that I am the most dangerous type of idiot there is: The kind that doesn't know what he/she doesn't know. I think I know more than I do. While this has all been most humbling (to me), there just may be a silver lining in my whining. I did learn two more techniques with which to bail myself out of the next crisis.......and I know it is not a matter of if but when.
I stand humbled.
Ancora imparo
Monday, January 2, 2012
Can You Guess What Shape Pasta This Is?
Bear with me......I promise this will all be tied together after what seem like random thoughts.
I went to a concert this past Saturday evening. The featured performer was an internationally known romantic-music pianist. Appearing with him were three other performers - two vocalists and one violinist. The violinist, who was obviously highly talented, had wild, crazy and frizzy hair. His instrument, a hybrid, custom-made six-string violin was electronically amplified and had the capability of producing percussive, bass and distortion-type sounds. He could make the violin sound every bit as if the late, great Jimi Hendrix was performing right in front of you. The audience, who was made up of mostly grey-hairs, applauded enthusiastically each time he soloed. After the concert, I wondered aloud if the audience adoration would have been the same if the violinist had, instead, looked the same but been playing an electric guitar, ala Jimi Hendrix. Did the violin give the audience an impression of gentility rather than radicalism?
I fall into the trap of labeling another person when I do not know them. How do I do this? By appearance. Granted, over the last ten years, I am much less apt to do so, learning first-hand that the old adage, "You cannot judge a book by its cover." is true.
Musical stereotypes are abundant. Classical music lovers are squares. Jazz aficionados are left-wing liberals. Hard rock enthusiasts are wild and unruly. Country music fans are hicks. The list could go on and on. The truth is that you cannot equate the way a person looks, votes, talks, walks, sits, or cooks with the genre of music that he or she likes best.
A business article about the Eastman Kodak Company caught my eye today. According to the article, Eastman Kodak has not turned a profit since 1997 and is rumored to be on its way "out". Kodak's HR (human resources) policy, while perhaps having not directly affected its bottom line, had to have influenced it over the decades. Every new employee that Kodak hired was "slotted" into a Big Book of employees. Much like the public school practice of "tracking" that I was part of (A student was identified as either "college prep" or not. One or the other.), each Kodak employee was given a "label" and placed on a scale that would directly effect the promotion rate and wage-earning possibilities.....for the length of the employee's tenure with the company. A close friend of Capt. Cook's went to work for Kodak right out of college. An intelligent and motivated fellow, he left Kodak when he discovered where he was placed in the book-to-end-all-books. He went on to greatness at another corporation.
How many excellent employees did Kodak lose over the years because management pre-labeled people before the employees' gifts and talents were identified and discovered? How many great people have I missed the opportunity to know because I "judged the book by its cover"? Conversely, have people not sought me out because of pre-conceived notions regarding me, my thoughts, perferences, habits, and ideas?
I have identified another goal for this new year. Be more receptive to new people, new ideas, new practices, and new preferences. I do not want to be stuck on page 215 of someone else's book.
Bow tied.
Ancora imparo
I went to a concert this past Saturday evening. The featured performer was an internationally known romantic-music pianist. Appearing with him were three other performers - two vocalists and one violinist. The violinist, who was obviously highly talented, had wild, crazy and frizzy hair. His instrument, a hybrid, custom-made six-string violin was electronically amplified and had the capability of producing percussive, bass and distortion-type sounds. He could make the violin sound every bit as if the late, great Jimi Hendrix was performing right in front of you. The audience, who was made up of mostly grey-hairs, applauded enthusiastically each time he soloed. After the concert, I wondered aloud if the audience adoration would have been the same if the violinist had, instead, looked the same but been playing an electric guitar, ala Jimi Hendrix. Did the violin give the audience an impression of gentility rather than radicalism?
I fall into the trap of labeling another person when I do not know them. How do I do this? By appearance. Granted, over the last ten years, I am much less apt to do so, learning first-hand that the old adage, "You cannot judge a book by its cover." is true.
Musical stereotypes are abundant. Classical music lovers are squares. Jazz aficionados are left-wing liberals. Hard rock enthusiasts are wild and unruly. Country music fans are hicks. The list could go on and on. The truth is that you cannot equate the way a person looks, votes, talks, walks, sits, or cooks with the genre of music that he or she likes best.
A business article about the Eastman Kodak Company caught my eye today. According to the article, Eastman Kodak has not turned a profit since 1997 and is rumored to be on its way "out". Kodak's HR (human resources) policy, while perhaps having not directly affected its bottom line, had to have influenced it over the decades. Every new employee that Kodak hired was "slotted" into a Big Book of employees. Much like the public school practice of "tracking" that I was part of (A student was identified as either "college prep" or not. One or the other.), each Kodak employee was given a "label" and placed on a scale that would directly effect the promotion rate and wage-earning possibilities.....for the length of the employee's tenure with the company. A close friend of Capt. Cook's went to work for Kodak right out of college. An intelligent and motivated fellow, he left Kodak when he discovered where he was placed in the book-to-end-all-books. He went on to greatness at another corporation.
How many excellent employees did Kodak lose over the years because management pre-labeled people before the employees' gifts and talents were identified and discovered? How many great people have I missed the opportunity to know because I "judged the book by its cover"? Conversely, have people not sought me out because of pre-conceived notions regarding me, my thoughts, perferences, habits, and ideas?
I have identified another goal for this new year. Be more receptive to new people, new ideas, new practices, and new preferences. I do not want to be stuck on page 215 of someone else's book.
Bow tied.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Resolute In My Goals
A few hours ago, Capt. Cook posed the question, "Do you have any resolutions for the new year?". I responded that while I had not made any resolutions, I did have some goals. At that point, I had not finalized any goals, but his query did make me think. Shortly after that question, posed over a Mimosa and shrimp cocktail, he and I began a tutorial - at my request - on using my Google calendar. After that session, we moved - at my request - to how to install bookmarks on my cell phone. I had to bring that tutorial to an end because my brain had reached its saturation point, however long or short-lived, and it needed a respite so I washed dishes.......a brainless activity to be sure. Composing this posting is akin to cleansing the palette with sherbet between dining courses.
I have been able to identify some goals for the new year. Some I will publicize and share with others, and other goals will remain kept within my psyche and soul. Goals for me to know and others to find out - quoting an old phrase from high school.......when someone would ask a question that the "questionee" would not want to answer. The "smarty" response would be, "That is for me to know and you to find out." Ah, the days of high school when you could be a smart alec and no one would think a thing of it.
A goal of necessity is to move completely away from my trusty Franklin planner and embrace my new phone, laptop and "cloud". A year ago, if anyone would have suggested that I cease hauling around my Franklin planner, I would have been aghast at the thought. Now I am ready and it is just a matter of entering all of the events and appointments already set up for 2012. Once that rather overwhelming task is completed, entering appointments one at a time will be easy. I love the way my phone and laptop now sync automatically. I like my new "operating system"!
This goal of becoming a "cloud enthusiast" encompasses other i-goals of mine, some of which will happen quickly and others will involve a longer learning curve. I have had some very good help from Capt. Cook and the Three Musketeers' father. Their patience, help, commiseration (when needed), and enormous time invested in me have inspired me to move into the next century, instead of being "left behind".
I'm already planning the interment service for my Franklin planner.
Ancora imparo
I have been able to identify some goals for the new year. Some I will publicize and share with others, and other goals will remain kept within my psyche and soul. Goals for me to know and others to find out - quoting an old phrase from high school.......when someone would ask a question that the "questionee" would not want to answer. The "smarty" response would be, "That is for me to know and you to find out." Ah, the days of high school when you could be a smart alec and no one would think a thing of it.
A goal of necessity is to move completely away from my trusty Franklin planner and embrace my new phone, laptop and "cloud". A year ago, if anyone would have suggested that I cease hauling around my Franklin planner, I would have been aghast at the thought. Now I am ready and it is just a matter of entering all of the events and appointments already set up for 2012. Once that rather overwhelming task is completed, entering appointments one at a time will be easy. I love the way my phone and laptop now sync automatically. I like my new "operating system"!
This goal of becoming a "cloud enthusiast" encompasses other i-goals of mine, some of which will happen quickly and others will involve a longer learning curve. I have had some very good help from Capt. Cook and the Three Musketeers' father. Their patience, help, commiseration (when needed), and enormous time invested in me have inspired me to move into the next century, instead of being "left behind".
I'm already planning the interment service for my Franklin planner.
Ancora imparo
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