Here are some things that have stood out to me in college football this season:
Boise State
Every week this season there was talk, hype, justification and denigration of Boise State's worthiness to be in a BCS bowl game, if not the BCS title game itself. They started as the AP's #3 team and USA Today's #5. They didn't lose until the penultimate game of the season, on the road against a good Nevada team. Now they're 11-1 and #10 in both polls and the BCS standings.
(NOTE #1: The BCS is not a poll)
(NOTE #2: if you think I'm not thrilled at being able to use the word "penultimate" in a sentence, you must be crazy)
Had BSU gone undefeated and been one of the two top ranked teams in the BCS standings, I would have absolutely no problem with them playing in the title game. That's the system everybody has signed up for, and if they don't like it they don't have to play. The BCS isn't being forced down anybody's throat, despite what is said in the papers, online, on the air or even in Congressional hearings. "Boise State: National Champions" would not be the end of the world.
Having praised them, let me now crush them.
Boise State played three "big" games this season and went 2-1. They beat Virginia Tech in an exciting game to open the season. They beat a good Oregon State team in a game that never saw the lead shrink below seven points after the 6:08 mark of the second quarter. They blew a 17-point halftime lead and lost a tight, tense, mentally challenging game against Nevada. They played some other good teams, including bowl-bound Hawaii, Toledo and Fresno State. I don't think their schedule is as soft as some people think.
However, it's the VT and Nevada games that stand out to me. One they won, the other they lost. They got ahead, and the other team came back. The pressure was really on in these games. What keeps popping into my head is that about eight SEC teams play about six of these games every year, where the opponent is not afraid of you or your talent or your record or any of that stuff. If Boise went 1-1 in two mentally and emotionally challenging games, how would they do if they played four more? When SEC fans talk about the toughness of the conference schedule, they're not limiting it just to the physical action on the field. There really is a grind that goes with the season, though there are usually enough cupcakes scheduled to offset some of that.
Speaking of physical action, consider this:
I think Boise State would have done "all right" in the SEC this year, meaning they'd go anywhere from 3-5 to 5-3 in conference. Replace BSU's schedule with Vanderbilt's. They'd beat Ole Miss, Kentucky, Tennessee, and maybe Florida or Georgia. Let's say they're even better than that and knock of South Carolina. Based strictly on their consistent level of performance, coaching and execution, I can imagine such a scenario.
Here's my question:
Even if Boise State is good enough to succeed against Vanderbilt's schedule, are they good enough to succeed when losing their starting left defensive end, starting free safety, starting right tackle and both starting offensive guards? That's the situation with LSU, who ended up with at least five different starters at the end of the year and still went 10-2 in the SEC West, which produced five bowl teams and two BCS qualifiers, including a BCS title game participant and the Heisman trophy winner; not to mention last year's BCS champion and Heisman trophy winner.
I don't have anything against Boise State as a program, but there is a weekly standard in the SEC (and a couple other conferences) that is beyond anything they've experienced. When LSU beat Ohio State in the title game in 2007, LSU safety Harry Coleman said that OSU "didn't fight back like an SEC team would do." That's what some teams are used to. When Nevada fought back, Boise State wasn't able to respond at a high enough level to win.
Big Ten divisions
Big Ten expansion has been set for next year with the addition of Nebraska, with the new 12-team conference being split into divisions and a conference championship game crowning the champion. The SEC started this whole trend back in the early 90s, and since then several other conferences have jumped on board. In each case the divisions are given names such as East/West (SEC, MAC, C-USA), North/South (PAC-12, Big 12), or Atlantic/Coastal (ACC). When the Big Ten expanded most people thought something similar would happen.
So it came as a bit of a surprise when conference officials announced the names of the two divisions would be "Leaders" and "Legends." Why not east/west or north/south? Because expansion and the school allotment in each division was not based on geography, they said. Okay, but Leaders and Legends?
I was all set to pounce on the conference for such hokey, corny-sounding titles, but then I heard someone on TV make what I thought was a pretty good point. Paraphrasing, he said, "This sounds like something and old man thought sounded really cool, which is exactly what the Big Ten has been about for the last forty years." I don't feel like crushing people just for being who they are, so kudos to the Big Ten for staying themselves and not being who other people think they should be. Commissioner Jim Delaney has announced that they will reconsider the names, but I say they should stick to their figurative guns.
Besides, they're a pretty killer conference despite the joy some people take in making fun of them. Their sports programs bring in massive amounts of money, perhaps more than even the SEC.
Cam Newton and the Heisman Trust
This year's Heisman Trophy winner was Auburn quarterback Cam Newton. After all the hoopla and media controversy over his father asking for money in exchange for his signing on the dotted line to play for a college team, he won pretty handily. I'm fine with this, since he was by far the most intimidating force I saw all year. After LSU lost to Auburn, I wasn't afraid to face anybody else. I was just glad LSU didn't have to face him again.
A lot of people said that Newton shouldn't win because of the possibility that future investigations would uncover more solid evidence that would render Newton ineligible and cause him to be stripped of the trophy or force him to give it back like Reggie Bush did earlier this year.
In my mind this is not an issue for the voters to address. If he's on the ballot, they should vote for him or not based on whether or not they believe he was the best player this season. If something comes up later, we can deal with it later. I believe that the determination of whether he should be on the ballot or not should rest with the Heisman Trust, the organization that actually presents the trophy. If they think that something is amiss, they should show some guts and remove a player from the ballot. They shouldn't leave it up to the writers, whose sole job should be determining and voting for the best player.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Saturday, September 04, 2010
3030
I am very happy to say that I recently completed a road trip that took me from Natchitoches, LA to Hoboken, NJ. When I pulled back into the driveway at the end, the odometer read 3,030 miles. This was by far the longest trip I have ever undertaken on my own. I've done some family trips to Orlando, but I only drove a few hours each way. I was very excited about it all. I will now bore you with all the details of my drive. Enjoy!
I kept expecting to hit one of the 95s: 195, 295, 395, 495. I saw some signs for Baltimore, but my GPS told me to exit to 301 S in Maryland before I could get to one. This was a very easy, smooth highway through a mostly country setting. I took out the road atlas to see exactly where I was. At this point it occurred to me I was being diverted from certain routes for the following reason: soon after I bought my GPS unit, I programmed it to avoid toll roads. This is why I didn't see the Garden State Parkway or any Beltway action.
This route took me across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which is an enormous, impressive and more than a little frightening structure on which to drive. I could look to either side and see the huge expanse of water that is the Bay. It's also pretty darn high up, since it has to accommodate some tall ships passing under it.
Headed towards D.C. on Highway 50--an excellent road, by the way--I saw heavy traffic leaving the city. I laughed at the fools caught in evening rush hour traffic. I entered Northeast D.C., hit New York Avenue and then Rhode Island Avenue. I knew where I was most of the time despite having never spent much time in upper NE.
At this point I figured my GPS really loved me, since it took me past St. Matthew's Cathedral on RI Ave, then past Sign of the Whale on M Street.
Then I hit Georgetown. At 5:15pm. On a Friday.
I mocked those who were caught in D.C. exit traffic. Then I drove through Georgetown, and I mocked myself.
I eventually got to the Holiday Inn in Rosslyn. From there I took the train back to the city for dinner on a Thursday night at Sign of the Whale. For years this was my de facto routine, and I was extremely happy to be able to do it again. I met my friend Melanie for burgers and a drink. The music was way too loud, but the food was good and the Mexican waitress was nice, fun and spunky.
Day Ten: Friday, August 27
Let me tell you a story that demonstrates an aspect of the technological element of today's society.
Friday morning I went down to the front desk of the hotel to ask if I could make a reservation at another Holiday Inn hotel. I was told I could only do it by using an 800 number. I went back upstairs to use my computer instead, but something was wrong with my internet access. So I whipped out my phone, got on the internet, went to hotels.com, searched for the hotel I wanted, but in my payment information, booked the room, and got my confirmation email. What a world.
I left the hotel parking lot around 6:30 and took 66 West, the Front Royal road. It was a grey, cloudy morning, but now and then the sun would peek through the clouds and shoot beams down onto the mountaintops. This is one of the nicer stretches to drive on the east coast, I'm willing to bet.
Instead of going back through Nashville I went to Chattanooga, a city I'd not seen in a dozen years, at least. I got there before 4pm and settled in. There was a Taco Bell twenty seconds away by foot, so I took some back to the room and watched the Saints beat the Chargers in a preseason game.
Day Eleven: Saturday, August 28
I left Chattanooga around 6:30 in the morning, and it was still almost completely dark since the sun hadn't made it over the mountains. I'd forgotten that that happened. I got into Alabama and took I-59 past Birmingham and Tuscaloosa. Let me tell you something, folks: Alabama is BORING.
I went through Mississippi, stopping just after I entered near Meridian and just before I left at Vicksburg. I got gas across the street from the Vicksburg National Park. If you ever go, stay at the Hampton Inn Suites next door.
Once into Louisiana I stopped at Popeyes in Rayville and continued past Monroe to Highway 34. This is a very hilly, single-lane road that takes you through nowhere until you get to Winnfield. You do pass the Zonkeys, however. I pulled back into the driveway at 3:28pm.
(Note #3: The Walmart brand of Stay Awake caffeine pills: Magic)
Day One: Tuesday, August 17
I pulled out of the driveway at about a quarter to six the morning of August 17. A friend's recommendation took me through Texarkana, AR. It's a longer trip than going east, but it's almost all interstate. It also means I don't have to travel the winding, up and down highways between Natchitoches and northeast Louisiana. It's annoying enough when the sun is up, but a real pain when it's still dark.
Once I hit Texarkana, I went across Arkansas, passing Little Rock on the way to Memphis. If you ever drive from Little Rock to Memphis, don't live under the expectation that you're going to see a whole lot. I hope you like fields of rice and soybeans. Memphis to Nashville is a bit more interesting once you get up into the hills and mountains.
On the aforementioned stretch of road between Little Rock and Memphis, the message of a particular billboard caught my attention. I will reproduce it here as accurately as I can remember.
USE THE ROD, SAVE YOUR CHILD
You must be born twice: once in the flesh, and again in the spirit.
I am neither theologian nor parent, which renders me unqualified to discuss Biblical advice on child discipline or the effectiveness of beating the crap out of your misbehaving offspring. I am still inclined to wonder, however, at the idea of making a connection between corporal punishment and the likelihood that Saint Peter will grant one admission through the pearly gates once their mortal body as assumed room temperature. Does spanking your kid get you into heaven?
I spent the first night with my cousins who live outside Nashville. Nice place. We ate at a pizza joint that had a 2-for-1 special going on. There were a lot of attractive, BMW-driving Vanderbilt coeds. The waitress was okay.
Day Two: Wednesday, August 18
The next morning (Aug. 18) I left the house at about 6:30. It was gray, dreary and drizzly. I would have given someone else's right arm for it to have stayed that way.
(NOTE #1: Leaving Nashville gave me the first of what I think of as "Well, gawrsh!" moments. These are times when I was hit with a sudden realization, then a counter realization that the first realization made me sound like a country bumpkin. On this occasion I was driving on the road and thought, "Wow, they've got SIX lanes of traffic all going the same direction! What a road!")
About forty minutes outside of Nashville, God in His heaven decided that day one had been just too darn easy. He opened the clouds and poured down a Biblical-proportion mountain thunderstorm. It became almost impossible to see cars that weren't directly in front of you. The speed limit was 70, but I was going about 38. Everybody had their emergency lights blinking. I kept thinking that the 18-wheeler in front of me was about to overturn and wipe out everybody else. Knuckles were white.
After an hour or so of this nonsense I pulled over to get gas at an Exxon station. After I finished filling up, the gas pump asked if I wanted a car wash. What a jerk.
I pulled into a parking space, pulled out a book and read for about 25 or 30 minutes until things lightened up a bit. The rain was still heavy for a while, then cleared up some. When I got a little closer to Knoxville, another heavy thunderstorm about the same as the first hit and slowed everything down again. These two storms were probably the worst things I've ever driven through, and I'm surprised I didn't see more cars pulled over on the side of the road. Maybe they're more used to it than I am.
Once I got past Knoxville I got into Virginia. I don't know if you're away of this, boys and girls, but Virginia is big. Actually, I'm not sure that "big" is the right word; from the southeast corner to the northeast area, Virginia is long. I drove for a couple of hours in the state, looked at the atlas and thought, "Is that all that I've done so far?" It's a nice drive, though. The route along Front Royal is pretty. I pulled into Arlington in the early evening and spent the night with another set of cousins.
Dinner was at Velocity Five at Court House. I had chicken and rice. The waitress was a nice Salvadoran girl. She was okay. She seemed a little confused now and then, but she didn't mess anything up.
Day Three: Thursday, August 19
This was a bit of a rest day, with no hours and hours of driving on the menu. I left the apartment around 7:45 in the morning and drove to the West Falls Church metro station. The great advantage of this is that I was in familiar territory, since this is the station I used when I lived on Pimmit Drive in Falls Church, VA. I had to go through a good bit of Northern Virginia morning rush hour traffic. To the people who want me to move back to D.C. I ask, "What did I ever do to you?"
It felt good to enter the metro station I had used so many times--second only to the Huntington Avenue station at the bottom of the Yellow line--and take the train into the city. I had forgotten how few people smile during their morning metro commute. I got off at Farragut West, went up 17th to M and took a left. I walked past Sign of the Whale, which has changed ownership and undergone some renovations since I was last there. From there I went down to the new Capitol Advantage/CQ/Roll Call office and saw some friends and former coworkers.
Then it was off to the National Gallery of Art. There are two types of art there that I never tire of going to see. One is religious paintings, especially the tryptiches. The other type is ships at sea. The religious paintings are mostly scenes of historical importance or certain events in a saint's life or death. A lot of them use very vivid colors. I like seeing that little dot of white paint in a character's eyes that gives them that bit of life or soul. I have no explanation for why I like ships at sea.
I left the museum and joined some friends and a supercousin for lunch at Sign of the Whale. The Santa Fe burger, fries and coke are still great. Kate the waitress was outstanding. When I said goodbye before I left she said "Come back and see me." Ack! She knows my weakness!
(Note #2: Always tell your waitress or bartender goodbye)
(Note #3: Homer Simpson once said, "She knows my one weakness--that I'm weak!")
After lunch I went to the American History Museum, which had been closed for a while for renovations. Later in the afternoon I went to the house of a couple of friends to spend the night with them and their somewhat-new son, who had not had the pleasure of meeting me yet.
Day Four: Friday, August 20
Friday was another driving day, but not a long one. I went to Tyson's Corner mall to walk around and have breakfast before hitting the road. I left around 9:45 and drove through Maryland and into Pennsylvania. An image that sticks in my mind is seeing farm houses, barns and silos next to each other, surrounded by acres and acres of corn fields. Half a mile or so later I'd see it again. It was a very idyllic scene one that people perhaps have in mind when they talk about America "how it used to be."
This stretch of the trip also led me to a recommendation. If you have the chance to drive through Pennsylvania Dutch country while listening to old school rap and hip-hop, do it.
Part of my drive took me across the river at Harrisonburg, which was one big traffic delay for some reason. I saw the city center and capitol building and thought it looked nice. I mentioned Harrisonburg to someone later on and they said, "Harrisonburg is a dump." Oh well.
While still in PA I saw the first signs for New York City. I thought it interesting that signs for NYC show up before any signs for New Jersey. It's like the highway people are saying, "We know why you're really coming this way."
I got to my sister's place around 3:30 Friday afternoon. Hoboken is nice. I'd sell my car if I lived there, though. The residential streets are narrow and allow parking on both sides of the street. They have that thing where they clean certain sides of certain streets on certain days, and you get a parking ticket if you don't move your car. You also have to have residential permits to park in the neighborhood. I find that all too much to worry about.
That night my sister and some of her friends went to Mikie Squared on Washington St. The waitress was nice, and the mac and cheese was very good. Some friends of a friend joined us later on, two Colombian a Turkish girl. I may have to look into Turkish girls a little more. A good time was had by all.
Day Five: Saturday, August 21
My sister and I took the train to the Bronx to see the Mariners/Yankees game at the new Yankee Stadium. We sat in the Jim Beam suite of seats, 300 level directly behind home plate. Ichiro led off with a home run and added another later on. Yankees won 9-5, with Rivera closing. This Derek Jeter fellow may be pretty good someday.
That evening we had pizza delivered--just about every place near my sister's in Hoboken delivers for free--and it was delicious. I mean really, really delicious. There was something about the cheese and grease that sets of some sort of taste receptor in my tongue and brain and makes it go wild.
Day Six: Sunday, August 22
Sunday my sister went out to golf, so I stayed at the apartment and read while sitting in a chair with a farting dog in my lap. He's a nice little fellow otherwise. That evening we went to a beer garden and had burgers and beer.
You're not interested in Monday or Tuesday, so I'll skip it except for noting that I parked in a nearby hospital parking lot to avoid getting ticketed.
Wednesday we hung out a the apartment and watched TV. I'm very happy that my sister has gotten hooked on Bones. I walked down Washington Street and went past the Cake Boss place. I passed it a few times while I was there, and there were probably never fewer than 150-200 people waiting in line to get in.
Day Nine: Thursday, August 26
I left Hoboken around noon after running some errands that included a stop at Dunkin' Donuts. My Garmin GPS unit took me down US 1 South past Newark, which was a slow, traffic-heavy route. I was really in no hurry, so it was no big deal. I caught I-95 through Philadelphia. From the raised road I was on I could see the game on the scoreboard at Citizens Bank Park, the home of the Phillies.
I kept expecting to hit one of the 95s: 195, 295, 395, 495. I saw some signs for Baltimore, but my GPS told me to exit to 301 S in Maryland before I could get to one. This was a very easy, smooth highway through a mostly country setting. I took out the road atlas to see exactly where I was. At this point it occurred to me I was being diverted from certain routes for the following reason: soon after I bought my GPS unit, I programmed it to avoid toll roads. This is why I didn't see the Garden State Parkway or any Beltway action.
This route took me across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which is an enormous, impressive and more than a little frightening structure on which to drive. I could look to either side and see the huge expanse of water that is the Bay. It's also pretty darn high up, since it has to accommodate some tall ships passing under it.
Headed towards D.C. on Highway 50--an excellent road, by the way--I saw heavy traffic leaving the city. I laughed at the fools caught in evening rush hour traffic. I entered Northeast D.C., hit New York Avenue and then Rhode Island Avenue. I knew where I was most of the time despite having never spent much time in upper NE.
At this point I figured my GPS really loved me, since it took me past St. Matthew's Cathedral on RI Ave, then past Sign of the Whale on M Street.
Then I hit Georgetown. At 5:15pm. On a Friday.
I mocked those who were caught in D.C. exit traffic. Then I drove through Georgetown, and I mocked myself.
I eventually got to the Holiday Inn in Rosslyn. From there I took the train back to the city for dinner on a Thursday night at Sign of the Whale. For years this was my de facto routine, and I was extremely happy to be able to do it again. I met my friend Melanie for burgers and a drink. The music was way too loud, but the food was good and the Mexican waitress was nice, fun and spunky.
Day Ten: Friday, August 27
Let me tell you a story that demonstrates an aspect of the technological element of today's society.
Friday morning I went down to the front desk of the hotel to ask if I could make a reservation at another Holiday Inn hotel. I was told I could only do it by using an 800 number. I went back upstairs to use my computer instead, but something was wrong with my internet access. So I whipped out my phone, got on the internet, went to hotels.com, searched for the hotel I wanted, but in my payment information, booked the room, and got my confirmation email. What a world.
I left the hotel parking lot around 6:30 and took 66 West, the Front Royal road. It was a grey, cloudy morning, but now and then the sun would peek through the clouds and shoot beams down onto the mountaintops. This is one of the nicer stretches to drive on the east coast, I'm willing to bet.
Instead of going back through Nashville I went to Chattanooga, a city I'd not seen in a dozen years, at least. I got there before 4pm and settled in. There was a Taco Bell twenty seconds away by foot, so I took some back to the room and watched the Saints beat the Chargers in a preseason game.
Day Eleven: Saturday, August 28
I left Chattanooga around 6:30 in the morning, and it was still almost completely dark since the sun hadn't made it over the mountains. I'd forgotten that that happened. I got into Alabama and took I-59 past Birmingham and Tuscaloosa. Let me tell you something, folks: Alabama is BORING.
I went through Mississippi, stopping just after I entered near Meridian and just before I left at Vicksburg. I got gas across the street from the Vicksburg National Park. If you ever go, stay at the Hampton Inn Suites next door.
Once into Louisiana I stopped at Popeyes in Rayville and continued past Monroe to Highway 34. This is a very hilly, single-lane road that takes you through nowhere until you get to Winnfield. You do pass the Zonkeys, however. I pulled back into the driveway at 3:28pm.
(Note #3: The Walmart brand of Stay Awake caffeine pills: Magic)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sad Devotion, Ancient Religion
Today's post is presented in three sections, each dealing with devotion and religion.
Hey wait! Come back! It's not what you think!
Actually, it's a little bit what you think, but not totally.
Section #1: Grocery Store Grammar
For some people, correct grammar is a religion unto itself and worthy of strict and unforgiving devotion. I get a little twitchy at some of the things I see in text messages, Facebook status updates, newspapers (is subject/verb agreement too much to ask, Shreveport Times?), and I admit that this is a futile effort at staving off the forces of grammatical entropy. Shorter is quicker. Catchier is more popular. It's so much easier to say "What cause are you devoted to?" than "What is the cause to which you are devoted?" Eventually we will look back on it and tell ourselves, "It was ever thus" and never wonder about not ending sentences with propositions or saying "data are" instead of "data is" or rearing children instead of raising them. On to the story.
One of the common things I hear about is grocery store express lane aisles with signs that say "X items or less." The issue at hand here is what Grammar Girl calls "Count Nouns versus Mass Nouns" and it refers to using "less" instead of "fewer" or the other way around. If you can count the things you're talking about, then you use "fewer." If you can't count them, then you use "less." In the grocery store case you can count the items in your basket or cart, so the sign should read "X items or fewer."
Today such a sign presented me with an extra bit of irritation. It read
EXPRESS LANE: ABOUT 12 ITEMS OR LESS
About? What's the deal with using "about" on the sign? Were they not sure where they wanted to set the bar in order to be eligible for the express lane?
Signmaker #1: I'm okay with twelve, but I'm not completely sold, either. Eleven, thirteen or maybe even ten or fourteen could be acceptable. How do we put that on a sign?
Signmaker #2: We could hedge our bets a little. How about "CIRCA 12 ITEMS OR LESS" instead?
#1: Hmm, "circa" sounds a little fancy. We don't want people thinking that we're smart or anything.
#2: Approximately?
#1: Too long.
#2: About?
#1: Perfect!
Section #2: Saint Doorman (the Great)
One night back in May a friend came to our house for dinner. She belongs to an order of nuns called the Marianites of Holy Cross. She told us she would be going to Rome in October to attend the canonization ceremony for Andre Bessette, one of the early brothers of the Marianite order. When asked what was so great about him that led to his impending sainthood, our friend said that he opened doors and showed great devotion to the Lord and St. Joseph.
I said, "When you say that he opened doors, do you mean that he was a great missionary who went all over the place and opened doors for the faith?"
She said, "No, he opened the doors at the church so that people could get in. In fact, he hardly ever left Montreal."
Ladies and gentlemen, I am clearly in the wrong business. I am going to devote myself to a new calling, that of opening doors. I'm not limiting myself to churches. I'm going for churches, houses, shops, banks, restaurants and everything else I can get my hands on. My skills at opening doors, la maniere dans laquelle j'ouvre la porte, will become legendary. Scotty Williams as you knew him is no more. From now on you may call me Saint Doorman (the Great). Yea and verily, the path to eternal life lies in saying, "Here, let me get that for you." Amen.
Sad Devotion
Finally, I'd like to end on a depressing note. Sorry about this. I'll make it short.
I fear for my religion. As time goes by more and more people think it's irrelevant to how they live their lives. In classroom or social situations over the last two or three years, a majority of mentions of a Catholic priest have been followed by something about little boys. Sometimes the person saying it knew that my uncle is a priest. In ten years I'll be coming out of church or in some other public setting, and somebody will scoff at my "sad devotion to that ancient religion." I'll just hang my head and move on, not even able to choke them with the Force and express my disturbance at their lack of faith (which I guess would be un-Christian anyway).
I don't know what to do.
Hey wait! Come back! It's not what you think!
Actually, it's a little bit what you think, but not totally.
Section #1: Grocery Store Grammar
For some people, correct grammar is a religion unto itself and worthy of strict and unforgiving devotion. I get a little twitchy at some of the things I see in text messages, Facebook status updates, newspapers (is subject/verb agreement too much to ask, Shreveport Times?), and I admit that this is a futile effort at staving off the forces of grammatical entropy. Shorter is quicker. Catchier is more popular. It's so much easier to say "What cause are you devoted to?" than "What is the cause to which you are devoted?" Eventually we will look back on it and tell ourselves, "It was ever thus" and never wonder about not ending sentences with propositions or saying "data are" instead of "data is" or rearing children instead of raising them. On to the story.
One of the common things I hear about is grocery store express lane aisles with signs that say "X items or less." The issue at hand here is what Grammar Girl calls "Count Nouns versus Mass Nouns" and it refers to using "less" instead of "fewer" or the other way around. If you can count the things you're talking about, then you use "fewer." If you can't count them, then you use "less." In the grocery store case you can count the items in your basket or cart, so the sign should read "X items or fewer."
Today such a sign presented me with an extra bit of irritation. It read
EXPRESS LANE: ABOUT 12 ITEMS OR LESS
About? What's the deal with using "about" on the sign? Were they not sure where they wanted to set the bar in order to be eligible for the express lane?
Signmaker #1: I'm okay with twelve, but I'm not completely sold, either. Eleven, thirteen or maybe even ten or fourteen could be acceptable. How do we put that on a sign?
Signmaker #2: We could hedge our bets a little. How about "CIRCA 12 ITEMS OR LESS" instead?
#1: Hmm, "circa" sounds a little fancy. We don't want people thinking that we're smart or anything.
#2: Approximately?
#1: Too long.
#2: About?
#1: Perfect!
Section #2: Saint Doorman (the Great)
One night back in May a friend came to our house for dinner. She belongs to an order of nuns called the Marianites of Holy Cross. She told us she would be going to Rome in October to attend the canonization ceremony for Andre Bessette, one of the early brothers of the Marianite order. When asked what was so great about him that led to his impending sainthood, our friend said that he opened doors and showed great devotion to the Lord and St. Joseph.
I said, "When you say that he opened doors, do you mean that he was a great missionary who went all over the place and opened doors for the faith?"
She said, "No, he opened the doors at the church so that people could get in. In fact, he hardly ever left Montreal."
Ladies and gentlemen, I am clearly in the wrong business. I am going to devote myself to a new calling, that of opening doors. I'm not limiting myself to churches. I'm going for churches, houses, shops, banks, restaurants and everything else I can get my hands on. My skills at opening doors, la maniere dans laquelle j'ouvre la porte, will become legendary. Scotty Williams as you knew him is no more. From now on you may call me Saint Doorman (the Great). Yea and verily, the path to eternal life lies in saying, "Here, let me get that for you." Amen.
Sad Devotion
Finally, I'd like to end on a depressing note. Sorry about this. I'll make it short.
I fear for my religion. As time goes by more and more people think it's irrelevant to how they live their lives. In classroom or social situations over the last two or three years, a majority of mentions of a Catholic priest have been followed by something about little boys. Sometimes the person saying it knew that my uncle is a priest. In ten years I'll be coming out of church or in some other public setting, and somebody will scoff at my "sad devotion to that ancient religion." I'll just hang my head and move on, not even able to choke them with the Force and express my disturbance at their lack of faith (which I guess would be un-Christian anyway).
I don't know what to do.
Friday, July 02, 2010
World Cup 2010
Welcome to the World Cup 2010 edition of the lascotty blog. Here are the things I've been noticing and thinking about.
1) A lot of people have been complaining about the vuvuzelas, the loud horns that fans are blowing in the stands. I pretty much tuned them out after the initial series of games. I think that Swiss fans should not have vuvuzelas, but should instead wear large, loudly-ticking clocks around their necks.
2) South Africa lived for decades under a brutal apartheid regime that forcefully mandated segregation between whites and blacks, with a white minority in control. New Zealand's soccer team is called the All Whites.
3) Nelson Mandela spent 27 years locked away in a political prison on Robben Island. The Netherlands have a player named Arjen Robben. (NOTE, the gentlemen on the Off the Ball podcast on ESPN call the Netherlands the last English-speaking country left in the tournament)
4) Being in the Southern Hemisphere, South Africa is hosting the World Cup in the winter. This must never be allowed to happen again (except for 2014 in Brazil, of course) as it prevents Brazilian female fans from dressing appropriately.
5) The country of Spain is still divided--emotionally if not politically--as a result of Francisco Franco's regime. He suppressed all regional cultures that did not align with the Castillian language and culture. The city of Barcelona (and its soccer team) and the Catalan culture were one of these. The modern rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid is stoked by Spain's political history, and some people believe that one reason Spain has not yet won a World Cup is that their players are not united as one team playing for one nation.
So when I was watching the national anthems before one of Spain's games, I was interested to note that none of the Spanish players were singing along to their anthem. I crushed them. I thought they were unpatriotic losers who didn't deserve to play for their country. Then the announcer comes on and says, "Of course, the Spanish Royal March has no words."
Oops. Mea culpa, amigos.
6) Once the World Cup reaches the knockout rounds, tie games go to two 15-minute overtime periods. If there is still a tie, the game is decided by penalty kick shootout. I don't like this as a way of picking a winner, but it's dang exciting nonetheless.
I played soccer for ten years. I was good. I wasn't the greatest, but good. I never missed a penalty kick. I even kicked it in the same exact spot every time. I lined up to the left of the ball, ran up and banged it into the lower right corner of the net with my left foot. Never missed once. The goalie has no chance. Don't fool around. Just smash it into one corner or another. I just got off the phone with someone and told them that even if you put me in the World Cup in front of 90,000 people, I'd still make 10/10 penalty kicks. Easy for me to say, of course.
Ghana made it through to the second round on the strength of penalty kicks. They beat Serbia 1-0 and drew Australia 1-1 by scoring two penalty kick goals. How fitting--or crushing, from the Ghanaian point of view--that they go out today and lose in a penalty kick shootout, after their best player Asamoah Gyan missed a penalty kick on the last play of overtime.
7) I am convinced that Uruguay won because they brought on the awesome power of Andres Scotti.
8) In the U.S. game against Slovenia, the Americans had a goal disallowed under very questionable circumstances by Malian referee Koman Coulibaly. Coulibaly was born on the Fourth of July.
9) In Mexico's game against Argentina, the first goal of the game came when an Argentinian player received the ball in an offsides position and headed it in. Mexico went nuts, as well they should have. The guy was way offsides.
The part I found fascinating is that Mexico was furious that someone from another country crossed an invisible boundary line against the law and was rewarded instead of punished. I am sure that Arizona governor Jan Brewer sent Mexican president Felipe Calderon some flowers out of compassion.
10) Whoever plays England should always request that their national anthem be played first, because following "God Save the Queen" is a tough task. Have you checked out the lyrics to the rest of the verses? That song is amazing. The second verse is my favorite:
12) Japan has a player named Keisuke Honda who scored a couple of goals during his team's run at the World Cup. I wish hia name was Keisuke Toyota, so that when he scored the announcers could say, "That Toyota is unstoppable!"
13) Finally, let's talk about soccer in America. Every four years people ask "When will soccer catch on in America?" I think that's the wrong question to ask, because it's already happened. Millions of kids play it growing up. Dozens, if not hundreds of colleges and universities have men's and/or women's soccer teams. There's a 16-team domestic American league called Major League Soccer. Soccer has already caught on.
The question I think some media mean to ask is "When will soccer become a major professional sport like baseball, basketball and football--or even hockey?" I don't know. One or two of those other sports will have to fall by the wayside, even more than hockey has since the last strike and losing ESPN's TV contract. The domestic league will need some high-profile American players across the board, not in New York or Los Angeles. People need a reason to live and die with a soccer team the way they do for teams in other leagues.
Though I hate to say that a sport should be judged by anything other than its onfield play, there needs to be some drama here. This is one of the main differences between "soccer" and "World Cup soccer" or even international football. Interest in the World Cup is not the same thing as interest in soccer. World Cup is country against country, culture against culture, history against history. When Germany plays Poland, that means something bigger than the ball and the net. When France plays countries in Africa it used to own, that means something. In the group stage of this tournament, the U.S. played England, meaning that the United States listened to its national anthem, written about a battle in which men from their country fought against men from the other team's country. Brazil played Portugal. France plays against former African colonies. Spain plays against Central and South America. World Cup offers so much of this stuff; Major League Soccer does not.
Until it gets some teeth to it like some of the European leagues and (to a lesser extent) American pro sports have, I'm not sure soccer will ever "take off" as people want/expect it to. You need some anger and loss and despair and frustration and joy and hope and excitement and fulfillment and all that stuff to have a successful league. I'm not sure how to create it here, and I don't know how we'll get it by watching Americans play in Europe.
1) A lot of people have been complaining about the vuvuzelas, the loud horns that fans are blowing in the stands. I pretty much tuned them out after the initial series of games. I think that Swiss fans should not have vuvuzelas, but should instead wear large, loudly-ticking clocks around their necks.
2) South Africa lived for decades under a brutal apartheid regime that forcefully mandated segregation between whites and blacks, with a white minority in control. New Zealand's soccer team is called the All Whites.
3) Nelson Mandela spent 27 years locked away in a political prison on Robben Island. The Netherlands have a player named Arjen Robben. (NOTE, the gentlemen on the Off the Ball podcast on ESPN call the Netherlands the last English-speaking country left in the tournament)
4) Being in the Southern Hemisphere, South Africa is hosting the World Cup in the winter. This must never be allowed to happen again (except for 2014 in Brazil, of course) as it prevents Brazilian female fans from dressing appropriately.
5) The country of Spain is still divided--emotionally if not politically--as a result of Francisco Franco's regime. He suppressed all regional cultures that did not align with the Castillian language and culture. The city of Barcelona (and its soccer team) and the Catalan culture were one of these. The modern rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid is stoked by Spain's political history, and some people believe that one reason Spain has not yet won a World Cup is that their players are not united as one team playing for one nation.
So when I was watching the national anthems before one of Spain's games, I was interested to note that none of the Spanish players were singing along to their anthem. I crushed them. I thought they were unpatriotic losers who didn't deserve to play for their country. Then the announcer comes on and says, "Of course, the Spanish Royal March has no words."
Oops. Mea culpa, amigos.
6) Once the World Cup reaches the knockout rounds, tie games go to two 15-minute overtime periods. If there is still a tie, the game is decided by penalty kick shootout. I don't like this as a way of picking a winner, but it's dang exciting nonetheless.
I played soccer for ten years. I was good. I wasn't the greatest, but good. I never missed a penalty kick. I even kicked it in the same exact spot every time. I lined up to the left of the ball, ran up and banged it into the lower right corner of the net with my left foot. Never missed once. The goalie has no chance. Don't fool around. Just smash it into one corner or another. I just got off the phone with someone and told them that even if you put me in the World Cup in front of 90,000 people, I'd still make 10/10 penalty kicks. Easy for me to say, of course.
Ghana made it through to the second round on the strength of penalty kicks. They beat Serbia 1-0 and drew Australia 1-1 by scoring two penalty kick goals. How fitting--or crushing, from the Ghanaian point of view--that they go out today and lose in a penalty kick shootout, after their best player Asamoah Gyan missed a penalty kick on the last play of overtime.
7) I am convinced that Uruguay won because they brought on the awesome power of Andres Scotti.
8) In the U.S. game against Slovenia, the Americans had a goal disallowed under very questionable circumstances by Malian referee Koman Coulibaly. Coulibaly was born on the Fourth of July.
9) In Mexico's game against Argentina, the first goal of the game came when an Argentinian player received the ball in an offsides position and headed it in. Mexico went nuts, as well they should have. The guy was way offsides.
The part I found fascinating is that Mexico was furious that someone from another country crossed an invisible boundary line against the law and was rewarded instead of punished. I am sure that Arizona governor Jan Brewer sent Mexican president Felipe Calderon some flowers out of compassion.
10) Whoever plays England should always request that their national anthem be played first, because following "God Save the Queen" is a tough task. Have you checked out the lyrics to the rest of the verses? That song is amazing. The second verse is my favorite:
- O Lord, our God, arise,
- Scatter her enemies,
- And make them fall.
- Confound their politics,
- Frustrate their knavish tricks,
- On Thee our hopes we fix,
- God save us all.
12) Japan has a player named Keisuke Honda who scored a couple of goals during his team's run at the World Cup. I wish hia name was Keisuke Toyota, so that when he scored the announcers could say, "That Toyota is unstoppable!"
13) Finally, let's talk about soccer in America. Every four years people ask "When will soccer catch on in America?" I think that's the wrong question to ask, because it's already happened. Millions of kids play it growing up. Dozens, if not hundreds of colleges and universities have men's and/or women's soccer teams. There's a 16-team domestic American league called Major League Soccer. Soccer has already caught on.
The question I think some media mean to ask is "When will soccer become a major professional sport like baseball, basketball and football--or even hockey?" I don't know. One or two of those other sports will have to fall by the wayside, even more than hockey has since the last strike and losing ESPN's TV contract. The domestic league will need some high-profile American players across the board, not in New York or Los Angeles. People need a reason to live and die with a soccer team the way they do for teams in other leagues.
Though I hate to say that a sport should be judged by anything other than its onfield play, there needs to be some drama here. This is one of the main differences between "soccer" and "World Cup soccer" or even international football. Interest in the World Cup is not the same thing as interest in soccer. World Cup is country against country, culture against culture, history against history. When Germany plays Poland, that means something bigger than the ball and the net. When France plays countries in Africa it used to own, that means something. In the group stage of this tournament, the U.S. played England, meaning that the United States listened to its national anthem, written about a battle in which men from their country fought against men from the other team's country. Brazil played Portugal. France plays against former African colonies. Spain plays against Central and South America. World Cup offers so much of this stuff; Major League Soccer does not.
Until it gets some teeth to it like some of the European leagues and (to a lesser extent) American pro sports have, I'm not sure soccer will ever "take off" as people want/expect it to. You need some anger and loss and despair and frustration and joy and hope and excitement and fulfillment and all that stuff to have a successful league. I'm not sure how to create it here, and I don't know how we'll get it by watching Americans play in Europe.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Stuck in the Mud
Let's start out with a joke.
A town in the Midwest was experiencing a terrible flood. The water rose very rapidly, and everybody was ordered to evacuate. Soon the water was so high that it began to cover the roofs of many buildings. A priest was standing on the roof of his house when a rescue crew came by in a boat.
"Father," they said. "Get in! We'll take you to safety!"
The priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The safety crew were surprised, but went on their way to help whoever else they could.
The water continued to rise, and a while later another rescue crew came by in another boat.
"Please, Father!" they cried. "Get in! The water is getting higher! We'll take you to safety!"
Again, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide."
The crew was saddened, but went off to help other people.
The water rose up to the priest's waist, and a helicopter came by to help him. "Father, this is your last chance! Soon the water will be too high for us to help!"
For the third time, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The helicopter flew away.
Eventually the water rose over the priest's head and he drowned. When he got to Heaven, he saw God and said, "Lord, I had faith in you! Why did you not help me? Why did you let me drown?"
God said, "Hey, I sent you two boats and a chopper! What more do you want?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The end product of my project thesis is a guidebook of cemetery preservation recommendations, and it is geared towards those in Natchitoches Parish. The parish is home to part of Kisatchie National Forest, which contains within its borders around three dozen known cemetery sites. My recommendations had not yet included anything concerning cemeteries in the middle of a forest, so on Wednesday (3/24) I headed out to find some. I stopped at the Work Station in Provencal, LA to ask if they knew where any were, particularly the Beasley Cemetery. They gave me a map that showed all the ones they knew about.
I first went to the one close by, and Geoff Lehmann from the station came out and talked with me for a few minutes. Then I got in the car and drove a few miles to the turnoff to the Beasley Cemetery. If you haven't clicked on the link already, here's one of the notes about getting there:
From this point the road is passable only in very dry weather, preferably using sport utility or all-terrain vehicles."
I got onto the dirt road, which was made up of hard clay, sand, and a bit of gravel. At times it was single-lane with high banks on the sides. About half a mile in, I saw the first sign that the road was not dry the whole way there. A muddy spot lay ahead of me. I went on ahead, but as I got into the muddy part I felt a danger signal go off in my brain, as it seemed like I may not make it through. I made it anyway. A couple hundred feet ahead I saw a fairly large puddle that stretched from one side of the road to the other, and I decided not to press my luck.
There was a side spot for cars to use to turn around or back into if there was something coming the other way, so I pulled into that, turned around, and headed back the way I came. This time, I was not so fortunate going through the mud. Three of the wheels were okay, but the front right got bogged down in some wet red clay mud and wouldn't budge. Further complicating matters was the fact that a lot of mud was very high up under the carriage, having the effect of lifting me up a little and preventing the other wheels from getting any sort of traction.
I got out and spent about half an hour trying to wedge branches under the stuck tire. I could get the car to go about an inch forward or backward, but it wouldn't really go anywhere. I even got down in the mud and tried to dig it out from under the car, but nothing worked. I picked up my cell phone to call my dad and let him know I might be late in helping out for the party he was hosting for about fifty people later that evening.
"SEARCHING FOR SERVICE"
Son of a *****.
I started walking back to the main road and called once I got a signal. I was pretty lucky to get one, as the Forest Service does not allow cell towers to be put up on their land. I told my dad where I was and asked him to call the work station to let them know what had happened. After getting off the phone, I started to wonder if the forest was home to Louisiana's state mammal (it turns out it isn't).
Once I got to the main road I stopped at a trailer and asked the owner if I could use his phone. "Don't have one," he said.
I kept walking, and someone I had spoken to earlier at the work station came and picked me up in his truck. We went back to my car, and he tried to pull me out with a chain. The chain slipped, and on its way loose pulled something else along with it. We saw a little hose-thingy (technical term) sticking out from under the front of the car, and saw and smelled fluid leaking. We digured we wouldn't be pulling it out with a chain, so he took me back to the station and I called a tow service. As it turns out, I called the one that everybody recommends. I'd like to think I made an educated decision, but they had the biggest ad in the phone book and it had the words "24 hour" and "heavy duty" in it.
While I was waiting for the tow truck to arrive, the Mayor of Provencal stopped by to make sure I was doing okay. He was as nice as could be, and he knew where I was going and where I was stuck. He's been to the cemetery I was trying to get to. And he had two big doberman pinschers in the back of his truck. The people at the work station were very hospitable, giving me water to drink and papers so I could do the crossword while I waited.
The tow truck got me out with no trouble and took me all the way home. The next day I took the car to the repair shop, where they said it was something related to the power steering that got pulled way (wayyyyyy) out of place by the chain. We had thought they would have to order a part, which would take who knows how long and costs who knows how much. Instead, he said he could repair it without the part, and I got it back the next day for several hundred dollars less than it could have cost.
When all was said and done, I ended up safe and sound, a little bit wiser and out a bit of money. My hands were sore and my fingers a little nicked up from trying to dig away at the red clay of the Kisatchie hills. I got taken care of by the best people for the job at every step of the way. I also learned that apparently 500,000 people in Natchitoches Parish (total population 39,492) have been to the Beasley Cemetery I was trying to find. My cousin told me I could use his four-wheeler to go back out there if I wanted. To which I said:
"I'm never leaving a paved road again."
A town in the Midwest was experiencing a terrible flood. The water rose very rapidly, and everybody was ordered to evacuate. Soon the water was so high that it began to cover the roofs of many buildings. A priest was standing on the roof of his house when a rescue crew came by in a boat.
"Father," they said. "Get in! We'll take you to safety!"
The priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The safety crew were surprised, but went on their way to help whoever else they could.
The water continued to rise, and a while later another rescue crew came by in another boat.
"Please, Father!" they cried. "Get in! The water is getting higher! We'll take you to safety!"
Again, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide."
The crew was saddened, but went off to help other people.
The water rose up to the priest's waist, and a helicopter came by to help him. "Father, this is your last chance! Soon the water will be too high for us to help!"
For the third time, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The helicopter flew away.
Eventually the water rose over the priest's head and he drowned. When he got to Heaven, he saw God and said, "Lord, I had faith in you! Why did you not help me? Why did you let me drown?"
God said, "Hey, I sent you two boats and a chopper! What more do you want?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The end product of my project thesis is a guidebook of cemetery preservation recommendations, and it is geared towards those in Natchitoches Parish. The parish is home to part of Kisatchie National Forest, which contains within its borders around three dozen known cemetery sites. My recommendations had not yet included anything concerning cemeteries in the middle of a forest, so on Wednesday (3/24) I headed out to find some. I stopped at the Work Station in Provencal, LA to ask if they knew where any were, particularly the Beasley Cemetery. They gave me a map that showed all the ones they knew about.
I first went to the one close by, and Geoff Lehmann from the station came out and talked with me for a few minutes. Then I got in the car and drove a few miles to the turnoff to the Beasley Cemetery. If you haven't clicked on the link already, here's one of the notes about getting there:
From this point the road is passable only in very dry weather, preferably using sport utility or all-terrain vehicles."
I got onto the dirt road, which was made up of hard clay, sand, and a bit of gravel. At times it was single-lane with high banks on the sides. About half a mile in, I saw the first sign that the road was not dry the whole way there. A muddy spot lay ahead of me. I went on ahead, but as I got into the muddy part I felt a danger signal go off in my brain, as it seemed like I may not make it through. I made it anyway. A couple hundred feet ahead I saw a fairly large puddle that stretched from one side of the road to the other, and I decided not to press my luck.
There was a side spot for cars to use to turn around or back into if there was something coming the other way, so I pulled into that, turned around, and headed back the way I came. This time, I was not so fortunate going through the mud. Three of the wheels were okay, but the front right got bogged down in some wet red clay mud and wouldn't budge. Further complicating matters was the fact that a lot of mud was very high up under the carriage, having the effect of lifting me up a little and preventing the other wheels from getting any sort of traction.
I got out and spent about half an hour trying to wedge branches under the stuck tire. I could get the car to go about an inch forward or backward, but it wouldn't really go anywhere. I even got down in the mud and tried to dig it out from under the car, but nothing worked. I picked up my cell phone to call my dad and let him know I might be late in helping out for the party he was hosting for about fifty people later that evening.
"SEARCHING FOR SERVICE"
Son of a *****.
I started walking back to the main road and called once I got a signal. I was pretty lucky to get one, as the Forest Service does not allow cell towers to be put up on their land. I told my dad where I was and asked him to call the work station to let them know what had happened. After getting off the phone, I started to wonder if the forest was home to Louisiana's state mammal (it turns out it isn't).
Once I got to the main road I stopped at a trailer and asked the owner if I could use his phone. "Don't have one," he said.
I kept walking, and someone I had spoken to earlier at the work station came and picked me up in his truck. We went back to my car, and he tried to pull me out with a chain. The chain slipped, and on its way loose pulled something else along with it. We saw a little hose-thingy (technical term) sticking out from under the front of the car, and saw and smelled fluid leaking. We digured we wouldn't be pulling it out with a chain, so he took me back to the station and I called a tow service. As it turns out, I called the one that everybody recommends. I'd like to think I made an educated decision, but they had the biggest ad in the phone book and it had the words "24 hour" and "heavy duty" in it.
While I was waiting for the tow truck to arrive, the Mayor of Provencal stopped by to make sure I was doing okay. He was as nice as could be, and he knew where I was going and where I was stuck. He's been to the cemetery I was trying to get to. And he had two big doberman pinschers in the back of his truck. The people at the work station were very hospitable, giving me water to drink and papers so I could do the crossword while I waited.
The tow truck got me out with no trouble and took me all the way home. The next day I took the car to the repair shop, where they said it was something related to the power steering that got pulled way (wayyyyyy) out of place by the chain. We had thought they would have to order a part, which would take who knows how long and costs who knows how much. Instead, he said he could repair it without the part, and I got it back the next day for several hundred dollars less than it could have cost.
When all was said and done, I ended up safe and sound, a little bit wiser and out a bit of money. My hands were sore and my fingers a little nicked up from trying to dig away at the red clay of the Kisatchie hills. I got taken care of by the best people for the job at every step of the way. I also learned that apparently 500,000 people in Natchitoches Parish (total population 39,492) have been to the Beasley Cemetery I was trying to find. My cousin told me I could use his four-wheeler to go back out there if I wanted. To which I said:
"I'm never leaving a paved road again."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Snarkiness
I know I have previously written about trying to restrain myself when commenting on the status updates of my Facebook friends. I even considered giving up commenting for Lent. I've decided that instead of risking offending people by pointing out the nonsense that they put up for all the world to see, I'll put it here, where nobody can see. On the Internet.
These are my responses to status updates, which I shall not be quoting. You'll probably be bright enough to figure out what they said anyway.
"Based on your terrible taste in men, I'm so glad you're single too."
"You named your daughter after a city in Texas? And it wasn't Paris?"
"I'd be more likely to join that group supporting/opposing the health care bill if I thought you had any idea what was in it." (NOTE: I'm sure at least two or three of you do know)
"When you're not posting song lyrics, you curse too much in your status, and your friends who comment sound stupid. The next original thing you post will be your first."
"Your post implies that I would have at some point actually loved 'Tik Tok', and I can assure you that that never happened."
"You praying for your 'haters' is admirable, though crowing about how it makes you better than them rather defeats the purpose, does it not? By the way, you seem to have an awful lot of haters on a regular basis. Are you sure you're not the problem?"
"You do know you're a school teacher, right?"
"The 'gotcha' example you're trying to use so wittingly is 17 years old, was done by different people than those who are trying to do something else today, and isn't 'the exact same thing' at all. I know the point you're trying to make, but there are better, more current ways to do it."
"No, my question makes perfect sense, you just didn't understand it. I'll keep the reason why I think you didn't understand it to myself. And since you apparently can't understand anything I've ever posted, I'll go ahead and hide you to save us both some trouble. You're welcome."
These are my responses to status updates, which I shall not be quoting. You'll probably be bright enough to figure out what they said anyway.
"Based on your terrible taste in men, I'm so glad you're single too."
"You named your daughter after a city in Texas? And it wasn't Paris?"
"I'd be more likely to join that group supporting/opposing the health care bill if I thought you had any idea what was in it." (NOTE: I'm sure at least two or three of you do know)
"When you're not posting song lyrics, you curse too much in your status, and your friends who comment sound stupid. The next original thing you post will be your first."
"Your post implies that I would have at some point actually loved 'Tik Tok', and I can assure you that that never happened."
"You praying for your 'haters' is admirable, though crowing about how it makes you better than them rather defeats the purpose, does it not? By the way, you seem to have an awful lot of haters on a regular basis. Are you sure you're not the problem?"
"You do know you're a school teacher, right?"
"The 'gotcha' example you're trying to use so wittingly is 17 years old, was done by different people than those who are trying to do something else today, and isn't 'the exact same thing' at all. I know the point you're trying to make, but there are better, more current ways to do it."
"No, my question makes perfect sense, you just didn't understand it. I'll keep the reason why I think you didn't understand it to myself. And since you apparently can't understand anything I've ever posted, I'll go ahead and hide you to save us both some trouble. You're welcome."
Friday, March 19, 2010
Strange Feelings
Sometime around the second week of August, the first of the NFL preseason games will begin. When preseason news and predictions start going around, I'm sure the thought will pop into my head, "Who won the Super Bowl last year?" I'm going to have to think for about a beat and a half before I remember, "Oh yeah, the Saints won!" At least that's how it's gone so far. I'm still in a state of disbelief that it actually happened. I can only figure that it hasn't fully sunk in for me yet. It's just so utterly unimaginable that I can't really wrap my mind around it. It's like believing in leprechauns or unicorns.
I hadn't planned on going to Mardi Gras this year, but when they announced that Drew Brees was going to be the King of Bacchus, I started thinking about it. Then when the Saints won, I had to go. I watched the parade from the corner of St. Mary and St. Charles. He looked good in his outfit, but he was just tossing beads underhand to people closest to the float. I was hoping that he'd show off his arm a little and throw them to people 30 yards away. Several other players, coaches and management people from the team rode in parades, including the owner Tom Benson, his daughter, Reggie Bush, Sean Payton, Will Smith and Jonathan Vilma. Those are just the ones I saw, and it doesn't count the Tuesday parade after the Super Bowl they had for the whole team. They used twelve floats from some of the big krewes like Bacchus, Endymion, Muses, etc. Crowd estimates were around 800,000 people. As a point of reference, New Orleans currently has about 400,000 living there. I couldn't get over how happy everybody seemed. I know New Orleans is a party town and a lot of people are happy for various reasons, but I've never seen such a strong sense of joy coming from everywhere. It was like nothing would ever go wrong again.
One of the most important consideration when going to watch the parades is to have a place to go to the bathroom. In recent years we've had some friends who had access to an apartment, but that wasn't the case this year. So managing--how should I say this--input and output became a major issue. I had a bowl of gumbo Saturday around 2pm, and then didn't eat again until around 12:30 Sunday. I went with two cousins to the Camellia Grill on Carrollton, which is a great place to have breakfast. Since I was just a tad hungry, I had some ice cream from Cold Stone while we were waiting in line outside. Once inside, I had a ham and cheese omelet with fries, and a New York strip steak with fries. I had a lot of fries. The staff there are lively and entertaining, and the people sitting next to us were really pleasant. A good time was had by all.
By far the most surprising thing about Mardi Gras this year was the amount of love my cousin's husband got from wearing his script A Alabama hat. We couldn't believe it. "Roll Tide!" "Alabama!" "Roll Tide!" all over the place. Guys on floats would point at him, throw him a bunch of beads, then point at his hat or at their head, signifying that they liked Alabama. I can only assume that there's a surprisingly (disturbingly) large contingent of Gulf Coast Alabamians who have made their way to New Orleans and joined krewes.
NOTE: the word editor on this thing underlines "Mardi Gras," "krewe," and "Carrollton," but leaves "Alabamians" untouched.
I used to ask myself which I would rather have happen: the Cubs to win the World Series or the Saints to win the Super Bowl. I think I came down on the side of the Saints, because it was a Louisiana team and it had never happened before. I made the right decision. The sheer elation and long lasting joy that took over the state was really amazing.
I hadn't planned on going to Mardi Gras this year, but when they announced that Drew Brees was going to be the King of Bacchus, I started thinking about it. Then when the Saints won, I had to go. I watched the parade from the corner of St. Mary and St. Charles. He looked good in his outfit, but he was just tossing beads underhand to people closest to the float. I was hoping that he'd show off his arm a little and throw them to people 30 yards away. Several other players, coaches and management people from the team rode in parades, including the owner Tom Benson, his daughter, Reggie Bush, Sean Payton, Will Smith and Jonathan Vilma. Those are just the ones I saw, and it doesn't count the Tuesday parade after the Super Bowl they had for the whole team. They used twelve floats from some of the big krewes like Bacchus, Endymion, Muses, etc. Crowd estimates were around 800,000 people. As a point of reference, New Orleans currently has about 400,000 living there. I couldn't get over how happy everybody seemed. I know New Orleans is a party town and a lot of people are happy for various reasons, but I've never seen such a strong sense of joy coming from everywhere. It was like nothing would ever go wrong again.
One of the most important consideration when going to watch the parades is to have a place to go to the bathroom. In recent years we've had some friends who had access to an apartment, but that wasn't the case this year. So managing--how should I say this--input and output became a major issue. I had a bowl of gumbo Saturday around 2pm, and then didn't eat again until around 12:30 Sunday. I went with two cousins to the Camellia Grill on Carrollton, which is a great place to have breakfast. Since I was just a tad hungry, I had some ice cream from Cold Stone while we were waiting in line outside. Once inside, I had a ham and cheese omelet with fries, and a New York strip steak with fries. I had a lot of fries. The staff there are lively and entertaining, and the people sitting next to us were really pleasant. A good time was had by all.
By far the most surprising thing about Mardi Gras this year was the amount of love my cousin's husband got from wearing his script A Alabama hat. We couldn't believe it. "Roll Tide!" "Alabama!" "Roll Tide!" all over the place. Guys on floats would point at him, throw him a bunch of beads, then point at his hat or at their head, signifying that they liked Alabama. I can only assume that there's a surprisingly (disturbingly) large contingent of Gulf Coast Alabamians who have made their way to New Orleans and joined krewes.
NOTE: the word editor on this thing underlines "Mardi Gras," "krewe," and "Carrollton," but leaves "Alabamians" untouched.
I used to ask myself which I would rather have happen: the Cubs to win the World Series or the Saints to win the Super Bowl. I think I came down on the side of the Saints, because it was a Louisiana team and it had never happened before. I made the right decision. The sheer elation and long lasting joy that took over the state was really amazing.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Surely, This is the End of Days
Allow me to begin this post with a joke we tell around here from time to time:
Satan was making the rounds through Hell one day. He came upon Boudreau, who was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of his house. Deciding to torment him a little, Satan teased, "Hot enough down here for you, Boudreau?
To which Boudreau replied, "Aw man, I tell you. Dis here wedder is great! It reminds me of June down on da bayou!"
Satan walked away, feeling confused. He decided to turn up the heat on Boudreau and see how he liked it. A week later he went back to Boudreau's and found him sitting in his rocking chair. "How's it feel now, Boudreau? I turned the heat up just for you!"
To which Boudreau replied, "Aw, dis here wedder is jus' fine! It reminds me of July down on da bayou! I feels right at home, me. Tanks, mister devil."
Satan walked away again, and he was furious this time. He went to hell's thermostat and turned it up as far as it would go. A week later he visited Boudreau's place again, certain that he would find him withering away and begging for mercy. "Have you learned your lesson, Boudreau? Aren't you suffering now?"
Still rocking away in his chair, Boudreau gave a big grin and said, "Aw man, I tell you. Dis here reminds me of August down on da bayou. I couldn't be happier, me."
At this point Satan was beyond all reason. He ran back to the thermostat and turned the knob all the way down. "If he likes things so hot, let's see how he feels when it's freezing in here!" When he went back, he was pleased to see Boudreau with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering like crazy. "Aha, are you too cold, Boudreau? How do you like the frozen hell compared to burning hell?
Boudreau gave a big grin, and said, "M-m-man-n-n, d-d-dis here wedder is g-g-great!"
"How can you say that!" roared Satan. "You look like you're about to fall apart!"
"Dat's b-because since hell done froze over, dat means da Saints done won the Super Bowl!"
--------------------
Of course the Saints have not won the Super Bowl, nor are they favored to do so. But the mere fact that they are playing in the game this Sunday has shaken the foundations of the world that Saints fans know. This just isn't supposed to happen. All year long I kept expecting Rod Serling to show up at the front door, telling me that we've been moved to a different dimension where everything we know is wrong. Hearing announcers talk about how good the Saints are and picking them to win important games is beyond extraordinary.
I've heard a couple of people say that they're surprised at how much more emotional they are about the Saints winning than when LSU won the BCS title in 2003. I've felt the same way, but I'm not as surprised as others are. College football--and perhaps especially SEC football--is just as much about who you hate (maybe more) as who you love. LSU fans cheer hard for LSU, but they also hate half a dozen other SEC teams to some degree. This allows us to gain satisfaction when our enemies lose, which happens at least a few times a year.
Saints fans love the Saints, hate the Cowboys and dislike the Falcons. That's about it, and even then hating the Cowboys is not an identifying characteristic for Saints fans in the same way that "Go to hell, Ole Miss!" is for LSU fans. The identifying characteristics are instead cheering for the Saints, shouting, "Who Dat!" and never expecting to make the Super Bowl. I admit to tearing up whenever I see one of the videos about what the Saints' success has meant to the city and fans all over Louisiana. Gets me every time.
From what I've heard, people are pouring into New Orleans to celebrate the Super Bowl. Not Miami, where the game is being held, but New Orleans. They want to be there when it all goes down. I've thought about it myself, to be honest. A parade for the Saints has been planned for Tuesday, win or lose. It might seem strange to celebrate a team that just lost the Super Bowl, but I think a lot of Saints fans feel that we've already won. The actual result of the game is just off to the side. Just as long as the players and coaches don't feel that way, that's fine.
This article from NOLA.com sums things up pretty well. I particularly liked this quote:
"Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.
Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces....
...
So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just ... disoriented.
As for the game itself, a lot of attention is paid to Drew Brees and Peyton Manning. Dwight Freeney's ankle has been a big story as well. People have kept saying guys like Dallas Clark and Reggie Bush are X factors. I tend to look at Pierre Thomas ad Mike Bell for the Saints. If Sean Payton decides that he just wants to maul and mash Indianapolis up front, Thomas and Bell could be worth keeping an eye on.
Satan was making the rounds through Hell one day. He came upon Boudreau, who was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of his house. Deciding to torment him a little, Satan teased, "Hot enough down here for you, Boudreau?
To which Boudreau replied, "Aw man, I tell you. Dis here wedder is great! It reminds me of June down on da bayou!"
Satan walked away, feeling confused. He decided to turn up the heat on Boudreau and see how he liked it. A week later he went back to Boudreau's and found him sitting in his rocking chair. "How's it feel now, Boudreau? I turned the heat up just for you!"
To which Boudreau replied, "Aw, dis here wedder is jus' fine! It reminds me of July down on da bayou! I feels right at home, me. Tanks, mister devil."
Satan walked away again, and he was furious this time. He went to hell's thermostat and turned it up as far as it would go. A week later he visited Boudreau's place again, certain that he would find him withering away and begging for mercy. "Have you learned your lesson, Boudreau? Aren't you suffering now?"
Still rocking away in his chair, Boudreau gave a big grin and said, "Aw man, I tell you. Dis here reminds me of August down on da bayou. I couldn't be happier, me."
At this point Satan was beyond all reason. He ran back to the thermostat and turned the knob all the way down. "If he likes things so hot, let's see how he feels when it's freezing in here!" When he went back, he was pleased to see Boudreau with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering like crazy. "Aha, are you too cold, Boudreau? How do you like the frozen hell compared to burning hell?
Boudreau gave a big grin, and said, "M-m-man-n-n, d-d-dis here wedder is g-g-great!"
"How can you say that!" roared Satan. "You look like you're about to fall apart!"
"Dat's b-because since hell done froze over, dat means da Saints done won the Super Bowl!"
--------------------
Of course the Saints have not won the Super Bowl, nor are they favored to do so. But the mere fact that they are playing in the game this Sunday has shaken the foundations of the world that Saints fans know. This just isn't supposed to happen. All year long I kept expecting Rod Serling to show up at the front door, telling me that we've been moved to a different dimension where everything we know is wrong. Hearing announcers talk about how good the Saints are and picking them to win important games is beyond extraordinary.
I've heard a couple of people say that they're surprised at how much more emotional they are about the Saints winning than when LSU won the BCS title in 2003. I've felt the same way, but I'm not as surprised as others are. College football--and perhaps especially SEC football--is just as much about who you hate (maybe more) as who you love. LSU fans cheer hard for LSU, but they also hate half a dozen other SEC teams to some degree. This allows us to gain satisfaction when our enemies lose, which happens at least a few times a year.
Saints fans love the Saints, hate the Cowboys and dislike the Falcons. That's about it, and even then hating the Cowboys is not an identifying characteristic for Saints fans in the same way that "Go to hell, Ole Miss!" is for LSU fans. The identifying characteristics are instead cheering for the Saints, shouting, "Who Dat!" and never expecting to make the Super Bowl. I admit to tearing up whenever I see one of the videos about what the Saints' success has meant to the city and fans all over Louisiana. Gets me every time.
From what I've heard, people are pouring into New Orleans to celebrate the Super Bowl. Not Miami, where the game is being held, but New Orleans. They want to be there when it all goes down. I've thought about it myself, to be honest. A parade for the Saints has been planned for Tuesday, win or lose. It might seem strange to celebrate a team that just lost the Super Bowl, but I think a lot of Saints fans feel that we've already won. The actual result of the game is just off to the side. Just as long as the players and coaches don't feel that way, that's fine.
This article from NOLA.com sums things up pretty well. I particularly liked this quote:
"Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.
Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces....
...
So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just ... disoriented.
As for the game itself, a lot of attention is paid to Drew Brees and Peyton Manning. Dwight Freeney's ankle has been a big story as well. People have kept saying guys like Dallas Clark and Reggie Bush are X factors. I tend to look at Pierre Thomas ad Mike Bell for the Saints. If Sean Payton decides that he just wants to maul and mash Indianapolis up front, Thomas and Bell could be worth keeping an eye on.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Saturday: A Play in Four Acts
Saturday the 16th was a very interesting day that was broken up into four separate activities, one of which I had never done before. The other three are things that I enjoy very much. All told it added up to nineteen hours of fun and merriment. On to the show:
Act I, where our hero reads to children
I was asked to read at the St. Mary's Quiz Bowl tournament Saturday morning. Twenty-four teams from both far and near (Vandebilt Catholic in Houma and St. Mary's itself) competed in round robin and elimination rounds. I played Quiz Bowl for three years in high school, and the team my junior year was particularly good. There is nothing more frustrating for a team than a moderator (reader) who doesn't know what they're doing, can't pronounce words correctly, has no rhythm, and just makes things more difficult for the players. A lot of players think to themselves, "Geez, I can do better than that!" So when I was done as a player, put my money where my mouth was.
I read for both the St. Mary's tournament and state tournaments, the latter of which is held at NSU each spring. One year I traveled with Natchitoches Central's team and read at Grant High School's tournament. I absolutely love it. I'm also pretty good at it, if customer feedback is any indication. I walked into a room at St. Mary's and one of the players looked up and said, "Hey, you're the good reader!" I said, "Yes. Yes I am." One of the parents told me that he was going to be reading for the first time at an upcoming tournament, and that he would pattern his style after what he saw me do. I thought that was quite a compliment.
NOTE: If you've ever heard the phrase "in the middle of nowhere," I'm pretty sure it was coined to describe Grant High School in Dry Prong, LA. Driving there leads to this experience:
TREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESschoolTREESTREESTREESTREESTREES.
Act II, where our hero socializes with others
Normally I would have stayed the whole tournament and possibly read for the finals. On this day, however, there was things a brewin' elsewhere. They had the last two rounds covered, so I made my way to Chili's on Keyser Avenue to watch the Cardinals/Saints playoff game with some friends and family. It was 7-7 when I got there, and the Saints took off from there to win 45-14. Along the way they absolutely clocked Kurt Warner and knocked him out of the game for a while. Reggie Bush had two touchdowns that got us out of our seats. I ended up leaving early due to another commitment. Thankfully, the game was well in hand.
Act III, where our hero devotes himself to serving others.
A couple of weeks before I knew the Saints would be playing on Saturday instead of Sunday, I agreed to work at a party my cousin was having at her house. She and her husband are members of a local Mardi Gras krewe, and this was one of their functions. Along with another one of my cousins, I worked as a bartender for the party.
NOTE: At least ten of my cousins were there, if not more. Keep that in mind when I throw the word "cousin" around. It's usually not the same person each time.
I had never tended bar before, so it was a good thing my cousin was helping me. She could take care of anything exotic, which I would define as anything that a) contains more than two ingredients (ex: "screwdriver" or "mimosa"; b) goes by a name that does not include said ingredients; and c) needed to be shaken. Most people either had wine or a "something and something" that was alcohol and a soft drink. I can handle that.
We never got rushed too bad, and the guests were nice to us. Somebody thought I looked really nervous, but I don't think I was. If there would have been bad consequences to me going down in flames, maybe I would have been. I didn't think there were, so I was pretty calm. I mostly enjoyed it, and I wouldn't mind doing for pay as long as I got to name two conditions: 1) I don't have to know how to make ridiculously exotic stuff with funny names and 2) I get the slowest shift of the day. I can do ONE thing at a time, folks. You say what you want, I make it, and I give it to you. I'm not listening to four different drink orders with three things each and remembering all that. I'm not The World's Greatest Bartender, you know.
NOTE: Like The World's Greatest Waitress, The World's Greatest Bartender is an official Scotty Williams Designation. It's a different person, as is My Favorite Bartender. I have also created a new designation for The World's Greatest Cocktail Waitress, which of course goes to that girl at the Wynn Casino. With that, let me sighhhhhhh my way on to the final act:
Act Four, where our hero engages in lively behavior
I went with some people from the party to a bar and danced. We shut that place down. I was quite impressive. The end.
Act I, where our hero reads to children
I was asked to read at the St. Mary's Quiz Bowl tournament Saturday morning. Twenty-four teams from both far and near (Vandebilt Catholic in Houma and St. Mary's itself) competed in round robin and elimination rounds. I played Quiz Bowl for three years in high school, and the team my junior year was particularly good. There is nothing more frustrating for a team than a moderator (reader) who doesn't know what they're doing, can't pronounce words correctly, has no rhythm, and just makes things more difficult for the players. A lot of players think to themselves, "Geez, I can do better than that!" So when I was done as a player, put my money where my mouth was.
I read for both the St. Mary's tournament and state tournaments, the latter of which is held at NSU each spring. One year I traveled with Natchitoches Central's team and read at Grant High School's tournament. I absolutely love it. I'm also pretty good at it, if customer feedback is any indication. I walked into a room at St. Mary's and one of the players looked up and said, "Hey, you're the good reader!" I said, "Yes. Yes I am." One of the parents told me that he was going to be reading for the first time at an upcoming tournament, and that he would pattern his style after what he saw me do. I thought that was quite a compliment.
NOTE: If you've ever heard the phrase "in the middle of nowhere," I'm pretty sure it was coined to describe Grant High School in Dry Prong, LA. Driving there leads to this experience:
TREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESTREESschoolTREESTREESTREESTREESTREES.
Act II, where our hero socializes with others
Normally I would have stayed the whole tournament and possibly read for the finals. On this day, however, there was things a brewin' elsewhere. They had the last two rounds covered, so I made my way to Chili's on Keyser Avenue to watch the Cardinals/Saints playoff game with some friends and family. It was 7-7 when I got there, and the Saints took off from there to win 45-14. Along the way they absolutely clocked Kurt Warner and knocked him out of the game for a while. Reggie Bush had two touchdowns that got us out of our seats. I ended up leaving early due to another commitment. Thankfully, the game was well in hand.
Act III, where our hero devotes himself to serving others.
A couple of weeks before I knew the Saints would be playing on Saturday instead of Sunday, I agreed to work at a party my cousin was having at her house. She and her husband are members of a local Mardi Gras krewe, and this was one of their functions. Along with another one of my cousins, I worked as a bartender for the party.
NOTE: At least ten of my cousins were there, if not more. Keep that in mind when I throw the word "cousin" around. It's usually not the same person each time.
I had never tended bar before, so it was a good thing my cousin was helping me. She could take care of anything exotic, which I would define as anything that a) contains more than two ingredients (ex: "screwdriver" or "mimosa"; b) goes by a name that does not include said ingredients; and c) needed to be shaken. Most people either had wine or a "something and something" that was alcohol and a soft drink. I can handle that.
We never got rushed too bad, and the guests were nice to us. Somebody thought I looked really nervous, but I don't think I was. If there would have been bad consequences to me going down in flames, maybe I would have been. I didn't think there were, so I was pretty calm. I mostly enjoyed it, and I wouldn't mind doing for pay as long as I got to name two conditions: 1) I don't have to know how to make ridiculously exotic stuff with funny names and 2) I get the slowest shift of the day. I can do ONE thing at a time, folks. You say what you want, I make it, and I give it to you. I'm not listening to four different drink orders with three things each and remembering all that. I'm not The World's Greatest Bartender, you know.
NOTE: Like The World's Greatest Waitress, The World's Greatest Bartender is an official Scotty Williams Designation. It's a different person, as is My Favorite Bartender. I have also created a new designation for The World's Greatest Cocktail Waitress, which of course goes to that girl at the Wynn Casino. With that, let me sighhhhhhh my way on to the final act:
Act Four, where our hero engages in lively behavior
I went with some people from the party to a bar and danced. We shut that place down. I was quite impressive. The end.
Friday, January 08, 2010
Avatar
I made the drive down to Alexandria today to go see Avatar. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever gone fifty miles out of my way to see something in 3D. Before we get to the movie, I of course have to talk about other tangential topics.
I went to the Grand Theater in Alexandria, a place I'd never heard of 24 hours ago. The most notable thing about it is that their logo--seen on the website and on the front of the building--looks like a leonine animal about to take a wee on the big G. I have no idea what it's supposed to signify.
There's a line in the movie that attaches great importance to "our land." Let us hearken back to 2002 and the Jet Li movie Hero (SPOILERS AHEAD), which also used the phrase "our land" to support one character's vision of a united China. You can read about the exact phrase here, and its use in the film here. There has been controversy over its translation, which can range from "all under heaven" to "our land" to "the world united in peace."
In Hero, the phrase "our land" is used to convince the assassin Nameless not to kill the King of Qin, who is seeking to unify all the warring states (and leaving mountains of corpses in his wake). In Avatar, it is used to unite a group of clans to fight against the invading army. I thought it was interesting how it ended up being used in very different films to accomplish very similar goals.
NOTE: I know what you're thinking. "Hey, this killing the King of Qin thing sounds familiar. Wasn't that also the plot of The Emperor and the Assassin?" The answer is kind of yes, but with a different way of getting there, and with a much crazier emperor and grumpier assassin. On to Avatar.
It's good. At times it's darn good. There's not much point in talking about the acting, because about two thirds of the movie is the tall, blue Na'vi running around their home world. The business/army and scientist characters are fairly straightforward stereotypes (when will Sigourney Weaver ever get to work for a company that's not an evil entity bent on world/galactic domination? The story itself is pretty predictable too, but that's okay for at least two reasons.
One is that predictability is pretty easy, and it's tough to screw up too badly. Another is that audiences generally like predictability. If you're going to be unpredictable, you'd better do it really well if you don't want people thinking the movie's too confusing. One of the texts in my interpretation class last semester discussed presenting information to visitors through storytelling. It's okay if someone guesses how it ends during your presentation, as long as you give them an entertaining and enjoyable way to get there. Well, we all have a pretty good general idea of how Avatar is going to play out, but the trip is interesting enough and visually amazing, which provides a nice entry into talking about the 3D experience.
The first thing I noticed is that 3D must have changed a lot in recent years. Without the glasses, I no longer saw the red and green blurs that I used to see. I kept lowering and raising the glasses to see what the main difference was. I think you could watch a good chunk of the movie and see most things pretty well. The 3D comes into play in a couple of instances.
One is the sense of movement and position you have in certain scenes. It really looks like that bush or flower or strange object is in the forefront of your field of vision. Your depth perception is much better than in an ordinary movie. Another is the clarity and brightness of some of the scenes, which are visually outstanding. In my switching modes I found that the biggest difference came when the screen showed bright, shiny things like the inside of the lab, as well as sections with colors in sharp contrast to each other. These were more likely to be blurry without the glasses. A scene like a forested valley or sunset with more gradual color changes was more likely to look okay to the naked eye. I'm sure somebody out there can come up with a metaphor from seeing blurry technology and the clarity of nature.
The movie is fairly well written, the action is good, the special effects are outstanding, and it's kind of fun. It's not very funny, but I don't think that's why most people go anyway. An anthropologist or ethnographer would be pretty interested in a few aspects of the film, particularly the process of learning an alien culture. Militaries around the world have done what happens in the movie, which is sending in operatives to learn a culture and what's important to the people, then using that to exploit their weaknesses.
Avatar is good. If you see only one 3D movie with blue humanoids and CCH Pounder this year, make it this one.
I went to the Grand Theater in Alexandria, a place I'd never heard of 24 hours ago. The most notable thing about it is that their logo--seen on the website and on the front of the building--looks like a leonine animal about to take a wee on the big G. I have no idea what it's supposed to signify.
There's a line in the movie that attaches great importance to "our land." Let us hearken back to 2002 and the Jet Li movie Hero (SPOILERS AHEAD), which also used the phrase "our land" to support one character's vision of a united China. You can read about the exact phrase here, and its use in the film here. There has been controversy over its translation, which can range from "all under heaven" to "our land" to "the world united in peace."
In Hero, the phrase "our land" is used to convince the assassin Nameless not to kill the King of Qin, who is seeking to unify all the warring states (and leaving mountains of corpses in his wake). In Avatar, it is used to unite a group of clans to fight against the invading army. I thought it was interesting how it ended up being used in very different films to accomplish very similar goals.
NOTE: I know what you're thinking. "Hey, this killing the King of Qin thing sounds familiar. Wasn't that also the plot of The Emperor and the Assassin?" The answer is kind of yes, but with a different way of getting there, and with a much crazier emperor and grumpier assassin. On to Avatar.
It's good. At times it's darn good. There's not much point in talking about the acting, because about two thirds of the movie is the tall, blue Na'vi running around their home world. The business/army and scientist characters are fairly straightforward stereotypes (when will Sigourney Weaver ever get to work for a company that's not an evil entity bent on world/galactic domination? The story itself is pretty predictable too, but that's okay for at least two reasons.
One is that predictability is pretty easy, and it's tough to screw up too badly. Another is that audiences generally like predictability. If you're going to be unpredictable, you'd better do it really well if you don't want people thinking the movie's too confusing. One of the texts in my interpretation class last semester discussed presenting information to visitors through storytelling. It's okay if someone guesses how it ends during your presentation, as long as you give them an entertaining and enjoyable way to get there. Well, we all have a pretty good general idea of how Avatar is going to play out, but the trip is interesting enough and visually amazing, which provides a nice entry into talking about the 3D experience.
The first thing I noticed is that 3D must have changed a lot in recent years. Without the glasses, I no longer saw the red and green blurs that I used to see. I kept lowering and raising the glasses to see what the main difference was. I think you could watch a good chunk of the movie and see most things pretty well. The 3D comes into play in a couple of instances.
One is the sense of movement and position you have in certain scenes. It really looks like that bush or flower or strange object is in the forefront of your field of vision. Your depth perception is much better than in an ordinary movie. Another is the clarity and brightness of some of the scenes, which are visually outstanding. In my switching modes I found that the biggest difference came when the screen showed bright, shiny things like the inside of the lab, as well as sections with colors in sharp contrast to each other. These were more likely to be blurry without the glasses. A scene like a forested valley or sunset with more gradual color changes was more likely to look okay to the naked eye. I'm sure somebody out there can come up with a metaphor from seeing blurry technology and the clarity of nature.
The movie is fairly well written, the action is good, the special effects are outstanding, and it's kind of fun. It's not very funny, but I don't think that's why most people go anyway. An anthropologist or ethnographer would be pretty interested in a few aspects of the film, particularly the process of learning an alien culture. Militaries around the world have done what happens in the movie, which is sending in operatives to learn a culture and what's important to the people, then using that to exploit their weaknesses.
Avatar is good. If you see only one 3D movie with blue humanoids and CCH Pounder this year, make it this one.
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