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.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
December 2009
I have seen a few articles/cartoons/blurbs about how lousy 2009 was and how people can't wait for 2010. I hope those people have a good year, but I have to say that 2009 was pretty good to me. I had two good semesters in school and a great summer internship in New Orleans in between. I've been out west to Seattle and Las Vegas and danced the night away a few times in Natchitoches. I have few complaints.
After the fall semester ended, I went off to Las Vegas for a few days. I'd never been before, and had no expectations as to what would happen. I knew that I wanted to wander in and out of casinos and hotels, do some people watching and not lose too much at gambling. I was also intrigued at the possibility of being able to bet on horse races all over the country. In no particular order, here are some observations:
Even non-posh Vegas hotel/casino combos are really nice compared to, say, a Holiday Inn Express.
Flying in at night is pretty cool if the city is on your side of the plane like it was for me.
Allegiant Air tries to compensate for low fares by selling you everything under the sun once you're on board: food, drinks, Blue Man Group tickets, shuttle passes, etc.
Betting on horses consists of long stretches of thinking and planning followed by short spurts of "Aaargh, you bastards!"
There are no stars in Las Vegas, at least when you're looking into the sky over Las Vegas Boulevard.
I can walk a city, but only if it wants to be walked. I think they set the city up to be cabbed instead.
Whatever money the buffet loses on people like me who pile masses of food on their plates, they make back on Chinese girls. There's no way on earth those girls are eating $26.00 worth of food.
A 5-cent machine with a 20 credit minimum bet is a dollar machine.
On the way to my flight home, a 19 or 20-ish pretty girl was telling her father, "...and I was hanging upside down on the pole..."
The shuttle driver told me quite a dirty joke comparing a woman to a tornado.
Sharper than a serpent's tooth, is to meet the most gorgeous waitress you've ever seen on the same day the Saints lose their first game, which leads me to:
My one weakness. Okay, my one weakness, as Homer said, is that I'm weak, but the biggest manifestation of this is my undying appreciation of a good waitress. I mentioned to one of you that one day I will commit an act so heinous that my name will be subjected to spite and slander for all eternity. When asked why I would do such a thing, my story will begin, "Well, there was this waitress..." At no time has this ever been so evident in a non-TWGW situation than the cocktail waitress at the Wynn, who was a vision of divine perfection upon whose face I am unworthy to gaze. I've been in a lot of bars and restaurants, and been waited on by a lot of waitresses. I have never seen one this pretty. Period. Ships are launched and wars are fought over girls like her. I could go on and on, but there's no point. Talk to me one day and my voice and face will tell you everything you need to know.
In non-Vegas news, I was flipping through the channels and stopped on some senators giving a press conference about the vote that passed that now permits them to do something about the health care bill. I believe "talk about it some more" is the newly available action. In the space of two or three minutes they referenced the following figures while praising themselves for such a grand accomplishment: George Washington, Ted Kennedy, Job, Solomon, and Samson. If you ever needed confirmation that some in Congress have an inflated sense of self-worth and seriously need to get over themselves, this is it.
After the fall semester ended, I went off to Las Vegas for a few days. I'd never been before, and had no expectations as to what would happen. I knew that I wanted to wander in and out of casinos and hotels, do some people watching and not lose too much at gambling. I was also intrigued at the possibility of being able to bet on horse races all over the country. In no particular order, here are some observations:
Even non-posh Vegas hotel/casino combos are really nice compared to, say, a Holiday Inn Express.
Flying in at night is pretty cool if the city is on your side of the plane like it was for me.
Allegiant Air tries to compensate for low fares by selling you everything under the sun once you're on board: food, drinks, Blue Man Group tickets, shuttle passes, etc.
Betting on horses consists of long stretches of thinking and planning followed by short spurts of "Aaargh, you bastards!"
There are no stars in Las Vegas, at least when you're looking into the sky over Las Vegas Boulevard.
I can walk a city, but only if it wants to be walked. I think they set the city up to be cabbed instead.
Whatever money the buffet loses on people like me who pile masses of food on their plates, they make back on Chinese girls. There's no way on earth those girls are eating $26.00 worth of food.
A 5-cent machine with a 20 credit minimum bet is a dollar machine.
On the way to my flight home, a 19 or 20-ish pretty girl was telling her father, "...and I was hanging upside down on the pole..."
The shuttle driver told me quite a dirty joke comparing a woman to a tornado.
Sharper than a serpent's tooth, is to meet the most gorgeous waitress you've ever seen on the same day the Saints lose their first game, which leads me to:
My one weakness. Okay, my one weakness, as Homer said, is that I'm weak, but the biggest manifestation of this is my undying appreciation of a good waitress. I mentioned to one of you that one day I will commit an act so heinous that my name will be subjected to spite and slander for all eternity. When asked why I would do such a thing, my story will begin, "Well, there was this waitress..." At no time has this ever been so evident in a non-TWGW situation than the cocktail waitress at the Wynn, who was a vision of divine perfection upon whose face I am unworthy to gaze. I've been in a lot of bars and restaurants, and been waited on by a lot of waitresses. I have never seen one this pretty. Period. Ships are launched and wars are fought over girls like her. I could go on and on, but there's no point. Talk to me one day and my voice and face will tell you everything you need to know.
In non-Vegas news, I was flipping through the channels and stopped on some senators giving a press conference about the vote that passed that now permits them to do something about the health care bill. I believe "talk about it some more" is the newly available action. In the space of two or three minutes they referenced the following figures while praising themselves for such a grand accomplishment: George Washington, Ted Kennedy, Job, Solomon, and Samson. If you ever needed confirmation that some in Congress have an inflated sense of self-worth and seriously need to get over themselves, this is it.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Blind-Sided Ninja
I suppose that in some alternate universe--or perhaps even this one--it is theoretically possible for a human being--or alternate-universe equivalent thereof--to see two more different movies back-to-back than The Blind Side and Ninja Assassin. If so, I would like to know what they are. Such was the case at the majestic Parkway Cinema Theater last night in beautiful Natchitoches, Louisiana. When people used to ask me what I missed about DC, my answer was usually "free museums and Sign of the Whale." I have since amended that to include "10:15am movies on Saturday." I could go to a movie and be out by lunch and have the day still ahead of me. It also allowed me to avoid crowds of people talking, crinkling plastic wrappers, rummaging around in popcorn buckets, and checking their cell phones for text messages (I have a cousin who does this, and I'm going to be arrested one of these days).
Though Natchitoches has progressed greatly, it has not, alas, adopted the weekend morning movie. So last night I paid $7.50 twice to see movies of vastly different subject matter and quality.
NOTE: I used to be able to see an afternoon matinee and eat a small bucket of popcorn for $5.00. As I mentioned to a friend online the other day, there are things that I loved that are no longer, and I have to find new things to love. She lol'd me.
Before we get to the movies, as in real life, let's do a preview. Invictus is coming out this, which I may or may not see. In the preview they play a song that started flipping switches in the back of my head. It was the Ladysmith Black Mambazo version of a song called "Hamba Nathi", and I've heard this song a thousand times.
Though Natchitoches has progressed greatly, it has not, alas, adopted the weekend morning movie. So last night I paid $7.50 twice to see movies of vastly different subject matter and quality.
NOTE: I used to be able to see an afternoon matinee and eat a small bucket of popcorn for $5.00. As I mentioned to a friend online the other day, there are things that I loved that are no longer, and I have to find new things to love. She lol'd me.
Before we get to the movies, as in real life, let's do a preview. Invictus is coming out this, which I may or may not see. In the preview they play a song that started flipping switches in the back of my head. It was the Ladysmith Black Mambazo version of a song called "Hamba Nathi", and I've heard this song a thousand times.
I used to go to sleep at night listening to their CDs, so I was very happy to recognize it in the movie. I saw them in person at the House of Blues in New Orleans when I was in college, and the lady sitting next to me said, "You seem to know all the words." Not bad for songs that are in a sub-Saharan language, right? Some stuff I've read online says we can expect to hear it a lot during the runup to the World Cup in 2010, which is being held in South Africa. On to the movies:
The Blind Side is based on a book of the same name by Michael Lewis, the author of Moneyball, which I think is a fantastic look at baseball's economics and lesser-known stats. (At least they used to be lesser-known. Now every club probably has somebody paid to pay attention to on base percentage (OBP), value over replacement player (VORP), runs created, and defense independent pitching statistic (DIPS). I always liked secondary average, but when I emailed Rob Neyer about it he said he didn't pay much attention to it.)
The Blind Side investigates the evolution of the left tackle position into the second most important position on the field. The particular object under study is Michael Oher, the current left tackle for the Baltimore Ravens. The story is about how a kid from the poorest part of Memphis ends up being coveted by SEC football powerhouses and ends up playing for Ole Miss. the movie takes things a bit further and includes footage from the 2009 NFL draft. It also takes a little bit of poetic license with his life. One thing I heard was that he had played football for years before getting to his new school, while the movie makes it seems like he'd never put on pads before.
The movie's a lot more of a people story than a football/position/stats story, and I guess it has to be. I'd heard a lot about Sandra Bullock being really good, and I was doubtful. I was wrong. I think she actually was really good. I had to remind myself that I was watching the same woman who starred in two "Miss Congeniality" movies. I think it was the blonde hair that threw me off. Quinton Aaron doesn't say a whole lot, but maybe Michael Oher is supposed to be really quiet. The movie is touching, funny, emotional and pretty darn good. It felt like most of the teary parts come towards the beginning. I heard some people say they'd have thought it was cheesy had they not known that it is based on a true story, and I think they're right. Knowing that it really happened adds a lot to the experience. If you're looking for a Natchitoches connection, the Ole Miss coach in the movie, Ed Orgeron, is an NSU graduate.
One of my favorite aspects of the movie is how many coaches appearing for their team don't coach there anymore. Nick Saban was at LSU, then went to the Dolphins, and is now at Alabama. Philip Fulmer was fired from Tennessee and is out of coaching. Houston Nutt was fired from Arkansas and is now at Ole Miss. Tommy Tuberville was fired from Auburn. Lou Holtz retired from South Carolina and works for ESPN. Orgeron was fired from Ole Miss and coaches the defensive line at Tennessee.
I got another kick out of recognizing Kim Dickens, who was so good as Joanie Stubbs in "Deadwood." I love it when that happens.
The Blind Side is based on a book of the same name by Michael Lewis, the author of Moneyball, which I think is a fantastic look at baseball's economics and lesser-known stats. (At least they used to be lesser-known. Now every club probably has somebody paid to pay attention to on base percentage (OBP), value over replacement player (VORP), runs created, and defense independent pitching statistic (DIPS). I always liked secondary average, but when I emailed Rob Neyer about it he said he didn't pay much attention to it.)
The Blind Side investigates the evolution of the left tackle position into the second most important position on the field. The particular object under study is Michael Oher, the current left tackle for the Baltimore Ravens. The story is about how a kid from the poorest part of Memphis ends up being coveted by SEC football powerhouses and ends up playing for Ole Miss. the movie takes things a bit further and includes footage from the 2009 NFL draft. It also takes a little bit of poetic license with his life. One thing I heard was that he had played football for years before getting to his new school, while the movie makes it seems like he'd never put on pads before.
The movie's a lot more of a people story than a football/position/stats story, and I guess it has to be. I'd heard a lot about Sandra Bullock being really good, and I was doubtful. I was wrong. I think she actually was really good. I had to remind myself that I was watching the same woman who starred in two "Miss Congeniality" movies. I think it was the blonde hair that threw me off. Quinton Aaron doesn't say a whole lot, but maybe Michael Oher is supposed to be really quiet. The movie is touching, funny, emotional and pretty darn good. It felt like most of the teary parts come towards the beginning. I heard some people say they'd have thought it was cheesy had they not known that it is based on a true story, and I think they're right. Knowing that it really happened adds a lot to the experience. If you're looking for a Natchitoches connection, the Ole Miss coach in the movie, Ed Orgeron, is an NSU graduate.
One of my favorite aspects of the movie is how many coaches appearing for their team don't coach there anymore. Nick Saban was at LSU, then went to the Dolphins, and is now at Alabama. Philip Fulmer was fired from Tennessee and is out of coaching. Houston Nutt was fired from Arkansas and is now at Ole Miss. Tommy Tuberville was fired from Auburn. Lou Holtz retired from South Carolina and works for ESPN. Orgeron was fired from Ole Miss and coaches the defensive line at Tennessee.
I got another kick out of recognizing Kim Dickens, who was so good as Joanie Stubbs in "Deadwood." I love it when that happens.
At the other end of the spectrum we have Ninja Assassin, the bloody tale of a man raised as a killer who turns around and kills the killers for whom he previously killed. Good movie? No. Anybody you've ever heard of? No, but the Tattoo Master in the beginning is the same guy who played the Keymaker in Matrix: Reloaded. I'm kicking myself for missing that one. The story is simple, but the whole thing is put together terribly. I'd like to tell you the action is good. However, ninjas do all their fighting in the shadows, so you can't really see anything. Lots of blood, though, if that's your thing. I've seen worse, but save your money.
NOTE: My favorite part of Ninja Assassin was the scene with the nightingale floor, which I recognized from having read--quelle coincidence!--a book called Across the Nightingale Floor, a fantasy novel set in a place much like feudal Japan. The floor takes its name from the chirping sound it makes when anyone walks on it and steps in certain spots. Apparently you're not a real ninja until you can walk across one without making a sound. Arbiter of all truth Wikipedia says that they are also mentioned in Terry Pratchett's Interesting Times, which means I'll have to read it. Again. For about the sixth time.
NOTE: My favorite part of Ninja Assassin was the scene with the nightingale floor, which I recognized from having read--quelle coincidence!--a book called Across the Nightingale Floor, a fantasy novel set in a place much like feudal Japan. The floor takes its name from the chirping sound it makes when anyone walks on it and steps in certain spots. Apparently you're not a real ninja until you can walk across one without making a sound. Arbiter of all truth Wikipedia says that they are also mentioned in Terry Pratchett's Interesting Times, which means I'll have to read it. Again. For about the sixth time.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Rough and Tumbly
In the last couple of weeks one of the most interesting secondary stories in sports has been the case of Elizabeth Lambert, the New Mexico soccer player who is seen on video being--what's a good word here--"aggressive" with other players. She punches, kicks, charges, and yanks, among other things. After she was suspended, she apologized and said she got carried away. You can see the video of what she did here or watch it below:
Added bonus: you get to watch Julie Foudy, one of the greatest American soccer players of all time, and probably the funniest (though not in this clip).
In Tuesday's New York Times, there is an interview with her by Jere Longman. Here are a few of her comments, and I'll give my thoughts at the end:
1) "At the same time, she said other moments of aggressive play — in which Lambert elbowed a Brigham Young player in the back, received a yellow card for tripping, seemed to throw a punch at an opponent’s head and made a hard tackle from behind — came during the forceful, insistent play that routinely occurred in women’s soccer but might be misunderstood by casual fans."
2) "And she said she believed that the incident was blown out of proportion because it occurred in a women’s game. "I definitely feel because I am a female it did bring about a lot more attention than if a male were to do it,” Lambert said. “It’s more expected for men to go out there and be rough. The female, we’re still looked at as, Oh, we kick the ball around and score a goal. But it’s not."
First item: Now, as longtime readers of this blog--both of you--know, I'm a big fan of women's soccer. I've been paying attention to the US Women's National Team for at least twenty years. I played with and against girls growing up. I can vouch for the fact that play on the field is often "forceful" and "insistent." I don't have a problem with that. But to try to say that throwing elbows into other players standing in front of you, punching them in the head--I don't believe that was accidental like she says--and yanking ponytails are not routine occurrences in women's soccer. Well, maybe the elbows.
Second item: There is no doubt in my mind that this received so much attention because she's a woman and not a man. Not because it's okay for men to do these things, but because it's so rare for us to see women doing them on the field of play. Female basketball players don't rack up technical fouls yelling at referees like the men do. Softball players don't get ejected from games for arguing balls and strikes with the umpire. There's very little staring down your opponent after a hard tackle in women's soccer. The level of aggressiveness in the game is comparable, but there's just a lot less theatrics about it in the women's game.
An added bonus to women's soccer is that diving is extremely rare. A youtube search for "soccer dives" returns over 2,300 results. It's one of the least attractive parts of watching men's soccer. There's even a mocking wiki page for "How to Dive in Soccer" that tells us:
Things You'll Need
For her to claim that people criticizing her don't understand the physical nature of women's soccer is a bit silly. I played soccer for ten years, and throwing punches and pulling hair wasn't part of the game. If you don't want to take my word for it, then listen to Julie Foudy, whose right pinky knows more about soccer than Elizabeth Lambert ever will. If she says there's nothing like this in the women's game, I believe her.
Added bonus: you get to watch Julie Foudy, one of the greatest American soccer players of all time, and probably the funniest (though not in this clip).
In Tuesday's New York Times, there is an interview with her by Jere Longman. Here are a few of her comments, and I'll give my thoughts at the end:
1) "At the same time, she said other moments of aggressive play — in which Lambert elbowed a Brigham Young player in the back, received a yellow card for tripping, seemed to throw a punch at an opponent’s head and made a hard tackle from behind — came during the forceful, insistent play that routinely occurred in women’s soccer but might be misunderstood by casual fans."
2) "And she said she believed that the incident was blown out of proportion because it occurred in a women’s game. "I definitely feel because I am a female it did bring about a lot more attention than if a male were to do it,” Lambert said. “It’s more expected for men to go out there and be rough. The female, we’re still looked at as, Oh, we kick the ball around and score a goal. But it’s not."
First item: Now, as longtime readers of this blog--both of you--know, I'm a big fan of women's soccer. I've been paying attention to the US Women's National Team for at least twenty years. I played with and against girls growing up. I can vouch for the fact that play on the field is often "forceful" and "insistent." I don't have a problem with that. But to try to say that throwing elbows into other players standing in front of you, punching them in the head--I don't believe that was accidental like she says--and yanking ponytails are not routine occurrences in women's soccer. Well, maybe the elbows.
Second item: There is no doubt in my mind that this received so much attention because she's a woman and not a man. Not because it's okay for men to do these things, but because it's so rare for us to see women doing them on the field of play. Female basketball players don't rack up technical fouls yelling at referees like the men do. Softball players don't get ejected from games for arguing balls and strikes with the umpire. There's very little staring down your opponent after a hard tackle in women's soccer. The level of aggressiveness in the game is comparable, but there's just a lot less theatrics about it in the women's game.
An added bonus to women's soccer is that diving is extremely rare. A youtube search for "soccer dives" returns over 2,300 results. It's one of the least attractive parts of watching men's soccer. There's even a mocking wiki page for "How to Dive in Soccer" that tells us:
Things You'll Need
- A soccer game
Opposition players
A referee
No sense of fair play
For her to claim that people criticizing her don't understand the physical nature of women's soccer is a bit silly. I played soccer for ten years, and throwing punches and pulling hair wasn't part of the game. If you don't want to take my word for it, then listen to Julie Foudy, whose right pinky knows more about soccer than Elizabeth Lambert ever will. If she says there's nothing like this in the women's game, I believe her.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
They Call Me . . . "Leader Guy"
One of the projects I've been working on for months is a grave cleaning activity at the Catholic Cemetery in Natchitoches. I'm using it to get material for one of the components of my project thesis. I had a small but energetic turnout of people, and we got a good bit of work done in the process. I was pleasantly surprised.
One of the participants was a writer for the Current Sauce, NSU's student newspaper. A few days after the event, I saw an editorial mentioning the work we had done. Do I, your humble writer, get mentioned in the article? Let's see:
It reminded me of the Simpsons episode--"The Joy of Sect"--where Homer joins the Movementarians. Homer is impervious to their conversion efforts, eating dozens of bowls of gruel and singing the "nananananananana BATMAN!" theme song. The Movementarians counter by singing the same tune with "Leader" in place of Batman. I need to come up with a Leader Guy song that will convert people to my cause.
In other news, this was a weird college football weekend in terms of uniforms. Several teams wore custom jerseys in support of the Wounded Warrior Project. Some of the jerseys will be auctioned off. TCU's colors are purple and white, so why were they wearing red stripes on their helmets? Because the Horned Frog squirts blood from its eyes when threatened.
In the Florida/South Carolina game, Gamecock players replaced names on the back of their jerseys with warrior code values: Duty, Honor, Courage, Commitment, Integrity, Country and Service. This led to an interesting call by the CBS announcers doing the game (I paraphrase):
"So there are offsetting personal fouls on the play. In case you're wondering about the names, INTEGRITY just threw a punch at a Florida player."
One of the participants was a writer for the Current Sauce, NSU's student newspaper. A few days after the event, I saw an editorial mentioning the work we had done. Do I, your humble writer, get mentioned in the article? Let's see:
So I would go through the cleaning process a couple of times and would see some improvement, but it didn't really look clean.So apparently I am no longer Scotty Williams, but "the leader guy." I guess I could do worse.
At that point the leader guy would come up and simply say, "Come back in a week. Come back in a month. Just wait."
It reminded me of the Simpsons episode--"The Joy of Sect"--where Homer joins the Movementarians. Homer is impervious to their conversion efforts, eating dozens of bowls of gruel and singing the "nananananananana BATMAN!" theme song. The Movementarians counter by singing the same tune with "Leader" in place of Batman. I need to come up with a Leader Guy song that will convert people to my cause.
In other news, this was a weird college football weekend in terms of uniforms. Several teams wore custom jerseys in support of the Wounded Warrior Project. Some of the jerseys will be auctioned off. TCU's colors are purple and white, so why were they wearing red stripes on their helmets? Because the Horned Frog squirts blood from its eyes when threatened.
In the Florida/South Carolina game, Gamecock players replaced names on the back of their jerseys with warrior code values: Duty, Honor, Courage, Commitment, Integrity, Country and Service. This led to an interesting call by the CBS announcers doing the game (I paraphrase):
"So there are offsetting personal fouls on the play. In case you're wondering about the names, INTEGRITY just threw a punch at a Florida player."
Monday, November 02, 2009
Saving Sign of the Whale
I have told all of you, I'm sure, the story of how I ended up first going to Sign of the Whale. After a bad day, I talked myself into going to the Thursday Night Out with fellow GW students. The site that night was SOTW. The World's Greatest Waitress took care of me, and a few years and a lot of money later, I had a place I felt I could always, always, always go.
I don't know if I ever told you about almost deciding to avoid going there ever again. In 2006 I started hearing rumors that the place would be sold to a local radio personality who was going to change the name and turn it into an Irish pub--because Lord knows that DC just doesn't have enough of those. For some reason the deal fell through, and the owner of Rhino Bar, Britt Swan, ended up buying it instead. The new manager of Sign of the Whale was Vito.
(Note: the old manager was a guy named Billy, the inspiration for the Billy's Belly Buster brunch menu item: eggs, hash browns, sausage, grits, pancakes, and two slices of melon. One Sunday afternoon an Eagles fan came in and asked if they were showing the Eagles game on any of the TVs. Billy, a Redskins fan, looked right at him, pointed to the door, and said, "Get out.")
Every time I went to SOTW after the sale, Vito was there. I didn't talk to him much until my last few months in DC, but he was always polite and seemed like he had a good handle on running things. When I told him I was moving back home, he said they'd miss me, hoped I came back to see them, and wished me luck. When I was in town over New Year's, I stopped in one afternoon. He saw me and said, "You're back!" I never assume that I'll be remembered when I go back any place (except some places in Natchitoches) so it made me feel pretty good.
I'm writing about Vito because he died. I wasn't really close to him, but the work he did at Sign of the Whale allowed me to have a lot of fun when I thought for a while it would all be taken away. I really like the DC/N.VA area, and I recommend it to a lot of people, but Vito loved the city. I asked him once how long he'd been there, and he said all his life. His parents were Italian immigrants who settled there. The only time in his life he didn't live there was when he was in Vietnam.
So take care, Vito, and I'll raise a couple of glasses to you next time I'm there.
I don't know if I ever told you about almost deciding to avoid going there ever again. In 2006 I started hearing rumors that the place would be sold to a local radio personality who was going to change the name and turn it into an Irish pub--because Lord knows that DC just doesn't have enough of those. For some reason the deal fell through, and the owner of Rhino Bar, Britt Swan, ended up buying it instead. The new manager of Sign of the Whale was Vito.
(Note: the old manager was a guy named Billy, the inspiration for the Billy's Belly Buster brunch menu item: eggs, hash browns, sausage, grits, pancakes, and two slices of melon. One Sunday afternoon an Eagles fan came in and asked if they were showing the Eagles game on any of the TVs. Billy, a Redskins fan, looked right at him, pointed to the door, and said, "Get out.")
Every time I went to SOTW after the sale, Vito was there. I didn't talk to him much until my last few months in DC, but he was always polite and seemed like he had a good handle on running things. When I told him I was moving back home, he said they'd miss me, hoped I came back to see them, and wished me luck. When I was in town over New Year's, I stopped in one afternoon. He saw me and said, "You're back!" I never assume that I'll be remembered when I go back any place (except some places in Natchitoches) so it made me feel pretty good.
I'm writing about Vito because he died. I wasn't really close to him, but the work he did at Sign of the Whale allowed me to have a lot of fun when I thought for a while it would all be taken away. I really like the DC/N.VA area, and I recommend it to a lot of people, but Vito loved the city. I asked him once how long he'd been there, and he said all his life. His parents were Italian immigrants who settled there. The only time in his life he didn't live there was when he was in Vietnam.
So take care, Vito, and I'll raise a couple of glasses to you next time I'm there.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Saints and Saints
New Orleans Saints
I've been trying to figure out which Twilight Zone episode most resembles the New Orleans Saints season so far. It's got to be one of the ones where the protagonist goes to sleep or blacks out, then wakes up in a world that doesn't make any sense. The guys in the fleur de lis helmets aren't doing the things Saints fans are used to. I've never seen such a bewildered look as I saw on the face of someone who has cheered for the Saints their entire existence, and now can't fit that in with what she knows as reality: that the Saints never, ever play this well. The big stat of the moment: through five games, the Saints have not trailed. At all. Even for one second. It helps that they've had the ball first in all five games and scored on all five first possessions (4 TD, 1 FG).
Best stat against the Giants: seven touchdowns scored by seven different players.
No game has been closer than 14 points at the end. Margins of victory: 18, 26, 20, 14, 21. They've won three games cranking out points faster than their opponents could keep up, scoring 45, 48, and 48 against Detroit, Philly, and New York (Giants edition). They've won the other two with aggressive defense that never allowed the other team to get going, allowing 7 and 10 points to Buffalo and New York (Jets edition). I'd like to see them do better running the ball on short yardage plays, but that's really the only thing I can pick at right now.
I've heard some people say that they want to see how the Saints offense does in "weather", which usually means cold/rain/snow/wind. That's a valid point, since they could be playing on the road in the playoffs in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, or some place like that. In the regular season, it's not a factor. The northernmost road game left on the schedule is at Washington on December 6. It'll be cold, but it won't exactly be Minnesota-ish that early in the winter. At Carolina in January could be snowy, but Carolina stinks (STINKS). Of the Saints eleven remaining games, seven are in domes and two are in Florida. I just don't think weather is a major factor for them right now.
After reflecting on it, let's go with the only Twilight Zone episode set in New Orleans, "The Masks" from 1964. A crotchety old man about to die makes his wretched family members wear masks that reveal their true personalities. As the season goes on, we'll see if the Saints wearing the mask of a contender, or if they really are one.
Scene from "The Masks"
The "Other" Saints
Businesses that sponsor the Saints are known as "Patron Saints", which is clever. However, I wonder if those businesses know how a lot of actual patron saints obtained their patronage. The Church has a morbid streak when it comes to making such decisions.
Looking for the patron saint of butchers? One of the eight is Adrian of Nicomedia. Adrian was hacked to pieces in 304. (I was sort of hoping he'd be named Lazar Wolf)
Feeling culinary tonight? Lawrence of Rome is the man when it comes to cooks. Of course, he was cooked to death on a gridiron in 258.
Got a headache? Pray to Saint Denis, if you can ignore the fact that he was beheaded by the Romans. Statues of him often show him holding his head in his hands. The founder of Natchitoches was named Louis Juchereau de St. Denis, so St Denis is one of my favorites.
The patron of stonemasons is Saint Reinhold, who--you guessed it--was beaten to death with hammers by stonemasons.
If you ask me, the king of all these gruesomely murdered patrons is Saint Sebastian. First, he survived being shot full of arrows by the Romans. Later on, they stopped fooling around and just beat him to death. In the Dark Ages, plague victims likened the random nature of infection to being shot by nature's archers, so they prayed to Sebastian. So now Sebastian--usually depicted tied to a tree with arrows sticking out of him--is the patron saint of archers, arrowsmiths, fletchers, and plague victims (and hardware stores, for some reason).
If possible, I'd like to be the patron saint of either dying peacefully in bed, or performing heroic deeds while saving the life of a complete stranger. I'm good with either one.
I've been trying to figure out which Twilight Zone episode most resembles the New Orleans Saints season so far. It's got to be one of the ones where the protagonist goes to sleep or blacks out, then wakes up in a world that doesn't make any sense. The guys in the fleur de lis helmets aren't doing the things Saints fans are used to. I've never seen such a bewildered look as I saw on the face of someone who has cheered for the Saints their entire existence, and now can't fit that in with what she knows as reality: that the Saints never, ever play this well. The big stat of the moment: through five games, the Saints have not trailed. At all. Even for one second. It helps that they've had the ball first in all five games and scored on all five first possessions (4 TD, 1 FG).
Best stat against the Giants: seven touchdowns scored by seven different players.
No game has been closer than 14 points at the end. Margins of victory: 18, 26, 20, 14, 21. They've won three games cranking out points faster than their opponents could keep up, scoring 45, 48, and 48 against Detroit, Philly, and New York (Giants edition). They've won the other two with aggressive defense that never allowed the other team to get going, allowing 7 and 10 points to Buffalo and New York (Jets edition). I'd like to see them do better running the ball on short yardage plays, but that's really the only thing I can pick at right now.
I've heard some people say that they want to see how the Saints offense does in "weather", which usually means cold/rain/snow/wind. That's a valid point, since they could be playing on the road in the playoffs in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, or some place like that. In the regular season, it's not a factor. The northernmost road game left on the schedule is at Washington on December 6. It'll be cold, but it won't exactly be Minnesota-ish that early in the winter. At Carolina in January could be snowy, but Carolina stinks (STINKS). Of the Saints eleven remaining games, seven are in domes and two are in Florida. I just don't think weather is a major factor for them right now.
After reflecting on it, let's go with the only Twilight Zone episode set in New Orleans, "The Masks" from 1964. A crotchety old man about to die makes his wretched family members wear masks that reveal their true personalities. As the season goes on, we'll see if the Saints wearing the mask of a contender, or if they really are one.
Scene from "The Masks"Businesses that sponsor the Saints are known as "Patron Saints", which is clever. However, I wonder if those businesses know how a lot of actual patron saints obtained their patronage. The Church has a morbid streak when it comes to making such decisions.
Looking for the patron saint of butchers? One of the eight is Adrian of Nicomedia. Adrian was hacked to pieces in 304. (I was sort of hoping he'd be named Lazar Wolf)
Feeling culinary tonight? Lawrence of Rome is the man when it comes to cooks. Of course, he was cooked to death on a gridiron in 258.
Got a headache? Pray to Saint Denis, if you can ignore the fact that he was beheaded by the Romans. Statues of him often show him holding his head in his hands. The founder of Natchitoches was named Louis Juchereau de St. Denis, so St Denis is one of my favorites.
The patron of stonemasons is Saint Reinhold, who--you guessed it--was beaten to death with hammers by stonemasons.
If you ask me, the king of all these gruesomely murdered patrons is Saint Sebastian. First, he survived being shot full of arrows by the Romans. Later on, they stopped fooling around and just beat him to death. In the Dark Ages, plague victims likened the random nature of infection to being shot by nature's archers, so they prayed to Sebastian. So now Sebastian--usually depicted tied to a tree with arrows sticking out of him--is the patron saint of archers, arrowsmiths, fletchers, and plague victims (and hardware stores, for some reason).
If possible, I'd like to be the patron saint of either dying peacefully in bed, or performing heroic deeds while saving the life of a complete stranger. I'm good with either one.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Two Nights in Bangkok
Chocolate
If one night in Bangkok makes a hard man crumble, what does watching two Thai martial arts movies do? The first was Chocolate, which follows the violent adventures of a young autistic Thai girl named Zen who has the ability to learn any martial arts style just by watching it. Her ex-gangster mother is sick, so she pays visits to her mom's former clients to collect on their debts. When they refuse to pay, the fight scenes take over. Zin is played by Jeeja Yanin, who studies Taekwondo in real life. I thought the fights were fun to watch. My favorite is when she fights another twitchy autistic kid. After he knocks her around for a while, she learns his style for herself, twitching and all.
Ong-Bak
A few weeks before this movie came out, a friend of mine paid a visit to DC and stayed with me while he was in town. This particular friend is my most trusted authority on Asian movies. If it gets his seal of approval, it's good enough for me. When the 1994 version of The Legend of Drunken Master was coming to American theaters several years ago, I read some nonsense about it having a 20 minute fight scene at the end. Knowing he would have already seen it in Chinese, I decided to test Leon by sending him an email.
"Hey Leon. Should I go see the Drunken Master movie? Is it any good? I hear it has a 15 minute fight scene at the end."
"Scotty. Yes, it's good and you should go see it. And it's a 20 minute fight scene."
Now it's my favorite martial arts movie. Trust in Leon. So when he said, "Make a point of going to see Ong-bak. It's good.", I should have listened. I just never got around to it until the other night, when I watched it instantly on Netflix. It's really, really entertaining. There's not any sort of cringe-inducing injuries, just guys getting punched, kicked, kneed, and elbowed--especially elbowed--by Ting, the small village lad/Muay Thai expert who has to go to the big city to get his people's sacred statue's head back. We've all been there, haven't we?
The fights are great. Really great. Muay Thai doesn't show up much American theaters, especially compared to karate and kung fu. In addition to fists and feet, it makes use of shins and elbows as well. I don't think any of the cage fighters use it right now since their sport's more about grappling and "ground and pound" strategies than striking. (Lyoto Machida excepted) I sort of knew what it looked like, but the movie worked in a lot of athleticism and stunt work that really raised the energy level.
Ting seems like a nice enough fellow, and his fellow villagers are a sweet bunch of people. That's about all the analysis I have that doesn't involve something along the lines of "Holy crap, that was an awesome move." If you see one Thai martial arts movie this year, make it this one.
Google
Note: when I use the Google taskbar to search for something, I often stop in the middle of a word or phrase to see what the suggestions are going to be. Search for the lyrics to "One Night in Bangkok", I typed in "one n" and stopped. Three of the suggestions were about the Paris Hilton horizontal tango video, and two were for the song. A few weeks ago I put in "jon " with the space, and 8 of 10 suggestions were "Jon and Kate Plus 8" related. Now it's up to 9. The only intruder on the list is Jon Stewart.
If you have any suggestions for me to check out, let me know.
If one night in Bangkok makes a hard man crumble, what does watching two Thai martial arts movies do? The first was Chocolate, which follows the violent adventures of a young autistic Thai girl named Zen who has the ability to learn any martial arts style just by watching it. Her ex-gangster mother is sick, so she pays visits to her mom's former clients to collect on their debts. When they refuse to pay, the fight scenes take over. Zin is played by Jeeja Yanin, who studies Taekwondo in real life. I thought the fights were fun to watch. My favorite is when she fights another twitchy autistic kid. After he knocks her around for a while, she learns his style for herself, twitching and all.
Ong-Bak
A few weeks before this movie came out, a friend of mine paid a visit to DC and stayed with me while he was in town. This particular friend is my most trusted authority on Asian movies. If it gets his seal of approval, it's good enough for me. When the 1994 version of The Legend of Drunken Master was coming to American theaters several years ago, I read some nonsense about it having a 20 minute fight scene at the end. Knowing he would have already seen it in Chinese, I decided to test Leon by sending him an email.
"Hey Leon. Should I go see the Drunken Master movie? Is it any good? I hear it has a 15 minute fight scene at the end."
"Scotty. Yes, it's good and you should go see it. And it's a 20 minute fight scene."
Now it's my favorite martial arts movie. Trust in Leon. So when he said, "Make a point of going to see Ong-bak. It's good.", I should have listened. I just never got around to it until the other night, when I watched it instantly on Netflix. It's really, really entertaining. There's not any sort of cringe-inducing injuries, just guys getting punched, kicked, kneed, and elbowed--especially elbowed--by Ting, the small village lad/Muay Thai expert who has to go to the big city to get his people's sacred statue's head back. We've all been there, haven't we?
The fights are great. Really great. Muay Thai doesn't show up much American theaters, especially compared to karate and kung fu. In addition to fists and feet, it makes use of shins and elbows as well. I don't think any of the cage fighters use it right now since their sport's more about grappling and "ground and pound" strategies than striking. (Lyoto Machida excepted) I sort of knew what it looked like, but the movie worked in a lot of athleticism and stunt work that really raised the energy level.
Ting seems like a nice enough fellow, and his fellow villagers are a sweet bunch of people. That's about all the analysis I have that doesn't involve something along the lines of "Holy crap, that was an awesome move." If you see one Thai martial arts movie this year, make it this one.
Note: when I use the Google taskbar to search for something, I often stop in the middle of a word or phrase to see what the suggestions are going to be. Search for the lyrics to "One Night in Bangkok", I typed in "one n" and stopped. Three of the suggestions were about the Paris Hilton horizontal tango video, and two were for the song. A few weeks ago I put in "jon " with the space, and 8 of 10 suggestions were "Jon and Kate Plus 8" related. Now it's up to 9. The only intruder on the list is Jon Stewart.
If you have any suggestions for me to check out, let me know.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Stalking Zombieland
Monday Night Zombies
I have often said that the best time to go see a movie is Saturday morning. When I say it's the best time, I mean the best time for me, of course. Saturday afternoon and night, then all day Sunday you get the crowds. I realize that these people paid their money just as I did, but I just want to run most of them out of my theater so I can watch the movie in peace. I've been to opening weekend blockbuster movies at 10:45 on a Saturday morning at Tyson's Corner, and there's maybe ten people there.
I have less often said that the second best time to go see a movie is Monday night. There ain't nobody who wants to go to a movie on Monday night. They've come back from a long day at work and are just yearning for Friday, or at least Wednesday. Going out isn't on the agenda for most people, so there's not a big crowd.
As you might have guessed, I went to see a movie Monday night. I was curious about what Zombieland would be like. I figured it would be sort of a silly zombie-killing adventure, and that's pretty much what it was. It was a bit gruesome at the beginning, but a bit funnier than I expected, and I liked that it was made "differently." There are some creative bits to it that show that somebody in the production or writing crew was willing to add a little something special to the film's landscape. And of course, it's got Bill Murray. I thought it was a fun hour and a half.
Stalking
Earlier this week Tracee Hamilton wrote an article about being the victim of a stalker for many years. I don't have any experience in this area, so I'm not going to get into any analysis of what she wrote. I just think that it's a great piece of work that took a lot of guts to write, and I think it's worth a few minutes of your time.
Watch Instantly
It's becoming clear in a hurry that Netflix's Instant Watch option is going to be trouble. My current account plan allows me unlimited instant viewing per month. I see myself bringing up movies I like just to click forward to the parts I really like before moving on to something else.
I have often said that the best time to go see a movie is Saturday morning. When I say it's the best time, I mean the best time for me, of course. Saturday afternoon and night, then all day Sunday you get the crowds. I realize that these people paid their money just as I did, but I just want to run most of them out of my theater so I can watch the movie in peace. I've been to opening weekend blockbuster movies at 10:45 on a Saturday morning at Tyson's Corner, and there's maybe ten people there.
I have less often said that the second best time to go see a movie is Monday night. There ain't nobody who wants to go to a movie on Monday night. They've come back from a long day at work and are just yearning for Friday, or at least Wednesday. Going out isn't on the agenda for most people, so there's not a big crowd.
As you might have guessed, I went to see a movie Monday night. I was curious about what Zombieland would be like. I figured it would be sort of a silly zombie-killing adventure, and that's pretty much what it was. It was a bit gruesome at the beginning, but a bit funnier than I expected, and I liked that it was made "differently." There are some creative bits to it that show that somebody in the production or writing crew was willing to add a little something special to the film's landscape. And of course, it's got Bill Murray. I thought it was a fun hour and a half.
Stalking
Earlier this week Tracee Hamilton wrote an article about being the victim of a stalker for many years. I don't have any experience in this area, so I'm not going to get into any analysis of what she wrote. I just think that it's a great piece of work that took a lot of guts to write, and I think it's worth a few minutes of your time.
Watch Instantly
It's becoming clear in a hurry that Netflix's Instant Watch option is going to be trouble. My current account plan allows me unlimited instant viewing per month. I see myself bringing up movies I like just to click forward to the parts I really like before moving on to something else.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
"Local Man Disturbs Resting Dead"
Scotty, Media Star
I got the chance to do some grave cleaning Thursday afternoon as part of service learning for my graduate program. I cleaned my first grave about a year ago as part of a class assignment, and I liked it a lot. It's easy, mindless, quiet, and nobody asks me any questions while I do it. I can work on one thing and think about another at the same time. With the cleaning product we used, I also got to see immediate results. The marble I cleaned was dark gray when I started and almost copy-paper white when I finished. It was pretty rewarding. So when I was told I could do it again, I gladly said yes.
Cemetery preservation is the centerpiece of my project thesis, and I'm holding a cleanup activity at a local cemetery in November. Getting people to show up for it is one of my tasks, so a little publicity couldn't hurt. However, I was still very surprised when a reporter from the Natchitoches Times showed up while I was working. My committee chair had told her I would love to be asked a few questions. I've answered a question or two before, but this was the first time I can remember where I was actually the target of a newspaper interview. The reporter was nice, but she was too quick to move on to the next question before I'd completely finished answering the first. She also didn't tell me anything about why she was talking to me, or when I could expect to see something in the paper. Stay tuned for my next media appearance on "AC 360."
I've been trying to think of funny headlines that should go with the story. The title of this post is one. Send me any that you can think of.
A Pleasant Surprise
I was browsing a friend's FB page the other day when I came across something that made me pretty happy. One friend had posted the results of some survey, and an exchange in the comments went like this:
Commenter 1: "With this kakistocracy, nothing would surprise me."
Commenter 2: "I AGREE! (Ya I had to look up kakistocracy...)"
Commenter 1: "Well yeah, you're not Scotty."
Believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with this post at all. I didn't say anything, didn't comment, didn't know about it until I browsed and saw it a while later. So out of nowhere, an unusual word gets used, and I get referenced as somebody who probably knows what it means. In this case it happened to be true. Even if it weren't it's kind of nice to be used as the measuring stick for a good vocabulary. It made my day.
And now: Sports!
Don't look now, but the New Orleans Saints and LSU Tigers are a combined 9-0.
I got the chance to do some grave cleaning Thursday afternoon as part of service learning for my graduate program. I cleaned my first grave about a year ago as part of a class assignment, and I liked it a lot. It's easy, mindless, quiet, and nobody asks me any questions while I do it. I can work on one thing and think about another at the same time. With the cleaning product we used, I also got to see immediate results. The marble I cleaned was dark gray when I started and almost copy-paper white when I finished. It was pretty rewarding. So when I was told I could do it again, I gladly said yes.
Cemetery preservation is the centerpiece of my project thesis, and I'm holding a cleanup activity at a local cemetery in November. Getting people to show up for it is one of my tasks, so a little publicity couldn't hurt. However, I was still very surprised when a reporter from the Natchitoches Times showed up while I was working. My committee chair had told her I would love to be asked a few questions. I've answered a question or two before, but this was the first time I can remember where I was actually the target of a newspaper interview. The reporter was nice, but she was too quick to move on to the next question before I'd completely finished answering the first. She also didn't tell me anything about why she was talking to me, or when I could expect to see something in the paper. Stay tuned for my next media appearance on "AC 360."
I've been trying to think of funny headlines that should go with the story. The title of this post is one. Send me any that you can think of.
A Pleasant Surprise
I was browsing a friend's FB page the other day when I came across something that made me pretty happy. One friend had posted the results of some survey, and an exchange in the comments went like this:
Commenter 1: "With this kakistocracy, nothing would surprise me."
Commenter 2: "I AGREE! (Ya I had to look up kakistocracy...)"
Commenter 1: "Well yeah, you're not Scotty."
Believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with this post at all. I didn't say anything, didn't comment, didn't know about it until I browsed and saw it a while later. So out of nowhere, an unusual word gets used, and I get referenced as somebody who probably knows what it means. In this case it happened to be true. Even if it weren't it's kind of nice to be used as the measuring stick for a good vocabulary. It made my day.
And now: Sports!
Don't look now, but the New Orleans Saints and LSU Tigers are a combined 9-0.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sundry September Itens
Quick note before we get started: I was asked by a message board colleague to be a writer for an LSU sports blog he started. He founded the blog soon after a third colleague posted that I should have my own column because my writing was "very rational and usually without a homer-slant." (I don't have to listen to these wild accusations!) You can view the blog here. Click on the ads, if you like. I don't think any of the money comes to me, but it'll make somebody happy.
Let's talk about Facebook for a bit. More specifically, let's talk about status updates. As one of the people who (I hope) reads this isn't on Facebook, allow me a quick explanation.
The top of your Facebook page has a box where you can enter a piece of text. This can say anything. You can ask a question, tell people you're leaving for the movies, say that you hate stupid people--whatever. It's called your Facebook status. Your Facebook friends can view your status in their Facebook news feed. If they want, they can click a little icon that "likes" your status. They can also enter text into a box and comment on your status. I think we're clear on that.
I don't put anything really dramatic in my status. I usually go for something funny. Maybe I'll vent now and then. I don't use it to ask God for help. He can read my mind; He doesn't need to get online to learn what I want. Mostly, I want it to be something that people will laugh at. Occasionally I'll type something, think about it two or three times before hitting the "Share" button, reconsider, and not post it. But I've usually thought it over before typing, so spur of the moment status posting is rare.
Where I think I'm going to get into trouble one day is commenting on other people's status updates. They may post something perfectly innocent and honest and true to who they are, and I think, "Ooh, this snarky, sarastic comment would be awesome right here!" Then the angel on my shoulder says, "Scotty, does the nice lady really deserve to be cut to ribbons by your razor-sharp wit right now? She's had a long day, and may not have thought things through before posting. When you stand before your maker, do you feel comfortable being able to answer for this?" To which I answer, "Yeah. I do." To which the angel replies, "You post that now, and Ima beat your ass." So I don't, because that angel don't joke around.
Having said that, it's tough not to comment or at least send a message when someone enters a status that runs along the lines of:
Other times comments are welcomed, and even asked for. With most of the things I post as a status, I want people to post comments. But with other people's stuff, there's a lot of danger here for me too. Sometimes I say too much when I should keep it short. Sometimes I get in a back-and-forth with another commenter, and we end up talking about something unrelated to the status. I also post something now and then that the person completely misunderstands or just doesn't get. Know your audience. You might be joking when they're serious, or you might be serious when you're joking, and what you say just crashes the mood of the whole thing. It's tough swallowing my tongue--or in this case, fingers--but I think I'm getting better.
In conclusion, the world of the Facebook status is an interesting, dangerous, fascinating, humorous, and good judgment-requiring adventure. Have fun with it, but be careful along the way.
Take care.
Let's talk about Facebook for a bit. More specifically, let's talk about status updates. As one of the people who (I hope) reads this isn't on Facebook, allow me a quick explanation.
The top of your Facebook page has a box where you can enter a piece of text. This can say anything. You can ask a question, tell people you're leaving for the movies, say that you hate stupid people--whatever. It's called your Facebook status. Your Facebook friends can view your status in their Facebook news feed. If they want, they can click a little icon that "likes" your status. They can also enter text into a box and comment on your status. I think we're clear on that.
I don't put anything really dramatic in my status. I usually go for something funny. Maybe I'll vent now and then. I don't use it to ask God for help. He can read my mind; He doesn't need to get online to learn what I want. Mostly, I want it to be something that people will laugh at. Occasionally I'll type something, think about it two or three times before hitting the "Share" button, reconsider, and not post it. But I've usually thought it over before typing, so spur of the moment status posting is rare.
Where I think I'm going to get into trouble one day is commenting on other people's status updates. They may post something perfectly innocent and honest and true to who they are, and I think, "Ooh, this snarky, sarastic comment would be awesome right here!" Then the angel on my shoulder says, "Scotty, does the nice lady really deserve to be cut to ribbons by your razor-sharp wit right now? She's had a long day, and may not have thought things through before posting. When you stand before your maker, do you feel comfortable being able to answer for this?" To which I answer, "Yeah. I do." To which the angel replies, "You post that now, and Ima beat your ass." So I don't, because that angel don't joke around.
Having said that, it's tough not to comment or at least send a message when someone enters a status that runs along the lines of:
- Mentioning that your child made two D's on tests last week. That's nobody's business, and only embarrasses your child. I don't need to know that.
- Posting that you are through--through--with drama/those who don't care about me/people who waste my time, etc. Then two weeks later the person is complaining about the exact same thing. I thought you were done? [Note: the best part of this is the people who type supportive comments about "their loss" and "how special you are" and "I luv u, girl!" Note #2: my unscientific analysis has shown that most of these posters are female, which means either: A) girls are drama magnets; B) guys are endless sources of drama, and if we could tap into this, we'd solve the energy crisis; C) A and B]
- Posting something about someone else's medical condition. If you get permission, fine. But so many people put things about "thinking about my mother in the hospital" or "please pray for my friend Amy's mom, who was just diagnosed with breast cancer" is way out of line. That's really not my business either.
- Talking about where your child is when they're not with you or another family member. The Internet is a wild place, boys and girls, and you don't know who's watching. I don't see how making your kid's location public knowledge is ever a wise move.
Other times comments are welcomed, and even asked for. With most of the things I post as a status, I want people to post comments. But with other people's stuff, there's a lot of danger here for me too. Sometimes I say too much when I should keep it short. Sometimes I get in a back-and-forth with another commenter, and we end up talking about something unrelated to the status. I also post something now and then that the person completely misunderstands or just doesn't get. Know your audience. You might be joking when they're serious, or you might be serious when you're joking, and what you say just crashes the mood of the whole thing. It's tough swallowing my tongue--or in this case, fingers--but I think I'm getting better.
In conclusion, the world of the Facebook status is an interesting, dangerous, fascinating, humorous, and good judgment-requiring adventure. Have fun with it, but be careful along the way.
Take care.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
LSU in Seattle
Many moons ago, back when the world was young, I went to Tiger Stadium in Baton Rouge to watch LSU play Texas A&M. I remember only two things: LSU won, and everybody booed the Aggie band when they walked onto the field. They put on such a good show that everybody cheered when they walked off. It was another eighteen years before I would see another LSU game in person. I went with my sister to see LSU get routed by Georgia in Athens in 2004. Last year I went with her again to see LSU lose in overtime to Alabama in Baton Rouge.
Saturday night in Seattle, when LSU was down 7-0 in the first quarter against a Washington team that went 0-12 last season, she said, "If we don't come back and win this game, you're banned." Happily for me, LSU did come back to win, so maybe I'm off the schneid. At one point the full moon was hanging low over the water and boats, which made a really nice scene.
I'd been to Vancouver, B.C. a few years ago, but never to the American Pacific Northwest. I was interested to see what Seattle was like, what the people were like, and how the food tasted. I was not disappointed. The city seems to be very quiet for a city its size, but I was there on a holiday weekend. The people seemed nice, especially--well, I guess this calls for a story:
In the beginning, there was the World's Greatest Waitress (Note: in this case "the beginning" would be October 19, 2000). Later on, there was the World's Greatest Bartender. On September 6, I met the World's Greatest Girl Who Works at a Chocolate Store in Seattle. An inch or two taller than me, silky brown hair, sparkling eyes, and a nice smile. I asked her if it was hard working there at the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. She looked me in the eye--time stopped, angels sang, birds landed on my shoulder, and I got a little lightheaded--and said, "Oh yeah." On our way out she thanked us, and I said, "Oh no, thank you."
I should have proposed when I had the chance. She would have made me so happy. I don't know if I'd have made her happy, but I'd have given it a shot.
I was pleasantly surprised by the food. When I was in Vancouver I was a bit disappointed. In Seattle I had a couple of good burgers, good pizza, and a nice dish of blackened chicken linguini at McCormick and Schmick's. And of course, the chocolate...
Seattle's really clean. I mean it's really, really clean. Of course, I spent the summer in New Orleans, so maybe a lot of places would seem clean in comparison. It made me wonder what sort of draconian measures are in place to keep it that way. I looked for something that I would take for granted seeing someplace else but didn't see there, and hoped I could ask "Hey, why isn't anybody doing X?" and they'd say, "Oh no, we can't do that. It's against the law!" and I'd say, "What? You can't do X? That's terrible!"
I'd like to take a trip back there to see a few things we missed this time around. It's a nice place.
Note: I'm watching the U.S. Open, and Trump was there with a woman I assume is his wife Melania. He started talking to her, presumable about play on the court. She sat there and stared straight ahead. Does anyone know if she's allowed to talk?
Saturday night in Seattle, when LSU was down 7-0 in the first quarter against a Washington team that went 0-12 last season, she said, "If we don't come back and win this game, you're banned." Happily for me, LSU did come back to win, so maybe I'm off the schneid. At one point the full moon was hanging low over the water and boats, which made a really nice scene.
I'd been to Vancouver, B.C. a few years ago, but never to the American Pacific Northwest. I was interested to see what Seattle was like, what the people were like, and how the food tasted. I was not disappointed. The city seems to be very quiet for a city its size, but I was there on a holiday weekend. The people seemed nice, especially--well, I guess this calls for a story:
In the beginning, there was the World's Greatest Waitress (Note: in this case "the beginning" would be October 19, 2000). Later on, there was the World's Greatest Bartender. On September 6, I met the World's Greatest Girl Who Works at a Chocolate Store in Seattle. An inch or two taller than me, silky brown hair, sparkling eyes, and a nice smile. I asked her if it was hard working there at the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. She looked me in the eye--time stopped, angels sang, birds landed on my shoulder, and I got a little lightheaded--and said, "Oh yeah." On our way out she thanked us, and I said, "Oh no, thank you."
I should have proposed when I had the chance. She would have made me so happy. I don't know if I'd have made her happy, but I'd have given it a shot.
I was pleasantly surprised by the food. When I was in Vancouver I was a bit disappointed. In Seattle I had a couple of good burgers, good pizza, and a nice dish of blackened chicken linguini at McCormick and Schmick's. And of course, the chocolate...
Seattle's really clean. I mean it's really, really clean. Of course, I spent the summer in New Orleans, so maybe a lot of places would seem clean in comparison. It made me wonder what sort of draconian measures are in place to keep it that way. I looked for something that I would take for granted seeing someplace else but didn't see there, and hoped I could ask "Hey, why isn't anybody doing X?" and they'd say, "Oh no, we can't do that. It's against the law!" and I'd say, "What? You can't do X? That's terrible!"
I'd like to take a trip back there to see a few things we missed this time around. It's a nice place.
Note: I'm watching the U.S. Open, and Trump was there with a woman I assume is his wife Melania. He started talking to her, presumable about play on the court. She sat there and stared straight ahead. Does anyone know if she's allowed to talk?
Monday, August 24, 2009
What I Did on My Summer Vacation
It seems odd that I've written so little about what I was up to while living in one of the most interesting cities in the country. I guess I'm not all that sure how to describe things. Either that or I'm just not very interesting. Let's go in reverse, and talk about what I did on my final Friday.
I met up with a couple of friends at May Baily's on Dauphine Street and had a drink. Then we moseyed over to the bar at the Roosevelt Hotel. After ordering a Sazerac, I asked the bartender if that bar was the first place to serve the drink, and he said yes and no. The bar had moved around to two or three other places before ending up at the Roosevelt. So it may have been the first place in spirit, if not in location.
The lady sitting next to us walked out, leaving her glasses on the bar. One of my friends ran out with them to give them to her. She said, "Oh no, my glasses are in my purse." Of course, we saw no purse on the counter. They came back in, and the lady found out that the bartender had moved her purse so it wouldn't be stolen. "It's worth more than the money that's in it," she said. She was so grateful that she bought us a round. I looked through the cocktail menu again and ordered a Sidecar. I ordered that one because there's a Japanese manga named "Bartender" and he served a Sidecar in one of the episodes.
I have to confess that over the past two plus years I've really started delving into several manga series. Sites like www.onemanga.com are very helpful. Bleach, Naruto, One Piece, History's Strongest Disciple Kenichi--all those are pretty good. The anime version of One Piece is a real joy. It helps to have a good scanlator that gives notes about sound effects and cultural customs.
After the Roosevelt we went to the Carousel Bar at the Monteleone Hotel. The bar revolves around the room (the inside, not the outside). Then it was over to a place I'd been looking forward to the whole summer, the Old Absinthe House. Absinthe has become legal again in the U.S. within the last couple of years. Some people told me that if I liked black licorice, I'd like absinthe, and I'd say they were right. I don't know if I could pound back absinthe frappe after absinthe frappe all night, but then again I'm not someone who can pile up drink after drink anyway. I'm the Florence Nightingale of Drinking--I can nurse that sucker all night long. But I think absinthe is good, and it better be at $14 a pop for the cheapest they had. It helped that the bartender was a really good looking red-haired girl.
Note: I left my umbrella there and had to go back and get it Saturday. I asked the bartender (different girl) if she'd seen it. The people at the bar said that other people usually leave something else at the bar, not an umbrella. I thought, "Yeah, like their dignity."
I had a great time. It may be strange to hear, but this was the first time I'd ever gone out drinking in the French Quarter. Most of my trips to New Orleans have been family visits. This time around, I lived in an apartment that was at the other end of a pretty short block from Monkey Hill Bar. I could close the door to my apartment and start walking, and in 60 seconds I'd be at Monkey Hill. That was a new experience.
One last thing that I noticed in New Orleans that reminded me of the Historic District in downtown Natchitoches: there are no fast food restaurant chains in the French Quarter. There are some on Canal Street, yes, but once you get into the Quarter itself, nada. I imagine that the city has zoning laws that keep them out.
I met up with a couple of friends at May Baily's on Dauphine Street and had a drink. Then we moseyed over to the bar at the Roosevelt Hotel. After ordering a Sazerac, I asked the bartender if that bar was the first place to serve the drink, and he said yes and no. The bar had moved around to two or three other places before ending up at the Roosevelt. So it may have been the first place in spirit, if not in location.
The lady sitting next to us walked out, leaving her glasses on the bar. One of my friends ran out with them to give them to her. She said, "Oh no, my glasses are in my purse." Of course, we saw no purse on the counter. They came back in, and the lady found out that the bartender had moved her purse so it wouldn't be stolen. "It's worth more than the money that's in it," she said. She was so grateful that she bought us a round. I looked through the cocktail menu again and ordered a Sidecar. I ordered that one because there's a Japanese manga named "Bartender" and he served a Sidecar in one of the episodes.
I have to confess that over the past two plus years I've really started delving into several manga series. Sites like www.onemanga.com are very helpful. Bleach, Naruto, One Piece, History's Strongest Disciple Kenichi--all those are pretty good. The anime version of One Piece is a real joy. It helps to have a good scanlator that gives notes about sound effects and cultural customs.
After the Roosevelt we went to the Carousel Bar at the Monteleone Hotel. The bar revolves around the room (the inside, not the outside). Then it was over to a place I'd been looking forward to the whole summer, the Old Absinthe House. Absinthe has become legal again in the U.S. within the last couple of years. Some people told me that if I liked black licorice, I'd like absinthe, and I'd say they were right. I don't know if I could pound back absinthe frappe after absinthe frappe all night, but then again I'm not someone who can pile up drink after drink anyway. I'm the Florence Nightingale of Drinking--I can nurse that sucker all night long. But I think absinthe is good, and it better be at $14 a pop for the cheapest they had. It helped that the bartender was a really good looking red-haired girl.
Note: I left my umbrella there and had to go back and get it Saturday. I asked the bartender (different girl) if she'd seen it. The people at the bar said that other people usually leave something else at the bar, not an umbrella. I thought, "Yeah, like their dignity."
I had a great time. It may be strange to hear, but this was the first time I'd ever gone out drinking in the French Quarter. Most of my trips to New Orleans have been family visits. This time around, I lived in an apartment that was at the other end of a pretty short block from Monkey Hill Bar. I could close the door to my apartment and start walking, and in 60 seconds I'd be at Monkey Hill. That was a new experience.
One last thing that I noticed in New Orleans that reminded me of the Historic District in downtown Natchitoches: there are no fast food restaurant chains in the French Quarter. There are some on Canal Street, yes, but once you get into the Quarter itself, nada. I imagine that the city has zoning laws that keep them out.
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