Something donned on me yesterday when I turned on the World Cup. I realized why football is not popular in America. Iran was playing Mexico. Who should I, as a good and faithful American patriot, supporter of troops, user of oil, listener to talk radio, root for in this game?
I am, of course, surprised and appalled that Iran is even allowed to compete in these games. This enormous oversight alone casts doubt on the entire institution of soccer. I am equally surprised that any Mexicans still live in Mexico. I thought that by now all of the good players would have left that country to play in the lucrative European leagues.
For an American to “get into” soccer, he/she would have to recognize that these other countries exist. The fact that we have had 150,000+ young men and women in Iraq for over 3 years and over two thirds of Americans can’t find the country on a map shows this country’s disdain for geography. It used to be said that Americans learn geography through war, but not even that seems to be working anymore. We just don’t want anything to do with other countries.
NFL Europe is a complete bust over here. It’s not because the scores are low, they are not. It is because the teams play in places we’ve never been and are full of players we’ve never heard of. We’d rather watch a boring 3-2 baseball game than root for the Frankfurt Galaxy in the World Bowl. It’s just easier. If someone truly loved the game, why would it matter that they are playing on the other side of the pond? It’s because the Frankfort Galaxy isn’t part of our cultural construct. We didn’t grow up hearing about that infamous game in Zurich where the rookie for the Amsterdam Admirals broke all of the single-game rushing records in one day. There are no highways named after legendary coaches. We don’t buy cars from a dealership owned by the famous Hamburg Sea Devils quarterback. It’s just not a part of who we are.
Our ‘world’ is much smaller. Much easier to comprehend. And to influence.
We call the teams that win our Super Bowl, NCAA football and basketball championships, the World Series, and NBA championships “World Champions.” They didn’t compete against the world. We simply assume that because they won here, they could win anywhere.
We usually don’t make a showing in the World Cup, so we don’t bother tuning in. Meanwhile, the best that America has to offer gets blown out of the water by a team that is pretty bad financial and political shape. But most Americans couldn’t care less about that, either.
Watch the World Cup. The entire world is interested. Let’s use this game. this moment, to help us understand why.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Captive Audience
Yesterday I met a man who scared me very much. He was wielding scissors, had a firm grasp of my head for nearly 30 minutes, and wouldn’t let me leave without paying.
He was my barber.
Actually, to be honest, I think that charging that much for a haircut is against the barber creed. This is why he is required by law to call himself a “stylist.”
It wasn’t the scissors or high prices that scared me most, though. It was the conversation. Two of the first several questions that he asked me were “So, what kind of work do you do?” and “Where did you go to school?” These were innocent questions – neither out of the ordinary nor invasive. Questions that anyone might ask to get to know someone better. You’re choice of school, field of study, and occupation often says a lot about you.
When I told him where I worked, the conversation turned political. When I told him that I went to Baylor, the conversation turned conservative. Crazy conservative.
Now, before I go any further, please let me explain something. Those of you that know me know that I am by no means a card-carrying Republican (though I once was). You know that I have very few nice things to say about Bill O’Reilly, Ann Coulter, Lou Dobbs, or any other the other conservative scaremongers. I neither disagree completely with Dubya, nor agree completely with Dean, Kennedy, Clinton, Franken, or Biden. I welcome a healthy, well-informed discussion with someone that has an open mind. And I try to do my part by being well-informed and keeping my mind open.
That being said, this guy scared me.
Apparently “I went to Baylor” is code for “I, too, am a political conservative who bases my political views on my Christian faith.” Having made this assumption, he talked to me as though I should be nodding in agreement to the hypotheses that he was spouting off. I wasn’t. From the “one-world government” type paranoia to even a suspicion about the membership of presidential cabinet members being members of the Council on Foreign Relations, this guy was off the charts.
I don’t know from where he gets his news, but he did say that he listens to a lot of talk radio. Judging by the fact that he had absolutely no clue about the massacre in Haditha by US Marines, I think I have a good idea about the kind of radio shows to which he listens.
Why is it that the most vocal people are often the least informed? Perhaps it’s because if you don’t really understand the complexities of a given situation (and I am not claiming here to understand much, if anything), it is incredibly easy to offer a solution. It is also easy to be spoon-fed your news and solutions to the various problems in one big swallow. This is the service that crazy (often, but not always) conservative talk radio personalities provide. These (often, but not always) guys spout out information often citing other hosts as sources, and then provide solutions that they see as funny, clever, or incredibly simple. This is how “quick and easy” solutions like attacking Iran, the gay marriage ban, and building a big-ass fence along the Rio Grande gain such wide popularity. If the public is ill-informed about the complexities of a problem, it’s much easier to over-simplify the solutions. I have a simple solution for you: TURN OFF THE LOUD SCAREMONGERS AND FIND OUT WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON.
I’m sorry to yell. I just get frustrated sometimes.
I’ll leave all of the scary religious stuff that my stylist said to a later post, but let’s just say it made me nervous to know that this guy gets to vote. Not only this, but he belongs to a church full of people that are (presumably) just like him. They get to vote, too.
So, even though I was a little scared going in, and a little goofy-looking going out (the way he styled my hair, I looked like Conan O’Brian and Lyle Lovett’s lovechild), it was one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had. And the conversation, though scary, was interesting and a little entertaining.
He was my barber.
Actually, to be honest, I think that charging that much for a haircut is against the barber creed. This is why he is required by law to call himself a “stylist.”
It wasn’t the scissors or high prices that scared me most, though. It was the conversation. Two of the first several questions that he asked me were “So, what kind of work do you do?” and “Where did you go to school?” These were innocent questions – neither out of the ordinary nor invasive. Questions that anyone might ask to get to know someone better. You’re choice of school, field of study, and occupation often says a lot about you.
When I told him where I worked, the conversation turned political. When I told him that I went to Baylor, the conversation turned conservative. Crazy conservative.
Now, before I go any further, please let me explain something. Those of you that know me know that I am by no means a card-carrying Republican (though I once was). You know that I have very few nice things to say about Bill O’Reilly, Ann Coulter, Lou Dobbs, or any other the other conservative scaremongers. I neither disagree completely with Dubya, nor agree completely with Dean, Kennedy, Clinton, Franken, or Biden. I welcome a healthy, well-informed discussion with someone that has an open mind. And I try to do my part by being well-informed and keeping my mind open.
That being said, this guy scared me.
Apparently “I went to Baylor” is code for “I, too, am a political conservative who bases my political views on my Christian faith.” Having made this assumption, he talked to me as though I should be nodding in agreement to the hypotheses that he was spouting off. I wasn’t. From the “one-world government” type paranoia to even a suspicion about the membership of presidential cabinet members being members of the Council on Foreign Relations, this guy was off the charts.
I don’t know from where he gets his news, but he did say that he listens to a lot of talk radio. Judging by the fact that he had absolutely no clue about the massacre in Haditha by US Marines, I think I have a good idea about the kind of radio shows to which he listens.
Why is it that the most vocal people are often the least informed? Perhaps it’s because if you don’t really understand the complexities of a given situation (and I am not claiming here to understand much, if anything), it is incredibly easy to offer a solution. It is also easy to be spoon-fed your news and solutions to the various problems in one big swallow. This is the service that crazy (often, but not always) conservative talk radio personalities provide. These (often, but not always) guys spout out information often citing other hosts as sources, and then provide solutions that they see as funny, clever, or incredibly simple. This is how “quick and easy” solutions like attacking Iran, the gay marriage ban, and building a big-ass fence along the Rio Grande gain such wide popularity. If the public is ill-informed about the complexities of a problem, it’s much easier to over-simplify the solutions. I have a simple solution for you: TURN OFF THE LOUD SCAREMONGERS AND FIND OUT WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON.
I’m sorry to yell. I just get frustrated sometimes.
I’ll leave all of the scary religious stuff that my stylist said to a later post, but let’s just say it made me nervous to know that this guy gets to vote. Not only this, but he belongs to a church full of people that are (presumably) just like him. They get to vote, too.
So, even though I was a little scared going in, and a little goofy-looking going out (the way he styled my hair, I looked like Conan O’Brian and Lyle Lovett’s lovechild), it was one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had. And the conversation, though scary, was interesting and a little entertaining.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
A Few Observations
People whose explanation for doing something is simply "because it's a free country, and I have the right to," are most likely incapable of understanding that that makes absolutely no sense. These people should be avoided.
Example:
Rational Person: "Hey, uh, why do you own a handgun? You live in a gated community in the suburbs"
Insane Person: "Because it's a free country and I have the right to own a handgun if I want to, buddy!"
RP: "Oh, so you don't need a handgun, you just do it because you're allowed to. Got it."
IP: "Umm, yeah. And to protect my personal property from thieves, terrorists, and the French."
RP: "Right. Ok."
This same conversation could take place with someone who drives a dually and lives in an apartment, refuses to buy a Dixie Chicks album (even though they can't wait until they are played next on the radio), or see The DaVinci Code (even though they know that the movie can't actually hurt them).
People like this cannot be rationed with because they ignore the portion of the brain that gives the rest of us this capability. All we can do is keep our cool during conversations like the one above, and hope that somewhere (deep) inside, they too know that what they are saying makes no sense.
Example:
Rational Person: "Hey, uh, why do you own a handgun? You live in a gated community in the suburbs"
Insane Person: "Because it's a free country and I have the right to own a handgun if I want to, buddy!"
RP: "Oh, so you don't need a handgun, you just do it because you're allowed to. Got it."
IP: "Umm, yeah. And to protect my personal property from thieves, terrorists, and the French."
RP: "Right. Ok."
This same conversation could take place with someone who drives a dually and lives in an apartment, refuses to buy a Dixie Chicks album (even though they can't wait until they are played next on the radio), or see The DaVinci Code (even though they know that the movie can't actually hurt them).
People like this cannot be rationed with because they ignore the portion of the brain that gives the rest of us this capability. All we can do is keep our cool during conversations like the one above, and hope that somewhere (deep) inside, they too know that what they are saying makes no sense.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Beware of Grown Men in Shorts
Ok, Let me explain...
I was running an errand for work in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon one day, and I saw a man walking down the street. I saw several people walking down the street, in fact, but this man stood out for some reason. Something seemed a little...Suspicious. Now, this was a clean-cut man dressed in newish clothes just minding his own business walking alone not bothering a soul. "What was it, then, that created my suspicion?" I ask myself.
It was his shorts.
This was a grown man in perhaps his mid-thirties wearing a yellow plaid button-up shirt tucked into his olive green cargo shorts. He was also wearing oakleys and tennis shoes with white crew socks. Now, perhaps this choice in attire stood out because I happened to see him walking in one of the notoriously trendy parts of town. But it got me to thinking...
If this man has the type of job that allows him to meander around Dallas with not a care in the world on a Tuesday afternoon, one would be let to assume that he would have slightly better fashion sense than he was exhibiting on the day in question. Before you accuse me of judging this man for merely dressing in a way that shows blatant disregard for the last 10 years in the evolution of men's fashion, please believe me: he looked uncomfortable in his own skin and unfamiliar with his surroundings, like he was up to no good.
I didn't stick around to see what he was up to, but I know that it wasn't good. Of this I am certain.
So, in short, never trust a grown man dressed in shorts in the middle of a weekday. He should know better. Any man who shuns common sense like this is obviously spending entirely too much time devising an evil scheme to terrorize puppies and/or small children.
I was running an errand for work in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon one day, and I saw a man walking down the street. I saw several people walking down the street, in fact, but this man stood out for some reason. Something seemed a little...Suspicious. Now, this was a clean-cut man dressed in newish clothes just minding his own business walking alone not bothering a soul. "What was it, then, that created my suspicion?" I ask myself.
It was his shorts.
This was a grown man in perhaps his mid-thirties wearing a yellow plaid button-up shirt tucked into his olive green cargo shorts. He was also wearing oakleys and tennis shoes with white crew socks. Now, perhaps this choice in attire stood out because I happened to see him walking in one of the notoriously trendy parts of town. But it got me to thinking...
If this man has the type of job that allows him to meander around Dallas with not a care in the world on a Tuesday afternoon, one would be let to assume that he would have slightly better fashion sense than he was exhibiting on the day in question. Before you accuse me of judging this man for merely dressing in a way that shows blatant disregard for the last 10 years in the evolution of men's fashion, please believe me: he looked uncomfortable in his own skin and unfamiliar with his surroundings, like he was up to no good.
I didn't stick around to see what he was up to, but I know that it wasn't good. Of this I am certain.
So, in short, never trust a grown man dressed in shorts in the middle of a weekday. He should know better. Any man who shuns common sense like this is obviously spending entirely too much time devising an evil scheme to terrorize puppies and/or small children.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Why My Neighbor Makes Me Hate People
Last night, I had a wonderful evening watching the Mavs game. As usual, I got along with everybody (even Spurs fans) and the night ended very well. When I arrived home, however, I was greeted by a small pile of rat-dog shit. Someone had allowed their rat-dog to shit on the sidewalk. Not only on the sidewalk, but on the sidewalk immediately at the bottom of the stairs to my front porch. Had I not been paying close attention to where I was stepping, I would have stepped right in it.
Noting the unique position of the pile (what kind of crazy dog actually craps on concrete?), it really made an impression on me. It really takes a special person to stand there and watch one's dog unload on someone else's porch? It is methodical and careless actions such as these that cause me to really hate people sometimes (all of the time).
I think that there are two types of people in this world - special people such as my neighbor, who have no concept of others, allow their pets to shit indiscriminately, and leave the police scanner on full-blast 24/7 (yes, he does this too); and people who care enough to at least pick up after one's pet, return lost wallets, bring your paper in from the rain, and other things such as this. Now, I understand that there are varying degrees of each type of people, but my mind tends to force people into one of these two groups for one main reason: I need something to hate.
Those of you that know me know that I am extremely laid back. I am not quick to anger. I don't pick fights. I would rather be nice than be a prick. This comes at a cost. I am not immune to the normal frustrations, annoyances, and irritations of normal life. I just channel them a different way.
I store all of my rage inside until that unfortunate person cuts me off, hangs up on me, or wrongs me in some other relatively minor way. At that point, when the time is just right, I have been known to explode. I still do not pick fights...it's much more passive aggressive at this point. I yell obscenities, sometimes deliver a strategic middle finger, or some other means of focusing my hate.
If I am not careful, these passive aggressive tendencies will certainly get me in trouble. Just last night, for example, two kids pulled up in a Pontiac as I was walking to my car. They came to a complete stop right between me and my car - showing no consideration whatsoever for the fact that I even existed. So that the driver would know which type of person he was, I provided a gentle reminder in the form of a sarcastic comment. It was, of course, loud enough for them to hear me.
Fortunately, they were smaller in stature than me, and neither of my subsequent comments persuaded them to exit their car to further explore the subject. They did, however, call me a 'bitch' from the street as they left. This just gives further proof that my initial analysis was correct.
I do need to be more careful, I suppose. But I still can't help but be curious about how my neighbor would react to have a big pile of (dog, cow, horse, human) shit on his front steps.
Noting the unique position of the pile (what kind of crazy dog actually craps on concrete?), it really made an impression on me. It really takes a special person to stand there and watch one's dog unload on someone else's porch? It is methodical and careless actions such as these that cause me to really hate people sometimes (all of the time).
I think that there are two types of people in this world - special people such as my neighbor, who have no concept of others, allow their pets to shit indiscriminately, and leave the police scanner on full-blast 24/7 (yes, he does this too); and people who care enough to at least pick up after one's pet, return lost wallets, bring your paper in from the rain, and other things such as this. Now, I understand that there are varying degrees of each type of people, but my mind tends to force people into one of these two groups for one main reason: I need something to hate.
Those of you that know me know that I am extremely laid back. I am not quick to anger. I don't pick fights. I would rather be nice than be a prick. This comes at a cost. I am not immune to the normal frustrations, annoyances, and irritations of normal life. I just channel them a different way.
I store all of my rage inside until that unfortunate person cuts me off, hangs up on me, or wrongs me in some other relatively minor way. At that point, when the time is just right, I have been known to explode. I still do not pick fights...it's much more passive aggressive at this point. I yell obscenities, sometimes deliver a strategic middle finger, or some other means of focusing my hate.
If I am not careful, these passive aggressive tendencies will certainly get me in trouble. Just last night, for example, two kids pulled up in a Pontiac as I was walking to my car. They came to a complete stop right between me and my car - showing no consideration whatsoever for the fact that I even existed. So that the driver would know which type of person he was, I provided a gentle reminder in the form of a sarcastic comment. It was, of course, loud enough for them to hear me.
Fortunately, they were smaller in stature than me, and neither of my subsequent comments persuaded them to exit their car to further explore the subject. They did, however, call me a 'bitch' from the street as they left. This just gives further proof that my initial analysis was correct.
I do need to be more careful, I suppose. But I still can't help but be curious about how my neighbor would react to have a big pile of (dog, cow, horse, human) shit on his front steps.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Baby Talk
So, I spent this past weekend with my sisters, who between them, have about 73 children. While the actual number is 5, the omnipresence this weekend of small people at various stages of mobility and cognitive development, makes 73 a more accurate representation of the "Children Index." This is similar to the heat index. It may only be 90 degrees outside, but the humidity and proximity of Satan might make it feel like 190 degrees. It's mostly used as an excuse for old and lazy people to stay in their 72 degree home and bitch about the weather, but the concept is easily tranferred into an analogy for children.
That being said, please do not take the comments above as any indication that I do not love my nieces and nephews (with all of the words in the English language, there really should be one word that means 'the children of my siblings'). I do love them very much and I really enjoy being around them. It's just that I live alone, can listen to whatever I want, say whatever I want, and do whatever I want - regardless of the 'appropriateness,' volume, or time of day. So being around so many children for two full days around which one has to be so mindful of what one says or refers to, is an enormous departure from my normal life. This fact, along with the fact that absolutely none of my day-to-day human interaction is with people below the age of 22, I am not entirely sure how to talk to a baby. I don't just go around speaking baby talk, so I when the opportunity arises, it shows that I am desperately out of practice. I can't help but feel as though the baby knows that I'm new to this, and already thinks less of me. It's very uncomfortable to feel as though you've let down a 6 month old. But at least I'm setting the bar low. I'd rather disappoint them now, than set their hopes high and disappoint them when they're old enough to voice it.
That being said, please do not take the comments above as any indication that I do not love my nieces and nephews (with all of the words in the English language, there really should be one word that means 'the children of my siblings'). I do love them very much and I really enjoy being around them. It's just that I live alone, can listen to whatever I want, say whatever I want, and do whatever I want - regardless of the 'appropriateness,' volume, or time of day. So being around so many children for two full days around which one has to be so mindful of what one says or refers to, is an enormous departure from my normal life. This fact, along with the fact that absolutely none of my day-to-day human interaction is with people below the age of 22, I am not entirely sure how to talk to a baby. I don't just go around speaking baby talk, so I when the opportunity arises, it shows that I am desperately out of practice. I can't help but feel as though the baby knows that I'm new to this, and already thinks less of me. It's very uncomfortable to feel as though you've let down a 6 month old. But at least I'm setting the bar low. I'd rather disappoint them now, than set their hopes high and disappoint them when they're old enough to voice it.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Relax, it's just me
So, you'll notice that more than a month has passed since my last post. I know that had each and every one of you (read: nobody) hooked with only two posts, and that your lives have been thrown into imbalance because you don't know what's going on with me. How's his apartment? Did he throw more stuff away? Has his attitude towards fellow bloggers changed? Does he realize that his talking to a non-existent and therefore completely made-up audience is tantamount to his having a conversation with an imaginary person? Did he just type that?
Well, get up off your couch, throw away the ice cream carton, put down the zoloft - I'm back. Though this next statement will be contradictory to the fact that I write all of these (3) posts from work, please believe me when I say that I have been busy. That's at least the excuse that I give myself and others.
In fact, I'm pretty lazy.
I graduated from a fancy private university with a BA in international studies. That's what happens when you decide while waiting tables in college that being "happy" and doing "what you love" is better than being able to pay your bills every month, living in a cool loft downtown, and driving a schnazzy car. We all made fun of business majors while we were in school - claiming that they had no souls, were in it only for the money, and would never be satisfied with pushing papers and crunching numbers. Well, folks, I was wrong.
Somehow I ended up as an event planner. That means I have papers to push, numbers to crunch, and alot of self-important ass to kiss. So basically, instead of finding a job that has meaning, I found one that does not pay and at which I have to work ungodly hours. I then go home to my apartment in the 'hood, decide which bills to pay, and do it all over again the next day. Now, I suppose that things aren't entirely as bleak as I make them. I get to meet interesting people. Drive around senators. Meet Bono. My boss never lets an opportunity go by without placating me with reminders of the "intangibles" of my job. Apparently he lives in a world where such "intangibles" are easily substituted for hard currency that one can use to keep the lights on in one's dimly lit shithole.
I'm in a big funk today. I apologize for whining so much. I promise not to bitch quite so much next time.
Well, get up off your couch, throw away the ice cream carton, put down the zoloft - I'm back. Though this next statement will be contradictory to the fact that I write all of these (3) posts from work, please believe me when I say that I have been busy. That's at least the excuse that I give myself and others.
In fact, I'm pretty lazy.
I graduated from a fancy private university with a BA in international studies. That's what happens when you decide while waiting tables in college that being "happy" and doing "what you love" is better than being able to pay your bills every month, living in a cool loft downtown, and driving a schnazzy car. We all made fun of business majors while we were in school - claiming that they had no souls, were in it only for the money, and would never be satisfied with pushing papers and crunching numbers. Well, folks, I was wrong.
Somehow I ended up as an event planner. That means I have papers to push, numbers to crunch, and alot of self-important ass to kiss. So basically, instead of finding a job that has meaning, I found one that does not pay and at which I have to work ungodly hours. I then go home to my apartment in the 'hood, decide which bills to pay, and do it all over again the next day. Now, I suppose that things aren't entirely as bleak as I make them. I get to meet interesting people. Drive around senators. Meet Bono. My boss never lets an opportunity go by without placating me with reminders of the "intangibles" of my job. Apparently he lives in a world where such "intangibles" are easily substituted for hard currency that one can use to keep the lights on in one's dimly lit shithole.
I'm in a big funk today. I apologize for whining so much. I promise not to bitch quite so much next time.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
What's my deal?
So I finally finished moving yesterday. I find it amazing that I can throw away about 10 full trashbags of stuff from my old place, and my new place is still way too full of stuff - most of which I don't use.
I think it's time to shed some of this crap - books I've read or never will read, clothes I haven't worn in years...you know the drill. For some reason I'm hell bent on having certain things, while at the same time I'm frustrated about having so much crap and running out of room to put it.
Well, now that I'm finished writing, I think I'll go watch Fight Club again....and then go shopping.
I think it's time to shed some of this crap - books I've read or never will read, clothes I haven't worn in years...you know the drill. For some reason I'm hell bent on having certain things, while at the same time I'm frustrated about having so much crap and running out of room to put it.
Well, now that I'm finished writing, I think I'll go watch Fight Club again....and then go shopping.
Friday, March 31, 2006
And we're off....
I don't read blogs, and I seem to not think much of those people who rely on them for their news, ideas, culture, sense of humor, etc.
So why did I start a blog if I think so little of those that use them? It's not because I see myself as ultimately interesting, or even that I don't expect to be the only person to ever see these feeble words. It's mostly that I'm bored at work and I want to write and think about something other than what I get paid (barely) to do write and think about all week.
And with that, we're off....
So why did I start a blog if I think so little of those that use them? It's not because I see myself as ultimately interesting, or even that I don't expect to be the only person to ever see these feeble words. It's mostly that I'm bored at work and I want to write and think about something other than what I get paid (barely) to do write and think about all week.
And with that, we're off....
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